As elastic as could be.
He was always at the depot, just
To see what he could see.
One day he saw a freight train
Waiting orders on the track,
And there he spied a tramperman
Who was hiding from the shack.
He rubbered round this tramperman
And nearly lost his eyes
And, stepping back to call the shack,
He stumbled o'er some ties.
As Johnson tumbled o'er the ties
He fell both hard and flat.
The tramperman reached out his hand
And stole his watch and hat.
The fall, it stunned old Johnson,
But he very soon awoke,
And gaping up and down the track
Could barely see the smoke
Made by the train he's rubbered at
When o'er those ties he fell.
He cursed and swore and raved and tore
And wished all tramps in Hell.
But when he found that he was robbed
It made his rubber sore,
He vowed, away from trains he'd keep
Perhaps the most dramatic of Michael's effusions was this ballad:
"'Twas in an old Q boxcar
I must have
heard Michael recite this poem a hundred times, yet it was never twice the
same. He was always tinkering with its phrasing, and I think he considered it
his masterpiece. He told me that he was born in Dublin and came to this country
when he was twelve. He had learned to read and write, but little else.
I learned that
Tony had lived in London and was taken to Liverpool when he was ten years old.
He had received no schooling, but had been apprenticed to a tailor, from whom
he ran away when he was sixteen. He shipped out of Liverpool as a messboy on an
English tramp steamer, and deserted when he reached New York.
Tony had a
decided Cockney accent. He also liked to recite poetry but, being unable to
read, was limited to what he could learn by word of mouth. His favorites were
songs and poems of a lugubrious nature, like "The Stowaway",
"The Boston Burglar", "The Ship that Never Returned", and
such like. Despite his small size he had a deep bass
voice, and could get all the low notes in "Rocked in the
Cradle of the Deep". I can recall only one of his Cockney verse
The
bloody bleedin' sparrow went
We shuttled back
and forth between Ogden and Salt Lake City for a week and then headed for
California. Several times, during the first three weeks of our stay in Utah, I
had to overcome the urge to return to Denver and make up with Ella, but I
finally resolved to stay away for at least a year. As is usual in such cases of
blighted love, after a year had passed I realized that I couldn't be happy with
her because confidence in her fidelity would be lacking.
We stayed in
California until the spring of 1899. I no longer cared to make money and made
no attempt to revive any form of peddling, being content to drift along from
day to day. I could still mooch two or three dollars a day without much effort,
and as I spent nothing for liquor I always had more than enough for my needs. I
contributed much more than my share to the general pot because Michael and
Tony, being much older than I and drunk half the time, were unable to mooch
more than a dollar a day - if that much. We met a large number of tramps, most
of whom were known to Michael and Tony, but there were many whom I had heard of
but never met. One of them, called "Glims", was a spectacle peddler
who carried a case containing an eye-testing outfit in addition to his stock in
trade. He would come to the jungles or tramps' hangouts after two or three days
peddling among the farmers, throw thirty or forty dollars on the ground or the
floor of the hangout, and tell the bunch to slop it up. He would stay paralyzed
drunk until the money was gone and then take off again, to return a few days
later and repeat the performance. On these occasions Tony was in his glory. He
didn't care for the whiteline most of the tramps drank, and when possible he
would get a keg of beer and stay with it until it was gone.
Two other tramps
I met that winter were remarkable for what they could carve with a pocketknife.
One was called "Kiwa Jack", and he specialized in carving fans and
putting full-rigged ships into empty beer bottles. The fans were of all sizes.
A few were what he called "Six-Deckers", and required a full day to
make. They were carved out of one piece of wood, the largest fan being at the
back and the other five progressively smaller, forming a steplike structure. He
decorated them with ribbons and bronze paint and found a ready market for them
in saloons, sometimes getting as much as ten dollars for an extra large one. I
once watched him put a rigged ship into a long gallon-sized bottle. It was a
special order for which he received twenty-five dollars, and it took him only
two days.
