Recent Changes

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.

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.

THE JOURNEY OF BERN (COLBY)
My grandfather should’ve been playing catch in the backyard with his father when he was fourteen years old, or swimming in the town quarry with his friends. A fourteen year-old, no matter the time period, should be thinking about girls, sports, anything else besides day-to-day survival. But my grandfather, Bernard by name but simply Bern to his family and friends, was born in 1918, which determined that he would spend some of the most important growing years of his life away from home, working to support himself in the midst of the Great Depression. His story, recounted to me by the same body that experienced the worst depression in our nation’s history, made the things I had learned about the time come to life and lose their surreal quality.
My grandfather grew up in Connecticut with two loving parents and three siblings: an older brother, Tom, and two younger sisters, Emily and Marilyn. The age gap between my grandfather and his brother was significant; by the time my grandfather had fourteen years under his belt, Tom was already a junior in college, making the family proud on a full scholarship to Columbia in New York. Bern felt as if he was constantly standing in the shadow of his brother since the day he became lucid of his brother’s intuitive intelligence and tendency to impress everyone around him. His sisters were only five and six years old, but Bern could only imagine the ways that they would make him look like the family slacker as soon as they grew up. Although his parents loved all their children equally, Bern put the weight of the family on his own shoulders and felt an unavoidable responsibility to help his parents support themselves.
The day after his fourteenth birthday party, Bernard left his home. He faked sick to stay home from school, and after his father left for work and his mother took his sisters out to the grocery store, he wrote his parents a note. When he finished writing all he could think to say, he placed the note on the kitchen countertop table next to the bread, where he knew his mother would find it. Bern stared at the little sheet of white paper with granite-grey scribbles appearing as blemishes on the pure white; his handwriting never had been very neat. His mind raced thinking about the heavy implications that this weightless piece of paper carried. He imagined his parents reading it, reading about how he was leaving because it was best for the family; his mother crying, his father going up to his study and staying there for hours, his sisters still wonderfully ignorant and confused at their parents’ distress. As hard as it was for Bern to leave his family, he knew that his departure would make life easier for everyone. The salary his father made as a clerk at the country store downtown was barely enough to support all three kids at home and his brother in college; if Tom hadn’t gotten a full scholarship, he would most likely be sweeping the floor at the country store with his father. There would be one less mouth to feed, one less body to clothe, one less student to buy books for. His brother was the star of the family; Tom could carry on their family name better than Bern could. He took a deep breath and put the note down, shoving his hand in his pocket to make sure that the five dollars he scraped together hadn’t abandoned him like he was about to abandon his family. A bag with an extra pair of pants, socks, underwear, and an extra shirt adorned his shoulder. It was almost ten o’ clock, and Bern wanted to leave before his mother got home; he couldn’t handle confronting her.
Bern’s hometown wasn’t too far from Hartford, the biggest city in Connecticut. He walked out his front door, down the steps he had walked up nearly every day for fourteen years of his life, and onto the sidewalk. Turning around, he looked at the small, one-floor house for the last time; he would never forget it. Bern found it ironic that while the sky was blue and cloudless and the weather was perfect for spring, his mind felt congested with clouds and storms. He went over his plan repeatedly in his head: walk the five or so miles to Hartford, find a quick job as a bus-boy or dish-cleaner at a town restaurant, make enough money to support himself for a few months, and buy a train ticket to go down south so that by the time winter came, he wouldn’t have to suffer through a harsh Connecticut winter without a home. Idealistically, the plan was perfect. However, Bern never heard that most teens who were forced to leave home ended up riding the railroad cars because they couldn’t pay for tickets. Along with this, he was completely unaware that most businesses were barely staying alive, let alone hiring kids his age for menial jobs that could be done by people already employed. These petty concerns failed to matter to him, and so his journey began.
