Riding West and Making Friends

As he was standing there, suddenly, the cars began to move forward. Harley knew he had no choice; he had to ride the top. His father had said that was the worst place to ride, but Harley knew it was the only way to get on that train. He raced up to the car closest to him. There were only four cars left coming, so Harley reached for the lowest ladder rung on the back. He missed, and almost fell forward. That was frightening; and could have been deadly. He stood there, realizing what nearly happened and the next car inched past him. Clearing his mind quickly, he looked back to see the ladder on the next car approaching. He had to get on that one! Harley’s timing worked this time and he caught the second rung from the bottom of it with both hands. Again, he was jerked off his feet, but he hung on for dear life. As strong as he was, it took all his might to put one of his boots up on the side of the boxcar and use it as leverage to get his other foot up and move his hands to the next rung. Then he was able to scramble up to the top of the car. He laid down flat on his stomach and rested. He was sprawled out like what his father would have called “a drunk in the middle of the street,” but Harley was on his way to Washington and he had actually jumped onto a moving train!

Just minutes later, after crossing the Des Moines River, the train pulled up to the Rock Island station and stopped. Then it backed up and three passenger cars were attached. He could see the roof of the station, but no people. He realized that the boxcar was so tall, that if he laid completely flat against the top of the car, no one on the ground would be able to see him. Even the people on the raised boarding platform would not know he was up there. He would have preferred, however, to be inside one of the boxcars. Even with the ice that was in there with the meat, he could stay somewhat warm with his bindle. The problem was, no one was going to open those meat cars at the passenger station. He realized he was not going to be able to get off the top of the train until the next stop, and he had no idea where that would be.

“All aboard! Train leaving for Atlantic, Omaha, and all points west… Bound for Denver! All aboard!” the conductor yelled. “Atlantic, Omaha, and all points west… Bound for Denver!”

How lucky could he get? Atlantic was only about one hundred miles west of Des Moines. The weather was not that bad. It would be a little bit cool, but it couldn’t be cold enough to freeze him or anything. He felt around in his pack before the train started moving and found his work gloves. He would need those for sure, just to be certain that he could hang on once the train got up to full speed. When they got to Atlantic, he would definitely find a way to get inside one of the cars.

The train lurched again. Harley was not ready for it but he had centered himself on the top of the car. He scooted forward and actually had his fingers over the front edge now. It was a good handhold, but he was afraid if he was lurched forward again, he would go flying off the front of the car, so he tried to wiggle backwards. Now that the train had started to go forward, this was easier, but he still tried to hug the top of the car really flat. He had his stocking cap and his gloves on, and the sun was starting to go down. It would be totally dark when this train arrived in Atlantic and it would be easier to slip into one of the freight cars. This was the beginning of his rail riding adventure and he was on top of a boxcar, headed west to Washington! He wished his father could see him now. He also hoped his mother would forgive him for sneaking off. She would probably forgive him when he came home safely, with enough money for the first semester of college.

As it picked up speed, Harley could see by looking sideways, the train was going through Valley Junction. They would be totally out of Des Moines in about five more minutes. He had been awake a long time, having gotten up so early in the morning, and he was feeling tired. The clack, clack, clack of the rails could have been comforting and even put him to sleep if he had been inside a car. Out here, up on the roof, he didn’t dare fall asleep. He could slide right off and be thrown to the side or slide backwards and be run over. His life certainly depended on him not going to sleep!

He tried to think of ways that he might be able to stay awake. He thought about counting animals he saw, but it would soon be too dark to see any. It might even put him to sleep faster, like counting sheep in bed. No, no counting animals. That could be a disaster. He settled upon singing. That’s it, he could sing at the top of his lungs and no one could hear over the train noise! Most of what Harley knew in the way of music was old Lutheran hymns. He probably should have joined the Boys Glee Club at Roosevelt; he would know the words to more songs. My Faith Looks Up to Thee was his favorite, so he started with that. He knew all six verses, and sang the chorus every time, so it took a while. Then he sang Lena’s favorite hymn, Fairest Lord Jesus, which also had six verses. When he finished that, he realized he’d skipped a verse. It certainly didn’t seem right to sing them out of order, and he was so afraid of falling asleep, so Harley sang the whole song over, with the verses in the right order this time.

The sun was below the horizon, and it was rapidly getting cooler. This spring air was damp, and that made it seem even colder than it was. He figured they had left Des Moines about twenty minutes earlier, so they might be within forty minutes of Atlantic. Harley said a little prayer thanking the Lord for helping him get on the train safely, feeling like it had to be more than luck. He was going to have to get much smarter really fast. He thought that was strange, not running into any bums on the east side of Des Moines, and finally decided that it was because it had been Sunday. Most of the towns like Des Moines had several soup kitchens, and they probably put out a big spread on Sundays. Harley supposed most all the bums who were around would be going to those and not trying to get on a train on Sunday, or even Monday, like he did. They would most likely wait around and try to hop a freight on Tuesday. It didn’t matter. Charley had told him that there were thousands of men and teenagers on the rails, so Harley knew he would have plenty of company sooner rather than later.

