The Boxcar Blues (3 page)

Curly said, “O.K. I got ‘cha.”

Luke handed Curly his belt. "Here, we’ll
sleep in shifts. Tie yourself on and get some sleep, I'll enjoy the
scenery."

"OK. Thanks, Luke." Curly wrapped the belt
around the catwalk and laid his head on his bindle. He said, "Hey
Luke, I just thought of a nickname for you."

"What's that, Curly?"

"After seeing you run down that boxcar, I'm
gonna call you, Catwalk. Catwalk Jackson. How do you like it?"

Luke grinned and said, "Yeah, I kinda' like
it. Curly and Catwalk—ain't we a pair?"

The second hobo who'd been thrown off the
train, struck a crossing signal that inflicted severe internal
injuries. Before he died he told his story to a citizen who had
been waiting for the train to pass. "Me an' my friend was riding in
a boxcar, going out to California to look for work. These two young
guys jumped us, a tall black guy with a burn mark on his left cheek
an’ a stocky white guy with real curly hair. The darkie had a big
knife. They beat my partner bad an' did all sorts of perverted
things to him before they threw him off. When they took my pants
off, I knew they was goin' to rape me too, but I made it to the
door an' jumped. Ya' gotta tell someone about these guys. They
ain't very old, probably in their teens, but they're meaner than
hell."

The motorist drove to the nearest police
station and reported the incident. He then told everyone he saw
about the meanest desperadoes since the James gang.

Watching the clouds drift by, Catwalk
thought of his family back on the farm in Mississippi. He worried
about his Momma trying to feed eight kids when only three of them
were old enough to work the fields. She always made do and never
complained, but it was hard on her. More than anything else, he
wished he could find work and send her some money.

Since he left home there had been occasional
work, but he wasn't sure if the money he'd given to people to send
home ever reached her. Most likely it had been stolen. Even though
there were many more people looking for work, than there were jobs,
Luke knew he had to be patient because one day he and Curly would
find work and then their lives would change for the better. The
thought of working steady and sending money home regular to his
Momma brought a momentary smile to his face. His smile disappeared,
however, when he thought of the trouble they were in. While they
were looking for work they had to travel and while they were on the
move, they had to avoid the police and the railroad bulls. Not an
easy task when both factions were taking hard looks at the homeless
men who’d been known to steal and commit other crimes just to
survive. He didn’t know if the hoboes they’d thrown off the train
had talked, but Luke knew how life worked on the road. If the
hoboes had talked, it would be remembered that a black man threw a
white man off a train. That was grounds for hanging—period.

If they were successful at avoiding the
police and the bulls, they still had to find work, and that was
almost impossible. Now, more than ever, he was glad he had a friend
with him.

Catwalk saw the terrain rising. He nudged
Curly. "Comin' to a grade, time to drop off."

“
You think we're far
enough away yet?"

"I hope so. Anyway, we better get off before
some other 'boes see us."

Ten minutes later their worn brogans
shuffled through the hot gravel as they walked down a Texas farm
road. The midday sun was blistering, white hot and hard as steel,
but the boys, toughened by life on the road seemed immune to
discomfort.

Curly asked, "Catwalk, were you serious
about them lynching you?"

"Sure was, Curly. Don't you believe me?"

"Well, why would they? They don't know for
sure that it was you that threw him off the train?"

"Curly, where you from?"

"Norwich, New York. That's in upstate; we
had a farm about ten miles outside Norwich."

"Are there any black folk up there?"

"A few. Old man Sachs had a couple worked
for him. Why?"

"Curly, there's plenty o' places in this
country where white men don't even think twice about hanging' black
men. My Momma told me some of 'em do it jus' 'cause they’re
mean."

"Holy shit," Curly said. "That don't make
any sense."

"Well, they think 'cause they're white and
we're black that they can do it. An' most people don't care about
it, except they don't want to lose a good worker ‘cause good men
are hard to find. Some people treat us real nice. We worked two
seasons for Mister Slade an' he was a real kind man. He even
brought a doctor out when Daddy took sick. When Daddy died they had
a nice box with flowers for him and a preacher to read over him so
he'd go right to heaven. There's other people who are just looking'
for somewhere to use their hate. Like those two back in that
boxcar, they'd just as soon stuck that knife in me as look at me. I
can tell the ones that got the hate in them."

