Based on a True Story

By William Shepherd



I know of a woman that told me of a story when she was a little girl.  Her folks had died and she was all alone.  It was a time of the thirties, a t5ime of dust bowls and soup lines and hungry people with no work or jobs.  When people would ride the rails of the trains from place to place, looking for work.  As she told about the time she spent with the hobos who rode the rails.  When she was seven years old she recalled walking down by the railroad tracks as the sun was going down.  She saw a campfire in the woods.  As she got closer, to the camp she saw five men who welcomed her to their camp as the introduced themselves I had heard of them, they were called hobos.  They all were nice to me and she needed a friend she said she felt safe there!  As she was sitting, eating, she warmed herself near the fire and fell asleep.  As she woke up she smelled the hobo coffee and listened to the men talking about which train to catch and where it was going.  I heard one whose name was Will, he was a big man.  I guess his age about 50.  He asked me my name and she said, “They call me Wilma.”  He handed me something to eat and a cup of the hobo coffee and I thought to myself I liked Will the best of all the men.  As the day turned into evening the men came back to camp with their findings of the day.  Some of what they found they all put their food in the pot.  I guess you could call it a real Hobo meal it tasted good as night fell we sat around the fire and talked.  A man named Hank played his harmonica and we all joined in with songs and danced.  It was the best time I ever had.  I sure slept hard that night.  I thought this is a good life.



The next several years I traveled with Will from coast to coast.  It seems he knew every hobo camp all along the railroad tracks.  I think I loved the railroads as much as he did.  It was a good time of my life