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Just checking in.  Looks like this thread is pretty dead--not much traffic.   I am thinking about heading to Salt Lake City.  Anybody live out there?

Some crazy rando on the side of the tracks playing with his nipple piercings in 35 degree weather. 

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Of the people featured in that clip, I knew Dog Man and New York Slim. I met New York Slim up at the National Hobo Convention one year. He had a little bitty dog that he called "Stewpot." Dog Man Tony was one of the original Boxcar Boys Ranch tramps. The "Ranch" was a house in Staples, Minnesota. It's still there but I don't think anybody is residing there at present. All of the original BBR tramps have passed away except for King Frog, Tuck and Dante Fuchwha. Preacher Steve, Space Man John, Shot Down Wills, Eight-Ball, Dog Man and several more that don't spring to mind are gone. Steve and Space Man pooled their money to buy the Ranch and all their brother tramps contributed to the operating expenses. They wintered there in Staples, on the High Line, for a lot of years. Dog Man was a hard case when he was young, but when he got older he retired from the rails. Those guys were not snowbirds. They rode the High Line winter and summer, and it is cold as a motherfucker in the winter. They lived a hard life--no quarter, no surrender.

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Yo Xen,

You probably been asked nuff time's before but do you know where the hell i can watch long gone online? Been waiting to see that for a long time but can only find the trailor.

Btw you ever checked railroad semantics zine by Aaron Dactyl? I just got the box set of 4 issues for £10.00...pretty sweet deal i thought.

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  • 2 months later...

I have heard from several tramps that I usually see up at the National Hobo Convention in Britt. They say they are going to go to Amory this year. So many of the old heads have passed away, it's kind of disheartening. I am encouraged that people are making an effort to make Amory. I've only attended once before and we had a good time, so I hope this year is a good one. Like at Britt, the railroad special agents and the local police and sheriff's deputies are generally out in force. Riding a train into Amory is very difficult to do without getting busted. Generally speaking, people who ride a train to Amory aim for Tupelo, then hitch that last 35 miles or so.

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  • 3 weeks later...

I just returned from the Amory Railroad Festival in Amory, Mississippi. It was held April 6,7,8 and 9, 2017. I'm rubber tramping these days--I've got a van built out with a bed made of 2x4's, a foam mattress and and a folding card table. What a drive! 1,025 miles each way. Seems like a long drive just to camp out in the parking lot of a police station, ha ha. Home town boy Trent Harmon, who won the American Idol competition last year, was the headliner on Friday night, and the Lone Star Band played country on Saturday night, There were some other groups as well, of course, and two stages in different areas of "downtown" Amory. The weather was surprisingly mild, almost chilly Tues, Weds and Thurs. Friday it started getting warm during the day and Sat and Sun were cloudless and blistering hot with almost no humidity in the day, and chilly at night. Amory had about twenty different churches cooking barbecue, burgers, hot dogs, catfish, ribs, etc., and of course, the famous Amory apple fritters. One lady told us she drove 60 miles just to buy some apple fritters. It's a huge event for that part of Mississippi, and four or five times as large as the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa. Friday night after the "food court" area closed down for the night, a couple of guys from churches brought us a bag of apple fritters, some boiled potatoes and some ears of corn-on-the-cob, but no barbecue ribs or chicken, like in years past. Saturday night I guess they forgot all about us, but one church cut their prices to $2 for any sandwich and we tanked up on burgers, hot dogs and chicken sandwiches.

 

I didn't go down to the amusement park rides area, but there was a large carnival in town, with all the usual stuff like a Ferris wheel, Tilt-A-Whirl, a "vomit comet" and so on. There were quite a few rides designed for smaller children. It was all lit up as carnivals usually are, with a zillion colored lights and the usual canned music. I don't think they had a midway, at least I didn't see one.

 

In times past we've had as many as 60 tramps in Amory for the RR festival, but this year there were only ten--National Hobo King Ricardo, Virginia Slim and Cathy, Hobo SLC, Medicine Man and Daisy Sue, me, Fredy the German, another guy I didn't know and of course, Hobo Queen Miss Charlotte, who lives in Amory. Charlotte very graciously put up those who did not bring a vehicle in which they could sleep in her and the late Loco Larry's "hobo hotel" sheds.

 

King Ricardo, Hobo SLC and I were vandwelling and got festival passes from the city so we could camp in a parking lot near the steam locomotive. Unfortunately our parking spots were right next to a police & sheriff disaster response trailer--good in a way, because we could tap into their shore power electric, but the radio chatter was kind of annoying late at night. The cops were very nice, though.

 

Nobody was able to ride a train in, and nobody even pitched a tent or rolled out in the "jungle" next to the locomotive. BNSF had brought in several bulls and we had Amory city cops, Monroe County sheriff's deputies and BNSF railroad bulls all over the Amory yards. I don't think even that legendary rail ghost, Stretch Wilson, could have ridden a train in. There were plenty of gendarmes, although I saw no arrests, despite the size of the crowd--at least 10,000, I'd guess. The park was packed.

 

SLC showed King Ricardo and me where the Amory City Water Department is, and Friday we hiked down to take a shower. They told us they told us they weren't allowing hobos to shower there any more, but when I asked them if they could spare a clean 5-gallon bucket for us to bathe in, and since we had already walked all the way down there, they let us shower anyway. SLC and Ricardo scrubbed up, but I passed, having already washed up in the brand-spankin' new city park bathrooms next to the Amory fire station.

 

It was good to see everybody again, I hadn't seen anyone since last August at Britt. It was especially good to see Fredy the German, who flew into Miami from Germany and rented a car to get to Amory. (Now that's what I call a dedicated tramp.)

