In my last post "Pay It Forward – A Real Story" I told about my first contact with the concept of Pay It Forward. In that post I said that I would post two more on the trip home to Oregon before I was shipped to Germany in 1959. This is the first part of that trip and not only covers that trip but the trips I made the summer I enlisted. I hope you enjoy it.
Please realize that although this story is true, the actual mileage may be a little off. There was no way for me to know exactly how far I traveled. After I got in the army I sat down a couple of times and tried to figure it out. The best estimate I could come up with was about 11,000 miles. That might be five hundred or even a thousand miles off. However, to the best of my calculations it was about 11,000 miles.
I was between my Junior and Senior years in high school the summer of 1958. We lived in a small town, if you can call a wide spot in the road a town, of Yale, Washington. I mean it was actually a wide spot in the road. At one time there was a town there but it was long gone. When I lived there Yale consisted of a trailer court, a cemetery, a church and a small general store. We actually considered ourselves as living in Cougar, Washington which was six miles east of us. It was a little wider spot in the road. We were actually about 25 miles to the nearest public telephone.
My best friend, Joe Edwards, and I decided to go to Hood River, Oregon and pick cherries to get a little money. Sounded like a fun adventure to me. I had a 1941 Chevrolet Club Coupe so off we went, with our parents’ permission of course. We were having a great time in Hood River. We lived in the migrant camp right at the orchard and there was no one to boss us around. Besides, there were a lot of very pretty migrant girls there that year. Their fathers kept a close eye on them when we were around. After a couple of weeks Joe decided that he wanted to white water raft down the Rouge River with his brother and dad after all so I took him home. Much to my surprise, my mother wouldn’t let me go back to Hood River by myself. That set the stage for the rest of my life. I had a taste of the Free Life and didn’t want to give it up.
A couple of days later I took off with my car without even leaving a note. By the time I got to Hood River I decided that they would probably look for me there so I went to Madras, Oregon to see an old girl friend instead. I knew I could get some summer work on the ranch’s around there. I guess I must have been there about two or three weeks and figured I better take off for home and headed back to Yale.
Let it be known that my mother, and father, weren’t the least bit happy with me.
I was there long enough to get a couple of good night’s sleep. Then one morning I was restless and I knew I was like the old song says "The Wayward Wind is a restless wind and I was born to wander" and off I went again. This time I drove to The Dalles, Oregon where I borrowed five dollars off Hap Sanderson, a friend of my dad, and left my car there. Finally I get to the part of the story about hitchhiking 
When I left my car at The Dalles I had five dollars and a few cents, my bed roll which was a blanket, an extra set of clothes, a canteen, and what I called a "Bolo" knife. It was about 18" long total, 3" wide at the widest point and shaped kind of like a willow leaf. My uncle gave it to me a number of years before and I carried it with me every time I went out hunting. I kept it rolled up in the blanket.
First I hitchhiked back to Madras to see my old girl friend again but I didn’t stay very long. Her father got word I was trying to talk her into going on the road with me, no I wasn’t very smart, and he ran me out of town really old Wild West style. He loaded a double barrel 12 gage shotgun in front of me and stuck it between my eyes. His exact word were "If I ever see you again I’ll blow your ****** head off." I took him to his word and didn’t go back to Madras for over twenty five years. I think he’s dead now so I’m probably safe
OK, where to now? I’m not heading home so I guess I should go see my Grandma in East Moline, Illinois. That’s a long way East so back up to Highway 30 and off I go. Things were going pretty good for a while. I got a number of rides and got to Pendleton, Oregon without any problems. East of Pendleton there is a long hill. It’s about an eleven (I think) mile upgrade that is really bad. They called it Cabbage Hill. I walked pretty far and was so glad when a car finally stopped. Wouldn’t you know it I was in with my first drunk driver? There were two of them and they could hardly keep on the road. About half way up Cabbage Hill they were on the side of the road again and hit something that gave them a flat. We all got out and they informed me that I was going to fix the flat. Well, I wanted out of there anyway so I didn’t hesitate a bit. I grabbed my bag and ran as fast as my long skinny legs would take me. They were way too drunk to catch me so I was safe at last.