Harley sang another song or two and watched lights go on in all the scattered farmhouses he could see from the train. They looked so warm and cozy, but Harley knew that probably every one of those farm families was struggling just like his. Maybe they didn’t have their house burn down, and maybe their father didn’t have a stroke, but he figured they were struggling just the same. He prayed for them, for their children, and for their animals.

The train blew its whistle only twice so far. There was a road every country mile that crossed the tracks, but most of them were dirt roads. This was western Iowa, which was pretty sparsely populated. The only places the train blasted a warning were where it crossed an asphalt or paved road. When Harley lifted up his head to peek at the automobiles that were stopped, he was glad that he brought his stocking cap and not his seed corn cap. That cap would have blown right off!

Harley had been turning his head from one side to the other, watching farms in the distance and measuring the one-mile increments of country roads crossing the tracks, but he hadn’t been counting the miles. How dumb was that? He could have had some idea of how far the train had traveled if he had kept track. Then he decided to raise his head just enough to rest his chin on the top of the boxcar, thinking maybe he could see ahead. That didn’t work very well. All he could see were the tops of the cars in front of him. It might have worked if he had been lying on top of a car that was closer to the front of the train, but those were the passenger cars. It really didn’t matter; they had to be getting to Atlantic soon, and then he could get inside and be safer. Hopefully.

Before Harley realized what was happening, his eyes closed for a moment. Startling himself awake, he burst into song again. He was not going to sleep until he got safely inside a boxcar! He tried to peek ahead again, and this time, there was a tiny glow on the horizon. All around him, it was really dark now, but that had to be a town. They had to be coming up to Atlantic. Then, like a wish coming true, the train started to gradually slow down. He realized he had a tremendously tight grip on the edge of the roof and that every muscle in his body was tightly wound up. Harley forced himself to release a huge sigh, and then another sigh. He tried to relax, but still hold on. The train was slowing down very gradually. This had been the longest hour, or maybe two hours, of his whole life.

Then he looked to his right and saw a water tower that had ‘Atlantic’ painted on the side of it. “Thank you, Lord,” came out of his mouth. Then again, “Thank you, Lord.” Not only had this been the longest hour of his life, but also the most thankful he had ever been. Here Harley was, only on the rails for a little over an hour, and he was already having peak lifetime experiences. This was going to be an incredible journey!

The train had started slowing down a long way outside of town, Harley figured out. It literally crawled into the station. He still could not see any people on the platform, but he could hear them. Some were saying welcome to those disembarking, and some folks were saying goodbye to passengers who were boarding.

He edged over to the far side of the roof, away from the platform side. He looked down over the edge and saw no one. Fearing he could not survive on the roof at night, all the way to Omaha or Denver, Harley had to get off the train and then find a way to get inside. He swung his legs over the side and climbed down the ladder. Then it occurred to him that there was no reason for anyone to open those freight cars, so he had nowhere to get back on.

Looking over three more sets of tracks beside him, he noticed that two sets over from where he was, there was another train. One of the boxcar doors on that train was slightly open and he thought he saw something inside it move. Harley strained his eyes, and saw it move again. A boy who appeared to be about Harley’s age stuck his head out.

“Psst, hey you! Can you get the door open on that car you just jumped off of?” the boy hissed at him. “Hey, can you get that door open?”

“I don’t know how,” Harley hissed back.

“What are you, stupid?” the boy asked.

“Sorry! I rode all the way from Des Moines on the top of that car, for cryin’ out loud!” Harley defended his intelligence.

“Shut up and get over here,” the boy commanded him.

Harley cautiously ventured in that direction.

“Get in and be quiet! We’ll go over and see if we can get it open. Stay here and come back over only when we call you.”

The first boy and then another one hopped out of the car and the second one gave Harley a push towards the open door. “Get in there!”

Harley climbed in, just glad to be inside somewhere, and was not in the least upset by being bossed around by a couple of dirty strangers. He was exhausted. He watched as the boys expertly opened the boxcar door and then motioned at him to hurry up. Quickly jumping down out of the boxcar, he dashed back over to the car he had been on top of and they pulled him up into the car. It was full of dry ice and meat carcasses.

“Ugh, what the hell is that stink?” demanded the second boy, who was dressed all in denim and looked a bit older than Harley. “This car smells like something died in it!”

Harley let out a little chuckle. “A bunch of cows died. This car is full of beef carcasses. Probably heading west to be made into steaks and hamburger.”

“Ain’t nothin’ funny, kid. This stink is awful. How far away is Omaha?”

Harley noticed the kid had a funny accent. He didn’t even know how far away Omaha was. This fella sure was not from Iowa, or even anywhere near Iowa.

“Where are you from?” Harley blurted out.

“I’m from North Carolina, where it don’t ever stink like this!” the boy replied, obviously annoyed. “I asked you, how far are we gonna have to ride in this gawd-awful smelly boxcar?”

“Omaha is less than an hour away from here,” Harley tried to assure him. “Calm down, it won’t be that long.” Then he thought to add, “It doesn’t really bother me that much. I’m from a farm near Des Moines.”

