r.crow

An ethical code was created by Tourist Union #63 during its 1889 National Hobo Convention in St. Louis Missouri. [12] This code was voted upon as a concrete set of laws to govern the Nation-wide Hobo Body; it reads this way:

1. Decide your own life, don’t let another person run or rule you.
2. When in town, always respect the local law and officials, and try to be a gentleman at all times.
3. Don’t take advantage of someone who is in a vulnerable situation, locals or other hobos.
4. Always try to find work, even if temporary, and always seek out jobs nobody wants. By doing so you not only help a business along, but ensure employment should you return to that town again.
5. When no employment is available, make your own work by using your added talents at crafts.
6. Do not allow yourself to become a stupid drunk and set a bad example for locals’ treatment of other hobos.
7. When jungling in town, respect handouts, do not wear them out, another hobo will be coming along who will need them as bad, if not worse than you.
8. Always respect nature, do not leave garbage where you are jungling.
9. If in a community jungle, always pitch in and help.
10. Try to stay clean, and boil up wherever possible.
11. When traveling, ride your train respectfully, take no personal chances, cause no problems with the operating crew or host railroad, act like an extra crew member.
12. Do not cause problems in a train yard, another hobo will be coming along who will need passage through that yard. 13. Do not allow other hobos to molest children, expose all molesters to authorities, they are the worst garbage to infest any society.
13. Help all runaway children, and try to induce them to return home.
14. Help your fellow hobos whenever and wherever needed, you may need their help someday.
15. If present at a hobo court and you have testimony, give it. Whether for or against the accused, your voice counts!

H. L. Mencken, in his The American Language (4th ed., 1937), wrote:

Tramps and hobos are commonly lumped together, but in their own sight they are sharply differentiated. A hobo or bo is simply a migratory laborer; he may take some longish holidays, but soon or late he returns to work. A tramp never works if it can be avoided; he simply travels. Lower than either is the bum, who neither works nor travels, save when impelled to motion by the police.

Ghost Dogs

In my van, nearly naked, prepping to be asleep very soon. I hear my boyfriend’s small dog bark and bark and bark and not shut up. But it can’t be him. It’s just some yappy neighborhood chihuahua that’s gonna get a boot up its ass if it don’t shut up soon. He said he was going to help a friend move so he probably just crashed there. And that’s on the other side of town. It’s not him. And we’re taking a little space apart, anyway. Chill. But. What if it is? What if the dog’s stuck around a log and the person who was with the dog is unconscious or dead or in jail or missing? That’s my other dog barking. No, it’s a neighbor, don’t be paranoid. You just miss them, that’s all. You just hate being alone when all you want is to see him. So it can’t be your dog off in the distance. But it sounds so distressed… And that sounded like his other dog… Stop it. Check the internet. Get stoned. Go to bed. Chill. Don’t call him. Just see him tomorrow. Stop being needy. …but if they are in trouble… Okay, if the barks happen again I’ll put on my knife and shoes and take my dog and go follow the barks and see if it’s a housee dog or what. … GODDAMNIT, I just wanna go to bed but that dog won’t shut up and now I’m worried a good bit. Fuck. Pants, knife, phone, headlamp, hoodie, shoes, dog, CHECKCHECKCHECKCHECKCHECKCHECKCHECK. Down the driveway. Louder. Left or right? Left’s louder, left. Left or right? Right. Now I hear both dogs and I pause and look. Can’t see shit. Not gonna go into an arroyo with dogs down there at one in the morning. Fuck no. heyy pretty laady. What?! hey pretty lady. Is that you?? duh, who else would it be? I run down. My dog recognizes her brothers. I find my partner laying out for bed, dogs going nuts. I am both relieved and confused. He insists the dogs were absolutely not making a racket. But I heard it. I followed it. It was distressing enough to make me put my pants on. As we laid under one of the tallest trees in Santa Fe, watching the stars, he freaks out, pointing to the sky, struggling to sputter his words sensibly. A meteor or something spectacular fell as I wasn’t looking. We hung out and laughed and giggled and felt like good friends with crushes. I followed the ghost dogs. Or something like that. Back in the van, I hear none of my dogs barking, and wonder what all that meant.