An hour later, Bern was in Hartford. Naturally, he gravitated toward the strip of shops and diners that he and his family always browsed through on Sunday mornings. He walked up and down the sidewalk, looking through the windows of the various stores and searching for the rare “now hiring” sign. After two hours of inquiring at the counter of nearly every shop on the strip, accompanied by a number of variations of “sorry kid”, Bern gave up. He slouched down against the display window of a vacant store and opened his bag; on the verge of tears, Bern ate the quarter-loaf of bread he had packed before he left home. He could buy a new loaf at any of the surrounding food stores for less than five cents, but there was barely any room left in his bag and he thought that conserving his money was his best option. Bern looked around at the people in the city; he wondered about every face’s childhood, their dreams and aspirations. On the ground next to him, Bern found and smoothed out a crumpled front page of the day’s newspaper. Below “Hartford Herald: May 26th 1932”, headlines of the devastation of economic disaster and national panic plagued the text. There were stories that began with the repercussions of the “stock market crash”, but Bern wasn’t sure what the stock market was or why it crashed. Turning the page over, he saw a small excerpt of a story about youths riding railroad cars instead of buying tickets for the train as he meant to. Bern’s head shifted to the right and he looked down the street; the railroad tracks that led out of Hartford and went south through New York and then along the coast of New Jersey sat just beyond the street. Bern looked back down at the newspaper and saw a picture accompanying the article: it showed a black-and-white policeman escorting a black-and-white teen, who looked a little older than Bern, in handcuffs off of some black-and-white tracks somewhere. The picture didn’t worry him much; Bern had friends in his town with an annoying tendency to shoplift, and he picked up police-avoiding techniques as a result. Considering his options, Bern looked towards the railroad again. He knew it was a crime to ride the train without a ticket, but he also knew that the train would take him right down into Virginia and then the Carolinas if he stayed on it for long enough. He thought about warm winters, seasons free of frostbite and hypothermia and suffering, and persuaded himself to make an executive decision.
The tracks were protected on both sides by a chain-link fence that spanned towards the ends of the universe on either side. The station was only a two-minute walk backwards in the direction that Bern came, but he avoided it when he passed. Checking all directions that he could, Bern mounted the fence and climbed to the top. The view from the top of the fence might as well have been the view from the apex of the world. Once he descended from the top of the fence unto the other side, he couldn’t turn back. A tear fell from his cheek and onto the ground below him as he looked past Hartford and imagined his neighborhood: the narrow suburban street, colored bikes on the lawn of every house, the occasional makeshift lemonade stand with girls his sisters’ age selling cool glasses of the stuff for a penny. The nostalgic images flooded and cycled through his mind as he grabbed the top of the fence and maneuvered down onto the other side of the tracks, propelling himself into a new and volatile part of his life.
By the time night fell on the first day, Bern’s legs seared and ached with every step. With every foot walked he looked around, looked for somewhere to rest for the night. The thought of being caught by “rail bulls”, as he heard them called by a pair of runaways that he met earlier in the day on the tracks, wasn’t what caused his apprehension; Bern was more worried about being robbed or attacked in his sleep by bigger, older teenagers. Nonetheless, as Bern walked past a gradual curve in the tracks, he spotted a small grove of trees that partially hung over the railroad and created the coziest area that Bern had seen all day. He looked ahead, over his shoulder, and in every other direction he could think of, and then succumbed to his sleep-driven temptation and walked to the grove. The moon, nearly full, made for a relatively bright night, which increased Bern’s worries about being spotted even more. All he wanted to do was to sleep through the night and continue the next morning. His bag hit the ground and his body followed, the extra pair of pants he packed acting as his pillow. His parents’ faces popped up in his head as soon as his eyelids closed shut; he saw them in their bed, silent. Bern couldn’t decide if they were silent out of contemplation or silent because they had fought over the issue of him leaving. All he hoped was that his departure would make things easier for them, the only people that ever treated him with unconditional love. Sleep came while the future, and largely the present, remained unsure.
A bright light woke Bern from his troubled sleep. His first feeling was relief; he had survived the night and the sun signified the start of another day. The realization that it was still dark and the drawing back of the light accompanied by a raspy voice dashed his hopes and dropped a pit in his stomach.
“C’mon kid, time to go,” the officer said.
He towered above Bern, still on the ground, with his fake sun now surveying the area around the trees. Bern looked around and saw the officer’s cruiser parked in the distance around the curve of the tracks that he originally saw the grove from. The officer walked around the trees to check the other side for other hobos, and Bern took the opportunity. He hastily grabbed his bag and sprinted in the opposite direction of the officer and his cruiser.
“HEY! STOP!”
