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Tales from the Rails
Elliot Goldman
I am now 98 years old and I wanted this story about me to live on. I was only 11 years old when both of my parents left me because they didn't have enough money to feed me. I had to work for my money, but the problem was that I had to find a job. I snuck onto box cars hoping that it would take me somewhere where I can get money. Hobos stopped me but they saw that I was so young. They let me stay on the train. If I would of got kicked off I would have definately died of starvation. One train took me all the way to San Francisco where I was going to look for a job. I found one and I got paid 20 cents a week. They gave me food and shelter also. When I got older my pay increased little by little. That is how I survived the depression.
J.D. Miller
It was back in 1958 and the four of us had just gotten out of the mid-night picture show. The rail yards was just a few blocks away and it was warm summer night. We were all about fifteen and never had any of us hopped a fright, but there it was with lots of open boxcars and headed east.
We're in Sherman, Texas and decided right then we'd hop this train and ride to Texarkana, which is about 187 miles away.
It was 1:00AM when we all climbed aboard. It wasn't but just a second or two later the boxcar lurched forward and we were on our way, we thought. Well, the train went about a block or two and then stopped and backed up, then it would pull out again and stop again. This went on until the sun came up, and now we had to run to and fro to keep the brakeman from seeing us in the box car.
It wasn't long before he spotted us and ask where we were going. We told him we were trying to get to Texarkana. He then said, what did you all do, ride over from Wichita Falls. We thought that was a good of answer as we could have thought up, and we told him yes sir, that's where we rode over from. He told us to wait right there that he was going to have to talk with the engineer about us. We figured it was over, but then he came back and told us the engineer wanted to know if we wanted to ride up in the engine, or we could ride in the caboose, or in a boxcar. Like fools we all said "box car."
The brakeman told us to get down and to go to another car as they were going to side track the car we had been in all night. We did and it was just a few minutes and were east bound and down. I mean down, because by now we had been up all night and beginning to get tired. The engineer had sent word to us that we would have a thirty minute stop in Bonham, Texas and we could get off and step over to a little cafe just across the tracks and get something to eat, and he would signal when they were going to pull out with three blast of the whistle. This was better than a bought ticket on the AM Track.
Everything worked smooth as butter on the rails. We got our meal and the whistle sounded three times and we hopped back aboard. It was hot summer time and the breeze was great blowing thru the boxcar doors, but the train never got over forty miles a hour and most of the time it was much slower that forty. We got to Paris, Texas just after lunch and we began to discuss how long it would take to get into Texarkana. It seemed it would be dark, so we aborted the long haul and asked around the Paris rail yard when there might be a freight headed back west. We were told that there should be a train leaving out around 4:30 PM, but we needed to get out to the west and not try and hop it in the yard.
Four-thirty came and went, so we walked into the main part of town and got on highway 82 and split up in two's and began to hitch hike. What we didn't realize, we were so dirty from riding in the box car, no one other than a coal truck was going to pick us up. We keep walking west on the highway and well out of town, when across the fields to the south we could hear the whistle of a frieght train. We right away abandoned highway and began to run to the sound of the train. It was a good two miles to the track and upon reaching it, there was no train. We all stood and talked about the dilemma we had gotten ourselves in. The we heard what sounded like the clicking of some type of train and we could see it coming from a far and it was headed our way at a slow rate of speed. Then there it was and it came to a complete stop for us. We were able to ask the guy that was on the one seat cart, checking track if he might be going to Sherman. He kinda of laughed and told us no, he was going about another mile or two and then would be heading back to the Paris Rail Yards. Is there a train coming through anytime soon? Not till in the morning. By this time we were all about ready to lay down and give up, we were give out.
There was nothing to do, but trudge back to the highway and start hitch hiking again. By the time we got to the highway it was getting dark and the cars passing couldn't see just how dirty we were and it wasn't long before me and my buddy got a ride and I guess the other two got rides, because I run across them later that summer. It was near 10:00PM before we finally made back to Sherman. That my friend was a hard days night, riding the rails.