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hell yeah shame on me for letting em rio me off more than once.

 

TheProtester go ahead and google "Homebum"

 

Can't call your self a homebum and say you ride frieghts no such thing. Freight hopperd look out for each other...homebums don't do shit but lounge and fly signs head back under their tressel or whatever bridge and beat off.

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what about a former rider? i stay at home now, don't do much, therefore homebum. never ripped anyone off, look out for the riders as much as i can and do not mind the term homebum.

 

i been ripped off by full time riders as well as local junkies. there's good and bad in all levels of social structures.

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  • 5 weeks later...

We always called a guy living a regular life and staying in one place a "home guard." The term "homebum" came into use about twenty years ago to describe run-of-the-mill homeless people, but not tramps or people living a regular life. Homeguard isn't (or wasn't intended to be) a pejorative term. The term "homebum" seems like an insult to my ear, but I don't know. I know that among tramps with whom I've ridden, the term "bum" is fightin' words.

Language changes. My whole life the place where people wait to board trains was called the "catch-out." Lately I see people referring to it as a "hop out." I don't know why, but it grates on my ear.

 

We used to talk about "hopping freights" but that doesn't seem to be current usage any more. Things change. For some reason that escapes me, I hate to see that occurring. I prefer the Old School way.

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  • 1 month later...

For those of you who have been to the National Hobo Convention in the last sixteen years, I have sad news.

 

Minneapolis Jewell's and Tuck's college freshman granddaughter, Angie Dirty Feet, has passed away unexpectedly. Angie attended many Hobo Conventions in Britt over the years. She first started coming as a toddler and ran around bare-footed, which is when the tramps tagged her with "Angie Dirty Feet." She will be buried in the National Hobo Cemetery next to Charmin' Harmon, who was a mentally-challenged man who attended every Convention with Jewell and Tuck. He was a client of Jewell's and resided at Jewell's care home. Angie knew Harmon her whole life.

 

Britt will not be the same without beautiful Angie Dirty Feet. She is mourned big time. Such a tragic loss.

 

Her remains will be buried at the Convention this August, as is our custom.

 

From the Hobo Grapevine:

 

"Angelina Marie Bergstrom, known as "Angie Dirty Feet" of Northeast Minneapolis, passed away unexpectedly on Thursday, June 15, 2017. She was 16 years old.

 

Angelina was a beautiful young woman who loved her pets and spending time at Logan Park. She was a junior counselor at Camp Bovey where she loved spending time with kids. She will be greatly missed.

 

Angelina is survived by her mother, Sarah Porrazzo; father, Scott Bergstrom; brother , Zachary; sister, Brittany; grandmothers, Julianna (and Tuck) Porrazzo-Ray and Sandy Relyea; great-grandmother, Shirley (Earl) Porrazzo; favorite cat, "Six"; other loving family and friends.

 

Memorial Gathering at 12:00 noon on Thursday, June 22nd at Billman~Hunt Funeral Chapel with visitation beginning at 11:00 a.m.

 

2701 Central Avenue NE Minneapolis, MN 55418

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  • 1 month later...

National Hobo Convention coming up, the second full weekend in August, August 10-11-12-13 in Britt, Iowa. Britt is about 30 miles west of Mason City, Iowa, on Route 18. Free camping, and the jungle feeds two free meals a day (breakfast and dinner.) It ain't fancy, but it's free! Limited spots for RV's or vans. Limited shore power hook-ups. No blackwater pump out stations available. Britt has no Greyhound service, so if you are on a bus, the nearest terminal is in the Mason City airport, east of I-35 on Route 18. Both the Mason City cops and the railroad special agents increase surveillance of the Mason City yard for several days before and after the Convention. Riding in on a train is all but impossible (only one person that I know of has successfully done it in the last twelve or fifteen years, and that was Stray Cat Julie from Canada.) "It ain't real, but it's still fun."

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I'm not sure if this topic is cool here or not, but when I'm in the yards, I see tramps occasionally. I see graff artists occasionally. Usually, I don't see ANYBODY, not even yard workers. There is a big difference between Hobos and Tramps. There are really very few hobos left. Modern tramps consider hobos to be the old timers from the steam train days of the Great Depression. There are a few of them still alive. Steam Train Maury Graham in Napoleon, Ohio, is one of the best known hobos in America. (He rode back in the late 1940s and '50s. He's in his eighties now, but he still goes to hobo conventions once in a while. The best known convention is the second weekend in August every year, in Britt, Iowa. It's on Route 18, 35 miles west of Mason City, Iowa.)

Hobos travel to work. Tramps travel to not work. Bums can't work or travel, they just get high and drink. And "homeless" people have an attitude problem. I lived outdoors for months at a time, and I never once felt like I was "homeless." Wherever I was, that was "home." I treated it with respect. I saw a hand-lettered sign in a jungle that said, "Serious Tramps Keep A Clean Camp." I believe that, too. The guy that taught me to hop freights, Rufe, said it many times. "You ain't no bum. We keep a clean camp here. Pick that trash up off the ground and burn it." Rufe called that having a "straight-up tramp attitude." All business, no sloppy behavior. Being homeless is not about being POOR. It's about being WHIPPED DOWN and NO-ACCOUNT. There's no reason to go around all filthy and dirty. I lived outside with everything I owned in a ruck sack. I still took a spit bath every day and cleaned up and washed my clothes. The people that do that sort of shit (go for days without bathing or cleaning themselves up) are mentally ill, for real. I don't believe in panhandling. Working like a squeegee tramp is okay, but no begging, and no stealing. That sort of shit lacks dignity. (Gotta go. Be back later.)

reminds me of manson

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