But Bern ran and ran, ran until his sides hurt, until his lungs burned, until tears formed in his brown eyes. He never looked back to check if the officer followed him on foot or pursued him in the car. Losing energy quickly because of how little he had eaten in the past day, Bern ducked into the woods that mirrored the tracks and continued to run, staying parallel with the tracks so that he could eventually follow them again. Finally, he stopped running. He crouched down and looked out at the tracks; there were no officers, no hobos, just the tracks and their stark silence. Confident that he had escaped, he walked a bit further in the woods and caught a glance of a light in the distance, partially concealed but flickering through the trees. Curious and with nothing else to lose, he shuffled quietly through the brush to the edge of the tree-line and peered through: three boys that looked a bit older than him sat around a fire, eating some kind of stew out of wooden bowls and passing around a small loaf of bread. A branch cracked under Bern’s foot as he stepped to get a better view; the boys immediately spun around and looked in his direction.
“Come out!” the biggest one shouted, “We won’t hurt you.”
Bern could tell by his voice that the boys were atleast a few years older than him. He considered running again but figured that three older boys could catch him easily. Looking down at the ground, he stepped out of the trees and into the light of the fire.
“What‘re ya doin’ out here boy? Ya don’t look older than fifteen,” said one of the boys.
“I’m just trying to find someplace safe to sleep, I don’t mean any trouble,” replied Bern.
“Don’t worry kid, we’re all tryin’ to make it out here. You leave your family too?”
Bern could tell by his speech that the biggest boy of the three was the most educated and seemingly the leader of the group.
“Yup,” Bern replied, still not sure whether to trust them.
“C’mon, grab a seat by the fire and have some stew. Ever had mulligan?”
Uneasily, Bern sat down with the three and ate what they called mulligan stew, which tasted even worse than the name sounded, and stale bread. Bern told the boys about his journey so far and they told Bern of their individual stories and how they came to meet. The cathartic exchange served to put Bern at ease; seeing other teenagers, even though they were older, going through the same trials as him was comforting.
“So,” said the leader after a momentary silence, “what’s your plan for tomorrow?”
The question gravely reminded Bern that the calm he was experiencing was purely temporary. And the truth was, he had no idea where to go from there.
“Uh, I’m not sure. All I know is that I want to get down south before winter comes,” he replied.
“Well ain’t that funny, that’s where we’re goin’ too!” exclaimed one of the other boys.
Bern wasn’t sure whether to take the remark as an invitation to join their group or purely as sarcasm.
“It’s true. Why don’t you travel with us? Safety in numbers, right?” asked the leader.
Bern hesitated for a moment. On one hand, Bern thought that traveling with a group would only attract more police officers. However, Bern’s inclusion in the boys’ group provided him with a sense of belonging that he hadn’t felt since he left his family and thought he would never feel again.
“If you’re all sure you wouldn’t mind, I’d be glad to join. I can help find food,” assured Bern.
“Well that settles it, we start up again tomorrow,” declared the leader.
After some more eating and conversation about aspirations and the families they had left for the greater good, the boys put out the fire and went to sleep.
From there, Bern stayed with the group of boys for the majority of his journey down south. By the end of June, he was an expert on catching trains and getting where he needed to go. Although he had no idea what his family was going through at the time, all he could do was hope that his decision was as beneficial for them as he planned it to be. In the back of his mind, he knew that they would be proud of him, and he planned to see them again someday.
Miraculously, Bern arrived in North Carolina by train in July of the same year. Now fifteen, as his birthday passed in June, he searched for and found a job, menial as it was, sweeping floors for a general store in Raleigh. The older couple that owned the store maintained their sweetness and generosity even while their business was on the edge of the cliff that thousands of other small businesses in the nation had fallen off of at the time. After telling the couple his story, they offered him a room and a warm bed in their home in exchange for his work at the store. Simply happy to be cemented in a single place for the first time in months, Bern graciously accepted the offer. He would return to Connecticut and see his family again later in his life, but the older couple was a godsend for Bern, and they allowed him to accomplish what he meant to by leaving home: independence and self-sufficiency for a boy in the Great Depression who made the ultimate sacrifice to make life easier for his family.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN. JUST CAN'T WAIT TO GET ON THE ROAD AGAIN (CLARE)
Black. Darkness. Nothing. I blink a few times and light and colors appear. All I can think is ow and where am I? Well it turns out I’m in the county jail in Amarillo, Texas. Oh, now I remember. It all started a few weeks ago, when I left home. Daddy had owned a shop in downtown Ponca City, Oklahoma. It was a nice, little general store. But lately, we didn’t have as much customers….I remember he came home one day all sad, saying stuff like how we didn’t have no money and that me, Harper, and my older brother and sister would have to leave home. Leighanne and Beau left a couple days before me. Said they were goin’ to California and I should meet them in a place called Los Angeles. Course it would be harder for me to get there they said, cause I was so much younger than they was. I’m only fourteen; Leighanne and Beau are both seventeen. I left home on April 27, 1931. I expect by now it’s late May or early June. Judging by the weather here in Amarillo, it’s probably June.
