Avoiding California

He shivered himself awake. Opening one eye, he saw a sliver of pink on the horizon, at the base of the pine trees across the creek. A shadow of a man, hunched over in the chilly air, was stirring up the still-smoking coals of the faded fire. There was no itching. Harley rested his head back down lightly on his rolled-up clothing that he was using as his pillow. Relief filled him, at a vermin disaster diverted. He said a quick prayer of gratitude for the woman and the picket fence, for mayonnaise and vinegar, and for the friends he had made who could help him get to Chelan. They were good men who had hard times right now. He would help them back by getting them some work if he could. His Uncle Gene would know how to help. Now, Harley just had to get his band of bums out to the ranch in Washington State, hopefully with no more lice encounters.

“Mornin’,” Harley said, not knowing who the shadow man was.

The gray figure answered quickly, “Mornin’ to you. Ya’ll done with those itchy varmits?” Harley recognized Adam’s voice.

“Yessir! We burned the blanket last night and that mayo and vinegar goop worked like a charm. Slick as a greased pig! There ain’t no bugs on me,” Harley reassured him.

“Why don’t ya make sure all the fellas is awake, boy? We gotta try to hop an early train. Probably shoulda been gone an hour ago. Gets a lot harder in the daylight.”

Harley shook out his bindle, quickly rolled it up, and went from bindle to bindle remaining around the fire, shaking shoulders and greeting each man in a sing-song voice, “Mornin’ to ya, buddy. Time to get up and shake it off!”

There were a few groans and a few gollys. Most bums were used to sleeping on the ground, but the older the bum, the harder the dirt, especially in the cold mountain air up here by Denver. The other three rose up and staggered down to the creek to wash up and wake up.

Someone called up loudly from the banks of the creek, “Better get the coffee boilin’! We got coffee still, right?”

“Yep, but we need to get more before we leave town if we can. Hard tellin’ where we will land next. Could be in the middle of the desert,” Adam answered.

Harley did not drink coffee, so that conversation did not really concern him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a glass of milk and began to think that tea had even become an impossible beverage to obtain.

Harley thought back to sitting on the back porch with his mother. Each of them would have a giant glass of iced tea and be wiping their brows with handkerchiefs. They usually indulged like that on a blistering hot Iowa summer day, after a spell of hoeing and weeding in the enormous garden. Harley could practically feel the heat. Then he realized that the soles of his shoes were a little too close to the growing fire. He pulled back to a safer distance, knowing it would be bigger trouble than even lice if he wrecked his only pair of shoes.

That fence lady had given Clarence two cans of beans on the sly. Harley watched him slice them open with his knife and set them on a hot rock on the edge of the fire. The woman had told him not to come back for more in the morning, but for him to split the beans between the men. It was all she could afford to share.

“You men need to all get yer spoons over here and get yer share of these beans,” commanded Clarence. “We can each take a spoonful in turn, until they is all eaten. Don’t nobody need to be a pig about it, right?”

Harley dug in his bindle for a spoon as quick as he could. The men came scrambling up the hill from their washing up and formed a quick tight line, just like they were in the army or something. Nobody wanted to get left hungry, because no one knew when their next meal would be. The rails were harsh. Harley realized his father had been very truthful with him.

The beans disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Clarence gave Harley one of the cans to scrape out the last bit of drippings from. Harley took a single swipe into the can, and then passed it to Ed, who was the thinnest man of the crew. He reminded Harley of the way his father had looked when he came back from the wheat harvest. Ed looked strong, but he was a little too lean to look truly healthy.

With the beans gone and their washing up done, the men gathered their bindles and begin to mill around.

“Where’s our next stop?” Harley asked. Geez, that sounded dumb. He was the one who was taking them to Chelan and he didn’t even know where he was going! “Remember, fellas, I’m just an Iowa farm boy. Really did not think this out very well when I got on the train in Des Moines.”

“I’ve been west a few different times, and a few different ways,” said Adam. “We got to get to Salt Lake City first, then we can decide where to go from there… west or north.”

“Then our next stop is Salt Lake City?” asked Harley.

“Nope, we will be going through Grand Junction first…that’s still in Colorado. At least we are done with the mountains, and let’s hope we are done with the lice,” Adam sneered at Harley.

“Those lice are dead and gone. I did not sit in my birthday suit in the freezin’ cold, slathered in mayonnaise and vinegar, just to get lice again. I am done with that!” Harley replied, in a voice that made it plain he was not going to be ostracized for getting lice. He was done with them and he didn’t want to hear any more about it. He wanted to forget it totally, if that was at all possible. Then he thought to himself that a fella like Adam ought to be nicer or he might not be getting any work at Uncle Gene’s ranch, but he did not say it out loud.

