A Hobo Story

There was a knock at our rear door, and as I looked out our window, I saw a Hobo standing on our stairs with his head bowed down. He was dressed in dirty and torn overalls, with a filthy shirt. He had an untrimmed beard and his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed for a month. He carried a small bag and it probably contained everything he owned. He looked a little scary to me then. I was probibly only five or six years old at the time.

My mother stood at the window and asked the man what he wanted. He stood on the middle stair and in a soft, quiet voice asked for something to eat. He mentioned that a friend told him the people in this house would give him a meal. She told him to sit down on the steps and she would check the icebox to see what we had. I could see a tear in her eye and couldn’t understand why. She gave me a tray with a cup of coffee with some sugar, a small container of cream, a few of her homemade cookies, and told me to bring it to the man and to be careful not to touch him. While he drank the hot, steamy coffee, she prepared a plate of eggs, bologna, potatoes, and toast, which I also brought to the man. She warned me again, “Don’t touch the hobo; he might have a disease or even bugs”. She would never send the man away hungry. You could see she was really concerned. She would say, “This could happen to anyone, no one wants to be a bum”.

I sat on the stairs near the hobo while he ate his breakfast. He never said a word until he was finished. These hobos would stop by our home three of four times a year, and in the fall, just before winter, I always felt sorry for them. But when the man was finished eating, he told me about his travels around the country. He rode in a freight car from state to state. When the weather was cold, he would ride south and stay there until summer. Then he would return to Chicago. I thought this was great. He had no worries, no bills, no school, no homework, and he could go to all these exciting places. He was free. This was a great life, and now I dreamed of becoming a hobo. Soon the man finished his coffee and thanked my mother and left,and then my mother scrubbed me to make sure I was clean. Then she cleaned the dishes, all the while telling me how lucky we are, and how sad he was.

There are many more great remembrances of my mother. In the winter, whenever the weather was very cold, and the snow was deep, she would invite the mailman into our front hallway, give him a cup of coffee, and let him warm up before he would continue to walk his route. Also, during the hot and humid summer days, she offered the trash men a cool glass of lemonade and possibly a piece of her homemade pie.

Story of Sailor

I lived in a typical two-bedroom dark brick bungalow in Chicago. In the summer the large oak trees completely covered both sides of the street. The street seemed like a tunnel covered with branches of the trees. Our house had a large living room and a connecting dining room where we always did our dreaded homework, which seemed to take forever to finish, especially if, The Lone Ranger or Sky King, our favorite programs were playing on the radio in the living room. The kitchen table was large wood table made by my father many years ago. It had two long wood benches without backs, one for each long side of the table. These were enough to seat the nine children. The two ends of the table had the only chairs in the room, which were for my parents.

The neighborhood was populated by a great number of families, so the streets were always filled with sounds of children playing games, riding bikes, skating and running. It was common to see or hear a softball game or a touch football game being played in the street. Organized sports didn’t exist in this neighborhood. Any kids of any age, with or without any talent for baseball, football or basketball were allowed to join a team and play. Our softball field was the street at the corner of Melvina and Eddy Street. We used the sewer covers as bases. The teams consisted of kids of all ages. The youngest might only be eight years and the oldest usually could be high school age. Some days a team might have only three players, and another day there could be fifteen people. Talent wasn’t needed, but the games were great fun.

One very young boy who always wanted to play was Sailor. No one ever wanted him on their team. He was young, uncoordinated, difficult to understand and slow. Everyone called him Sailor, because he usually wore sailor type clothes. They were blue pants and blue shirt with large white stripes on the color, and on his head he wore a white sailor cap. He usually wore boots that looked two sizes too large, and they never seemed to be tied. Sailor would tell people, “I want to be a sailor when I grow up, just like my dad.” Many kids made fun of his way he talked and the clothes he wore. So, if I had the opportunity to pick members for our team, which wasn’t very often, I would choose him. That usually caused a huge argument among the other players.

