| H-haid's Corner: Hobos |
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By: By Hammerhead
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Three hobos.
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W-w-w-w-whale, it’s Saturday again and Betty Lou’s threatening to bash Hammerhaid’s computer unless I tote a bunch of heavy boxes up into the attic.
Such abuse has got me hankering to hit the road and live the life of a hobo .... but only if the big screen and Lazy-Boy along for the ride. Might have trouble fitting them in my bindle. (That’s that little bundle, hobo’s carried over their shoulders at the end of a stick.)
Only saw one hobo in my life. He was riding on an L&N freight train that was surrounded by police cars on West Main Street near the depot. This guy was holding on for dear life, but the officers finally coaxed him down from a freight car and hauled him away.
Back in the day, most railroad towns had a hobo jungle (camp). Murfreesboro was no exception. The favored spot was in the wetlands off the corner of Church and Southeast Broad Street...which was called Water Street back then. You might know the spot now as the wetlands associated with Discovery Center at Murfree Springs. ;-) It was a secretive spot with plenty of places to hide.
During the Depression, hobos were plentiful in the rural South. Displaced by the economic crash, they searched near and far for jobs and were often glad to do work like splitting firewood in exchange for a meal. Often, they would leave secret marks near a friendly house. A drawing of a cat signified that a kind lady lives here. A shovel drawing meant work was available.
Too bad I don’t have a hobo to carry those boxes.
T-t-t-that’s r-r-r-r-r-ight.
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