It is cold and windy. I cannot feel anything anymore. The life on the roads is nothing compared to what I was told and what I thought it would be. The nights are becoming longer and the days are shortening as the temperature starts dropping below zero in the afternoons. The people I met on my journey had already found their own jobs, joined the CCC camps or had separated from the group for adventure. I was the only one left.
On June fifteenth, 1933, I had left my house for good in pursuit of a job and a shelter at the age of fifteen. I knew that my family was experiencing trouble feeding me and my sister after the day when my dad came home with his last paycheck telling us he no longer had a job. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry. He had been trying so hard to prevent me from hitting the roads, but now that he had lost his job, I had no other choice but to become a hobo. I realized it pretty quick and told him that I wanted to leave before he could even mention those words in front of me to lessen his burden. My father denied it at first, saying that he would do anything to get his job back, but we all figured it wasn’t gonna happen. He couldn’t come up with a better solution, so for the best of our family, I finally headed out into the wild.
The first couple of days were adventurous and, I can even say, fun. I didn’t have a set destination, but the last words I heard from my parents were that going west would be a good idea. They told me that there I would be able to find a job and a place to stay. I had my hopes up high and was excited for a new journey. I had met lots of new people with the same circumstances as me on my way and I figured that most of them were headed to California. I joined a group of some teenage hobos who helped me out when I was experiencing trouble in navigating myself around without any money. They have taught me many tips on how to survive, and the first thing they mentioned was hopping onto the trains. Most of the hobos didn’t have money, and even if they did they wouldn’t wanna waste it on some train rides. We spent most of the time riding the trains and got to know each other a lot more during the long travels. It seemed to be getting more and more fun before I finally came to realize how dangerous and risky this journey was when one of the kids, not paying attention to the railroad, stood up and was thrown ten feet away from the train flat onto a giant rock as the train made a slightest turn. Scared to death, none of the guys moved a single muscle on their bodies and didn’t even talk for the rest of the ride. The bitterness of reality was cruel.
The struggles did not come alone: just as I thought that everything was gonna return back to normal and we could cheer up again, the bulls started chasing us as we approached the train station. We freaked out and jumped out of the trains and started sprinting towards the “jungles” near the station. There were already many people, so we couldn’t stay long enough; in fact, we barely ate a couple of meals. We were good to stay at the “jungles” for several days or even weeks and eat as much mulligan stew as we wanted as long as we brought them some vegetables or other supplies from downtown. However, we had to move on, so as soon as the bulls left, we jumped back onto the next train and continued out trip to California.
On our way, we heard some news that the president was creating the CCC camps that gave teenage hobos (who could still provide signatures of their parents and their addresses) jobs and shelter. Obviously, most of the guys from our group immediately joined the CCC camps and the only people who were left were Jack and I. Jack became an orphan in a car accident ten years ago and had no choice but to become a hobo, so he was the most experienced among our group. I could have joined the camps, but I really thought that my journey was incomplete and that I had to go further before I finally settle down, which was not an ideal decision. And at that time I had no idea how that one decision changed my entire life. As I had a reliable friend on my side, I thought I would at least be able to survive another couple of months or so, but I had never thought that Jack would leave me behind. He must have felt the burden of looking after me, so he just decided to leave in the middle of the night and continue his journey alone. The next morning the only thing I saw was a note saying that he couldn’t afford to babysit me anymore, as the circumstances were becoming harsher and harsher with lesser jobs being provided for hobos each day. And I am now alone in the middle of nowhere.
As more people started to hit the road, getting a job became more and more competitive. Even hitchhiking is almost impossible: nobody wants to take the risk of driving a random hobo, who would do anything for money or food, even kill somebody. The only option I have is to walk and look for jobs; and the only job I could find barely gives me a dollar a week, which is not even close to being enough to eat and get a shelter. My last option is to try to go back to the CCC camp that I passed a couple of weeks ago, however, now, it became much harder for me to reach there without any type of transportation. I know I am going to die sooner or later, either from exhaustion, hunger or the freezing cold weather, and I would rather prefer to die then having to experience this same pain for the rest of my life. My soul is already dead and my body is nothing but a layer of skin on my bones. Nobody is willing to help me: everyone is too busy taking care of themselves and their families. I could feel the winter approaching and the cold wind slicing my bare skin. I did not keep track of time, but I think it is the end of November or beginning of December. I cannot feel anything anymore. I do not have any control over my body and I start to feel numb. The last thing I want to do is to see my parents, but maybe I am hoping for too much. Or maybe someday God will take me to my parents, you never know.