After a while I got a ride and the rest of the trip to Boise, Idaho was without incident, I’m very happy to say. That’s where I met the "Women From Hell". There I was, hot, hungry and Very thirsty walking my way through Boise. No one stopped and I was afraid the cops would get me if I stuck out my thumb so walk I must. I must have looked pretty bad because after a while a convertible with three really good looking girls came by, waved and stopped. My luck was getting better . They were maybe thirty yards ahead so I jogged up and was just reaching for the door handle as they drove off. They were waving, blowing kisses and having a ball. Oh well, it takes all kinds. Maybe ten or fifteen minutes later here they come again honking their horn, waving and worst of all they all had BIG MILK SHAKES. Boy what I wouldn’t give for a milk shake. They stopped just ahead and one of them held out a shake and motioned me to hurry. They yelled they were sorry about before. What to do? RUN and get that great shake. Yep. Off they went again. I want to tell you those "Women From Hell" followed me all the way through Boise doing the same thing but now I was smart enough to just keep walking.
I must have walked a lot because by the time I got to Ogden, Utah I had holes in the bottom of both shoe soles and was watching for cardboard of any kind to put in my shoes to keep my poor old feet off that HOT HOT pavement. Heading East out of Ogden you go up a long, very long upgrade. I really wanted a ride bad but bad luck was following me every since Boise it would seem. In those days it was the rule of the road that if you were hitchhiking you never stopped ahead of someone else that was already at an intersection trying to find a ride. As I got just outside Ogden and figured it was safe to put my thumb out again I came to what appeared to be the last cross road. I couldn’t believe it. There had to be twenty or thirty guys already there all lined up with maybe 30 yards between them. It looked more like a thousand guys there. I walked past all of them and figured I would never get a ride with all those guys ahead of me so I just kept walking. Walking. and WALKING some more. I must have been a third of the way up that grade, we’re talking miles and miles, and thinking God must really hate me when
I came to an older man taking a break along the road. He looked worse off than me so I stopped and offered him a drink and a little food I had left. We were just starting to walk again when Greyhound Bus pulled up and stopped just ahead of us. The driver got out and waved for us to hurry up. That wonderful driver was transporting an empty bus to Green River, Wyoming and was picking up every "Bo", as we used to call ourselves, along the way. The bus was almost full and you never saw such a bunch of happy, beaten up guys in your life.
Just coming into Green River the driver stopped at the top of the hill and let us all out so he wouldn’t get caught. They would have fired him for helping us. About eight or ten of us had kind of made friends so we stuck together. That’s when I got my first real taste of what it was like to be a real "Bo". They taught me so much I couldn’t believe I had survived all the way here and know so little. Did you know that in those days a "Bo" would often carry a little chalk in his pocket. If he found someone nice enough to provide some food he would mark the fence, post or whatever with a "X" and a circle around it. The next guy coming by would watch for the marks knowing that was a place to try. This was also where I got my first lessons on "riding the rails" as they called catching a ride on a freight train.
That first night we all gathered back together in the Hobo Jungle, which is the area where the Bo’s camp on the way through the area. That night I had my first taste of "Stone Soup". Yes, I know now but I didn’t then. I guess I was pretty dumb. Anyway, one of them said he felt like some Stone Soup and they all smiled and agreed. I thought they just liked Stone Soup. I didn’t know they were smiling because they were pulling a joke on the kid. One of them had a pot so they got some water out of the river and started heating it up. The rivers were actually clean enough to drink from in those days. At least in that part of the country they were. After a while he dropped in a few clean river rocks and let it be known that it would taste a lot better if they had some vegetables in it. Some of the guys had gathered some during their ventures that afternoon so in they went. They were all kind of eyeing me to see what I had for the Stone Soup. I think I really surprised them when I dug down in my pack and came out with a can of condensed soup I had been saving for a bad day. Best darn soup I ever had. The stones made a big difference . Boy was I dumb.
At Green River was where I really learned the ropes. They taught me the right way to jump on a freight train. Did you know that if the train is moving you always jump on the ladder on the leading edge of the car. That way if it is going faster than you think you get thrown against the side of the car and bounce off instead of getting thrown in between the cars and getting killed. Also, in those days the guys working in the train yards were a lot friendlier and would tell you when the next train was going to leave, what track it was on and if there were any empty cars. Pretty friendly and helpful people those train yard guys. All except the "Railroad Bulls" as they called the railroad police. If you saw them you better run. Later in the trip I had a chance to do just that, run from the Railroad Bull, and run I did.
I was told that the Laramie, Wyoming "Bulls" were really bad and so was the police. They didn’t like us at all and that Salt Lake City was just about as bad. I don’t know if it was true or not but they told me if the "Bulls" caught you in Laramie the judge would sentence you to a "Bull Camp", which was a work camp, for six months. Then when you got out the police would pick you up for vagrancy and you would get another six months in the work camp. By the time you got out you would never come back to Laramie again. At first I didn’t believe it but later when we were coming into Laramie I found out they weren’t joking. We were riding in a open coal car, which the guys called a gondola, as we entered Laramie. As soon as the train slowed enough to get off you would have thought a mad dog was after them. They all hit the ground running and scattered like leaves before a wind. The guy I met alongside the road yelled for me to run and I never saw him again. I just ran as fast as my legs would take me never looking back.