They had to make their way back to the tracks on the other side of town. They had wandered pretty far to find the cure for the lice, but none of the others were complaining. It seemed like they were forming some kind of a team that was bent on getting to Chelan together so they could have work. That would have made Harley nervous, feeling like he had to find jobs for all these men, but in Uncle Gene’s letter he said there were plenty of ranchers around him looking for good help also. These men did not all have to work for his uncle.

Along the way across town, they managed to beg food at some houses, and two houses right next to each other even had a sign out in front with an arrow pointing to the rear of the houses, saying ‘Free food for bums. God bless you.’ So, the men stuffed some of those goods into their bindles. There were a few more cans of beans, and some bread and some jerky. Stopping for food slowed down their trip to the train yard but allowed them to pack some extra food in their bindles for later. One of the houses even had a plate of cookies. The men ate those for their lunch. Harley figured those must have been good Christian families, like the boys his father worked with in the wheat fields. There sure were some nice people in the world, even when times got so bad.

It’s gettin’ to be late, fellas,” announced Clarence. “We should lay low near the outer tracks until it gets darker. We can catch one of the late, slow trains that come through here. They don’t really stop, but they slow down real good and the workers throw mailbags on and off the train as it passes the station platform.”

So, they hunkered down outside the view of any railroad bulls and waited. It seemed like a good time to take a nap, since Harley had not slept much the night before. He closed his eyes and was asleep quite quickly. Curled up in his bindle, his fellow travelers left him alone. If he had been traveling with fellas he didn’t know already, he would probably have been beaten and robbed or even killed. As it was, he was able to rest near his traveling companions and woke only when it was time to get ready to jump on the train they heard coming in the distance.

Leo tried to get it all organized. “We need to spread out and take turns climbing on. We don’t want to rush the fella in front of us or one of us could fall and get killed.”

Harley’s ears perked up at the words “get killed.” He certainly did not plan on that. His father had warned him and coached him about jumping on the trains. However, having done it only twice before, Harley still felt unsure of himself.

“I don’t want to go first. I haven’t jumped on many moving trains. I want someone already on there to help pull me up if I need it, okay?” He hoped they wouldn’t think he was a sissy, but he did not want to die or lose his legs.

“You can be the last one on if ya want to, but ya gotta go way down the line. Start a trottin’ down the rail a piece, ‘cause we all want plenty of room to get a run at it,” Clarence advised. “The rest of you follow Harley and space yourselves out. I’ll pick out a good car as it comes by, and then you’ll see me if ya keep watchin’. I’ll be a leanin’ out, so you know where to climb on, okay?”

Harley started down the right-of-way, as close to the trees as he could find clear space to run. Adam and Ed followed him, but not close. He had to keep looking back so he could see how far apart they were spacing themselves. It looked to him like they each had a different amount of territory they allowed themselves to jump on. It was probably based on how good they thought they were at leaping onto a moving train. Harley decided he wanted about a hundred yards. He couldn’t believe any of the men would give themselves less than that, but they did.

It was harrowing. At first, he didn’t think he was even going to get into position in time, and then when he did arrive at the spot, it seemed like the train was right there next to him. He wished he had run faster, but he simply had not known what to expect. He saw Leo, not Clarence leaning out of the train, and could not tell whether all the other men had made it or not, but there was no time to worry about that. The train came, Leo yelled at him, Harley heard men cheering his name, and he grabbed onto the foot rail at the bottom of the open railroad car door with both hands. He was yanked off his feet, but two men grabbed him by the shirt collar. They nearly choked him, but managed to drag him into the car, head first.

“Lucky little farm boy,” Adam hooted.

“Good thing you ain’t fat,” joked Clarence.

“Where was you, Clarence, when we grabbed him?” demanded Leo. He sounded upset but he was smiling. Harley realized he had almost been killed and these fellas were joking about it. He was really gonna have to say some big prayers tonight! He gathered his bindle, thankful he had not dropped it, and curled up in a corner of the totally empty car to sleep.

Harley had no idea how much time had passed, but he awakened to, “Grand Junction will be coming up soon, son,” Leo was saying as he shook Harley’s shoulder. “Then it’s on to The Great Salt Lake!”

“Do we have to chase the train again or can we just sneak on it? That was a close call for me. I don’t want to jump on again, ever,” Harley said.

Clarence spoke up this time, “Grand Junction has lots of trains that stop to load and unload. We can probably find one of those to get on.”

Harley was relieved to hear that. In a short period of time, he gathered his belongings, such as they were. The men hopped off the train before it came to a complete stop. That was not quite as dangerous as hopping on the moving train, but more bums did it than Harley realized.

“Well,” Harley spoke up again, “Let’s find a train to get on and get to Washington. Every day we spend on the trains is a day less of work in Chelan. I want to get there as soon as I can. I came to work!”