From time to time, Sailor would be playing near my home when my Mom called us in for lunch or supper. She would ask him if he was going home to eat. Usually, he would tell her no one was home. Mom would say to him, “Sailor come in and eat lunch with us. First wash your hands and face and wipe your nose.” Mom always felt sorry for Sailor and made sure no one in our family ever teased him. She treated him as if he was family. One sunny morning Sailor came over to our house and he was extremely excited. He told us, “My mother was in the hospital and she was coming home in a couple of weeks. She is cured from her sickness, and the doctors said she could come home. I can’t wait. It will be great to see her again”. He said, “We are going to have a surprise party when she comes home. My sisters are cleaning the house. Oh wow, it was never this clean before. And they are baking a cake. We are so excited. We can’t wait to see Mom.” He talked for a long time about the day when she was coming home. Later that evening Mom and Dad were talking at the supper table, and they were discussing Sailor and his family. Sailor’s father had deserted the family many years ago, and Sailor and his two older sisters were living alone since his mother was hospitalized. This was going to be a great time for the family, and my Mom and Dad seemed happy for the children, knowing that they would be together again.

That night while I was in bed I heard the doorbell ring. I slept upstairs in the attic, and I could put my ear next to the heating duct on the floor, and hear the conversations downstairs. It was almost like a telephone. I could hear my father talking to a neighbor at the door. They said they had a paper that they wanted everyone to sign. I heard my father say no and close the door. Weeks later, I was in the five and dime store on the next block, the door flung open, and a loud commotion was eminent. I saw Sailor’s mother running into the store with Sailor on her shoulders. They were laughing and having a great time. Sailor saw me and hollered, “Hey Ralph look this is my Mom. She is home. Isn’t she a great Mom?” I answered, “Hi Sailor. Yea, she looks great. I’m glad you’re together.” But I was surprised when I saw his mother. She was dressed in a funny dress with a strange hat. Her hair was uncombed and wild looking. Her eyes were wide open and seemed to be looking everywhere in the store. She was wearing lipstick that seemed thick enough to paint a house, and she was laughing at everything. I thought it must be wonderful for Sailor to have his mother home again. They left the store shortly after we did, and I could see her running down the street with Sailor on her shoulders, trotting and pretending that she was a horse. It was great to see them having so much fun. I wished my Mom could give me a ride on her shoulders too.

Weeks passed and Sailor hasn’t been around to join in any of the games. One evening during supper, I mentioned this to my Mother. She told me, “Sailor’s mother is mentally ill and neighbors signed a petition to have her sent back to the mental hospital. It is terrible. What will happen to these poor children now? The girls could have taken care of their mother. She wasn’t a violent person, just happy and strange. How happy the children were when she came home, now their life must be terrible. The people shouldn’t have forced Sailor’s Mother away. I don’t understand why they didn’t offer to help; instead they ruined a family and who knows what will happen to these three children now?” She felt horrified that his mother was sent back to the hospital.

Months later, their house was sold. Soon after that, the children were separated and moved to different government housing. I never saw Sailor or his sisters again. I often wonder what happened to them. Life delivered them a terrible blow at a very young age. It would be nice to be able to write that they had a reunion with their mother. Hopefully, his mother was cured enough that she could return home, and they are all together again.

A Lesson:

I’m impatiently waiting behind a woman and her two very young children at the neighborhood hardware store. I only have one small part in my hand that I need to repair the kitchen sink, a job that I really dislike. I move a little closer to the lady, hoping she will quit talking to the clerk and allow me to pay for my item so I can be on my way. However, she continues talking and seems perturbed. Now I’m close enough to hear her say to the child, “Go ahead; tell the lady what you did. Tell her now.” The daughter whispers something and the mother again says, “I said, tell the lady what you did. She can’t hear you.” The littler girl, with tears in her eyes, reaches in her pocket and hands the clerk a small box of crayons and says, “I stole this and put it in my pocket.”

The young girl behind the counter doesn’t seem to know what to say, but the mother says to her, “I think the store policy is to call the police and have a thief arrested isn’t it?” The clerk replies in a soft voice, “Yes it is. I know I should call, but I wouldn’t want her to go to jail. Maybe I can give her a break if she is really sorry for stealing.” The child quickly cries out, “I am, I am sorry and I promise I won’t do it again. Please don’t call a police man. Please!” The clerk says, “Ok, I won’t call this time, but if I catch you steal again, I will have to call a policeman.”