Well, that was enough trains for me so I walked through Laramie and I was back trying to hitch a ride. I made it the rest of the way across Wyoming and part of Nebraska without a problem. Now I was in Sidney, Nebraska and heading out of town. If I thought there were a lot of men standing in line at Ogden it was nothing to Sidney. They all beat me there and a few more. I checked the map just now and from Portland, Oregon to Cheyenne, Wyoming is about 1155 miles on the Interstate. The way I went was a lot longer with all the side trips so I would guess that I was getting close to 2000 miles now. OK, what do I do now? I’ll catch a train, that’s what I will do so back to town I went. If you check a map you will see that I only have to finish crossing Nebraska and Iowa and I’m at my Grandma’s house, safe and sound. In the train yard I found a worker and he told me the track, time and that there were a number of empty cars, both box and gondola’s. It would be leaving in about 30 minutes. Maybe he said an hour, I don’t remember. I waited, and waited, and waited. About three hours later and still no trains had left. I’m tired of this, it’s getting late in the afternoon and I’m taking the next train out of town. You guessed it. The next train was heading West not East. Oh well. I’m headed the wrong direction but at least I’m moving. Yep, I sure was dumb.
It was late in the evening and I fell asleep in the box car I was riding in. I didn’t have the door blocked like I had been taught to do and it almost cost me my life. You must use a two by four or something to put in the door in case it slides shut. If it traps you inside you could die before anyone finds you. I had blocked the door but must not have done it right. When I woke up I found that I was on a siding somewhere in Nebraska by a grain elevator and the door was almost closed. Talk about a panic. The two by four had turned sideways and the door had partially latched. It took a while but I finally got it open and there I was, in the middle of nowhere on a siding. It took most of the day before another train pulled in and I jumped it. I got off at Cheyenne because I wasn’t about to ride through Laramie. Now I start my Carney carrier.
Walking into town, Cheyenne, I met another guy on the road and we got talking. He was headed for Los Angles to get with a girl he knew and invited me along. Sound like a good place to me. I still had a few cents left and gave it to him so he could get some cigarettes. They were really cheap in those days. You may be wondering how I was eating and still had a little money left. It was just part of the "training" I got along the road. You could always get a meal at a Mission. The trick was to get the meal and get out before you had to get an "ear beatin" as the guys called it. It was almost like a game to them. A lot of small restraints, bakeries, and other places would let you clean up the place for a meal. Most of the time they wouldn’t even make you work for it. The key was you had to be willing to. People were a lot nicer to the homeless then it seems.
Anyway, back to the story. Here we were trying to get a little money and get out of town so we could get to the girls house in Los Angles. We were lucky that day. There was a carnival in town. I want to tell you it was Frontier Days but some people have told me that Frontier Days are in Laramie. I’m not sure but we were certainly in Cheyenne. You’ll find out why I’m so sure if you keep on reading. We each got a job in the carnival and were going to spend my money to live on and save his for the trip. Yep, same old dumb kid. I was working the "Bumper Cars" and my friend was working a "Swing". We got paid every day so we could eat and we lived off my money. A couple of days later I went to a dinner after work and there was my "Friend" spending money on some woman. I started questioning him and found out that he had spent all his money on beer and women. Bad, Very Bad. I left the dinner and headed back to the carnival. I was pretty angry and didn’t pay attention what I was doing. Two police stopped me and wanted to know who I was and why I was out so late. I panicked. What do I do now. Lie of course. I made up a story how I was living in Oregon and my Grandma in East Moline, Illinois was very sick. Some guy stole my money (at least that part wasn’t a lie) and I had to hitchhike to get to my poor old Granny. Wouldn’t you know it, my luck held. One of the cops used to live in Moline, Illinois and knew East Moline very well. After about ten minutes of questions they decided that I knew the town about as good as he did so I must be telling the truth.
Back to the carnival I go as fast as I can. I wake up the boss and want my last pay. Seems like they withheld one day on us to make sure we didn’t just skip out without telling them. I got my money and was sure the police were going to pick me up any minute. I just knew my parents had put out an all points bulletin on me and I would get caught for sure. After I got my money I headed straight for the railroad yard. I was so scared I forgot that Laramie was the next city West and I was getting on a West bound train. The only car I could find was a flat car carrying some truck trailers. As I jumped on the car I heard this terrible rip. Well, I did have a seat in my pants but didn’t any longer. The seam was torn from zipper to belt.