Never got to hop another train, but I sure wished I'd been able too, but I'm to old now. It was sure fun what little I did get to ride. I'll have to say, all the railroad guys were great to us four kids.
Edna
Visiting your site reminded me of back in the days of the depression and what I had to go through. My only possesion was a shopping cart that my sister stole from the local grocery store. We lived under a bridge and tried to find jobs for the longest time. It seemed as if no one was hiring so we had no motivation. Luckily over time we had people helping us out so eventually we got settled.
Jaclyn Crawford
This story is about my late father, Donald Blair and his childhood friend, Paul Finney. They lived in Seattle, WA. It had to have been 1930, as Pop was 12 years old and Paul was only 8 or 9. Paul's family were terribly poor, and there were many mouths to feed. He had a "rich" aunt in Hibbing, Minnesota, and he decided that to ease the burden on his parents, he would go live with his aunt. He told Pop what he was going to do, and Pop told him that he couldn't go alone, because the hobos might hurt him, so he would go along with him, and make sure he got there okay. It was winter, and Pop said that they sometimes nearly froze to the bars under the train, where they would crawl in and hang on. They went hungry most of the way there, and generally, the trip had to have been sheer terror for two little boys, so far from home. But they made it. Despite the physical trials and the threat from the railroad "dicks" and other riders and hobos, they made it to Paul's aunt's house.
The story gets really interesting after Pop left there and headed back to Seattle. I have seen the article from the newspaper about his capture by a railroad cop, and the two-state debate that ensued over who was going to pay for his return home.
He was taken to the jail, where he stayed, more as a guest than inmate, until the debate was settled. He was allowed to work across the street at the diner, sweeping floors and the like, to pay for his meals, and he slept in the jail, with an unlocked cell door. The local church outfitted him with a whole new wardrobe, including the first pair of brand new shoes he had ever owned. He spent Christmas there, and had supper with the sheriff and his family.
Eventually the matter of who would pay to get him home was settled, and he rode the rest of the way to Seattle INSIDE the train, as a real passenger.
One of the Seattle papers, and a Minnesota paper carried the story, and my Aunt Leona showed me the article that was published in the Seattle paper. This story is not only true, it is verifiable! A rarity in family tales.
Graham Clayton
I am e-mailing you to say that the Australian Broadcasting Corporation had your "Riding the Rails" documentary on last night (Wed 19th Jan) at 8.30 pm.
I enjoyed it immensely, being a railway buff, and having an interest in American geography.
A similar situation occurred out here in Australia during the Depression, with people from the country areas travelling around the country, or down to the capital city of each State.
There was even a song written about this period. Called "Sgt Small", it is about a Queensland policeman who was the scourge of the rail riders.
Once again, thanks for the program.
Ruby L. Ewart
My dear Dad was born in 1913. He rode the rails for 9 months in 1939 - by choice. He had a good job on the Grand Coulee Dam construction in Washington state but the call of the train got a hold. He spent that winter in California and Arizona working the fields and hopping trains, and was arrested once: with 252 men on Thanksgiving Day 1939. They were held for two weeks. He says even now, at age nearly 85, that the lure of that train whistle never goes away.
It was with interest, smiles and tears that I watched this program, especially saddened by the young boys whose families had to put them out because there wasn't enough to go around. And yet, as several of the men proclaimed, including my Dad, there's something about the sound of a train.
Joy Korri
I really liked your program on riding the rails. It was so nostalgic for me that I even cried. My father rode the rails with his uncle who was two years younger than him. For years while I was growing up, my father would put us children (9 of us) to bed at night. He would lay with us and tell us story after story of riding the rails west and working in all the areas that they stopped off at. He entertained us night after night with his tales, we would ask question after question, until we fell asleep. Much of what was said by the narrators, my father relayed in his many 'rail tales' to us.
