Episode 12: The Hobo with a House

Note: Before I get into Episode 12: The Hobo with a House, I’d like to thank you for listening and for subscribing. If you like what I’m doing, please subscribe. Email questions and comments to dirtysacred@gmail.com. At the end of the episode I’m going to talk a little about the Patreon account I set up for the podcast. But for now – The Hobo with a House.



Dirty Face owned a house in one of the older neighborhoods in Oakland, CA.  In the day and a half I stayed with him, he complained more than a dozen times that he was not able to will his father’s house to some organization that would maintain it as the repository of hobo and labor history he’d turned it into over the years. The walls were covered with posters, protest signs, wobbly swag dating back to his childhood and some before – and Dirty Face was retirement age. In the basement, he kept a bedroll, almost like a shrine, that belonged to an old bo named Road Dog, long since passed into the great divide,  who was a singer, song writer, and song collector of the kind that are increasingly rare these days – my friend JP is the only one I can think of offhand. He also had Road Dog’s songbook… a 6 inch binder full of hand scrawled songs, poems and notes that I would have gladly poured over if I’d had time. There was also an old railroad tie that he let anyone sign who had ever hopped a car. I watched my new friend Gil sign it – with a somewhat pensive hand – because he HAD hopped a train, albeit briefly. I think Gil was surprised it counted.



Dirty Face offered to let me sleep in Road Dog's bed roll that night, and while I was sorely tempted, just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right in the same way taking communion didn’t feel right when I stopped carrying around my childhood religion. I’ve never hopped a train, and though I do roam quite a bit, I didn’t think being a rubber tramp passed muster for such an honor.



Dirty Face inherited the house from his father and the rabble rousing from his mother. The train hopping was all his own. He still lived in the house, but didn’t cook, so he left every day for his meals and to buy the 3 40 ounce beers that was also part of his daily ritual. “No more, no less,” he said. At the time, I was drinking a fair amount myself, so I felt at home and felt like I’d found one more of my people. He told me he’d been married, but that she died. He was technically retired, because when he wasn’t hopping trains, he used to work as a nurse’s aide at an area hospital. 



Now this was a thing I’d never heard of. Not only was he a hobo with a house, but he’d been in a happy marriage and worked a day job. I asked him a lot of what seemed like probably odd questions about it all; I was trying to figure out myself if I could go out on my jaunts and maintain a happy married life. Amanda and I were shacked up at that point, and against all probability, she said yes when I asked her to marry me. I knew three things at that point: I wanted Amanda in my life, I had to write, and I needed to spend a considerable amount of time in motion.  I needed to know that it could work, and Dirty Face, without realizing, had let me know that, yes, it could. His wife had known about his itchy foot when they got together. Amanda knew about mine. And the root of that happy marriage: mutual respect. That also meant not making any demands on the other. And yes, Dirty Face assured me, it worked both ways.



We talked late into the night, and the following morning, before my friend JP came and fetched me for the day’s activities, I walked down to the convenient store with him while he bought his 3 40’s for the day, and he showed me around the neighborhood. He pointed out where some skin heads had spray painted some anti-Semitic slogans.  He pointed to another where some other skin heads – or maybe the same skin heads --  beat up a little old man and got away with it. It can be hard to see what goes on in the world and think we have any chance at changing it.



But then I remember why I was out there in the first place. I met my friend JP out there to participate in a conference between railroad workers and environmentalists to talk about this thing that’s getting a lot of attention now thanks to the Green New Deal – this thing called “just transition.” 4 years ago, hardly anyone had heard of such thing, and they hadn’t ever heard of railroaders and environmentalists getting in the room together to talk about it with open minds and level heads, either. But that happened. So, I try and remember that we’re just as capable of good things as we are bad. Some days it doesn’t help. Right at this moment, it helps a little.



Thanks again for listing to this episode of a Record of a pair of well-worn traveling boots. If you're listening and haven't subscribed yet, please do. It helps me know that you really, really like the episodes. And if you really DO like the podcast, consider becoming a patron. You can find the link to the new Patreon page on our Facebook page, www.facebook.com back slash wellwornboots. If you're on Patreon already look for us at  back slash wellwornboots. For $5 a month, patrons get some pretty neat bonus access and sweet nothings from me. Thanks.



Be sure to subscribe through whatever pod catcher you found us on. Check out our previous episodes if you haven't already. I drop a new episode every other Monday. You can find me on Twitter and Instagram... the handle is dirtysacred. Thanks again for listening. And may the road always rise to meet your feet.