“I like your spirit, boy. You got the right idea. I never seen a bum so anxious to get somewhere, Usually, they don’t care what happens from one day to the next, or even from one week to the next,” said Ed. “I seen men sit around in a hobo camp for weeks at a time…heck, I’ve been the bum that was sittin’ there for a month myself. Down in Arkansas. It was just too darn hot to go anywhere.”

“I’m with Harley,” said Clarence. “Salt Lake City, here we come! Then on to Boise, Yakima, and Seattle.”

That statement, as positive as it was and being all full of enthusiasm, caused an animated discussion among the men. Leo also wanted to go with Harley up north through Boise, Yakima, and Seattle, like Clarence said. The two older guys, Adam and Ed, wanted to head west to Reno and Sacramento and then take the trains up along the coast to get to Seattle. They had quite the argument and there were some harsh words exchanged. In the end, someone thought to ask Harley where he was going, since he was the one who knew where the “fer sure” work was.

“I’m going up north,” Harley confirmed for them. “My father warned me about California. He said there are some bad people there. Cheaters and thieves. He heard about guys who went through Reno and they never even got to California… just disappeared at Reno. No one ever heard from them again. I promised my father and my mother that I would stay away from there.”

“Don’t they got earthquakes on the coast, too? Like that crazy big one in San Francisco back in ’06 or ’07? I don’t want to fall in some big crack in the ground!” added Clarence. “No sirree, Bob! Not me!”

Trying to sound reasonable, Harley observed, “Well, we can’t do anything about the cracks in the ground, but we sure can stay away from the crooks and thieves. I’m going north to Boise from Salt Lake City and anyone who wants a job in Chelan for sure will need to come with me. We stuck together this far. No sense in splitting up and wrecking our plan,” Harley insisted. “I’m going north, period. That’s where Chelan is.”

It was like he repeated it twice so that neither of the older men would try to argue with him. Harley didn’t want to argue with anyone. He did not have the energy and he really did not know either of them that well. He did not know what they were capable of if they felt threatened or if they wanted to fight him. Luckily, the bold declaration of his plans was accepted, and Harley practically felt like he was their leader now, even knowing that he was pretty much the youngest and definitely the least experienced of them all. He realized they were beaten down men and needed a leader. Harley decided right then that he would try to lead responsibly.

That raggedy band of bums on a mission to get to Washington waited all that next day in the shade behind a huge red dairy barn on Grand Junction’s southern city limits. It was darn close to the track, and there was a small last stop station near there. It was almost dusk when the train pulled up and they managed to get on unnoticed. The plan worked perfectly again. Actually, it was more perfect, Harley realized, because he did not nearly fall to his death or dismemberment like when they left Denver on that moving train. He decided he was done jumping on moving trains. It was just not worth the risk. Since Harley was young and more justifiably fearful of death, the older men did not razz him. He was afraid they would, but they had accepted him as their leader and his flaws were overlooked most of the time.

Harley and his rag-tag bunch of men made all the other stops successfully. Boise, Kennewick, and Yakima went off without a hitch. It had been almost ten days since Harley had left home. He knew his mother was probably worried sick and he vowed to himself that he would call her as soon as he got to Uncle Gene’s. The griping by Adam and Ed, who wanted to go through California, continued off and on, but never really amounted to a mutiny or anything serious.

The weather had been favorable and they had a fairly easy time finding trains that weren’t being watched; ones they could just hop on. They also had a good run of panhandling for food. The three young men did a few odd jobs in Kennewick and the old guys found a mission in Yakima where they got good meals for two days in a row. Harley was sure he had lost weight because he had to pull his belt a notch tighter, but he never felt hungry or deprived. Mostly what he was missing was his mother’s baking. He sure would have liked to have a lemon poke cake or a big bowl of tapioca with milk and peaches. He dared not mention his mother and her baked treats to the other fellas. They never talked about home, so Harley still was not comfortable revealing much about his family.

From Yakima, the rail riders had to pass through Seattle and then find a way to Chelan. Harley was trying to figure out how to let Uncle Gene know that he was so close and to maybe have his uncle pick them all up in Seattle. Perhaps he could call Gene when they got to Seattle…but he was not sure where to find a phone, and he did not know Uncle Gene’s phone number. Maybe he could phone home and then get Uncle Gene’s number from Lena. Harley decided to try that but did not tell the fellas yet. He wanted to find a way to call home without them knowing about it. Harley didn’t like having to deceive people, but these were bums and even with all their travels in the past few weeks, he still felt some distrust. Bums were like that, Charley had told him. Trust came hard, if ever. Even as close as they were to their final destination, Harley knew he could not relax. He had a feeling, a premonition of sorts, that this was all going too well. Nothing horrible had happened since he got rid of the lice. His father had warned him about all kinds of things that could go wrong and to be careful of, but so far everything seemed under control. He was always waiting for the next dangerous hop or threatening encounter, but there was only calm and nearly effortless rail riding going on. It began to be in his thoughts nearly all the time. He waited for it…for the disaster.