KaBar2

I retired November 6. I've been busting ass trying to take care of a million different things ever since--talking to Social Security, trying to sell a car, giving away possessions, furniture, canned food, etc., etc. I'm getting to be on a first name basis with the guys who work the Donations door at Salvation Army. I spent a few nights in Sally Ann missions and I bought a bunch of stuff at their Thrift Stores, so now it's my turn to give. I gave about twenty 5-gallon square bucket containers of wheat, corn, rice and beans to Open Door Mission a couple of weeks ago. The Straight Life kind of creeps up on you, little by little. Twenty-two years ago, I knew that if I didn't get a straight job that paid well and allowed me to build up a retirement fund I was going to be in deep shit at age sixty-six. I chose to go to nursing school. It was a good job that paid well, pretty clean, not too dangerous, indoors in the air-conditioning and offered good retirement benefits. Nursing had it's downsides for sure, but it was good to me and my family. I went from unskilled or semi-skilled industrial labor to a "professional" career. It allowed me to provide a decent living for my family and to send my daughter to college. Nursing was a shit ton better than getting burned every day, breathing that stinking-ass cancer welding smoke, doing welding and heavy equipment repair in the stinky, filthy dirty, hot-and-humid-as-fuck Texas weather. No more coming home dead tired covered in dirt and filth. No more swinging a sledge hammer in the Texas summer heat at 43 years old. I got a two-year degree as an R.N. and I did twenty years as an adolescent psychiatric nurse. It was hard as shit, but at least I wasn't laying in the mud welding on some goddamned bulldozer. I think I helped some kids. At least, I hope I did. I had a fucked up childhood and teenaged years, and I tried to help every kid I came into contact with. I did my twenty, and then I retired. Thank God. As soon as I finish wrapping up all this bullshit with the house, I'm headed back out on the road for a while. I'm sick of the Straight Life, going to work every day, having to kow-tow to people with whom I do not agree just because they are "bosses." No more politically correct BULLSHIT. No more having to play a part with some jackass who is trying to kill himself when he has everything a person could possibly desire. I AM FUCKING DONE WITH THE STRAIGHT-ARROW LIFE. From here on out, I am doing exactly whatever I want to do. Anybody who doesn't like it can go get fucked, because I am absolutely, completely DONE.

I've still got quite a few things to do before I'm truly free of the Shackles. I have a houseful of shit to dispose of. I have to sell the house and a couple of cars. I gave my ratty-ass Harley to my nephew. He's all happy, and says he's going to re-build it. I used to take him for Harley rides when he was about eleven or so, back in 1989. He's like 38. The perfect age to want to re-build a rat Harley into a thing of beauty. I'd love to meet you guys. It's weird--it's like I've had a fifteen-year relationship with people I've never even met. Once I get done with the "chores," maybe I can come kick it for a while. We can sit down by the mainline and hoist a few beers. "Retirement" is a funny way to put it. I feel like I'm getting out of jail after a long stretch. Back to Real Life. Fifteen days to go. Tomorrow I give notice I'm quitting, officially. It's kind of like, once you do that, you're committed to a course of action. No backing out. No fishtailing. I'm pullin' the pin. Last day: November the 6th.

Thank you for your kind words, but I hardly think this is the best thread on the internet. It's really odd, because as a kid I was hard-headed as shit, and I did not like to take advice or any kind of direction from anybody, although my parents sure tried. Some of my uncles that I thought were fascist reactionaries back in the day sure seem like they were a lot smarter than I thought, now. But I think it was Old Rufe who influenced me the most. He used to tell me, frequently, "You ain't no tourist. This is serious business. Act like a professional." I thought he was a little crazy back then, but it all makes so much more sense now. Another thing he used to say is, "All we got is honor, and if we ain't got honor, we got nothin'." It didn't mean all that much to me then, but it means more now.

