What Will Become of the Hobo?

(I have always wanted to hop a ride on a freight train but have never had the courage to attempt it. I made passing reference to this desire about a year ago in a post and my Uncle Randy left a comment asking if I had ever heard the story of his freight hopping experience. Well, this was too good an invitation to pass up so I asked him if he would write it out and send it to me. Last month I received a package in the mail that contained this story and a cassette tape by Emmylou Harris, Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton singing an old Jimmie Rogers song called Hobo's Lamentation, the perfect musical accompaniment to this story. Everybody has a crazy uncle, I was blessed with two, and I admire both of them a great deal. Uncle Randy, the older of the two, is a man of great tenacity and courage. Here is his story.)

Riding the Rails

A true tale by Randy Bender

In the spring of 1966, I was a freshman at Abilene Christian College, in Abilene, Texas. I know not whence the notion sprang – but, there it was; “wouldn’t it be a great adventure to hop a freight train and ride the rails to home in Tulsa?” The idea took root and began to germinate. In the fertile mind of an eighteen year old, a spectacular brainstorm does not languish.

I promoted the idea, and two friends decided to join me. It would be a weekend trip. We would cut Friday morning classes, but would have to be back by Monday. The first task was to assure that we would have a ride back on Sunday. That need was satisfied by an acquaintance who would be returning from Bartlesville, OK.

With a date and a secure return in place, the next task was to obtain train information. I called Santa Fe [Railroad} and told them I needed to ship a refrigerator. I got the approximate time the freight train would come through Abilene and learned that in Ft. Worth we would have to change from the Santa Fe to the Frisco RR.

We packed clothes and toiletries the three of us would need for the weekend into a medium sized suitcase and a tote bag and on Friday morning went to the place where I thought the train would stop. Then we waited; and waited, and…….waited, and ………………….waited.

Questions and doubts began to knock at the door of my mind. Were we in the wrong place? Had I been given the wrong time by Santa Fe? Was the train merely late? Could it be possible that it just would not come through today? Then…, is that the thunderous rumble of a mighty diesel engine I am hearing/feeling. Is it? Is it? Could be. It just might be. …………It is, it is, IT IS!!! Louder and louder; closer and closer. Our great adventure was about to begin in earnest. Then, ……..shouldn’t it be slowing down? If it’s going to stop it has to start slowing down really soon. Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity-clack, right on by us. Now what do we do?

As the caboose became even smaller, we decided we would have to hitchhike to Tulsa. As we started walking toward the highway, I looked down the tracks toward our missed opportunity. Something was different. The caboose, now seeming to be about the size of a book of matches, was no longer shrinking. The train had stopped. I told Ron and Danny to look and they agreed with my assessment. New hope arose.

We began alternately walking, walking fast, and trotting down the tracks. As we went, we traded off carrying the luggage so that at any given time, one of us had the suitcase, one had the tote bag and one was recuperating. As we got closer, anticipation and excitement were rekindled and began to grow. When we were within 100-200 yards of the caboose, the train began to move forward. Digging deep within and summoning every last remnant of strength and will, we sprang into a sprint. Just by chance, Danny, who was scrawny and the weakest of the trio, was carrying the suitcase. Fortunately, there was a flatcar just ahead of the caboose. Ron and I were able to mount it. We were almost completely spent but turned to encourage Danny. Unfortunately, the gradual increase in the speed of the train combined with the extra weight and total exhaustion did not leave enough in Danny’s tank. We regretted that he had been unable to join us but we were happy to be on our way. Incidentally, the suitcase contained our clean clothes and underwear for church.

The next few hours were awash with a feeling of unbridled freedom that is rare and uncommon. The afternoon was warm enough that we were comfortable in t-shirts. The sky was pleasantly and refreshingly overcast. So that flatcar provided an idyllic perch from which to watch the West Texas countryside flow by us. Our only responsibility was to enjoy the ride and we fulfilled that responsibility in a magnificent manner.

We arrived in Ft. Worth in the late afternoon. When the train stopped in the yard, we hopped off, determined the general location of the Frisco Rail Yard and started off in that direction. As we neared it, we happened upon a greasy spoon diner. We had not eaten since breakfast, so, in we went. To our delight we discovered they had a home-style cooking menu with entrée such as fried chicken, meatloaf, chicken-fried steak, vegetables like peas, mashed potatoes, carrots, bacon seasoned green beans, and cherry pie, devil’s food cake, apple pie a la mode for desserts. The prices were good and the portions were generous. It was an ideal eatery for hard working rail yard employees, or a couple of hungry teenage boys out on an adventure. I don’t remember what I had, but, to this day, I believe it is in contention for the title of, “Best Meal I Ever Had.”

With bellies full, we set off to find a ride for the next leg of our journey. When we entered the Frisco Yard, we saw two or three trains that seemed to be linked up and ready to go. There was no way to determine which one was headed for Oklahoma City. We would have to ask. Seeing a man who looked like he belonged there, we went up to him and I asked. He said it was the nearest one. We walked toward the first boxcar with an open door. The man yelled to us, “Try to find a clean one, if you can. “If” was the operative word. You see, there is really no reason to sweep out a boxcar. Everything that is supposed to be in it is boxed in a crate, which is on skids, so that a forklift can get underneath it. Before long, we made our choice, climbed inside, and settled in to wait.

If you drive on the highways, it’s about 30 miles more from Ft. Worth to Oklahoma City than from Abilene to Ft. Worth. So we figured we would probably get to OKC about midnight, or shortly afterward. We could hardly have been more wrong. It was after 1:00 a.m. when the train pulled off on a side rail and stopped in Ardmore, OK which is about the halfway point. After the sun had set, and as we traveled further north, it grew chillier and chillier, until it became down right cold. So the train sat on the side rail, and we sat inside our car shivering for hours, literally. At some point we had been there long enough to realize that we probably were going to be there for a good while longer, we decided to dismount and search for a place nearby for a good cup of coffee. As I remember, it was an unfruitful quest. But I think we did go into a railway office where one worker was stationed, and that enabled us to warm ourselves. Of course, that just emphasized the cold when we went back out to get in our boxcar. I believe it was after 4:00 a.m. when the train resumed its movement.

I don’t know if it was in Ft. Worth or Ardmore, but somewhere along the way, we learned that the Frisco Line went straight north out of OKC, so we would, again, have to change lines, this time to the Katy RR to get to Tulsa.

It was after 8:00 a.m. by the time we got off the train in Oklahoma City. In only about 32 hours, our ride would be picking us up for the trip back. We knew not when the next train would leave for Tulsa, nor how long it would take to get there when it did. We had a decision to make. We determined the best course of action would be to hitchhike the rest of the way.

The last leg of our journey brought us within four blocks of home. I looked at my watch as we exited the car and made an observation. I told Ron and we decided to act upon it. We adjusted our gait, walking faster, trotting for a bit, slowing to a walk again, and then picking up the pace a little, so that we walked through the front door 24 hours to the minute from the time we had climbed on board the flatcar in Abilene.

Ron and I had a spectacular weekend adventure. On an adventure, you must accept the unpleasantness along with sheer joy. Poor Danny [remember Danny?] had just another average, dull weekend in the dorm. C’est la vie!