Chapter 2

It was a beautiful sunny morning, and as I walked down the alley toward 22nd Street the thought uppermost in my mind was to avoid being seen by my mother, who might be shopping nearby. I cautiously approached the intersection and looked up and down the street. Seeing nothing of mother, I darted across the street and past the alley entrance to a basement occupied by a Chinese laundry. It was one down whose cellar stairs I had several times helped other boys roll heavy empty beer barrels, which thundered down the steps and crashed loudly into the doors below, invariably shattering the glass they contained. I continued on my way to 16th Street and Indiana Avenue, where fortunately (or so I thought at the time) I encountered one of the Patch Gang, a boy of about 14 named Timothy Flynn.

Tim was a parolee from an Illinois reform school, who had run away from home on two or three occasions, once making his way as far as New York. As I had decided to see that fabulous city, I eagerly sought Tim's advice on getting there. Our conversation must have fired his mind with wanderlust, for he volunteered to accompany me and I agreed. He went home and returned shortly, clad in even more disreputable clothing than he wore when I met him. We went down to the Illinois Central R. R. yards (which, incidentally, were used by the Nickel Plate, Michigan Central, and other railroads) where we waited for a southbound freight. When the first one came along that was going slowly enough for us to flip onto it, we did so, one from each side, and clambered onto a flatcar. We made our way to the end of the car and through the end door of a boxcar adjoining. The car was empty and, being hungry, we soon disposed of the food I had brought.

I don't know how far we had gone-- probably not more than thirty or forty miles-- when the train came to a stop. Within a few minutes the side door of the car was slid open; a brakeman poked his head into the doorway and, seeing us, ordered us out. We dropped to the ground and walked toward the engine. When the train pulled out I started to board it again, but Tim stopped me. He told me later that once a shack had put me off a train it was best not to try to ride that particular train further, for if caught again by the same man I was apt to get sapped.

We had stopped at a small village with a depot and water tank beside the track. We met a couple of men lounging by the tank and asked them the name of the town. They told us, and one of the men, who had been carving his initials on the base of the tank, became quite friendly. He rolled and gave us the first hand-rolled cigarettes I had ever seen, and though I did not like the flavor as well as that of the "Old Judge" and Sweet Caporals" to which I was accustomed, I proudly inhaled the smoke and blew it out through my nose to show that I was no novice at smoking.

The other tramp (for they were tramps) suggested to Tim that they walk up to the depot to find when the next freight would go through. This was probably a pretext to separate us, so that they might more easily use their persuasive powers to get us to team up with them. At any rate, as soon as Tim and his companion had gone, my companion began to work on me. He asked me to tell him all about myself and my ambitions, and as he was exceedingly friendly, I did so except that I gave him a fictitious name. He was ery sympathetic and told me that if I would ditch Tim, he would take me along to New York with him where he would show me the most wonderful sights and provide for my welfare in a manner beyond my most hopeful dreams; and I agreed.

After a while, Tim and his companion (I later learned that he bore the moniker "Boston Slim) returned, and Tim began repeating to me the glowing accounts Slim had told him of California with its multitude of Ice Cream Caves, Lemonade Springs, and so forth. Tim said he had decided to go west with Slim, and asked me if I wouldn't prefer California to New York. I was about to say yes when my companion interrupted and told them that we had decided to go to New York first and that we would follow them to California later. I believe I was disappointed at the time, but somehow he convinced me that his plan would be the best; so early that evening when a west-bound freight stopped for water, Tim and I parted to go our respective ways. I never saw or heard of him again.

"Michigan Curly"-- that was my companion's moniker-- had so won my confidence that I entrusted to him the several dollars that I had stolen from home. He was pleased and promised to keep it safely for me. He told me not to have any conversation with any tramps who might come along while he was gone to get something for us to eat, and to keep out of sight as much as possible behind a nearby pile of railroad ties. When half an hour or more had passed and he had not returned, I began to get uneasy. I recalled that there were not more than half a dozen houses in the place, and probably no store; but presently he returned with a loaf of homemade bread, sliced and buttered, several hard-boiled eggs, and two large slices of fried ham, all wrapped up in a piece of newspaper. There was a barrel of fresh water directly under the water tank's movable supply pipe, and with lenty to drink, we soon consumed all of the food.

Meanwhile, an eastbound passenger train had come through. It did not stop, but about ten P.M. an eastbound freight stopped for water and we climbed into an empty box car and soon were on our way. We did not sleep much that night, for whenever the train came to a stop, Curly would open up the side door on the station side and watch toward each end of the train to see if a shack was coming to search the train. If one did show up-- their swinging lanterns could be seen for quite a distance-- we would jump to the ground, close the door, hide until the shack had passed, and then reenter the car.

Around four in the morning we came to a town of some size. I have forgotten the name, but it was a railroad junction and probably a division point, for I recall seeing a switch engine or two and a number of railroad tracks. We left the train there and walked to the depot, where we washed up. From there, Curly led me to a nearby stream where we encountered a couple of other tramps he knew, and to whom he introduced me as "Young Curly". We cleared a new place in the jungle of brush and weeds, lay down side by side, and slept till about noon.