The other tramp
was called "Pincers"; he carved wooden pincers and chains. He would
take a stick of sugarpine or spruce about five feet long by one and a half
inches square, and from it carve a linked chain about eight feet long without a
break in it. It was a much more tedious job than fan carving, and did not pay
nearly so well.
Tony, Michael
and I started north in April. We
stopped in the larger towns between Oakland and Seattle, but little worthy of
mention happened. We spent most of the summer in the northwest through Oregon,
Washington, Montana and Idaho without adventure or misadventure, other than
being arrested several times for begging and
given twenty-four hour floaters to get out of town.
Michael and I could hardly tear Tony away
from a town in Idaho, named Weiser, where there was
a small brewery. A person could get a skuttle of suds there for the mere asking,
provided he didn't ask too often. Tony must have made a hit with one of the
brewery workmen, for he was soused for almost a week.
We met two other
tramps there who stood out in my memory. "Michigan Blacky" was a
swarthy, quarrelsome fellow who later that summer earned and received a
ten-year sentence at Walla Walla for attempting to rape a woman who let him
into her kitchen to feed him. The other was slender, about thirty years old,
and bore the Monicker "Leadville Jimmy." He had only one eye, and
wore a black patch over the socket of the other, which had been destroyed in
some manner. He was a quiet, unassuming fellow who loved his beer as much as
Tony did. I met him again that summer in Pendleton, Ore., where he offered me
several gold rings and a "Super" watch to peddle for him. I recalled
the "Jiggers" episode, and declined. Several years later, I read an
article in a San Francisco newspaper in which he was mentioned as being a
friend of Harry K. Thaw. He must be eighty by now if he is still living.
I shall never
forget a trip that Michael, Tony and I made into the
Coeur D'Alene country not far from Spokane. We had been down the Palouse
valley to Moscow, Idaho. When we were returning to Spokane we met a tramp who
told us of a star route from Wallace, Idaho, to Burke, which he said was good
pickings. He should have said "good itchings". It was a hike through
a place called Fourth of July Canyon and, as the days were hot, we started
about 4 A.M. By nine o'clock we had gone about ten miles when we began to
notice small swarms of little black gnats and very large mosquitoes. We kept
going till about ten o'clock, when the sun shone into the canyon and warmed up
the air, which in turn warmed up millions of mosquitoes that almost ate us up.
They seemed to literally fill the air, and we had to tie handkerchiefs over our
faces to keep them out of our mouths and nostrils. They were much worse than
the ones Baldy and I had encountered over the Louisiana swamp. We turned and
ran back down the canyon, but there was no getting away from them until about
noon, when the hot sun drove them to cover. For a week afterwards, our necks,
ears, foreheads and hands were sore and swollen from the bites and our
subsequent scratching.
We returned to
Spokane Falls, as it was called in those days. It was touted as "The Heart
of the Inland Empire" by real estate promoters. There was a small but very
pretty waterfall right in the heart of the city, which the citizens took great
pride in pointing out to visitors. We stayed there about a week and then
started back toward Seattle. All along the route, on every available barn or
other structure whose owners would permit posting, we saw signs of all sizes
with the words, "Keep Your Eyes on Pasco." I was told that some large
real estate promoters had bought up all
the land within a radius of ten miles of the town, had surveyed it into
building lots and small farms, and sold these parcels to gullible buyers from
coast to coast. Had all the land been built upon, Pasco would have become a
city larger than Chicago. From later real estate booms in California, I am
inclined to believe that the promoters moved to Los Angeles.
We went as far
west as Cle Ellum, just west of the Cascade Tunnel, and then returned to
Spokane just because Tony had a yen for the brewery at Weiser. We started for
Pendleton, got ditched at a place named Starbuck, and here an incident occurred
that illustrates the resourcefulness of tramps in outwitting their enemies, the
shacks.