With that the lady pays her bill and with a wink of her eye says, “Thanks for not calling the police; I’m glad you aren’t sending her to jail. I think she has learned her lesson. Thanks again.” Then she exits the store.

I finally pay my tab, leave the store, and start my drive home. As I’m driving I am thinking the girl really learned a good lesson this morning, orchestrated by her mother and the clerk. I remember, I also learned a similar lesson when I was a young .

Jimmy is a good friend and a fun person to be with. He never seems to have a worry in the world. We travel to and from school almost every day, and we also play baseball, football and other games after school. One morning before school we are crossing the street at the corner of Addison Street and Meade in Chicago. On the corner is a newspaper stand in front of Edger’s Drug store. It is about five feet square with a dull metal roof. It has a small opening in the front, just large enough for a person to walk in and get their paper. There is a small cigar box on a shelf, where people who buy papers early in the morning can leave their money. The store is not open yet, but the daily papers have already been delivered to the stand. Jim walks in, takes a paper, and puts a dime in the box, and then removes a hand full of change. He calmly and loudly states, “I put a dollar in the box and I‘m getting my change.” He wants anyone who sees him, to think he is only removing his change. This really surprises me. I say, “Say Jimmy, what are you doing? You only put a nickel in the box. How can you do that?” He says, “Oh heck, I do this all the time. This is how I get my extra money. You see how easy it is? Ain’t it great Ralph?” And he laughs as we walk down the street towards school.

A few days later we are attending devotions at church. The usher passes the basket, as he usually does during Sunday Mass. I put my few cents in the basket that my Mother had given me earlier. I feel proud that I have some money to put in the collection basket. Then I see my friend Jimmy put a coin in the basket. He then reaches in and takes a huge handful of change. He looks over his shoulder at the Sisters that are behind us and says, “Oh I put a dollar bill in and have to take change”. When we are outside the church he laughs, and tells me, “isn’t it great? I do this almost every Sunday and no one knows what I’m doing.”

Sometimes during the summer we will walk to Dunning. It is a mental institution not far from my home. There are some violent people here that are locked behind steel bars. I always worry that one will get loose and chase us. There are also some other people here that are allowed to walk free inside the metal fenced-in asylum during the day. We talk to the inmates, and sometimes they ask us to buy them cigarettes. Edfords Drug store is across the street on Irving Park where we can buy cigarettes for about twenty cents a pack. Jim asks the inmates for two or three dollars, he buys them one pack of cigarettes and keeps the change. “Hey Ralph, these people don’t know what is going on. I’ll get them smokes as long as they give me money. They pay great too.” As we walk away he laughs and says, “I love this place. These people are really dumb. Sometimes I just ask them for money and they give me some. ”

This late afternoon, after school is out, I am walking in the dime store near my home. I am looking at all the toys on the shelves. This is a small dime store on Addison Street, about a block from my home. A Jewish couple owns the store, and they are friends to everyone in the neighborhood. They know everyone in the area by their first name. Margo is the wife and Herman is her husband. While I am looking at all the toys in their store, I see the most beautiful cap gun sitting on a shelf. It was silver and shines like a silver star in the sky. I pick it up and feel how smooth it is. It fits my hand perfectly. My father doesn’t allow me to play with guns, but I think, “Oh, I got to have this. What a beauty.

I wish I could buy it, but I don’t have any money”. I look at the counter and I can see that Herman is busy with a customer. Margo is busy placing various items on the bottom of one of the shelves near the center of the store. When they’re not looking, I slowly put the gun in my pocket. Then I nervously walk to the front of the store. As I get to the door I turn and say, “good-by Herman, I’ll see you later”. I am relieved to be out of the store, and I excited that I didn’t get caught. I think this was easy; Jim is right, nothing to it.