Xen and Fist666-- Twenty-three days to go! From the looks of things I'm going to be tied up here in Houston for a while getting rid of shit. No idea how long it will take me to dispose of all the crap I've accumulated. It's the usual thing: when you're trying to buy something, the seller acts like it's made out of gold, but when you're trying to sell, all your stuff is dog shit. I think Sally Ann is going to get a big bump in donations. I've got an iPhone 6 with a pretty good camera (it takes videos too) but I don't really know how to use it. I need to find out for sure. Once I finally sell the house here I'm pulling the pin and headed north. I love Texas culture and Texas law, but it is too damned hot down here in the summer. My plan is to live in my van and just go from event to event for a while. In the spring and summer there is a sort of circuit of tramp gatherings and hobo gatherings. I'd like to go to the West Coast Hobo Gathering if it's still being held up in Black Butte. I'd like to go back to Amory, MS and see Miss Charlotte. There are several hobo gatherings I wouldn't mind seeing. My original plan was to just catch out and ride trains, but health problems and so on might make that difficult. I'll just have to see how things go. If I have a good, safe place to park the van, then I can go 40-mile it and use the van as a base of operations. Tuck and Jewell have encouraged me to come visit them up in Minnie and I might do that, too. I have a cousin in Wisconsin, and good friends in Washington State, Oregon, and Montana. It's going to take a while just to get used to not having to work. Anyway, I'm definitely looking forward to retirement.

Yup. Retirement is coming up in exactly 30 days. I've still got a bunch of stuff to take care of after I am blessedly no longer required to go to WORK every day. I've got a ton of possessions of which I have to dispose, and I have to sell the house, two motorcycles (not running) a Jeep Cherokee and a Toyota. After I get all that shit done, then I can go travel. I think I'm going to rubber tramp for a while. I've got a paid-off Ford E250 van I'm building out with a bed, etc. in it. Once I find a good, safe place to park it with some friends up in Minneapolis, then I'll probably go ride some trains. I haven't been up on the High Line in a long time. I'd like to go see it again.

Yeah, I'm missing Stretch and Burlington too. And you are absolutely correct, Tattoo Slim *is* a stand up tramp. He was the guy who was bringing Stretch food and water towards the end. I can't understand why Stretch didn't take better care of himself.

Here's a photo of the Old Heads. These old guys were a lot tougher than they look. They're all steam-train-era tramps. http://uni.edu/carrchl/wp/allaboard/wp-content/uploads/sites/6/2014/12/Figure-291-1024x666.jpg

There are a lot of disturbed people who are homeless and/or riding trains. There is a distinct dichotomy between people who have made "being homeless" a sort of career and true rail riding tramps. There is somewhat of a "crossover" between true rail riding tramps and rubber tramps, especially between train riders and the hard-core "van dwellers" (also spelled "vandwellers" by some people.) As tramps get older, the thrill of riding the rails loses a lot of its allure, but the freewheeling lifestyle does not. Not too many of the down-and-out "homeless careerists" ever make the jump to a somewhat more normal lifestyle. A large percentage of the homeless are mentally ill and they are self-medicating their mental illness symptoms with street drugs and alcohol. Once addicted, it's really difficult for them to make the change back to a more-or-less normal life. If you thought that the woman yelling rape was an actual rape victim, then you should get her some help, call the cops, whatever you can do. One of the biggest problems for homeless people is that the police hardly ever take the crimes committed against them seriously. It's entirely possible that the woman you saw actually was raped, but the conditions she persists on living in make criminal actions against her awfully likely. (Not that that makes any difference morally or legally. Legally she should be accorded the exact same care as a wealthy person from the rich side of town, but realistically? Realistically, if she gets blackout drunk every day of her life, or shoots up heroin, or works part time as a hooker, the cops are not going to take her claims very seriously. She might have been raped twenty years ago and is still traumatized over it. There's no way for you to know if she was actually raped or if she is some lunatic borderline trying to get attention. I'm glad somebody called the cops to get her some help. I wouldn't be a police officer for anything. What a fucked up job. Tons of danger, tons of responsibility, tons of vulnerability and the pay pretty much sucks, not to mention everybody in society resents you. What a lousy job.

We buried Stretch Wilson on Saturday, August 14, 2016. As per our agreement with his mother, he received a Catholic burial service (performed by the Catholic priest from St. Weneslas' Church in Duncan, Iowa, five miles east of Britt.) He also received a traditional tramp burial. We wet down the grave and the urn with warm Beast Ice and closed the grave by each tramp present dropping hand-fulls of dirt into the grave. Indiana Hobo, Tattoo Slim and I dug the grave on Friday and we finished closing it on Saturday after everybody who wanted to do so got an opportunity to contribute a handful of dirt. There were about fifty tramps in attendance, pretty much every tramp that knew Stretch and could get to Britt. It was a good funeral. I also attended the Catholic mass said in his honor, along with about ten tramps from the crowd at the graveside service. I figure my bro Stretch is hanging out in a jungle in the Great Beyond with Burlington by his side, tipping a couple of Milwaukee's Best Ice and having a good laugh at our expense. Ride easy, brother.