“What’s yer name, kid?” the first boy asked. This boy was shorter than the second one, and a bit huskier. He also looked closer to Harley’s age.

“My name is Harley, what’s yours?”

“I’m Clarence. And this here is Leo. I’m from Wisconsin. We got cows up there, but we milk ‘em more than we kill ‘em.”

Leo spoke up next. “We’d better shut up with the fancy introductions and small talk. There probably aren’t any bulls in this God-forsaken place, but somebody might hear us!”

Harley was wondering why they weren’t shutting the door, when suddenly two more bums appeared in the door of the boxcar. “Room in here for us, Leo?” asked one of them. Both were older looking fellas.

“If you can stand the stink,” Leo answered. “Git on in here if you’re a-comin’. We need to get the door shut, but it smells so awful in here!”

Harley repeated himself, “It really isn’t very far at all to Omaha. We will be there in less than an hour; maybe forty-five minutes.”

The two new men eyed him carefully. “What are you, some kind of train schedule expert?” one asked suspiciously.

Catching the unpleasantness of their tone, Harley tried to smooth things over quickly. “I just studied this route before I got on the train. It starts in my hometown, so I know a little bit about it. After Omaha, I don’t know anything about the trains.”

“Hmmm, I ‘spose that explains it. How long you been ridin, son?”

This was getting serious. Harley did not want them to know he just started. They might figure he had a stake of cash, or that they could trick him or take advantage of him. His father warned him to not tell anyone the whole truth about himself; Charley actually told him to lie, except he would have to remember the lies. Tell the same ones to everyone, he had told him. Harley should not try to change his story too often, or he would forget what he told different people.

The main problem was, he didn’t think to make up a story ahead of time. Now he had to make one up on the spur of the moment!

“Well, a couple of months. That’s how long I’ve been riding.”

One of the two guys who got on last said, “You look like you just walked out your front door. I don’t think you been ridin’ for months, boy. No need to lie to us.”

Harley thought more quickly that he realized he could, “I did just walk out my front door. I stopped in Des Moines to see my mother, give her a couple of bucks, and take a bath. You got a problem with that?” He added that last part just hoping they would interpret it to mean that they should not try to put something over on him. He did not want to challenge any of them; they may have all been traveling together and he was by himself. He had to stand up to them, but he knew he should probably try to get in with their group, too. His father had told him it worked out best for him to have a few good friends to count on.

The guy nodded his head, like that explanation was accepted and Harley tried hard not to look too relieved. This was going to be more complicated than his father had made it sound. Not being a grown man like his father was going to make him more vulnerable. Harley was beginning to understand why his mother had been so worried. This was going to be a dangerous trip to Uncle Gene’s and Harley was going to have to make use of all the advice his father had given him. Trouble was, Charley had obviously not been able to tell him everything, so Harley was going to have to be cautious at every turn.

He decided not to talk any more for a while. Harley wanted their attention to go back to each other, or to the smell of the carcasses, or to how far Omaha was. They did start to talk among themselves and that gave Harley a few minutes to relax and warm up. He noticed that even though it was a refrigerated car, it was much warmer in there than riding on top.

He listened as the men talked among themselves. Most all of them had been down in either Texas or Florida for part of the winter. This long-term rail bum life seemed to have a seasonal route, kind of like the winter wheat circuit did. It all depended on the weather or where the crops were. Clarence was obviously just trying to run away from something. Leo was trying to figure out where to go to stay for a while, to really settle down and look for a job. Those two seemed the most hopeless, though, because the two older bums kept telling them that they were just dreaming if they thought there were going to be any jobs for them anywhere. Anywhere.

“Where you goin’, bud?” Clarence finally asked him. “Where ya been?”

Harley was ready. He felt like he was getting better at making up stories about himself. “Doesn’t matter where I have been. I’ll tell you where I’m going though. I’m going to work on a sheep ranch in Washington and going to pick apples there, too. I know a guy. He’s my uncle. Has a ranch in Chelan…that is where I’m headed,” Harley told them, confidently mixing truth and fiction. What he was not going to tell them was that he was going to go to college in the fall. He was definitely going to follow his father’s advice that would not be a smart thing to tell the bums he met about his college plans.

“Does he need more help? You know how hard it is to get pickin’ jobs out there? Can you get us hired on?” one of the older guys asked.

“I suppose I can ask. Can’t guarantee you anything. He has a pretty big place, though. When he wrote me last year he said there are a bunch of other big ranches around his and they are always looking for help. I heard more hobos go to California than go to Washington. How many of you want to go with me?” asked Harley.

All the men, Clarence, Leo, along with the older fellas, whose names were Adam and Ed, said they would go to Chelan with Harley. He started thinking they wouldn’t really do it, but they had not been bad to him. Yet. Maybe his uncle could really help them. He was so new at this rail riding thing, it was hard to feel safe. These people were complete strangers. They helped him get inside the boxcar though. If they had not been there to help him, Harley would still be on top of the boxcar.