Word: freights
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...dusty stretch of track outside Colton, Calif., a railroad bull confronted three rumpled men about to hop a stalled desert-bound freight. "Turn around," ordered the policeman, resting one hand menacingy on his gun. Frisking the hoboes, the lawman squinted in disbelief: their driver's licenses bore upscale California addresses in West Los Angeles, Marin County and Palm Springs. "Beverly Glen Boulevard?" the policeman demanded of one robust tramp wearing suspenders and carrying a Swiss army knife. "What is this...
...hobbyists, danger is part of the scenario. "You step back into Jack London's time," says Hopkins, who first hopped a freight during his student acting days to attend his grandfather's 90th birthday. "Each trip has edginess, adventure and beauty." Hopkins and his companions are headed for Yuma, Ariz., a wintertime hobo haven along the Colorado River. Since the bull had promised 30 days in jail and a $2,000 fine if further annoyed, everyone hid, returning well after midnight to catch the train. They succeeded, but with difficulty. Comfortable boxcars are giving way to sealed containerized loads...
Approaching Yuma at midmorning, the freight slows to a crawl to accommodate track workers laying ties. Fearful the workers will throw rocks, a constant terror, the riders hide and jump off in a remote rail yard. Campground "jungles" located in trackside patches of scrub and a riverside park for relaxing and washing clothes are nearby. A notable addition to the hobo community this weekend is Tudor Williams, 44, former chef to Movie Director Steven Spielberg. A tramp's poem recommends making mulligan stew by putting "Whatever you've got/ In the pot/ Heat...
...caravan rolls. A pair of fuel trucks, a Ryder rent-a- truck with a family in the cab and its Pontiac dragging behind, a double freight truck, half a peripatetic house marked WIDE LOAD (for shallow living) pass and pass again in symbiotic progression. They finally fetch up -- without a sign of recognition from the drivers who have traveled for hours more or less together -- in the lee of an aptly named roadside restaurant called Huddle. "Lady," snarls the gas-station owner, "don't you ever clean your headlights with a squeegee. Stuff gets in it, and the next...
Much of the time the world beyond our immediate experience seems like a vague intrusion, a series of flickering images we can turn off at will. Then there are times when the outside world is too much with us, when external events take on emotional freight, not only because of what they are but also because of what they might portend. Last week was one of those times...