I tried to hide under the truck trailer as we went through Laramie and I made it without a problem. Well, I’m safe now. Wrong. I came into Green River, Wyoming again only this time from the East. I figured I would just ride on through and get off before Salt Lake City. I didn’t want to get caught there. All of a sudden I heard this man’s voice yelling "Hay you, get off that train and get over here." Get off the train I did but not on his side. It was going pretty fast and I hit the ground running. I got away from him but now I have a real problem. I’m in Green River, my pants are torn really bad, I have my Levi jacket tied around my waist so people can’t see it and I’m really very dirty. I know what I’ll do. I’ll find a laundry mat and ask some nice lady if she wash and dry my cloths along with hers while I wait in the restroom. Dumb. Really Dumb.
I asked around and found out where there was a laundry mat, found my way there and it looked like one but there wasn’t one there anymore. It had been turned into an apartment. I knocked on the door and a very pretty older lady, she was probably in her mid 20′s, answered the door. I spilled out all my problems to her and that now I can’t even work because my pants are ripped and I’m so dirty. Not only was she pretty, she was an Angel sent by God to watch over me. She invited me in and told me she had a washer and dryer, which wasn’t very common in those days, and that she would wash and mend my clothes. Now what am I going to do. This is the only set of clothes I have left. I’m not sure what happened to the other set. She gave me a pair of pants that belonged to her husband and told me to go in the bathroom and toss my clothes out. She would wash and mend them for me.
Her husband wasn’t home at the time and I didn’t think anything of it. I did as I was told and was shocked when I put on her husband’s pants. I could almost wrap them around me twice. This guy must be really fat. Ok, now imagine this. I have washed up and was sitting at this guys table, with his pretty wife, eating his food and wearing his pants and guess who walks in. Not her fat husband. Her very VERY BIG husband. I almost died. I knew he was going to KILL this poor skinny little kid. He walked over, smiled at his wife and held out his hand to me. She really is an Angel sent to protect me. When I was done eating and my clothes were ready I got dressed and they gave me a ride to the edge of town and I was on my way again. I managed to catch a train going up the hill and rode the rest of the way to Salt Lake City and you can bet I took no chance of getting caught there. I got off the train and hitchhiked through town.
Back on the trail again and by now really liking those trains so I caught another one and this time I was in a gondola. I’m not sure just where I was at the time but here I am, riding in an open coal car a little way back from the engine. What’s that ahead? It’s a tunnel. This will be fun. I have to tell you again, sometimes I was just plain stupid. Here I am standing up as tall as I can so I can enjoy going through the tunnel and not giving a thought to where all those fumes and smoke from the engine are going. As soon as I hit the tunnel entrance it felt like a blast furnace had hit me in the face. I couldn’t breathe at all and I thought I would certainly die before I got out of there. I’m now on the floor pouring my last water on a rag and trying to breathe through it. When I finally got out of that tunnel I had enough of freight trains to last me for a long time.
I’m not sure exactly where on the trip this happened but I remember it like it was yesterday and I want to tell you that riding the rails isn’t always safe. I was traveling with some guy I met and we were getting to be pretty friendly. We had gotten in a boxcar with about four or five other pretty rough looking guys and were sitting a little apart from them. After a while this one old guy, he must have been in his 30′s came over to me and said rather softly in my ear "Don’t trust that guy your with. Guys like him will steal the shoes right off your feet". Remember I’m just seventeen years old, six foot tall and about 150 pounds soaking wet. I reached in my bedroll, pulled my Bolo knife out of it’s sheath and said "I’ll cut the head off any SOB that tries to steal my shoes.". His eyes got big and he and his friends stayed at the far end of the car for the rest of the trip. The guy I was riding with just smiled and said "You know who wanted your shoes, don’t you." and I just smiled back.
As soon as I could I got off the train and back on the good old safe highway. I hitched the rest of the way back to The Dalles, paid my dad’s friend the five dollars I owed him and filled up my car with gas. The money from the carnival was about gone. My dad’s friend told me I better head for home and that’s what I did. When I finally got back to Yale I had about the same amount of gas as when I left and I had fifty cents more in my pocket than when I left. I felt I did pretty good. That is until my dad got hold of me. He really raised a ruckus but mom protected me.
A few days later we drove to Woodland, Washington and I got new shoes. That was very nice not to have to stuff cardboard in them. That was the end of this trip but not the end of my adventures on the road. I’ll put the rest of it in the next post. If you found this interesting check it out and find out how I got in the Army. After that I’ll be done with the hitchhiking stories and on to something a little more up to date.
Have A Great Day
Bob Jones