My father has passed away, but my great uncle is still living and still relays to us, many of those tales of those days they 'rode the rails.' It apparently had a great impact on their lives too. They eventually returned home and went into the CCC camps, then into WWII. Thank you for such nostalgia...joy korri
Clifton Ruddick
Thank you for airing this moving and accurate portrayal of the young people who rode the trains during the depression. My grandfather was one of those people, and the accounts given on the program were very much like those he has told. The photos were especially gripping. My grandfather's experiences also included sleeping under billboard signs in open fields along roadsides at night-- a cold, lonely existence. Many townspeople would rebuke those who did offer food to "beggars and vagrants." One of my grandfather's worst experiences included witnessing the beating of a young black boy who was misfortunate enough to fail to leap from a boxcar which was approaching a station. The "bulls" were horribly abusive, just as your program included.
Frank Ramstad
I was at the University of Montana, 600 miles from home with three weeks of Christmas vacation coming up and no place to eat during those three weeks. I was homesick and wanted to be home for Christmas, so I got my old athletic enemy, George Weeks, and we decided to ride the freights home when the quarter ended. I would go to Poplar [MT], and he to Wolf Point (just 22 miles west of Poplar). My buddies pleaded with me not to try it. It was getting bitter cold, and there had been six hoboes pulled out of a box car near Missoula the first part of December--all frozen to death. However, I needed to eat during those three weeks. And I was homesick.
My last class before Christmas break was over at noon on December 17, 1932. I put on two suits of long underwear, two pairs of socks, four pairs of pants, two shirts, a mackinaw, an overcoat, plus overshoes and gloves. I knew there wouldn't be much eating on the trip home, so I found a pipe and some tobacco to smoke on the way. I didn't normally smoke, but I had heard that smoking would keep one from getting hungry.
George and I climbed aboard a freight in Missoula at 5:00 in the afternoon. The termperature was about 20 degrees below zero. Soon it was dark. There were six 'profressional' hoboes in the box car with George and me. One of them had a suitcase with a burning candle stuck on it. We all kept tramping around that candle-lit suitcase to keep warm. One of us would sit down against the box car wall and go to sleep. In about five minutes, someone would go over to the sleeping man, give him a gentle kick, and say, 'Buddy, you've slept long enough. Get up and walk.' Then someone else would sit down for a short nap. In that way we kept each other alive. In such bitter cold it is so easy to freeze to death. When one is freezing to death, he becomes warm and drowsy. He quietly goes to sleep and never wakes up.
Going over the Continental Divide between Missoula and Helena, the temperature dipped to 40 degrees below zero. We arrived in Helena at 1:00 in the morning. George and I went up to the jail and asked the jailer if we could sleep in the jail--there wasn't a freight out of Helena until 10:00 in the morning. The jailer said we couldn't sleep there, but said he would give us a ticket to the flop house.
In the hobo jargon, a 'flop' was a bed. In the 1930's, there were so many hoboes due to the Depression, that the Government decided to make life a little more bearable for them by constructing flop houses in strategic cities along the railroads. The flop houses were run under Army regulations, and one could do certain jobs to get a 'flop' and food.
We were met at the flop house by a tough-looking guy who had a sap in his back pocket. A sap is a leather pouch filled with lead shot which was used by law enforcement officers to take care of anyone who got contrary. This fellow told us to strip off and take a shower before going to bed. That shower at 1:30 a.m. was cold, but that fellow with the sap was convincing. The beds were crude but clean and made up with Army blankets.
George and I woke up at 8:00 and since no one was around, we slipped out before somebody could get us in on a work detail. We went to the depot and caught the 10:00 a.m. freight. George and I were now alone and had to keep each other awake. We both smoked quite a bit, and I believe it did help the hunger a little.
We got into Great Falls at 4:00 in the afternoon. I had a little money with me--possibly three dollars--that I was trying to keep intact to buy Christmas presents when I got home. However, when we got to Great Falls, we were so starved that I decided we had to have something to eat. (George had no money.) We each ate a twenty-cent meal, which I paid for.
The next freight out of Great Falls was a 5:00 the next morning. That was an awful long wait. George came up with an idea. We decided to ride the passenger train in the blinds behind the engine. A passenger train left at 7:00 that evening. The blinds are not enclosed, and we knew it would be cold, but we could get home about 12 hours sooner by riding them.
