Hobo Jungle
Why is there a Klingon on that ship?
"There is no limit to what a man can do or where he can go if he doesn’t mind who gets the credit."
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MartyE.com and KodiakJunction.com Home to Kodiak Junction U.S.A.
Here's a short story of an old Bo I knew .....................
I knew a Bo that rode the rails and he drank his beer warm. that's right........warm.......... I remember one cold winter day we were bullshitin' in the old railroad station in Bird-in Hand Pa ( not far from where I live now) where he lived and he would put his beer cans on the top of the old potbelly coal stove to warm them up. He couldn't stand cold beer. Said it made him gag. I told him I can't drink it like that. I told him that would taste like piss..........he laughed. He also did the same thing with his whisky. He was one old tough buzzard.
That old Bo lived to be 82 years old. He told me he started to drink at the ripe age of 12. He was from the coal regions up in Northern Pa and started ridin' the rails at the age of 16. His Pop and Mom died and the brothers and sisters could not afford to take care of him. I guess this was back dur'in The Depression. He never worked a day in his life he told me. I'll never forgit what he said..........Hard work killed my Pappy and it anit' gonna kill me. Interesting.........
I know one thing this old Bo rode freight's all over this fine land of ours and believe me.....he had some very interesting stories to tell. When he told them sipin' his beer or whisky it made me feel like I was right there in that time period. It was so awesome to hear his stories how he had survived.
Here are a few photo's from my stuff. Sorry............. they aren't that good. .........old pics........Comon'
Here is the station back in the early 70's..............
This was my Ole' Bo Joe..................standing at the old ticket window
Here is an old freight taking on water at Mill Creek, just west of the station at Bird-in Hand Pa. These trains didn't stop for water. They had chutes under the tender. As the train went by they would scoop up the water...............
Here is the station as it looks today along the old PRR Mainline that runs from Phila to Harrisburg and points west.......................Lookin' east
Lookin west..........................
hev
I knew a Bo that rode the rails and he drank his beer warm. that's right........warm.......... I remember one cold winter day we were bullshitin' in the old railroad station in Bird-in Hand Pa ( not far from where I live now) where he lived and he would put his beer cans on the top of the old potbelly coal stove to warm them up. He couldn't stand cold beer. Said it made him gag. I told him I can't drink it like that. I told him that would taste like piss..........he laughed. He also did the same thing with his whisky. He was one old tough buzzard.
That old Bo lived to be 82 years old. He told me he started to drink at the ripe age of 12. He was from the coal regions up in Northern Pa and started ridin' the rails at the age of 16. His Pop and Mom died and the brothers and sisters could not afford to take care of him. I guess this was back dur'in The Depression. He never worked a day in his life he told me. I'll never forgit what he said..........Hard work killed my Pappy and it anit' gonna kill me. Interesting.........
I know one thing this old Bo rode freight's all over this fine land of ours and believe me.....he had some very interesting stories to tell. When he told them sipin' his beer or whisky it made me feel like I was right there in that time period. It was so awesome to hear his stories how he had survived.
Here are a few photo's from my stuff. Sorry............. they aren't that good. .........old pics........Comon'
Here is the station back in the early 70's..............
This was my Ole' Bo Joe..................standing at the old ticket window
Here is an old freight taking on water at Mill Creek, just west of the station at Bird-in Hand Pa. These trains didn't stop for water. They had chutes under the tender. As the train went by they would scoop up the water...............
Here is the station as it looks today along the old PRR Mainline that runs from Phila to Harrisburg and points west.......................Lookin' east
Lookin west..........................
hev
Jon, thanks for the beer. It's about 64 on the coast here today.
Hev, this bit below is for you. It was written by Jimmy Hakken, and it's all true from what he tells me.
The old hobo calls himself Bill. I tell him my name is Cody. Everyone on the road probably uses a made-up name. We’re sitting in a rail yard in Minot, North Dakota, trying to cook some green tomatoes over a fire we made.
“Amazing the things people’ll leave lying around,” Bill says.
“What’s at?”
“Well, these tomatoes for instance. Perfectly good.”
There was a pile of them in the gravel as we walked up the stopped freight. (When a train blows its air, you know it’s not going anywhere for a while.) Bill immediately gathered them up, which I never would have thought of since I’ve never eaten them. We’re frying them in bacon grease on a piece of metal we found. Bill had a peanut butter jar of it in his suitcase.
“Cold!” he says, rubbing his hands near the flames. “You got anymore fixings?” Bill calls my tobacco that.
“You keep smoking it, there’s not going to be any.” Still I toss him the pouch.
“Watch that one!” Bill points at a tomato slice that’s getting burned. I flip it over with my knife. He watches the food intently, even telling me how thick to slice the tomatoes. “Little thinner,” he kept saying. “They crisp better that way.” He had a few stale crackers we crushed up, or I crushed up based on his instructions, and I pressed the slices in them. After Bill rolls one up he loosens a stick from the fire and lights the cigarette with it. I’ve never seen a guy enjoy a smoke more. Seems he loves pipe tobacco, but he’ll probably smoke anything as long as it has nicotine in it. I only smoke a few bowls a day, and if I’m honest with myself, I know part of doing it is just for the idea of it, the style of it, and I don’t inhale. But Bill just wants to be a chimney like my stepfather, though my stepfather never seemed to enjoy anything.
“Cody.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m givin’ her up.” He gives a big exhale of smoke. He smokes cigarettes like a pothead.
“Giving what up?”
“Ridin’.”
“Hoboing?”
He nods.
“What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ home, son, back to Billings, find a fleabag, see if I can get on the dole.”
“How come?”