John “Stretch” Wilson 2008 National Hobo King, Rail-riding Expert, End-to-End Leash Companion with Burlington Dog, Crumb Boss Time and Again, Friend to Hundreds across the USA, and Towering Jack-of-Many-Trades with a Heart of Gold will be buried in Britt, Iowa during the 116th National Hobo Convention. Plans are as follows: Monday, August 10 to Wednesday, August 12 - Friends may sign the container in which Stretch’s remains will be placed for burial. Please see Connecticut Tootsie Friday, August 12 @ 9:00 AM - The container holding Stretch’s ashes will be at his headstone and honored with all other westbound hobos at the Hobo Memorial Service in Evergreen Cemetery. Saturday, August 13 @ 2:45 PM – All are welcome to attend the Christian Burial Service for Stretch at the National Hobo Cemetery. Later that afternoon, Stretch will be remembered during the 4:00 PM Mass at St. Wenceslaus Catholic Church, 2343 Navy Avenue in Duncan, Iowa. This is five minutes from Britt, just off Route 18. Connecticut Tootsie

The word "bum" is an insult, EUCN. You probably don't know that though. "Tramps" is okay. "Hobos" is okay. "Bums" is fightin' words. Be cautious calling a trainhopper a bum. It's not cool, but I'm sure you meant no disrespect.

Rolling Nowhere! How ya been, tramp? Long time no see.

arty101-- I agree with you completely, vandalizing any part of railroad property is just completely uncool. It is like a pebble being thrown into a pool--the consequences go out farther and farther from the initial act. In years past, the railies and train crews were almost always friendly to tramps, but with people deliberately destroying shit on units and stealing shit it is becoming rarer and rarer to find a sympathetic railie. The train crews ESPECIALLY resent vandalism of the units, so much so that the only sane thing for tramps to do is make possession of a cut-out seat "patch" a punishable offense. These people who thrash units don't give a shit about anybody but themselves. They see themselves as outlaws and "fuck everybody else." Since they don't give a shit about the rest of us, then I think we should "don't give a shit" about THEM. THEY ARE MAKING THE RAILROAD WORKERS HATE US. I absolutely cannot understand why anybody would be so fucking stupid as to vandalize a unit. You want to hit rusty-ass boxcars and grainers and shit, be my guest. BUT UNITS ARE OFF-LIMITS.

Anybody who builds a fire in a rolling boxcar, or who uses a fusee to heat water or cook in a rolling boxcar is taking a huge risk. Any bright light in a boxcar with open doors lights up the doorways like the Fourth of July. A fire would almost certainly trip a hotbox alarm trackside if it burned for very long, not to mention a boxcar rolling down the track pouring smoke out the doors. Bad idea. I've never done it and I certainly don't recommend it. But, you know, people do all kinds of crazy shit and get away with it!

I LOVE DAVE BARRY'S MUSIC. And I love Seasick Steve's crazy ass too.

FR8HOUND, we're going to bury Stretch's ashes up in the National Hobo Cemetery in Britt, Iowa this August at the Convention. If you can make it I'd sure like to see you and Stretch's other friends up there. The woman who was elected Queen the year Stretch was elected King, Connecticut Tootsie, has his ashes and she will be bringing them to Britt for the internment. If you can make it, please come on up, ready to camp out. As you know, there's no motels or hotels anywhere near Britt. Closest ones are in Mason City or Algona and during the week of Hobo Days they are usually booked up solid with tourists. Be sure to bring a bathing suit. We'll go swimming in the quarry.

Brother, I'd love to. I've got 238 days to go, and I'm hoping to strike off these slave chains and catch the first thing smokin'.

Thanks for the kind words, Swordfish Meatloaf. It kind of freaks me out a little that this thread has run for so long. My goal was always trying to educate young people who were dead-set on catching out already, so they wouldn't make as many mistakes. After so many years, almost certainly the young kids of 2001 have gone on to become the old heads of 2015, and I hope they have been teaching the new kids they run across the proper way to ride trains and how to live a free hobo life as a decent human being. The Rules are simple, if only people would follow them they would be 100% safer.