When I get home I go right to my room and play with it, knowing quite well that I had a great treasure, but I can't let Dad find it. Later in the evening, I hide the gun and go to bed, but now I begin to feel like something is wrong. As I lie there on my bed, I became sad knowing what I did to a friend and a neighbor. I feel ashamed of what I have done. I have become a thief, and the worst thing is I just stole from a friend of my family. All the next day at school I think about the dastardly deed and I feel miserable.

School is over; I walk home and go into my room. I take the gun from its hiding place under the bed, put it in my pocket, and walk to the store. When I get to Herman’s store I go inside. As I pass Margo I say, “Hi Margo, how are you today?” She is at the register and just nods her head, as if to say hello. I walk to the shelves where the toy gun was displayed the day before. I look around and make sure no one is watching. Reaching into my pocket, I quickly remove the gun and replace it back on the shelf. Then slowly I walk around the store. As I leave the store I wave good-by to Herman and Margo.

I walk along the street still feeling ashamed that I stole something, and what seemed to depress me most is that I betrayed good friends of my family. The next day I see Jimmy at school. I tell him what I did and he laughs at me. “Ralph, I would never give it back? That was stupid, no one even caught you.” Even if Jimmy laughs at me, I still feel better, knowing I made a wrong, right.

Children:

Today begins no different than any other morning. The annoying sound of my alarm clock at 5:30 am wakes me and soon I’m dressed for work. I stand at the window and stare over a field of thick green hay at the beginning of daylight. In the kitchen I pour myself a cup of coffee and walk to my truck, to check the material for today’s job. As I drive to the city I see the sun battle its way through the gray haze hovering over the city and it finally succeeds.

“This will probably be a long hard day.” I think to myself as I drive. “I dread these third floor apartments where I have to haul the heavy sanding machines up thirty two stairs. Today I will be working on the north side in an apartment building. The floors in this area of the city are usually difficult to resurface. They usually have many coats of varnish on them and some of the floors are warped” After I unload my equipment, I begin sanding the floors, and realize the floors are in terrible condition. This apartment is large with three bedrooms, a living room, a large dining room and a long hallway. By evening I finish sanding, and I apply a heavy coat of lacquer sealer, which has a strong smell that always makes me dizzy. The sealer requires an hour to dry, and that gives me plenty of time to load most of my equipment in the truck.

It is now nine o’clock in the evening, so I lock my panel truck and walk to a restaurant for a sandwich and a cup of black coffee. I bring it back to the apartment, sit outside on the third floor porch landing, away from the heavy smell of the lacquer still present in the air, and enjoy the snack. While having my coffee, I understand why I love the city. There are children playing in the alley and the street. Some are playing basketball; another group is playing softball. A group of girls is jumping rope, doing that double thing where two girls jump the same rope at the same time. I could never understand how they do it. Roller skates scream on the sidewalk, and kids laugh as they skate past the building. Farther down the ally, I see three boys riding bikes, laughing and joking. It seems like everyone is outside having fun. Across the alley closed stores still have lights on, keeping the whole area lit. I can hear loud talking and laughing from the apartment below where I am sitting.

These are the sounds that were so familiar to me when I was young and lived in the city. It is great to hear them again. I remember being in the attic where my brothers and I slept, looking out the window listening to everyone outside. The sounds of the kids playing outside on the street were absolutely great. As I watch the children playing here, I wonder if they are as safe today as I was when I was a young child growing up in the city.

“But wait,” I wonder aloud, “Was it really so safe when I was young?” Thoughts of when my brother Hank and I were young boys begin to surface. We traveled everywhere in the city, even at an early age. If I remember correctly, I was about ten when we took a bus and a streetcar to the movies. Sometimes we would go to the Sears store at Cicero and Irving, and other times to the Walgreen’s or the Goldblats stores at Belmont and Central, just to walk around.

Many times we rode the bright yellow Addison Street bus, which reeked of foul fumes, to Riverview Park, and we would stay there all day enjoying the rides and the excitement. Some days during the summer months we went to the forest preserves at Addison and Pueblo, and we played by the river. We would walk across the dam, sometimes falling into the muddy river and swimming to shore. Oh, we were as free as birds flying over a field of wheat in the summer time.