It was midday
when a southbound passenger train stopped at the station. We saw it coming
before it stopped, and hid behind a section foreman's toolhouse. We saw the
shack watching near the engine, and when the train started up and the shack was
out of sight we ran and swung onto the blind baggage. The train moved slowly
for about two hundred yards and then came to a stop. The shack came forward and
ordered us off, and when we dropped off beside him, he gave the engineer the
"go" signal .The shack stayed beside us as the train pulled out
slowly, and when all but the last car of the train had passed us he swung
aboard the last car and waved at us in derision. As the rear end of the last
car passed us we stepped between the rails, out of sight of the train crew, and
started running after the train. I was the first to catch it, and climbed over
the bumper onto the platform. Michael was close behind me. As the train was
picking up speed, poor Tony had a hard time making it. Michael stood on the
bumper and, with one hand clinging to the handrail, he managed to reach Tony's
outstretched hand and pull him aboard. We clambered up onto the deck of the car
and lay there until we reached Umatilla junction. As the train pulled in, we
climbed down between two cars onto the car's platform, where a few moments
later we met the shack who thought he had ditched us for good at Starbuck. I
have never seen a person more astonished than that shack. The look of
incredulity on his face was amusing, and when the train came to a stop we
alighted on the station platform and thumbed our noses at him. He said nothing,
but just stared at us as we walked away.
When we related
our experience to a bunch of tramps at Pendleton the next day, it brought a
laugh. One of them, "St. Louis Slim", told us how he had ridden the
blind baggage of a train, in plain view of the cons and shacks, from Pocatello,
Idaho, to The Dalles, Oregon. He said that at Pocatello he met an Indian who
was wearing a feathered hat, and that he got the Indian drunk on whiteline.
After that he stole the Indian's hat, moccasins and blanket, put on the hat and
moccasins and, wrapping the blanket about him, sat down on the baggage car
platform and stayed there. Shacks either ignored him or offered a word of
greeting, and passed on. There were a number of Indian reservations along the
line, and it was the custom then to allow Indians to ride without molestation.
On several occasions I saw an Indian and his squaw riding that way in plain
view of the trainmen.
The day
following our arrival in Pendleton nearly proved to be my last. I had always
been very fond of canned salmon and had taken a can of it with me into one of
these icehouses, where several tramps lay around drinking whiteline. I ate the
salmon about noon, and two or three hours later I became violently ill. I
suspected ptomaine poisoning, and remembered that mother had told me that ammonia
and opium were the best remedies for it. I sent Tony up town to get some
laudanum and aromatic spirits of ammonia. While he was gone I had terrible
cramps, and convulsions that made me flop around like a chicken with its head
cut off. Perspiration streamed from my pores, and during the worst of my agony
I fainted.
When I recovered
consciousness an hour or more later, I was free from pain but was so weak I
couldn't move. All the tramps but Michael and Tony were gone, and they had
carried me to a place near the door where there was more light and fresher air.
I soon fell asleep and didn't wake up until the following morning. Although
stronger, I was still too weak to climb down the ladder, so Tony and Michael
rigged up a crude boatswain's chair with rope from the adjoining icehouse, and
lowered me to the ground with the block and tackle. There was a small stream
not far away, and with their help I was able to walk to it. They undressed me,
cleaned me up, and washed my clothes, which were dry by evening.
I ate nothing
that day, but the next morning I was hungry and Michael made some soup for me.
He told me that Tony had been unable to get the laudanum, but had returned with
an ounce of ammonia, which Michael had poured down my throat undiluted, in two
doses half an hour apart. He told me that by the time Tony returned with the
ammonia he could feel no pulse and detect no breathing, and that my body seemed
to be turning cold. He thought I had died, and only gave me the ammonia because
I had urged him to do so in case I fainted. Had he not done so, I'm sure I
would not be here to tell of the experience. Since then I have been afraid to
eat canned fish of any kind.
