|
pgs. 44 to 47
TO THE DEPARTING
SENIORS
If an humble Junior might advise
You departing Seniors, who are so wise,
He would beg for you to keep in mind
Home and the school you're leaving behind.Let all
that you do measure up to your best.
Work when you work, and when finished, rest.
At play be a sport, if you lose you must grin,
And ne'er be so humble as the time when you win.
O Seniors! Don't think that all is now won,
You have not finished, you have just begun.
Though these rules be crude, you must take heed,
And to you who are leaving, we bid you God speed.
--ALBERT FENDIG, Jr., '23 |
§
LIFE ON
THE ROLLING RAILS, OR REMINISCENCES OF A HOBO
Down in the lobby of one of the
most promising hotels on the west side of Brunswick, the Double
Deuce, that' the gang of Jud, Duke, Tub and Bud, had just finished
listening to a hair-raising, heart-throbbing, hustling story about
being shanghaied. Capt. Billy Whizpuff, an ardent pipe-smoker,
who could do more tricks with a bowl full of tobacco than an
airplane could do in ten miles of space, told that yarn. So it
was absolutely up to the Double Deuce to stage a "come-back."
We had never been "floored" before and certainly it must not happen
now.
"Tell him how to hobo, Bud," ventured Tub.
"Atta boy!" agreed Jud.
"Shoot!" shot Duke.
So Bud was at the bat and had to deliver the goods.
Pause a moment folks--this story is really strictly original, and if
anyone has their doubts--oh, er--a--well you may just keep on having
'em.
"It was up in lil 'ole Carolina Charleston," began Bud,
"and the Double Deuce had just gotten their discharge from the
honorable Navy. We had bullion in our pockets plus our
transportation home, and our spirits were in the highest pitch of
glee."
Says Jud, "I don't know why we have to spend our
transportation money when it can easily be saved by traveling a la
hobo!"
"Some class to that boy's brains," came from Tub.
We all agreed that that was a splendid idea from a
Seaman Second-Class, and immediately we shipped our seabags from the
nearest express house, Southeastern, I believe as Duke was Secretary
of State to King Hobo in the years 1910-20, we unanimously
acknowledged him our leader. Savannah was our destination.
Forthwith, Duke went to the ticket agent at the depot and procured
all the necessary data and dope. Such as the number of the
track the train would be on, what time she left, and if on time,
etc. Duke then dispatched us under some box cars down hear the
locomotives of the various trains ready to leave.
At 12:10 a.m., our train pulled in on track five.
She was the first section of the Florida Special, and makes one stop
at Yemassee, S.C., for water, between Charleston and Savannah.
Quite a fast baby! I never did mind speed though. We
were supposed to leave at 12:20 a.m., but a Pullman was put on the
baggage car, and a new engine coupled on also. On hearing the
brakeman cry "all a-b-o-a-r-d!" our muscles grew tense.
The bell was ringing, and mid the hiss of steam the train started to
move.
"Come on," shouted Duke, as he scrambled out from under the
box car, and sprinted after the tender.
Now Duke and I had on dungarees, while Tub and Jud were
clad in undress blues. It seems that in picking himself up,
Tub broke five of the thirteen buttons on his pants. Those
buttons represent the thirteen original states, and I never have
heard five states bawled out in such rapid-fire English as was done
then.
Well--we got on board at last and settled ourselves in
a small heap on top of that tender, and hung on.
The train picked up speed, rattled over crossings,
switches and allowed the lights of Charleston to twinkle in the
distance. Smoke, dust, cinders and cool night air rushed and
whistled past us, the cars rocked and swayed, but it was a great
life! We stayed in a rather cramped position for about ten
hours it seemed to me.
The Pullman that had been coupled between the baggage car and
the engine certainly looked inviting. I could almost hear it
ask us to come in. Finally, Tub suggested that we crawl over
into the vestibule. It was a good thing we didn't for just
then the porter opened the door and took a look around. He saw
us not however, so we sighed relief and breathed easier.
After a while Duke thought it would be safe enough to
ride in the vestibule of that Pullman. So one by one we
crawled over to it. The aviator that first changed planes in
the air had his thrills, so did Columbus, but climbing around those
cars was a different tale. We had to keep our eyes half shut
on account of the wind, cinders, and smoke. The motion of that
train jazzing along the track at sixty odd made you hang on for life
or death. I guess we hung on for life. Besides it was
night, and cats and owls are only supposed to see in the darkness.
The hoboing Double Deuce had no sooner made themselves as
comfortable as possible in the vestibule, when the whistle shrieked
its blasts to the sky. She was blowing for the stop--Yemassee!
Here was our best place to be caught. Our pulses
quickened, our hearts bumped excitement, the situation was indeed
electrical. The train came to a grinding stop. Mr.
Fireman climbed on the tender, and began to administer water to the
thirsty boiler. Luckily he was not busying his mid with
thoughts of hoboes, for he was humming a tune about "My Sweetheart
is Still Cold to Me Still," or something like that. The
engineer soon eased on the throttle again, and we were on our way
once more.
The members of the Double Deuce were quite tired now
from all this intense vigil. So by the process of elimination
Tub was elected to keep watch. The old train was rolling
nicely now, knocking down some more sixty odd. Music was
sounding in our ears, that is the rhythmic click, clack, click,
clack, ad infinitum of the car wheels over the rail joints.
I went to sleep about then, and knew nothing till Duke roused me and
said we were nearing Savannah. It was 3:45 a.m. All
trains back into Savannah, so when our bus had slowed down
sufficiently, we hopped off, rolled over a few times, and shook off
the surplus dust.
Jubilantly the Double Deuce started walking in from the
suburb. We did not go far however, for a suspicioning cop
halted us.
"What are you fellas doin' on the streets this time of
night?"
"It's morning sir," said Duke, always equal to the
occasion, "and we're only on one street!"
I thought sure the arm of the law had collared us now,
and I was quite scared.
"Where ya from?" asked the cop.
"Charleston."
"How dy'a get here?"
"Oh, we walked and got "lifts" from autos," says Duke.
"Just out of the Navy?"
We showed him our discharges, and he told us to get off
the street as quickly as possible, because Savannah was rough on
guys out after twelve o'clock.
I don't blame that cop one bit for stopping us. A
harder-looking specimen of a bum than we were, could not have been
found in the United States. One might have found our sperior
[sic] in Russia, but they'd have to step some! We were quite
soiled--for the gravel of tow states, and all a train could kick up
had accumulated on our beings.
Instantly we repaired to the nearest restaurant, washed
and fed our faces. Take it from me, friends, don't hobo.
It's risky, tiresome and more, it's dangerous.
--FRANK VOGEL, '23 |
|