We hid behind the railroad shed until the train started moving, then made a run for it, and climbed into the blinds. Our reason for waiting for the train to start moving was that once it was moving, it wouldn't stop to kick us off. As the train gathered speed with us safely on it, we congratulated ourselves. It was a beautiful night, the moon was full, the snow was deep, and it was thirty below zero.
Oh! But those blinds were cold! This was the era before diesel locomotives. It was the day of the old steam, coal-burning locomotives. George and I got so cold, we finally crawled forward to a small ledge near the spout where they put water into the water tender. This at least got us out of the wind created by the motion of the train.
About half-way to Havre, the train started slowing down. Soon it stopped by a railroad water tower, and we were sitting by the engine water spout where they would put water in. We were also miles from nowhere, and we didn't relish having to walk if we got kicked off the train. It was a tense moment.
The fireman came walking back to pull down the tower spout and almost stumbled over us. I don't think he knew we were there, and it scared him. He stood looking at us without saying a word for about a minute. It seemed like an eternity. Finally I could stand the tension no longer and said, 'Are you taking on water?' That was a rather rhetorical question since we had stopped under the water tower. He answered that that was right. He then asked where were were going. We told him Havre. We helped him pull down the water spout and fill the storage tank, still scared stiff and just waiting for those words, 'Get off and get going.'
When we had the tank full, he asked if it was cold back there. We told him it sure was. Then to our amazement, he said, 'Boys, if you'll move up about five feet and lie flat, you'll find it warmer. There's hot water in the tank under you there.' The ride on into Havre from there was a relatively comfortable one.
When we got into Havre and got off the train, the immigration officers picked us up about 20 feet from the engine. There had been considerable trouble with aliens coming into the country from Canada, and they were watching all trains. When we convinced them that we had been born in the United States, they let us go.
It was now 11:00 in the evening of our second day on the freights. And we had cut 12 hours off our trip by catching that passenger train. We discovered that there was a freight leaving Havre at 5:00 in the morning. We got what sleep we could sitting in the Havre depot. At least it was warm sitting by that pot belly stove.
At 5:00 a.m., we found one empty box car in a freight train that was about a mile long. Even that car was only about half empty--it was half full of lumber. George and I hadn't had much sleep in the past three days, and we were tired. There were only two of us, and we both went to sleep. I don't know what woke me, but when I did wake up, my feet were half frozen. We didn't have much room to walk around in that box car, so we would kick our feet against the sides of the car, and there were some long grades in which the train slowedown to a drawl. We would get out and run alongside to get a little circulation through our legs. My feet bothered me for a month after that.
We got into Wolf Point, Goerge's home town, at about 4:30 p.m. This was December 19. George and I bid each other good-bye, each saying, 'I'll see you in school after Christmas.'
The freight stayed in Wolf Point about 20 minutes. Poplar was 22 miles away. I went up to the engine and asked the engineer if he stopped in Poplar. He told me that they didn't--that I would have to ride to Brockton, about 11 miles on the other side of Poplar. That was a blow. I was dead tired and walking 11 miles wasn't going to be easy. I knew there was a sharp curve about 7 miles before we got to Poplar, and I knew the trains slowed for it. I decided I would try jumping there--7 miles would be easier to walk than 11.
When we got to the curve, the train did slow down some, but still the ground was going past so fast when I looked down that I decided it would be easier to walk 11 miles with two good legs than to try walking 7 miles on a broken leg. So I stayed on the freight.
We crossed the Poplar River about a mile before we got to Poplar. As were were going over the bridge, I noticed that we were slowing down. I looked out the car door up at the engine ahead. The engineer and brakeman were leaning out the cab window, looking back at my car. When they saw me, they motioned for me to get out on the rods, then gestured me to stay there. The freight slowed to about 3 miles per hour. Then the two trainmen motioned for me to jump. I got off in front of the depot without having to break stride. The mile-long freight had slowed down to let me off. I have found out that throughout the country, there are still many people desiring to help other people. It seems that back in the Depression days, this was especially true."
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