Whenever we left our home, our mother always told us, “Don’t talk to strangers, boys. I don’t want you to talk to anyone unless you know them, and don’t take anything from people you don’t know. There are a lot of bad people out there.” She gave us car fare for the bus, and we were on our way. Instantly forgetting the warning and knowing quite well that our car fare money would be used for candy.

The bus stop was only a city block from our house, but we had already figured our mode of transportation. We would hitch-hike and save our money. We would walk along the street with our thumb pointing in the direction we were headed, hoping for a ride. Because we hiked often, we were familiar with the different types of people that picked us up. The truck drivers never caused us any problems. We considered them the knights of the road. Sometimes a teenager picked us up, and we didn’t worry about them except we thought they drove too fast. But sometimes we were picked up and we encountered a problem.

Many times, when Hank and I were walking along Austin Avenue hoping for a ride, I told my brother, “Hank, just in case we get picked up by a weird guy, be ready. I’ll sit next to the driver, and you sit next to the door and keep your hand on the door handle. Don’t ever sit in the back seat, because if we have to get out fast, we won’t be able to get out of the car at the same time. Don’t forget, if I nudge you with my elbow, the first time he slows down for a light, open the door and jump out and I’ll be right behind you. Got it? Be ready just in case.” He was a year and a half younger, so I always rehearsed an escape plan with him so he wouldn’t forget.

We walked along the street with our thumbs pointed straight ahead for a while before a car stopped. “Hey look, a guy is stopping for us. Let’s go Hank. Hurry up.” I hollered as the driver opened the door. “You boys want a lift? Hop in. I’m going a few miles down the road.” We climbed in the car, and as soon as Hank closed the door, I felt something was wrong. “Thanks for the lift, mister. We’re going to Addison Street. Are you going that far?” I asked, hoping I was wrong about my feelings, but all the while trying to figure where to get out of this car if we needed to.

“Say boys, I know a good place where we can have some fun. We can drive to Portage Park. It’s just a little farther than Addison, and we can come back later. I’ll buy you boys a hot dog and a coke, and we’ll have a picnic. It’ll be fun.” I heard this story before and knew it was time for us to get away and fast. There wasn’t any traffic light close, and I didn’t want to signal Hank yet, so I began talking as if nothing is wrong.

“Hey mister, that sounds like a good idea, and I’m real hungry. I know where the park is. It’s a real nice park. It has a great swimming pool. Me and my brother go swimming there all the time. Oh yeah, we can probably have a good time there.” I said, all the while watching the traffic lights ahead of us. I wasn’t sure what he was planning, but I had a good idea. I saw Diversey Avenue ahead and the traffic light was red, but it looked like it might turn green when we got there. He began to slow the car and I nudged Hank, hoping he didn’t forget my signal. As the car slowed down, I felt the driver’s hand on my leg and he squeezed it, and then moved his hand higher between my legs, “How does that feel son, kind of nice huh?”

I yell, “Hey mister get your hand off my leg.” By then I drove my elbow into Hank’s side real hard. Hank already had the door open as the driver began to speed up. It was too late. We were already out of the car hollering and cursing at him. “That was a close call. That moron had his hand on my leg, and I think he is one of those weird guys that likes young boys. Don’t you think?” I said in a loud and excited voice. “I was ready to jump as soon as he started to talk about the park. I knew he was trouble, but I was worried you wouldn’t get out of the car with me.” Hank said I laughed and tried to squash my childish fear, saying, “He would never get me. I’m too quick for guys like that. Besides Hank, I think I could whip him. Don’t you think so?” “Yeah, Ralph. Guys like that can’t get us; nobody can hurt us, we’re too quick”. A few minutes later, we were back on the street with our thumbs stretched out, trying to get another ride, all the while laughing and talking about how we tricked this guy and escaped from his car, ignorant of the real danger that we had just encountered.

My thoughts wander back to the kids playing in the alley. I wonder if they are safer than when we were wandering the streets. My eyes search the alley, looking for a suspicious car or a strange person standing near. Hopefully, these kids playing together in a group have a better chance than the two boys who wandered around the city alone.

