Chapter 1

To my way of thinking, Brooklyn, New York, was not a bad place, but I didn't think that it was such a good place, either. Here I was, 16 years old, and without a job, without a girlfriend, and without a family. The economy was in a shambles and had been ever since the last panic. I had lost my family, father, mother, and two sisters, from fever last winter. Even my girlfriend had died from the fever. I had sold just about everything I had to buy food. I was living on the street, now, since I couldn't pay rent any longer. Shit, I had to do something, but I didn't know what it could be.

From talking to some of my friends, I figured that the chances of employment were down around zero. Even the Army was refusing new volunteers. It looked like the only thing to do was to go out West, but where? Shit, I'd never been on a horse nor had I ever fired a gun, so I figured that I didn't stand much chance of being a cowboy. There was no longer any money in hunting for small furs, and the buffalo were pretty well wiped out, so there was nothing there, either. Prospecting for gold or silver seemed like my best prospect, but I knew nothing about that, either.

Oh, hell, who was I kidding? I didn't have any choice. There were rumors about gold lying on the ground just waiting to be picked up out in Dakota Territory. I figured that I could get by if all I had to do was to pick the gold up off the ground, so I decided to go to Dakota and see what there was out there. It wouldn't cost me any more to starve in the Dakota Territory than it did to starve in Brooklyn!

Once I had made up my mind what to do, I set out to make it happen. It was a long walk down to the railroad yards, and I knew I was out of my depth as soon as I got there. There were a hell of a lot of men, and a few women, wandering around looking at the departing trains. The problem was that there were a flock of railroad bulls (private police) also wandering around. Whenever one of the wanderers got too close to the trains, one or more of the bulls would wave a club at him and threaten to beat him until he left.

I could see that there was more to hopping a train that just walking up to one and climbing on. I spied an older man siting in the shade and watching what was going on, so I ambled over to where he was as said, "Hello, Mister. Mind if I sit here?"

"No, Son, there's plenty of room. Have a seat." I thanked him and sat down. Neither one of us said anything for a while. We just watched the dance of the bulls and the would be hobos. Finally, the man laughed and said, "Them folks must be as green as grass the way they keep trying ta git passed them bulls in broad daylight. Somebody ought ta tell them ta wait 'til dark."

I laughed with him, and said that I was green, too, but I could see that there was no profit in trying to get aboard right now. He said, "Well, ya looks like ya got more sense than average." He held out his hand to shake and announced, "Welcome ta the world of the hobo. My name is Pittsburgh, what's yer's?"

I thought for a moment and decided that "Pittsburgh" couldn't really be his name, so I decided not to say my real name of Aaron Schwartz. Instead, I said, "Call me 'Brooklyn.'"

"Well, Brooklyn, I see that ya learns fast. Where ya headed?"

"I don't know for sure, Pittsburgh. I ain't got much learning, so I figured I'd head for Dakota Territory and hunt for gold."

"I don't know if that's a good idea or not, but I'm headed for Chicago, so ya can trail along with me that far if ya want ta."

"That's right kindly of ya, Pittsburgh. Right now, I need all of the help that I can get. I sure appreciate your offer."

"Think nothin' of it. Company's always good on a long trip. Ya got anythin' ta eat?"

"No, Sir. That's why I headed West. I ain't had nothing to eat since noon yesterday. With no money, I was out of luck."

"Hmm. OK, Brooklyn, ya just stick with me, and we'll find somethin'." By now, it was late afternoon, so he got up and led me toward a grove of trees back aways from the railroad yard. "This here is a hobo jungle. Ya can almost always find somethin' ta eat around here if ya are polite about it. Let's see what we can dig up. Ah, hey, Benny, where's the stew pot?"

"Hi, Pittsburgh, it's over that way 'bout 50 yards. Ya headin' out tonight?"

"Yeah, ya comin'?"

"Naw, I'll hang around here a couple more days. Then, Jimmy the Greek an' me are headed fer Atlanta."

"OK. Good luck. Come on, Brooklyn, let's see what's on for supper, tonight." Pittsburgh led me toward a large pot that was simmering over a very low fire. There was a dipper hanging beside the pot and some empty cans lying on the ground beside it. "Grab one of them cans and see what ya can dip from the pot, Son. We might just be lucky tonight."

I dipped into the pot and felt something down on the bottom, so I lifted it out and poured it into a can I had picked up. It looked like a piece of meat still on the bone, but I couldn't identify it. I looked kind of doubtful at it, but Pittsburgh laughed and said, "It's OK, Son. Ya can be sure that it's safe ta eat if it comes from a Mulligan Stew pot."

I took his word for it and chomped down on the morsel. To my surprise, it tasted good. I figured that it wasn't kosher, but this was no time to be too particular. I drank the liquid when I finished the meat, and, to my surprise, I felt full for the first time in a week! Hell, if this was what it meant to be a hobo, then I was all for it!

We finished eating and Pittsburgh said, "We'd best find a place to sleep for a little while. There ain't no westbound trains 'til after midnight. Follow me." We found a quiet place between the stew pot and the railroad and lay down on the grass. Pittsburgh was asleep in less than five minutes, and I wasn't far behind. The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake, and Pittsburgh said, "Come on, Son. It's time ta catch the Westbound."

We didn't head directly for the yards, but for a bit of brush near the track about a mile from the bustle of the making up of trains and the gaggle of railroad bulls. "This is the last place for a while ta catch a train while it's still goin' slow, so here's where we board. We want to travel in a boxcar, but it's safer ta hop aboard a flatcar and work our way from there. The perfect place is half way between the engine and the caboose, but we better take what we can get to start with."

I had no idea what was the best way to go, so I just followed Pittsburgh as he led me to the brush. We edged our way up close to the track and waited for a train to come by. We didn't have long to wait. A train of about 30 cars came by and we ran to board a flatcar that was lumbering by. I was lucky that it was empty, so I had little trouble getting aboard. A loaded car, especially one covered by a tarp, would probably have given me trouble as I jumped aboard—I needed all of the open space that I could get.

Pittsburgh grabbed my hand and pulled me along to the next car. It was a gondola, also empty, so it was ideal for us to rest in and catch our breath. Once we were in place, Pittsburgh said, "We were too easy ta see on that empty flat. We'll be tossed off the train if a bull sees us, soz we want to stay out of sight, especially from the caboose."

We leaned against the wall of the gondola and rested for about half an hour. It's surprising how much effort it takes to board a moving train in the dark. One slip, and you could easily be dead. We sat there for a while, then Pittsburgh said, "OK, it's time ta look for a boxcar ta ride in. We want to stay near the tail end of the train, since those cars are most likely to be goin' the farthest distance. Those up near the engine are usually the ones what gets dropped off at side tracks and loading docks.

Chapter 2 »