36
Chapter Four: Boxcars
Loveland, Ohio
November 8, 1932
3:34 PM
Taking note of their different sizes as the boys stood. “You go ahead, Morris, take them home and have them take baths, I’m going to the ‘Clothes Barn’ to see what I can find for them.”
“Nothing too new now, remember?”
“James, at the ‘Clothes Barn’ everything’s second or third generation and most pretty well patched up, so don’t you worry about anything looking ‘too new’!”
Outside, the cold wind dusting her neck, Agie lifted collar of her coat. Always depressed whenever she walked the near deserted streets of Loveland, although not seeing him through the frosty window, knowing he would be somewhere within the bakery Agie waved to Viktor.
Coming to Loveland National Bank. Though commonly past business hours, opening the door, waving, “Hi, Flo! You have a good evening!” Came Agie’s obligatory greeting. However, having nothing else to do, or actually anywhere else to be, “You, too, Mrs Pink!”Came the obligatory, though sincere reply from Miss Florence Moorehead, whom in actuality had become the banks senior executive officer as Mister W.E. Forester, would just as soon stay home doing nothing than going to his bank having to pretend he was doing ‘something’.
At the end of the block, turning left on Sawyer Avenue, the second shop, at one time selling antiquities, now converted to the ‘Clothes Barn’ where inside are four long tables all loaded with neatly stacked, well worn, well patched clothing for men and women, boys and girls.
A large sign hanging from the ceiling reads: All free! Take what you need. If migrating and want to change here, change behind the curtain and if you wish, leave your worn clothing in the barrow.’
Coming off his place alongside the picture window, tapping an imaginary cap. ‘ ‘evening, Mrs’.”
“ ‘ evening, Izzy.”
“ Remembering nothing of ‘before’ after the German artillery salvo exploded over his head killing all those about him. ‘Izzy”. The only name this man was ever known by.
Assuming this older aged man had been a soldier during the Great War, Izzy had been fund tightly huddled within an Army issued, khaki long-coat lying in the narrow alcove of the once antiquities store on a frigid night in ‘32—As there was nothing to steal within any of Loveland’s vacated shops, rather than having a vagrant break the lock or a window to gain entry, the doors were left unlocked— and honest to his core, rather then entering a place he had not been invited, ‘Izzy’, remained in the cold, and as the citizens of Loveland soon learned, he had indeed been a soldier that had served in the trenches in France during the Great War, that now roamed the country in a remaining shell-shocked sense, leaving people he came into contact with, considering him to be a sweet, ‘daffy’ man that was willing to work for shelter and whatever bit of food afforded him.
Apparently wanting to make Loveland home, Izzy was allowed to live in the vacated antiquities store and within weeks began to consider him as a semi-citizen of Loveland that was more than willing to do odd jobs in payment for the towns generosity, and Viktor’s daily loaf of bread and always from someone, some bit of left over meal. At night, om the army cot a man had donated, Izzy thanked his God for all he had been given even when so many others were cold and hungry.
In silent attendance during the meeting at Loveland Bank in in January, Izzy raised his hand when the suggestion of the used clothing subject came up and asked if any contributed clothing could be brought to his— as he now considered — ‘home’, because he would love the job of sorting and separating the men’s from the woman’s and boys from the girls and to help anyone, even vagrants passing by wanting to exchange their old clothing for other, at least clean old clothing, even allowing them to change, if they wished, in his little— the store did have a sink and toilet that Izzy had curtained off— bathroom giving him a true job that he would be eternally grateful for.
Izzy’ ‘home’ immediately became the ‘Cloths Barn’, and within days worn clothing began to pile into the shop, with Izzy happily working as... well, as a sort of quartermaster keeping all neat and orderly, all folded and stacked, as best as could be discerned, by size.
3:48 PM
Everything sorted and stacked, doing what he enjoyed… loved the best.
Sitting on a folding chair in the far eastern corner of the shop alongside thethoroughly cleaned and transparent picture window — needle smoothly passing through a flowery patch of material carefully cut from some long grown girl, or the girl’s younger sister, or the girls eve younger sisters dress, passing through and bound onto the thigh of a pair of years old blue jeans with stitches so tight, small and so closely placed, were not to be seen.
The lid of a cardboard carton beside his right foot laden with hundreds of contributed spools of thread of near every imaginable colour, Izzy — now dubbed, ‘Mister Seamstress’, and occasionally earning money as such— Creating an aura of order, enjoying seeing what had been destroyed repaired by his hand, Mr. Izzy loved nothing more then to sew. To mend things.
Tall and thin, when first seen—after a possible early release from a military hospital with what was referred to as ‘shell-shock’, a mental condition that would, hopefully, right itself in time, then living as a hobo on the road in a partial daze for God knows how long, the man appeared to be, and was emaciated and a bit on the ‘goofy’ side.