For a couple days I wandered outside Ponca City, looking for odd extra jobs, anything that would pay for food. I could never consider stealing food from a family. That was ‘cause we’d had some people steal from my daddy’s store and it had set us back a few weeks on the payments to the town. Some people would hire me for a bit, but they said girls couldn’t do as much hard labor as boys, so it’s more smart to hire a boy. I was so hungry. Some nights I would just have to sleep outside a building somewhere or near the tracks to try and stay warm. Eventually I started to see other kids riding the rail roads to other places. They didn’t have a ticket either. I decided to give it a shot, might as well try to get to California and see Leighanne and Beau before I starve to death. But now I’m in the county jail all on a count of the fact that I was riding the rails without a ticket.
On the rails, me and this other girl, Jezebel, would ride the rails together for a couple weeks. She was really helpful too. We met up in between Ponca City and Amarillo. She had been riding longer than me and she was older too. She said she was gonna teach me the ropes of riding the rails as a teen hobo. She said it was necessary to steal from people, cause we would’ve starved to death whereas these folks would’ve just thrown out the extras. That technically takin’ from folks before they threw things away wasn’t really stealing, but we had to do it. She was lookin’ for adventure she said, didn’t need her parents for anything. I couldn’t imagine living like that, voluntarily away from my folks. I wonder where she is now….We tried to catch a train together and it didn’t work out too well for me.
Jezebel told to steal some of the extra food, stuff that wouldn’t go bad too fast. I got a couple cans of beans, some evaporated milk, and a tin of tuna. An’ half a loaf of bread. We also had some mulligan stew from another camp we had been at. They all went into the backpack my daddy had given me when I had to leave. I was sure scared of getting caught. But Jezebel didn’t seem too scared, all calm an’ stuff. She told me to run for the train tracks that were near the town. Well we kept runnin’ for a while, til we reached the tracks. It was nighttime then. After a couple minutes, I could see the pinprick of the head light in the distance, the deep rumble of the engine, and finally as it got closer, the horn. This train was comin’ up on us quick so Jezebel said we better start runnin’ if we wanna catch it. Out of nowhere, two bulls start runnin’ behind us, yelling for us to stop running. I shouted to her, “Jezebel, I think some of the bulls are coming!” So we start runnin’ faster and all of a sudden the train’s right next to us. Jezebel grabs the handle and swings into the open door of the train car. She yelled to me to hand her the back pack, she would help me up after. I keep runnin’ next to the train and I swing the bag up to her. She grabs it and reaches out her hand. The bulls were pretty close behind us now. My palms were so sweaty. I try jumpin’ and reachin’ for her hand, but each time her hand is just too high up for me to reach. We come up on a turn and she says she can’t hold on for much longer on the turn. I yell for her to grab me. She suddenly backs into the train, where was she going?! That was when I tripped on another track that ran parallel to the one the train was running on. I hit my head and everything when black. When I woke up, I was in Amarillo Country Jail. Looks like I won’t be making it to Los Angeles for a while.

SMOKE (JANE)
In the 1930s, there is only so much one could do for money and security before leaving home to find it some place else. I was lucky because I chose to leave home, my parents did not kick me out. I figured that one less mouth to feed would take the edge off their worry, and secretly, the prospect of an adventure thrilled me. I left our dusty and dilapidated farm in Illinois with nothing but a few knickknacks and an extra pair of clean clothes stuffed in a sac, and headed for San Francisco, California. However, I was not in any way prepared for living life as a hobo.