Curly was sitting up and talking to the other tramps when I awoke, and presently we were squatting around a small fire, on the embers of which was a five-gallon kerosine can half-filled with the most delicious stew I had ever eaten. It contained potatoes, canned tomatoes, and pieces of beef, mutton, and chicken. There was plenty of bread, and each served himself by dipping empty tomato cans into the boiling stew, retrieving potatoes and meat with the aid of a paddle-shaped stick. It was my first "mulligan: but had I known that it was my stolen money that provided all but the "gump" (chicken), which of course was stolen, I might not have felt so elated.

When we had finished eating and the cans had been scoured out with sand from the banks of the nearby stream and secreted in the bushes near the fire, the other two tramps went away. Curly produced two packs of cigarettes, gave one to me with a box of matches, and proceeded to teach me the tricks of the trade. He first told me that every boy of my age tramping about the country was liable to be assaulted and badly mistreated -- sometimes even killed -- unless he had a "Jocker". He explained that he was going to be my Jocker (protector or road father) and that as long as I did what he asked of me, he would let no one harm me. He warned me not to talk to other tramps except in his presence, intimating that they might lie to me about him for the purpose of getting me to leave him for them. I really liked Curly and promised I would obey him.

Curly then advised me about stealing. He told me never to steal anything from a person's house when I was asked in to sit for a meal. He explained that sooner or later I would be caught and sent to jail. It was alright, he explained, to steal chickens, fruits and vegetables from farmers. He taught me his method of catching chickens, which was to start walking toward the fowl until it started to run, and then to follow it just fast enough to keep it running, but not fast enough to make it break into flight. He explained that the chicken would keel over from exhaustion by the time it had run a few hundred feet, whereas if forced into flight it would probably never be caught. Many times, in later years, I proved his theory to be reliable.

Having ascertained that I knew nothing of begging, Curly explained what he considered to be the best approach, and rehearsed me in the stories I was to tell. One was that when I was "Chronicking" (begging from private homes)á the best story to tell was that my parents had died and that I was making my way to an aunt in New York, or elsewhere. If I was asked in to a meal and I was hungry I was to accept; but if not hungry, to ask to have some food put in a bag so that I might share it with another boy who was going with me. Begging on the streets of a city or good-sized town was another matter entirely. Here, I was told, the best story consisted of telling pedestrians, to the accompaniment of tears, that I had just dropped a quarter or half-dollar down a crack in the sidewalk (nearly all sidewalks were wooden then), and ask the pedestrian to help me find it. I was to explain that my father had sent me to buy some food and that I would get a terrific whipping if I returned home without it.

That worked succesfully when I tried it out in Louisville, KY. a few days later, but in one case it proved a ludicrous boomerang. I had told the story to an elderly gentleman who was very sympathetic. After searching in vain for the half dollar I said I had lost, the old man asked me what I had been told to buy. Without thinking, I said, "A sack of cornmeal." Thereupon, the old gentleman led me across the street to a grocery and bought the meal for me, and made me a gift of the fifty-five cents change he received from a dollar. Cornmeal was not worth much at the time, for I received a fifty-pound sack; and to make matters worse, the old gent insisted on seeing that I got safely home with it. So I got it on my shoulder and started down the street, looking for an open house door where I could get rid of my burden. I finally spied one across the street and, thanking my benefactor, crossed the street, climbed the dozen or so stairs, and entered a short hall where I sat the sack down gently. I waited a couple of minutes until the old gentleman had passed on, then ran down the steps and walked hurriedly to the corner-- where I met Curly, who had seen the whole thing. What the people thought when they found the sack of meal in their hall, I can't imagine.

Curly told me that when begging it was wise to have but little, if any, money in my pocket at the time, because if I was arrested and had money I would probably be considered a professional beggar and be given ten or more days in jail. On the other hand, if I had no money on me, I could expect to be given a twenty-four hour "floater" to get out of town. For that reason, he would follow me on my begging excursions and collect from me after each touch I made. He told me that if I wanted money for anything he would gladly give it to me, and I believed him. He also instructed me never to beg private houses when the men were apt to be at home for, as he explained, women were more tender-hearted and didn't ask so many damn fool questions. I learned a lot from Curly that afternoon.

About four o'clock Curly led me to the outskirts of the town and told me to beg at some of the houses for food. I did so, and at the very first house I got a "sitdown" (invitation to the kitchen table) and was given a quarter besides. At the next house I fared even better when I told of my supposed boy companion. The kind lady made up a lot of sandwiches, added a quartered pie and half a cake, and packed it all neatly into a large paper bag. She cried over me, kissed my cheeks, gave me two half-dollars, and finally sent me on my way with God's blessing. I felt ashamed to think how I had deceived her.

Curly met me a block or so away and we repaired to the jungle. The other two tramps did not return that evening and, as there had been two tomato cans full of mulligan left over from the noon meal, we had more than enough food for supper and breakfast. Curly went uptown and bought some coffee, and brought back some old newspapers for bedding. He taught me how to build a safe >fire, after which he warmed up the rest of the mulligan and made coffee. After dinner he packed the rest of the food in the paper bag and tied the top securely to keep out insects. Then he hid out the food, placed the large oil can over it for added protection, and weighted it down with a large rock.

We left the jungle and its mosquitoes to find shelter for the night. We located a large pile of new railroad ties nearby, from which he constructed a leanto. It was just wide enough for both of us to lie comfortably side by side, and after Curly had spread out the newspapers we crawled under the ties and lay there talking for an hour or more before going to sleep.

As a guess, Jack was three or four years old when this picture was taken.