Now, though. Still beyond merely thin but having gained a number of pounds, the deep hollows of his face smoothed, the black, fleshy circles beneath his eyes gone, the months of the growth of a scraggly, prickly beard cut and shaved to a greyish/white stubble. Wearing old, donated jeans and a near matching shirt, Mister Izzy appeared to be, and actually was as any— although occasionally still a bit on the goofy side— citizen of Loveland.
Peripheral vision catching his rapt attention. Carefully laying his handiwork down then coming off his place alongside the picture window, tapping an imaginary cap. ‘ ‘evening, Mrs’.”
“ Mr. Izzy…” playfully tapping her hat “...seems Mr. Pink and myself have two young guests for the night, or maybe even longer, that are in need of, uh, new wardrobes.”
Knowing there were bad people wandering about, even young bad people, concerned for this kind lady and her husband. “These boys…” Izzy asked “...they say were they were from?”
Going to one of the long tables. “Yes. Camden, New Jersey.”
“That’s a long way away. Where did they say they were heading, or are they just wandering?”
“California. They said after their mother passed away and their father lost his job when the Ford plant shut down and couldn’t find work anywhere, he told the boys he’d heard some of the plants in California were looking for specialized mechanics such as himself, and as soon as he finds work, he’d send for them.”
Steering Agie towards the men/boys’ table. “And he never did?”
Standing before the table piled high with stacks of coveralls and pants. “No. Dane, the younger boy said they’d waited for near a year without a word, then set off on their own to try to find him.”
“These boys…” Izzy asked “… how old do you think?”
“Dane, he’s fourteen, he said, and his brother, Jimmie’s seventeen.”
“Here, let me help. The boys look to be about average size?”
“ ‘Average size’? Yes. I, guess.”
“These boys, they say how they got this far?”
Becoming a bit annoyed at this questioning. “They said, they’d worked their way here by doing odd jobs for food and a place to sleep…” thumbing through a stack of pants “... and by rail sometimes.”
“By ‘rail’. That’s very dangerous, you know.”
“They said they only jump the slower trains moving from wherever they’d been stopped, and actually had found it really easy… Problem is, they never knew where they were going.”
“ ‘Safe’ so far.” Izzy said, as lifting a heavy handful of pants, coming up with a ‘Roebucks’ coveralls and laying them aside, “These boys, they say…” digging a little deeper and pulling another set of coveralls “... what they are?”
Taking the two coveralls from Izzy, holding them front to front, noting one pair a bit shorter than the other. “What do you mean?”
“Bums, tramps?”On the run from the police?”
“ ‘Hobos’, they said. They said that they’ll never accept anything they can’t work for. And I believe them.”
“Okay, ‘Hobos’, then. If that’s the case, you and Mr. Pink are probably safe ‘cause, believe it or not, those people, Hobos have a, uh, kind of a, what’ch’cal, creed that says they will never do anything bad or do harm to anyone, anyplace, whether you help them or not.”
Taking the coveralls from Agie, shoving them into a large shopping bag. “What else you want?”
“Pants for both, too…” moving to the two long bars holding well patched shirts and jackets “... shirts and jackets for each, also.”
“Seems to me, you’re pretty fond of those boys.”
“I am. Only known them a short while, but they’re well mannered and smart, and if they decided to remain here, Mister Pink and myself would welcome them.”
“Hate to say, Mrs Pink, but if they do go, the odds of those boys finding their father are next to nothing.” Thinking, If they even get that far.
Looking outside, at the darkening sky. Sighing, “I know.”
As was the policy of the Clothes Barn: “After I wash what they’ve got now, I’ll restock …” making a brushing hand over the tables.
Being a vagrant that had been welcomed without questioned by the people this city, though not meeting, sensing an attachment for the two young wanders and well aware of the unimaginable dangers they’d be facing on a near twenty-five-hundred mile trip. Carrying both heavy, string handle shopping bags. “Think they’ll stay?” Izzy asked, opening the Clothes Barn door and stepping aside as Agie... “I hope so!” ...passing through, taking the two bags from Izzy. “I certainly hope so.”
5:34 PM
Beef, a long gone memory. However, because of an overabundance of straw and hay due the plowed over fields, the only cattle remaining were well fed dairy cows freely affording the people of Loveland and to the— which the dairy farmers sold— neighbouring communities milk, butter and an assortment of country made cheeses.
Chicken also were in great abundance, so much so that Pinks Hardware sold, at cost, thousands of feet of chicken fencing to keep the chickens from the blooming, yard wide vegetable strips surrounding each well that was hand watered by well-drawn bucket-brigade.
No! Morrie Pinks siphon idea of pulling water through two hundred feet of water hose did not work. But Loveland has vegetables enough to provide locally and to sell at the Farmers Market in Cincinitti at a profit.
As food for the people and earned monies going into the ‘Loveland Community Fund’ to be evenly divided by all participating members, with twenty Per Cent of all cash profit remaining as partial repayment for the temporary withdrawal of foreclosed property held at Loveland National Bank.
This working as more a Communistic entity rather than Capitalistic, however, for the time and place, the people of the Loveland and the general area survived, and thrived.
