As you turn off Route 18 south onto the Main street, the first thing that strikes your eyes are two sets of huge silos on either side of the road. Like castle sentries guarding the town, these 6 or 7 stroy high concrete silos are inpossing. they are the town grain co-op silos/graineries.
Right next to the Silos are the train tracks. We drove down the main drag looking at the small town shops and one blinking light at the center of town. This is a small town only 10 blocks by about 15 blocks. It is a town when you go into the local cafe, everyone knows eachother. That is where we headed first, to get some breakfast at MARI-JO'S HOBO HOUSE, where you can get an egg, bacon and toast for $1.99. We sat there listening to thelocal gossip of the town's people and the Hobo's eating there, while we drank coffee.
Sitting on the bench outside was man with his packs. He looked familiar to Hobo Mike and we sat down to talk. Here was Iowa Blackie, who sold us a calendar which he wrote. It was cheap because the year is almost all used up. He was named because of his black hair, which had now turned grey and needed washed. He wore old biker leathers and constantly wrote in a small book. He has an opinion on everything, clearly an intelligent man. He was once Hobo King in 1993.
After talking to Iowa Blackie, we went across the street to the Hobo Museum. The museum was once the movie house, spendid in the 1920's, now all the chairs were removed and displays of Hobo signs, Hobo art, and clothes, packs and shoes. It was interesting. All the hobos were to sign in, so Texas Hobo Mike signed the big book. We got Hobo convention teeshirts there.
The town was a buzz, all sorts of people walking around, Hobos, tramps, town people all smiled at eachother. There is a family feel here. The Hobo jungle was officially opened, so we drove the couple of blocks and parked. The jungle sits east of the main road along the tracks, you could smell the wood smoke of campfires and hear the dogs barking as strangers passed the camp.
The city had moved an old box car to the jungle and had put up a cooking-eating pavillion, which had real bathrooms and showers. A luxury on the road. As we walked the west side of the box car was the tramp camp. Tramps are different from Hobos. Hobos like to travel and will work , and occassionally take a handout if offered. Tramps like to travel and don't work and will freeload as much as possible, and occassionally steal. The tramp camp was mostly made up of younger people, most travel by railsor car. Many had peircings, and tattoos and names like OPPS, ANIMAL,and STRAYCAT. They seemed to all have dogs. This side of the camp was called the sinners camps, because they drank and etc. They had tents or slept in the box car. I talked to many of them and they were nice kids.-mostly 20's.
We mostly hung out by the pavillion where the Hobo were. Most of the Hobo that came here every year , were glad to see old friends. They talked about where they had been and good places to go. They came over to greeted us and before we knew it, we felt like part of the family.
That night, they lit the jungle fire, which like a ceremonial fire burned until the last Hobo left on Monday morning. The Hobo King, Stretch, who is very tall, and Hobo Queen Connecticut Tootsie said some words, they had a moment for all the departed Hobos, who "took the westbound train", and there was music, harmonica, guitar train songs. We left early that day to see about the repairs on the RV.
On friday the main road was shut down for a carnival and flea market. Giant inflatible rides have taken the place of the tilt-a-whirl. It was overcast and the streets were pretty empty. After breakfast at the Hobo House, we went to the jungle and drank coffee and talked. Hobo Mike was telling some of his stories. At 2pm, I was invited to the Ladies Tea. Every year women hobos, tramps, friends, and towns ladies meet at St Patricks church for ice tea and cookies and stories. This is where I met some of the tramp girls and became good friends and all of the Hobo Queens. It sounds like it would be stuffy but it was good home town fun. We laughed at the jokes and I left with a great feeling. I stayed for the Hobo Poetry reading, which were often stories of the road or some Hobo's bad or good luck. I met 2 folks there who had written books of either hobo stories or biographies of hobos. We ate dinner in the jungle. The crum boss, or cook in charge, was a man named Hawk. A short man with thick glasses who somehow managed to cook for maybe 100 people using donated and purchased food. The food was great we had taco's and salad, and coffee. At night people signed up to entertain the group. Each person had 3 songs, some were very professional, some, well needed a little work, but it was all appreiated.
That was Thursday and Friday August 6 and 7. Tomorrow I will finish the story.
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