As I am now standing on a pair of feeble legs waiting for the next freight train to arrive in a station in Montana, I start to reminisce about the first time I jumped on a train. It was in January of 1930, when the days were the shortest and it got so cold that it was hard to breathe. I was trembling, but I could not tell if it was because I was nervous or just chilled to the bone. When I heard a rough clacking in the distance and the ensuing whistle of a train, I felt a jolt surge through my body. There were about a dozen other teenagers waiting for the train, and as it neared, they meandered towards the tracks. I copied them in my stance, and then watched them effortlessly grab on to the rails of the train. Using them as a guide, I started running to match the pace of the train, and then grabbed on. I used all the strength I could muster to pull myself on and then climbed to the top of the car. I was exhilarated; adrenaline was pumping through my entire body. I began talking to some of the other people on top of the car, and I quickly became friends with four of them. Now, I have learned it is better to not have friends while riding the rails, because it is a dangerous sport. It is easier to not become attached to people because death is a constant presence.
Now, as I grab on to the train in the station in Montana, I no longer feel that exhilaration. Even though I am only fifteen, my body aches with every movement as I climb to the top of the car. My head is pounding from dehydration and starvation. I have not eaten in two days. The last thing I ate were three bowls of soup at a house for hobos to stay for a night. Food is my sole concern; nothing else seems to matter. If there is food, I am happy. I lower myself slowing into a sitting position on top of the car and close my eyes. The vibrations of the train picking up speed is excruciating on my deteriorating body. I place my sac, which is now shabby and torn, to my right and I hold it tightly. It was my only solace for my perpetual homesickness.
I open my eyes abruptly after the shrill of five young boys and girls laughing travels painfully through my ears. While I observe them, I decide that they cannot be more than eleven years old. It is a shame to know there are younger kids than I suffering with the same predicament. They start playing games with each other, smiling with happy effervescence. It is almost contagious. I think that they must be new to riding the rails, which is affirmed a few seconds later when we arrive at the first tunnel of the ride.
In a tunnel, the heavy black smoke that would normally fill the sky and travel upward is trapped. It suffocates you unless you cover your airways properly. Although I have never inhaled the smoke, I have heard it is a pretty horrendous experience. When we neared the tunnel, I covered my mouth, but did not think fast enough to tell the other kids to. While you are living on such little sleep and sustenance as I am, you become numb to thoughts and robotic in your actions. I close my eyes as the darkness of the tunnel masks the searing smoke filling the air. I start to hear violent coughing. As soon as we got out of the tunnel, I open my eyes to see the kids coughing out visible black smoke from their lungs. Tears stream down their faces with the sensation of their lungs burning. I watch as they take that large step in transforming from normal child into a hobo.

WHISTLE IN THE DARK (KELLY)
When I was younger I used to look at the silver screen and gaze at Lillian Gish. She was beautiful, charming and the first girl I ever had a liking for. She lived in New York City another world away Colorado. I was originally raised on the outskirts of Denver. I hadn’t seen a movie in ages much less a book. I went to school in the city where my father worked as a banker. My mother was a housewife and I had a younger sister in grade school. On October 29th 1929 the stock market crashed. A panic ensued and people ran to the bank to find their livelihood consumed, given out to bad loans. That afternoon as I walked in the door I saw the gun pressed to Pops head. After heard the explosion from the barrel, I exploded out the door. I hit the ground running. I arrived at a set of train tracks about five miles out of town. Wheezing and coughing the only solution I could come up with was catching the next train west. I wasn’t alone, five feet down the track I saw a gangly figure in the dusk. The silence was broken with the sound of the whistle and grinding of iron moving across iron. As it approached us ran like hell and vaulted myself into the first boxcar I saw. The gangly figure I had seen, tumbled, too onto wooden floor. From then on me and Jase, that was his name, when everywhere together. He was from Southern Wyoming and his pop had told him to beat it cus “they had too many mouths to feed”. Even though he was 14, two years my junior, he knew more than everyone I met combined. He was headed towards Nevada where he thought his uncle had a farm. He figured that he could always trade labor for some shelter and food, plus that was the best deal he had going. He taught me how to judge if a train was going to fast too jump on, and how to make a secret pocket in your jacket to hide money. One too many times, Jase and I were beaten up by others, when we refused to give them what little money or food we had. However most of the people we met were kind. They would tell us the places to go to get food and where the bulls wouldn’t check. Some where along the Texas border we found a camp that offered us a fire and mulligan’s stew. We stumbled to the outskirts of town and we dragged ourselves to a crowd of makeshifts tents and a fire. As I collapsed on to a log near the fire, I happened to look up. I don’t know if it was the exhaustions or the hunger but when I looked up I could of sworn I saw Lillian Gish standing in front of me. Her real name was Jackie but she was the second girl ever was struck by. With a few choice words and scowls Jase allowed her to accompany us across the country to Nevada.