It is my sad duty to report that my friend and rail-riding buddy, Stretch Wilson, passed away in Arizona on November 9, 2015. I spoke with him on the phone sometime in late October or early November. He sounded good. He hadn't been drinking, but he told me he had a cold. He said that he was thinking of coming to Houston to winter over at Eureka JCT. It wasn't unusual for me to only hear from Stretch once a month or so, or sometimes even less. He had been staying occasionally in a Motel 6 where he had made some friends. He had contracted a severe respiratory illness (MRSA, by one report) and had been sick all fall. Due to the weather turning cold, his friends at the motel offered him a room, but Stretch turned it down and went back down to his jungle. The next day, the Motel 6 manager was worried about him, and went down to Stretch's jungle to check on him, and found him dead in his tent. Stretch was probably the most adept and skillful railroad tramp I ever met. He had his flaws and his weaknesses. He drank too much and would not accept any of the offers to help him get sober. He worked when he could and he flew a sign when he couldn't get work. He was a good campfire cook, and an excellent railroad navigator. Stretch probably rode well over a million miles in his thirty years on the rails. He was a good friend to me, and I'm sure going to miss him. RIP Stretch Wilson

It is my sad duty to report that my friend and rail-riding buddy, Stretch Wilson, passed away in Arizona on November 9, 2015. I spoke with him on the phone sometime in late October or early November. He sounded good. He hadn't been drinking, but he told me he had a cold. He said that he was thinking of coming to Houston to winter over at Eureka JCT. It wasn't unusual for me to only hear from Stretch once a month or so, or sometimes even less. He had been staying occasionally in a Motel 6 where he had made some friends. He had contracted a severe respiratory illness (MRSA, by one report) and had been sick all fall. Due to the weather turning cold, his friends at the motel offered him a room, but Stretch turned it down and went back down to his jungle. The next day, the Motel 6 manager was worried about him, and went down to Stretch's jungle to check on him, and found him dead in his tent. Stretch was probably the most adept and skillful railroad tramp I ever met. He had his flaws and his weaknesses. He drank too much and would not accept any of the offers to help him get sober. He worked when he could and he flew a sign when he couldn't get work. He was a good campfire cook, and an excellent railroad navigator. Stretch probably rode well over a million miles in his thirty years on the rails. He was a good friend to me, and I'm sure going to miss him. RIP Stretch Wilson

art101--Sorry about the delay in responding, I've been busy and didn't check 12 Oz. for a few days. Thanks for the kind words. I've got about nine months or so until I can retire and I'm hoping to go back on the road at least for a while. Digihitch was shut down after the founder passed away and I didn't care for the new format they adopted. These kinds of forums come and go. Nothing good lasts forever, and neither does anything bad. It's all ephemeral. Enjoy the good stuff while it's here and ignore the bad shit. It will go away eventually. Best regards! See you down the road.

As of today, I have 288 days to go before retirement. That's about nine and a half months, more or less. Seems like forever.

Sad news to report. My father passed away yesterday at age 90. He and I had our differences, but we still loved each other. He was in the U.S. Army Air Corps during WWII, before it became the Air Force. He told me once he always wanted to go ride freight trains when he was young, but he never did it. He was born in 1924, and was a little boy during the worst of the Great Depression. He grew up in the north Texas Panhandle, in the town of Canyon, but lived in Houston most of his life. He was a commercial artist when I was a kid, and became a "fine artist" after he retired. RIP, Dad.

Here's another photo of Iowa Blackie in his prime. http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LL-Rp2wMdIg/UCq7IXfwk5I/AAAAAAAAIas/pIeflAd-oR8/s1600/Sturgis%2B2012%2B200.jpg.

Thank you for finding this video, Xen. This is very much the way I remember it, back in 1970. I think that we may never see the likes of men like Steam Train Maury Graham, and the Hard Rock Kid, and Pennsylvania Kid, and Lord Open Road, and Fry Pan Jack, and Feather River John, and Connecticut Slim and all the rest of the bridgers ever again. Lord, I miss the old guys. When they died off, it like to killed the younger tramps. It was like having your father die. I miss old Rufe a lot, and I'd give anything to just be able to talk to him one more time. He was a mean old cuss, but he was a good tramp, and he treated me kindly back when I was a wet-behind-the-ears nineteen-year-old traveler, trying to learn how to catch out..