The sealer on the floor is dry now, my coffee cup is empty, and it is time to finish the floor and drive home. As I work, I think about the kids playing outside, and the hitch-hiking episode. I finish the job, close the old windows, lock the doors, load the truck and begin the long drive home. I’m tired and hungry, and I forget about the kids in the alley. My thoughts are focused only on dinner and a good night’s sleep.

Attempted Rape

1. Not too long after I started sanding floors for myself; I acquired a customer by the name of (I’ll say) Tim. He was a very good customer and he had a boyfriend that lived with him. Tim was the girl and Carl was the man. Carl resembled the actor Dale Robertson who acted in many western movies during the fifties and sixties. He was very strong and could do most all the repairs to their apartment building. When I did a job for them I would get the key for the apartment to be sanded from them. They always demanded that I sit and have a cup of coffee with them. I liked these two gay guys. Tim was a lawyer downtown Chicago and his partner’s job was solely to repair and take care of their apartment building.

Anyway, after the job would be finished I would return the key and I always ended up talking with them for awhile while Jim Paste, my helper, would be waiting in the van. Many times I would tell Jim to return the key so we could leave without a lot of conversation.

One day while we are sanding, Carl came to the apartment to discuss something. During our conversation, Jim, my helper was standing near. He didn’t say anything and soon Carl left the apartment. Well Jim didn’t know Carl was Tim’s partner and Jim said he was going to ask Carl how he liked working for a gay guy. When I told him they were partners he couldn’t believe it. So, I was sure glad he didn’t say anything, because I could have lost a good customer who paid promptly after every job.

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What did that have to do with rape? Nothing but this story is different. This is a story about two gay persons living together that I sanded for. One guy was a very rich real-estate broker, and operated a huge management company by the name of Adler real-estate. I don’t remember the manager’s name, so I’ll call him Bert. They called me for an estimate one afternoon, and I got the job. Rosemary and I were thrilled because we didn’t have very many steady customers at that time, and we were hoping the manager would like the sanding job and price. He did and I got a second job from him. The third job he visited me while I was working and I became aware that Bert was gay. So, I came home and told Rose that this guy is gay and he seems like a pretty good guy.

A few weeks later on a Sunday when Fr. Tom, Grandma and Grandpa were visiting I got a call for an estimate. Rose took the call and told me their name was Adler and they needed an estimate today. I drove to the apartment and measured the floor. It was an apartment in the same building that the real estate manager lived, so I knocked on his door and returned the keys. He let me in his apartment and I began figureing the price. Meanwhiloe, he poured me a beer while I was writing, and I noticed he had visitor. After discussing the job and the amount that it would cost, he poured me another drink. Something was wrong. I was already getting a litle dizzy. I refused the third drink and both men became enraged. They didn't want me to leave. I began walkin toward the door, when one pushed me back towards my chair. I began to push my way past both men and finally got to the door, and quickly entered the hallway where people were visible. They both stopped at the door and, I took the elevator down and left to find my car.

When I got home I told Rosemary and she couldn’t believe it. We both felt bad because we lost a very good account. That’s not the end of this story. A month or more later, Rosemary gives me an estimate to check. The name of the person is Relda and the address is on Lakeshore and Fullerton Ave. I get to the area about dark, park my car, and I feel like I have been here before but. I sand everywhere in Chicago so I probably have been somewhere near here. I walk to the building and as I look at the doorbell where the name is posted I see a card reading Relda. Now I know what is familiar. Spell RELDA backwards: It is ADLER the same real-estate manager’s apartment. I left there in a hurry, drove home and explained it to Rose. We were both shocked.

That’s still not the end. A few years later I was sanding a floor in that area of the city and, I was talking to a janitor. I asked if he knew this character, and he was shocked that I knew him. He said the man and his partner raped a guy in his apartment, and a few weeks later three guys beat him and his partner so bad they were in the hospital for a month. When they got out of the hospital they both moved to, where else, California. The janitor said they left a very prosperous business. They managed a huge amount of buildings around the north shore.