The weather turned cool. Judging from the changing temperature I figured it had been two months since I had left. Many nights I was restlessly wondering what happened to my mother and my sister. Every time I tried to imagine them safe and sound I felt a sickness in my stomach and a burning in my eyes. About mid January I figured, Me Jase and Jackie hopped out of the boxcar hoping to catch the final train that would put us in Nevada. As we lay in wait Jase saw lights but it was too late. Two bulls grabbed us and two more encircled Jackie from behind. The fifth held a pistol level and ordered us empty our pockets and remove our caps. When we did as told, we had six cigarettes, a bag of dried apricots and five cents between the three of us. After taking the cigs and the five cents they told me and Jase to scram. Jackie began fighting like a wildcat and I threw myself at the bull pinning her arms. The bull’s fist landed square on jaw, staggering me to my knees. Eyes blurred, I heard the whistle and the grinding of wheels. Amongst the bull’s voices and Jackie’s screams, Jase pulled me up and we pitched forward, running. Jase heaved himself on the boxcar first, and then pulled me up a second after. My head swam with confusion, but after I realized what happened I bolted towards the open door. Jase tackled me back pinning me against the floor. My chest tightened and my throat choked up. I sat there with Jase’s hand on my back, crying the whole way into Nevada. We didn’t speak the whole time, just sat there staring at miles of dusty landscape. When we arrived at the town where Jase’s uncle lived, I said goodbye. He cocked his head and asked me where I was going. I told him I had no choice but to go find out what had happened to Mother and my little sister. I told him I would write and he just laughed saying he could barley remember his ABC’s. We parted ways and I started down the dirt road towards home.

A LONG WAY FROM HOME (JULIA)
May 16th, 1930
I left home today. I told Henry to take good care of Pa. I didn’t say goodbye to Ma or Pa. I just left in the night and hiked 14 miles through the dust to Thomas County, Nebraska. I left a note, though. I said I loved them. I said I was praying for Pa and I said that hopefully my leaving would help make it easier for him to get better. One less mouth to feed. Everyone else but me and Henry had already left. My four brothers and my sister. My oldest brother, Jim, was 18 when he left. That was when it had started getting bad. Pa had just started getting sick and couldn’t work no more. My next oldest brother, Timmy, left when he lost his job and no longer could help support. Then my sister left to go live with our Aunt Annie out in Arizona. I didn’t know we had an Aunt Annie, but Ma said we did. My sister had just turned 14. She made me promise to stay behind until I was older, thinking I wouldn’t be able to survive out on the rails. One day Pa got real sick and my brother Johnny was gone the next morning. More food for Pa, Ma, and me and Henry. There hadn’t been no rain and the crop was really suffering. I tried to not eat as much and save more for Pa and Ma and little Henry. They needed it more than me. Pa was starting to not look as bad, but still not good. I knew it was my time to go. Don’t ask me how I knew. I just knew. I grabbed up an old flour sack and stuffed the few clothes I owned in it. I took thirty cents from the stash I had under my pillow and left the remaining dollar for Ma and Pa. It wouldn’t do much, but it was my way of thanking them for raising me and giving me food and a place to live for so long. I almost forgot… Today, I turned 12.
August 9th, 1930
I’ve been on the rails for almost three months now. I can feel that my clothes are baggier. My arms look much skinnier too. The hobo life ain’t that bad, but I sure do miss home. I met a boy just like me not long ago. We even kinda look alike. Some people think we’re brothers. As a pair they called us JJ. He’s Jay and I’m Joe. We’re about the same height, both with blonde hair and broad shoulders. I just learned that he was 16. Guess I look lots older than I am. Had to grow up at a young age. Before I left, I never thought I’d ever travel this much. Now, I’ve been all over the country. I’d been tryna stay north to avoid the summer heat, but really I just go where the rails take me. I let the rails guide me. I guess they point me in the direction of where I oughta go. Maybe they’re leading me to a better life. Where there’s more to eat than stinkin’ mulligan stew. I wish I could go back home. But I know they’re better off without me. Best be off, here comes the next train! Prayin’ for no nasty bulls and a nice smooth ride right on till California.

