Ridin' the rails

Some time ago I wrote a story in this space about the differences between a hobo, a tramp, and a bum, which sparked a number of stories from our readers.

Betty Noland Lewis knew the difference. She grew up along the Missouri River bluffs in Eastern Jackson County, just above the old Santa Fe Railroad, during the Great Depression. She spoke of the hobo camp just over the hill from the old home place.

“Once in awhile, one of them would wander to the back door looking for work, or possibly a handout,” she said. “Let there be no mistake: A hobo was a migratory worker, a tramp is a migratory non-worker, and a bum is a stationary non-worker. Of the three, hobo was definitely the highest calling.”

There have always been drifters, but the hard times of the 1930s swelled the ranks of the footloose fraternity by the thousands. The trick was to jump a slow-moving freight, but any misstep meant a fall beneath the wheels. Accidents claimed the life or limb of many a hobo. Empty boxcars were the desirable means of travel, but they were risky. Boxcars were checked continually by railroad detectives, known as “cinder dicks” or “bulls.” Every hobo knew that if discovered, he risked a severe beating or even being tossed from the moving train. Despite the rags they wore, many hoboes were in fact talented, educated men who prided themselves on earning their way.

My friend, Bill Anthony, who lives in Seattle these days, wrote about growing up along the tracks in the small town before it became Lake City Arsenal.

“Growing up in Lake City in the 1930s,” he said, “I got to see many of the so-called hobos. Some actually wore good suits since they were business men or office workers before the 1929 fiasco. Mom would make ‘fatback’ sandwiches to pass out the back door to a line that formed there every day, as did several of the Lake City housewives.”

“Lake City had a water tank for the train engines, so it was a stopping place for trains to fill their tanks. The ‘cinder dicks’ were there to throw off any bums to keep them out of the already overpopulated railroad yards in Kansas City.”

“The old song ‘All around the Water Tank, Waiting for a Train’ was often sung there, and some had guitars. Us kids liked to go there just to listen to the stories those guys told about their trips across the country. One evening when I was returning from across the tracks with the evening newspaper, I had to wait for a train to pass. After the caboose went by. I saw what looked like a sack full of something lying between the tracks. I was horrified at what I saw when I got closer, it was a torso of a man with his head missing, as well as an arm and leg.”

“The folks called the coroner, who apparently didn’t do a very good job, because the dogs kept dragging in various parts of the man. Quite an experience for a high school freshman! Papers were found that identified the dead man, who had a wife and young child in Kansas City. She said that he had never hopped a train before and was going to St. Louis to look for a job. It was explained by the bulls that the man apparently fell asleep and fell off beneath the train.”

Mr. Anthony went on to say, “This story confirms that many of the so-called railroad bums were not bums at all, but were part of the Great Depression, when we had 30 percent unemployment, anyway your story touched home with me.”



To reach Ted W. Stillwell, send e-mails to teddystillwell@yahoo.com or call him at 816-252-9909.