ADVENTURE, SEPARATION, HUNGER AND DEATH (JIN)
It is cold and windy. I cannot feel anything anymore. The life on the roads is nothing compared to what I was told and what I thought it would be. The nights are becoming longer and the days are shortening as the temperature starts dropping below zero in the afternoons. The people I met on my journey had already found their own jobs, joined the CCC camps or had separated from the group for adventure. I was the only one left.
On June fifteenth, 1933, I had left my house for good in pursuit of a job and a shelter at the age of fifteen. I knew that my family was experiencing trouble feeding me and my sister after the day when my dad came home with his last paycheck telling us he no longer had a job. It was the first time I had ever seen my dad cry. He had been trying so hard to prevent me from hitting the roads, but now that he had lost his job, I had no other choice but to become a hobo. I realized it pretty quick and told him that I wanted to leave before he could even mention those words in front of me to lessen his burden. My father denied it at first, saying that he would do anything to get his job back, but we all figured it wasn’t gonna happen. He couldn’t come up with a better solution, so for the best of our family, I finally headed out into the wild.
The first couple of days were adventurous and, I can even say, fun. I didn’t have a set destination, but the last words I heard from my parents were that going west would be a good idea. They told me that there I would be able to find a job and a place to stay. I had my hopes up high and was excited for a new journey. I had met lots of new people with the same circumstances as me on my way and I figured that most of them were headed to California. I joined a group of some teenage hobos who helped me out when I was experiencing trouble in navigating myself around without any money. They have taught me many tips on how to survive, and the first thing they mentioned was hopping onto the trains. Most of the hobos didn’t have money, and even if they did they wouldn’t wanna waste it on some train rides. We spent most of the time riding the trains and got to know each other a lot more during the long travels. It seemed to be getting more and more fun before I finally came to realize how dangerous and risky this journey was when one of the kids, not paying attention to the railroad, stood up and was thrown ten feet away from the train flat onto a giant rock as the train made a slightest turn. Scared to death, none of the guys moved a single muscle on their bodies and didn’t even talk for the rest of the ride. The bitterness of reality was cruel.
The struggles did not come alone: just as I thought that everything was gonna return back to normal and we could cheer up again, the bulls started chasing us as we approached the train station. We freaked out and jumped out of the trains and started sprinting towards the “jungles” near the station. There were already many people, so we couldn’t stay long enough; in fact, we barely ate a couple of meals. We were good to stay at the “jungles” for several days or even weeks and eat as much mulligan stew as we wanted as long as we brought them some vegetables or other supplies from downtown. However, we had to move on, so as soon as the bulls left, we jumped back onto the next train and continued out trip to California.
On our way, we heard some news that the president was creating the CCC camps that gave teenage hobos (who could still provide signatures of their parents and their addresses) jobs and shelter. Obviously, most of the guys from our group immediately joined the CCC camps and the only people who were left were Jack and I. Jack became an orphan in a car accident ten years ago and had no choice but to become a hobo, so he was the most experienced among our group. I could have joined the camps, but I really thought that my journey was incomplete and that I had to go further before I finally settle down, which was not an ideal decision. And at that time I had no idea how that one decision changed my entire life. As I had a reliable friend on my side, I thought I would at least be able to survive another couple of months or so, but I had never thought that Jack would leave me behind. He must have felt the burden of looking after me, so he just decided to leave in the middle of the night and continue his journey alone. The next morning the only thing I saw was a note saying that he couldn’t afford to babysit me anymore, as the circumstances were becoming harsher and harsher with lesser jobs being provided for hobos each day. And I am now alone in the middle of nowhere.
As more people started to hit the road, getting a job became more and more competitive. Even hitchhiking is almost impossible: nobody wants to take the risk of driving a random hobo, who would do anything for money or food, even kill somebody. The only option I have is to walk and look for jobs; and the only job I could find barely gives me a dollar a week, which is not even close to being enough to eat and get a shelter. My last option is to try to go back to the CCC camp that I passed a couple of weeks ago, however, now, it became much harder for me to reach there without any type of transportation. I know I am going to die sooner or later, either from exhaustion, hunger or the freezing cold weather, and I would rather prefer to die then having to experience this same pain for the rest of my life. My soul is already dead and my body is nothing but a layer of skin on my bones. Nobody is willing to help me: everyone is too busy taking care of themselves and their families. I could feel the winter approaching and the cold wind slicing my bare skin. I did not keep track of time, but I think it is the end of November or beginning of December. I cannot feel anything anymore. I do not have any control over my body and I start to feel numb. The last thing I want to do is to see my parents, but maybe I am hoping for too much. Or maybe someday God will take me to my parents, you never know.