ALONE (SARAH)
He lied.
At
At home, I with him.
We was goin to hop the rails and head out to California. California was goin to be great, sunshine and warm weather all the time. Johnny said we could get jobs working on a farm. He said he had friends that did that. We were going to be all set. We would start our own family. Johnny said we would be happy. Johnny lied.
I snuck out late one night after Pa had passed out from drinkin too much whisky. The house was quiet. I left with the clothes on my back, some socks, a pair of worn out brown pants and a black shirt all rolled up in an old tattered blanket. I stole the $2.47 that Ma had hidden in the cookie jar. She always said it was there for emergencies, I figured this was one. I left her a note. I told her I loved her and I was sorry; but, I wasn’t coming back. Johnny was my family now. He told me we would need that money to start our new life together. He lied.

ALONE (SARAH)
My name is Sue Ellen, I’m seventeen years old and I am alone. I left Des Moines, Iowa on September 20, 1931. I thought I had everythin all figured out, boy was I wrong. My boyfriend, Johnny and I were goin to be happy. We were leavin this sorry little town and never lookin back. Johnny was my hero, my protector, he promised me he was all the family and I would be needin. He lied.
At home, I cried myself to sleep every night. I can still hear the angry yells of Ma and Pa. Pa hated us kids. He always was sayin, “ Too many damn kids, too many mouths to feed not enough food.” I heard that same sorry song night after night. Pa started drinking after he lost his job at the store. He got mean and loud. When he started hitting Ma and my brothers, I knew it was time for me to get out. That’s how Johnny convinced me to leave with him.
We was goin to hop the rails and head out to California. California was goin to be great, sunshine and warm weather all the time. Johnny said we could get jobs working on a farm. He said he had friends that did that. We were going to be all set. We would start our own family. Johnny said we would be happy. Johnny lied.
I snuck out late one night after Pa had passed out from drinkin too much whisky. The house was quiet. I left with the clothes on my back, some socks, a pair of worn out brown pants and a black shirt all rolled up in an old tattered blanket. I stole the $2.47 that Ma had hidden in the cookie jar. She always said it was there for emergencies, I figured this was one. I left her a note. I told her I loved her and I was sorry; but, I wasn’t coming back. Johnny was my family now. He told me we would need that money to start our new life together. He lied.
We walked to the railroad, holding hands in the moonlight. This was our fresh start; all those bad memories were in the past. That night we jumped a freight headed for Kansas City. We sat huddled together to keep warm. There was about ten other kids already in that same boxcar. They called themselves the Boxcar Boys. They had lots of stories, some were funny, some were sad, some were exciting; but, some of their stories scared me to my toes. They told us all about the railroad bulls, how we had to be careful so we wouldn’t get caught. They told us how to steal food so we wouldn’t go hungry. They told us how to jump the rails and hang on so we wouldn’t end up like so many of their friends who had died. I was scared but Johnny said it would be okay. He lied.
We made it to Kansas City. Johnny liked being with the Boxcar Boys. They laughed, talked, and told each other stories. They played cards to pass the time. I tried to get Johnny to talk to me or just sit with me but he pushed me away. We were staying in the railroad yard. I was hungry, dirty, and tired. I cried myself to sleep. It brought me back to my narrow bed listening to Ma and Pa fight again. I missed my Ma and my brothers. Johnny told me to shut up.
I woke up just as the sun was coming up. I looked around no one was there. Johnny and the Boxcar Boys were gone. I quickly grabbed for my pack, looked for my socks. They were gone and so was my $2.47. I had nothing, I am alone. I cried for that whole day and the next four. Waiting, watching, lookin for Johnny. I told myself Johnny would come back for me, He wouldn’t leave me like this, but Johnny lies.
That’s when I started walkin. My name is Sue Ellen, I’m 17 years old. I have no home and nowhere to go. I am alone.