After leaving
Boise we went to Salt Lake City, spending another month in the Cache Valley en
route. We then went east on the D & RG railroad, stopping over a couple of
days in Grand Junction where a peach festival was in progress. We continued on
to Pueblo and then to La Junta and Rocky Ford for the melon festival in
September.
Although I was
within a hundred miles of Denver and had managed to keep Ella pretty well out
of my mind, I was afraid to go home to see mother for fear that I would meet
Ella and have my interest in her revived. Instead, we went down into Texas and
then to California again. We stayed around San Francisco most of the time
because it was the best tramp town on the coast. If a tramp kept off lower
Market Street and confined his operations to the less congested districts, there
was little likelihood that he would be pinched for begging. Even if he were, he
would be given a floater, for at that time the county jail was too small even
to accomodate those who were charged with more serious offences. Several old
tramps who tried to crash into jail in order to obtain a winter's food and
lodging had appeared before "His Honor" several times within a month
without accomplishing their purpose.
There were a
dozen or more tramp hangouts south of Market Street, which the police raided from
time to time when they were in search of a person wanted for a particular
crime. They would block the front and rear entrances, line the bunch up against
the bar and the sides of the room, and frisk each of us for "gats",
after which they would depart without comment. I am certain in my mind that
each of these hangouts contained one or more stool pigeons, who tipped off the
bulls when a known yegg came among us; at least, their raids seemed to coincide
with such events.
Michael, Tony
and I usually hung out at "Johnny's" on Howard Street near Third.
Johnny had a large room in back of the saloon where those who were too drunk to
be put to bed could doss the night out on the floor. Above the saloon he had
about twenty small rooms furnished with three-quarter beds, which he rented for
two bits. The rooms and bedding were kept as clean as could be expected for the
rental charged. Two persons were allowed to occupy one room without additional
charge. Michael and Tony occupied one room; but after a night or two there I
moved to nearby Hunter Hotel, because the fleas at Johnny's were too numerous
for comfort, and the ventilation was practically nil. I paid seventy-five cents
more per week; but I had an outside room with running water. The water never
ran more than a trickle and was always cold, but the room was fairly flealess.
I think I picked off and dropped into the donicker at least fifty fleas the
first night I spent at Johnny's.
For the most
part, Tony and Michael worked south of Market Street and in the Mission
District. Being better dressed than they, I found "north of the slot"
more to my liking. There were several clubs-- the Bohemian was one-- in whose
vicinity it was comparatively easy to mooch three or four dollars within as
many hours. I didn't use any of the hackneyed approaches used by most tramps
("Mister, will you please give me ... "), etc. My approach varied
from time to time, but for general use I found that "Pardon me, sir, but
may I detain you a moment?" was as good as any. Another that was fairly
successful was to ask for the time; and when the Man pulled out his watch I
would say, "I'm sorry I had to resort to a
subterfuge to get your attention, but the last three men I tried
to stop refused to listen to me, and I am really in need of help and
advice."
From that point
on it was up to me to convince the man that I really was in need of his
assistance. My spiels, like my approaches, varied. A moocher, to be successful,
has to think just a bit faster than his intended benefactor. In many cases he
has to anticipate his victim's reactions as the story unfolds, and stop
"pouring it on" the minute the man puts his hand into his trousers
pocket, or shows any indication of disbelief or annoyance. I found that an
occasional pause in my spiel, to permit the victim to ask a question or two,
was very effective if I could respond with a plausible answer.
One of my most
effective spiels was to tell the man (I never mooched women
on the streets) that I was a craftsman of one kind or another, and that I had
come to the city with my wife in expectation of getting work at my trade. I
would add that I would have to join the local union before being permitted to
work, and that I was trying to find some kind of a job that would tide us over
until I could save enough to pay my initiation fee into the union. If there
happened to be a union on strike at the time I said that I had been laid off
because of the strike, but never that I was a member of the striking union.; as
a rule, the people I mooched were not sympathetic to strikers.