"There's some people who don't like Jews,
but they don't hang 'em. At least I never heard of anyone doing
it."

"Are you Jewish?"

"You kidding, with a name like Levitz?"

"I don't know what's a Jewish name, 'cause I
never knew anyone Jewish. The only people I knew were the other
workers on the farm where we lived."

"Didn't you ever go to school?"

"Just a couple years, but mostly I had to
work since I was little. My Momma taught me numbers and reading
letters some, but I’d like to learn more. I’d go back to school if
I could."

"But you seem smart to me, and you talk like
you're smart."

"My Momma used to spend hours teaching us
kids to talk proper. She'd say, 'Luke, just ‘cause you work as a
cropper, don’t mean you have to talk like a cropper. Some people
might not like you 'cause you're black, but for the ones who don't
hold that against you, if they hear you talk proper, they'll be
more likely to take your side. And, that will help you get good
jobs.'"

"Your Momma sounds like she's pretty
smart."

Catwalk smiled with pride, "My Momma's the
smartest lady in the world. She used to read to me, every night
after work. She'd say, 'Luke, since we're poor and you can't
travel, you can see other places through books.' I miss that most
of all, hearing my Momma read to me."

Curly slapped his friend on the shoulder and
said, "As soon as I find some books, I'll read to you,
Catwalk."

"Do you know how to read letters,
Curly?"

"Sure, I made it through the seventh grade,
but then they closed our school. Why?"

"Well, I want you to teach me how to read
and to write too, so I can write to my Momma. If we can find work,
I'll send her a long letter, telling her about our jobs and even
send her some money."

"Sure, I'll teach you."

Luke smiled, knowing how it would make her
feel if she got a letter from him. He realized because she never
heard from him and didn’t know where he was that she worried about
him constantly.

Curly asked, "Is that why you're on the
road, 'cause your Daddy died?"

"Yeah, my Momma just had too many mouths to
feed. We decided it would be better if I went out and looked for
work."

"How long you been out here?"

"Oh, I don't rightly know; I reckon it's
eight or nine months now."

"You ever had anybody do anything to you,
like those two back there?"

"No, but I'm real careful and good at
staying out of sight. Nobody sees me unless I want them to. I don't
go to no hobo jungles or Hoovervilles unless there's other black
folk there."

Curly saw a dust cloud down the road, and
said, "There's a car comin'."

"Get in this field, fast." They jumped a
fence and ran into the corn field, not stopping until they were far
into the field.

As they ran through the corn, Curly said,
“Do you think the people in the car are looking for us?”

“
They could be, Curly, but
we don’t know for sure. We better stay out of sight just in case.”
That was what he told Curly, but deep inside Luke felt certain that
whoever was in the car was on the lookout for two young
hoboes.

CHAPTER FOUR

"Did you see that, Sheriff?" Deputy Alton
Jones asked Sheriff Wendell Tyler. "Two men. As soon as we made the
turn, I seen two men walking down the road, but they seen us and
ran into the field."

"So?" The sheriff said, "There ain't no law
against running through a corn field."

"It could be the two killers we heard about
in that telegraph message."

"Are you sure you saw someone?" The sheriff
hoped his deputy would get the hint that he enjoyed driving his new
Nash police car more than chasing some damned hoboes.

The deputy wouldn't be put off, "Just as
sure as I'm sittin' here, I saw two men duck into this field.”

The sheriff countered, "Nah, it couldn't a'
been them killers. Hell, the message said they were searching for
those guys over west of Bailey's Junction."

"Yeah, but they could've doubled back. Stop
the car. I want to see something."

Begrudgingly the sheriff pulled over. Deputy
Jones walked to the edge of the field and scanned the soil.
"There's fresh foot prints of two men in the dirt. They're hiding
in the field."

The sheriff said, "Jesus Christ, Alton,
those prints could have been left there by anybody. Hell, they’re
probably from the men working the field."

