America’s back roads LOOKING FOR THE PAST ALONG
I met a hobo once who had spent part of the Great Depression hopping freight trains, looking for work. His name was “Speck” Martin. We lived in the same western Oklahoma town for some years. He told me stories, like how he strapped a belt around the catwalk on top of the boxcar and then around his waist to keep from falling off while he slept on the top of the car.
If you look down the row of businesses, you can see some neat signs. One is for the West End Market and Colonial Bread. If you look farther down, you can see a Coca-Cola sign. Right below that Coke sign, if you look closely, there is a team of horses harnessed up to something and backed in to the curb. I thought that was kind of interesting. I wonder what they are doing in town?
He spoke of how word of the friendly towns and the houses where you could get something to eat traveled through the trains. He wanted me to know that hoboes were not bums; he said a bum didn’t want to work, but hoboes were looking for work. Speck finally found work in Winslow, Arizona, cleaning Nehi pop bottles.