Another good
spiel I used quite often in San Francisco was to say that I was an Australian
marine engineer and that I had been taken ill a couple days before my ship
returned to Australia, and that I was trying to get by as best I could until an
Australian ship came to port, at which time I expected I would be able to
return to my own country.
Glibness of
tongue was a liability rather than an asset; and any restraining action, such
as holding onto the victim's coat sleeve, was fatal to one's success. A
straightforward story, told slowly and earnestly, seldom failed if the man
stopped long enough to listen to it. When I laid my spiel, I think I more than
halfway believed it myself. If a man showed disbelief and started to turn away,
I would say, "I'm sorry you don't believe me, sir, but I thank you for
hearing me out." It was not uncommon to have a man, whom I apparently had
failed to impress, turn away and walk down the street half a block, then return
and slip half a dollar into my hand and wish me luck. It was undoubtedly my
final words that brought them back, When they did return, the donation was
usually more than I had expected to get. I never mooched a second prospect
while the last donor was in sight.
I found the
people in San Francisco more liberal than in most cities. On two occasions I
was given Trade dollars (a silver dollar somewhat larger than the regular
ones); and once a man gave me two new twenty-five cent pieces, which I
discovered to be phony and immediately ditched. McNeil's Island didn't appeal
to me.
San Francisco
was pretty wide open at the time. The Barbary Coast near Chinatown was, I
think, under police protection; but streetwalkers were everywhere, and the
jails were too full to hold a quarter of them. I became well acquainted with
half a dozen or more whom I met on my beat. One in particular, whom I shall
call Irene, was a newcomer, and evidently inexperienced; her technique of
solicitation was crude beyond belief. She would stop and solicit the most impossible
people--cab drivers, a man with an armful of bundles, men walking hurriedly or
waiting at the curb for streetcars. I taught her to stand before a brightly
lighted and attractive window display, and to make some small comment on its
contents to any man who stopped beside her. I told her she would make better
contacts with less effort if she just loitered, and that men seeking her
profession needed no urge other than the one nature had given them.
She was totally
ignorant of the rudiments of disease prevention. I taught her what little I
knew of the subject, and persuaded another girl to enlighten her still further.
She was grateful to me, and rewarded me with all she had to give. She had only
been on the streets for three days when I first met her, and within a month I
had induced her to give up the life and go to work. Since then, I have often
thought that I would have made a first-class pimp had I been so inclined.
A dying moocher lay,
Watching
patiently the shadows
Steal o'er the ebbing day.
He
thought about his past career,
His
sorrows, joys and pains,
Of
how he'd fooled both cons and shacks
While
riding on their trains.
And
as he thought, he tried to laugh
But
it made him gasp for breath.
Around
him in the twilight
Some
sloppy moochers lay,
Rushing
the can, and wond'ring
If
he'd live to see next day.
One
handed him the beer can
But
the sick tramp turned away.
He
turned to where, beside him,
A
four-bit Mickey lay,
Seized
it with trembling fingers,
Raised
high upon his bed,
And
with last expiring effort
To
the wond'ring moochers said:
Here's
to old King Whiteline,
I've
drank it all my life.
It
lightens all our sorrows,
It's
all good tramps' delight.
Plant
a Mickey in my coffin
When
you place me in the ground,
For
it will come in handy
When
the Judgement trump shall sound.
For
old-time friends will meet there
And
this four-bit Mickey plant
Will
nerve us to our duty
As
in the line we stand.
And
when we meet Saint Peter
Taking
tickets at the gate,
As
he reads my tramping record
At
me his head he'll shake.
That
shake, to one who's sober
Means
going down below,
But
with my Whiteline jag on,
I
will not have it so.
For
I'll make a foxy hideout
Near
the Garden that is God's,
And
when the train goes through those gates
I'll
be riding on the rods!"
Up
the blawsted bloomin' spout.
The
bloomin' bloody rain came,
And
washed the sparrow out.
The
blawsted bloomin' sun came,
And
dried away the rain,
And
the bloody bleedin' sparrow
Went
up the spout again."