"Sheriff," the deputy pressed, "We had a
hell of a rain two nights ago. Any prints that're visible have been
made in the last day or so. Someone in that field is running from
something."

The sheriff drove away. There was no getting
out of this, but if it was the killers, he wanted more men. He
said, "I'm going to stop by Chet's house to warn him. Then we'll go
round up some help. If it's the same ones who threw them guys off
the train, they're dangerous."

Excited about seeing some action, Jones
said, "That's agreeable to me, Wendell. I know it's those two and
we’re gonna nab ‘em."

Hiding behind a large oak tree in the middle
of the corn field Curly and Catwalk heard the car stop. Catwalk
carefully peeked around the tree and saw the white star on the door
and whispered to Curly, "It's a po-lice car and one of them is
looking around at the edge of the field."

"He's looking for foot prints." Curly
whispered back.

"What if he sees our prints?" Catwalk asked.
"Do you think he'll come after us?"

"I don't know, but we'd better head for the
other side of this field. C'mon."

The boys quietly moved down the corn rows,
then came to a dirt road. Curly said, "Let's head down the road.
We’ll stay close to the field, so we can duck back in if we see
someone."

Catwalk looked apprehensive, but said, "I
guess that's O.K. Wouldn't hurt to get out of this area as soon as
we can."

Curly had other ideas, “It wouldn’t hurt to
find something to eat. I’m about ready to chew on this field
corn.”

“
Are you crazy? We can’t
go begging for food with the police looking for us.”

“
Well, sooner or later, we
gotta eat or all they’ll find is our carcasses.”

Sheriff Tyler drove to Chet Parker's place
where they found the old man tending a vegetable garden. He walked
over to the patrol car while wiping his brow. "Mornin' Wendell. It
looks like you got yourself a new police car."

"Sure did. Picked it up at Recker's
dealership two days ago. He claims she'll do over sixty, but I
hain't tried it out yet 'cause I gotta break it in first."

Deputy Jones couldn’t care less about the
patrol car. Itching for action, he leaned over toward the driver's
window, "Chet, we stopped by to warn you about a couple of mean
hombres that might be in Morton's field. They're young guys, but
they’re meaner'n hell. They killed and raped a couple hoboes over
toward Bailey’s Junction. One of the guys lived long enough to
identify his killers—a nigger boy about six two with a burn mark on
his cheek and a white kid about five ten with curly brown hair.
Keep a gun handy and if you see 'em, shoot 'em on sight."

Sheriff Tyler tried to temper Jones’ lust
for violence, "Damn it, Alton, we ain't shooting anyone. Chet, we
wanna pick these guys up, but we gotta make sure we got the right
guys. If you see 'em, let us know. We're going over to the Puckett
lady's place to warn her now."

The farmer said, "I’m going over there, got
to take her a couple of milk cans. I can tell her about these
guys."

"Thanks Chet. Tell her they’re dangerous and
she should keep her doors locked."

While the sheriff drove back into town he
thought about his deputy's attitude and hunger for a confrontation.
Everyone knew that Alton Jones was a member of the local Ku Klux
Klan, but his Klan activities and personal prejudices had never
been an issue in his job. The Sheriff saw the Klan as a bunch of
local boys who just wanted to get drunk and raise a little hell.
Now, he thought, if his deputy came across the two men, he was
liable to shoot first and ask questions later. Then there would be
some explaining and a lot of paperwork to do.

The two lawmen walked into Clark's
Mercantile and greeted four men sitting around a card table on top
of a cracker barrel. The Sheriff asked for a cold soda. The
proprietor nodded and asked Jones if he wanted anything. The deputy
said, "Nothing' for me, Ray. We're goin' after a couple a' mean
hombres that we saw duck into Morton's corn field."

That comment brought up several questions
and the sheriff addressed them, "We're not sure who we saw. Alton
saw somebody run into the field and now he's jumping to all sorts
of conclusions that it was the same two killers as we heard about
in a telegraph message."

Jones said, "I'm betting it's the same two,
Sheriff."