“Too old. Winter comin’. This cold just kills my bones, she gets right in me, and I never could stan’ the heat. Tried it down south, but it weren’t for me. I just sweat like a pig. Hey!” He points at another burning slice. The food is cooked and I slide some on a tin plate I carry in my gear. I pass it to Bill. My half I slide onto a flat board I rubbed clean. Bill uses a stick and I use my knife. I’m not going to let him use my knife.
“Damn, these are good.”
“Told ya,” he says, though he hadn’t.
The tomatoes are so good we slice up the rest of them though we’re out of crackers, and I get my last can of beans out of my pack. I hate to use them up. B&M baked beans. Bill’s eyes light right up when he sees the can. After the beans bubble I serve them with more fried tomatoes.
“Damn, son, this here is one fine meal. Wish we had some whiskey or wine to wash her down.”
We finish and Bill licks my plate clean which sickens me. ****, I figure I might as well give him the damn plate now. But he seems so happy I don’t say nothing. I know he wants tobacco and though I’m almost out I fill my pipe and toss him the pouch again. We light up from the fire and I toss on some more scraps of wood.
“If it wasn’t so cold, she’d be perfect,” he says. “Son, I been thinkin’. You’ve been mighty nice to me these last two days. I know yer pissed I smoked up all your fixings. Way I am now, I take what I can get. You get as old as me, you might think the same way. But I’m gonna give you something in return. Bill always pays his way. Just the way I am.” He has another big toke. “I’m gonna give ya something I’ve carried with me for many years waitin’ for the right time. I was hopin’ to use her myself, but now I see I ain’t goin’ to make her. Maybe you will. That’s why I’m given et to ya.”
Hev, this bit below is for you. It was written by Jimmy Hakken, and it's all true from what he tells me.
The old hobo calls himself Bill. I tell him my name is Cody. Everyone on the road probably uses a made-up name. We’re sitting in a rail yard in Minot, North Dakota, trying to cook some green tomatoes over a fire we made.
“Amazing the things people’ll leave lying around,” Bill says.
“What’s at?”
“Well, these tomatoes for instance. Perfectly good.”
There was a pile of them in the gravel as we walked up the stopped freight. (When a train blows its air, you know it’s not going anywhere for a while.) Bill immediately gathered them up, which I never would have thought of since I’ve never eaten them. We’re frying them in bacon grease on a piece of metal we found. Bill had a peanut butter jar of it in his suitcase.
“Cold!” he says, rubbing his hands near the flames. “You got anymore fixings?” Bill calls my tobacco that.
“You keep smoking it, there’s not going to be any.” Still I toss him the pouch.
“Watch that one!” Bill points at a tomato slice that’s getting burned. I flip it over with my knife. He watches the food intently, even telling me how thick to slice the tomatoes. “Little thinner,” he kept saying. “They crisp better that way.” He had a few stale crackers we crushed up, or I crushed up based on his instructions, and I pressed the slices in them. After Bill rolls one up he loosens a stick from the fire and lights the cigarette with it. I’ve never seen a guy enjoy a smoke more. Seems he loves pipe tobacco, but he’ll probably smoke anything as long as it has nicotine in it. I only smoke a few bowls a day, and if I’m honest with myself, I know part of doing it is just for the idea of it, the style of it, and I don’t inhale. But Bill just wants to be a chimney like my stepfather, though my stepfather never seemed to enjoy anything.
“Cody.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m givin’ her up.” He gives a big exhale of smoke. He smokes cigarettes like a pothead.
“Giving what up?”
“Ridin’.”
“Hoboing?”
He nods.
“What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m goin’ home, son, back to Billings, find a fleabag, see if I can get on the dole.”
“How come?”
“Too old. Winter comin’. This cold just kills my bones, she gets right in me, and I never could stan’ the heat. Tried it down south, but it weren’t for me. I just sweat like a pig. Hey!” He points at another burning slice. The food is cooked and I slide some on a tin plate I carry in my gear. I pass it to Bill. My half I slide onto a flat board I rubbed clean. Bill uses a stick and I use my knife. I’m not going to let him use my knife.
“Damn, these are good.”
“Told ya,” he says, though he hadn’t.
The tomatoes are so good we slice up the rest of them though we’re out of crackers, and I get my last can of beans out of my pack. I hate to use them up. B&M baked beans. Bill’s eyes light right up when he sees the can. After the beans bubble I serve them with more fried tomatoes.
“Damn, son, this here is one fine meal. Wish we had some whiskey or wine to wash her down.”
We finish and Bill licks my plate clean which sickens me. ****, I figure I might as well give him the damn plate now. But he seems so happy I don’t say nothing. I know he wants tobacco and though I’m almost out I fill my pipe and toss him the pouch again. We light up from the fire and I toss on some more scraps of wood.
“If it wasn’t so cold, she’d be perfect,” he says. “Son, I been thinkin’. You’ve been mighty nice to me these last two days. I know yer pissed I smoked up all your fixings. Way I am now, I take what I can get. You get as old as me, you might think the same way. But I’m gonna give you something in return. Bill always pays his way. Just the way I am.” He has another big toke. “I’m gonna give ya something I’ve carried with me for many years waitin’ for the right time. I was hopin’ to use her myself, but now I see I ain’t goin’ to make her. Maybe you will. That’s why I’m given et to ya.”
It's about 64 on the coast here today.
Tramp, you SOB!!!
Was that really neccessary? Hey look!! There's smoke pouring out from under your Berk!!!!!
Enjoy the beer, Bro. I think I've got enough for a couple more stashed in my shoe.
Last edited by 2railjon on Fri Jul 28, 2006 4:01 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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