When I was 15, my parents had to kick me out of the house. I was not a delinquent or anything; they did it out of necessity. Simply put, they could not feed me anymore. My Dad had been an accountant for a Detroit car company, but when the Depression hit, Dad said that no one could afford cars anymore, so the company shrank and my father was fired. My father unfortunately got polio when he was a kid, so he lost use of his left arm. Without one of his arms, he was not eligible for any job that required hard labor, which were the only jobs available in the Depression. So my family sent me off to fend for myself.
I remember the first place that I went was the Detroit freight yard, thinking that I could just hop on a train and go out to sunny California. Looking back, I feel silly for thinking that it would be so easy. Anyway, I went to the train yard and began looking for a boxcar to hop on, like I had seen in the newsreels. Pretty soon though, a railroad bull came up to me, pulled his gun out, and told me to scram, so I ran out of there and decided I would get on a train some other way. I walked out of town along the tracks and eventually came upon a camp of other hobos like myself. I asked the other hobos if I could join, and they said yes, obviously sensing that I was new to this and probably would not last long on my own. Looking back, it was easy to tell that I had not been on the road long; I was still clean and had not yet reached emaciation.
Not long after arriving at the camp, I met Billy. Billy was in a similar situation to me. He had also been kicked out of his house had had taken to riding the rails. The only difference between us was that he had been doing this for a few years and he was a few years older than me. I guess that he sympathized with my situation because he wasted no time taking me under his wing. The next morning we left the camp. He was headed south, and so I decided to follow him, seeing as he was just about the only friend I had left in the world.
For the next few months, we rode the rails around the south, always looking for the next meal. We had some success in our search for food, but nevertheless, there were still long stretches without any food. Over time, we grew closer, and eventually we became great friends.
Then one day, Billy started to get sick. It started with coughing, which we chalked up to the winter cold. But the cold did not go away. Soon the fever set in, and the coughing got worse. Soon after, there was blood in Billy’s coughs and he was getting night sweats. This happened around the end of January, and because of bad planning we got stuck in New Jersey during the winter, so it was bitterly cold. Soon, we came to the realization that Billy had
Tuberculosis and was in no condition to go anywhere. The next few days were a complete hell for the both of us. I knew he was going to die, and did he, so when he finally passed, I guess it was not as hard as it could have been. Not long after Billy died, the depression ended and I was able to find a job and start my life. I think I have more of less moved on since then, but nevertheless, I still think of my friendship with Billy often.
MY LIFE AS A TEENAGE HOBO (JOHN)
When I was 15, my parents had to kick me out of the house. I was not a delinquent or anything; they did it out of necessity. Simply put, they could not feed me anymore. My Dad had been an accountant for a Detroit car company, but when the Depression hit, Dad said that no one could afford cars anymore, so the company shrank and my father was fired. My father unfortunately got polio when he was a kid, so he lost use of his left arm. Without one of his arms, he was not eligible for any job that required hard labor, which were the only jobs available in the Depression. So my family sent me off to fend for myself.I remember the first place that I went was the Detroit freight yard, thinking that I could just hop on a train and go out to sunny California. Looking back, I feel silly for thinking that it would be so easy. Anyway, I went to the train yard and began looking for a boxcar to hop on, like I had seen in the newsreels. Pretty soon though, a railroad bull came up to me, pulled his gun out, and told me to scram, so I ran out of there and decided I would get on a train some other way. I walked out of town along the tracks and eventually came upon a camp of other hobos like myself. I asked the other hobos if I could join, and they said yes, obviously sensing that I was new to this and probably would not last long on my own. Looking back, it was easy to tell that I had not been on the road long; I was still clean and had not yet reached emaciation.
Not long after arriving at the camp, I met Billy. Billy was in a similar situation to me. He had also been kicked out of his house had had taken to riding the rails. The only difference between us was that he had been doing this for a few years and he was a few years older than me. I guess that he sympathized with my situation because he wasted no time taking me under his wing. The next morning we left the camp. He was headed south, and so I decided to follow him, seeing as he was just about the only friend I had left in the world.
For the next few months, we rode the rails around the south, always looking for the next meal. We had some success in our search for food, but nevertheless, there were still long stretches without any food. Over time, we grew closer, and eventually we became great friends.
Then one day, Billy started to get sick. It started with coughing, which we chalked up to the winter cold. But the cold did not go away. Soon the fever set in, and the coughing got worse. Soon after, there was blood in Billy’s coughs and he was getting night sweats. This happened around the end of January, and because of bad planning we got stuck in New Jersey during the winter, so it was bitterly cold. Soon, we came to the realization that Billy had
Tuberculosis and was in no condition to go anywhere. The next few days were a complete hell for the both of us. I knew he was going to die, and did he, so when he finally passed, I guess it was not as hard as it could have been. Not long after Billy died, the depression ended and I was able to find a job and start my life. I think I have more of less moved on since then, but nevertheless, I still think of my friendship with Billy often.