6:04 PM
“My goodness…” Jimmy said, tilting from the table by pushing back on the chairs rear legs “...that, ‘honestly’ was the best meal I’ve ever had!”
Finishing the last bite of wild grown raspberry pie, and the remainder of a glass of milk. Reaming seated, looking to the other side of the table, to Agie Morrie. “I’ve never...”correcting himself “…we've never had a meal like this.” Holding the empty milk glass upward. “Haven’t even had milk in three years. If you’re trying to keep Jimmy and me here, you’re…” wiggling the glass “... doing a good job at it.”
From earlier discussion, aware the boy was joking, “That’s what Mrs Pink and myself want to talk to you about. You really do not have to, but you say you’ve got to pay for what we’ve given you…”
Dane and Jimmy scrubbed clean, wearing their, many time, refurbished, expertly patched clothing.
“Boys…” Agie said “you want to stay here in Loveland, you have the use that little apartment behind the store for as long as you want.”
“If you insist on working for this…” making a sweeping gesture to the boys and their dinner table “…to stay here, the store needs to be painted…”
“And there’ll always be work for you helping on one of the farms bucket brigade.”
“Dane, Jimmy, if you remain here, we’ll get you enrolled in school. We’ve a grade school here in Loveland and a bus comes by every morning to get older children to the high school in Cincinitti.”
“You boys can live here, in our home with Mrs Pink and myself or. Or if you’d rather, in the apartment in the store. Go back to school and do whatever work you feel you must on weekends, or after school, but…”
“You don’t even know us.” Dane said. “Why would you give us so much?”
“Trust us so much?” Jimmy added.
Looking to his wife, then back at the boys. “We’re in a very bad time, here in America. We’re into the worst depression in our history, and at the same time, this horrible draught that’s causing the best of people to lose their homes; like your father, their jobs, their lives. And we’ve, my wife and me have it so easy in comparison to millions of other people, makes us feel that we have to do something to help… to trust in something. To have faith in something.”
“And you two seem to be very nice, good… You are good, aren’t you?”
So seriously asked, taking moments to answer. “Yes, I think Dane and me are good. We don’t steal, we don’t hurt people…”
“Well, other than almost killing that guy in Pittsburgh.”
“Well…” shrugging his shoulders “...don’t think you had any choice then.” Morrie said.
“We’ve lot’s of work to do to make up for what you’ve given us already. Alright if Dane and me think about it, a while?”
“Sure it’s okay.”Agie said. “We want you to do what you think is best. Remember this, though! This man, the man that keeps the Clothes Barn had been on the road for a very long, for years as a matter of fact, and says that it is very dangerous for two young boys there, and it’s a long, long way to California and, so sorry to say, but ‘Izzy’; that’s his name. ‘Izzy’ thinks that even if you should, somehow get to California, it’s a huge state with millions of people and that there’s almost no chance of ever finding your father.”
“Maybe so. We hope not! But Jimmy and me, we went to mama's grave and promised that we’d go and look for Dad.”
“So, we’ve got to, but we’ll still think about what you told us, about staying and living here and all, so…” taking the initiative, and knowing his brother. “...Dane and me would like to stay in that little place behind the store, so that way we can start into work early.”
Looking at his wife, who nodded. “Mrs Pink’ll get the key for you.” Morrie said. asking.“You two know how to paint?”
“Yeah,” Dane said, “we sure do!”
Some farmer in Schenectady gave Dane and me two meals a day if we painted his barn, and let us sleep in it for the two days it took us to do it.”
“Quite a deal that guy got.” Agie said sarcastically, handing the store key to Dane. “Our paint section is off to the right, you’ll find ladders and everything else you’ll need there.”
“Start the ceiling first, and don’t be stingy with the drop cloths. Use the cream colour paint for that, and we’ll figure the walls once you’re through with the ceiling.”
Loveland, Ohio
November 10, 1932
7:45 AM
Each holding ends of a 10X13 tarp, Dane and Jimmy lay it over three layers of shelves holding assorted size nuts, bolts wood and metal screws. Positioning the two ladders the boys finished the last remaining quarter ceiling to be painted at Pink’s Hardware. Walls to be painted, and the colour to paint them will have to be decided after the store opens at eight o’clock, about the same time Agie brings the boys breakfast. Unless busy with a customer, Morrie would usually join them for lunch, then, at about six, after they’d cleaned up and changed into their clean clothes, dinner would be at the house on Placid Street.
November 14 through December 14, 1932
The painting job finished at Pinks, the boys, still feeling guiltily accepting the hospitality of not only Agie and Morrie — doing all possible to convince Jimmy and Dane to remain in any reciprocal capacity the boys considered acceptation— but those farmers also appreciating the hours spent on water bucket duty, sometimes spending eight hour days at one farm or another where, thinking Dane and his older brother hard working, good-looking, smart boys, they would be invited to join the family in dinner, and even now and then, give the boys some bits of change — including a near unbelievable Thanksgiving dinner with Morrie and Agie, whom were beginning to consider the boys as the children they never had.
December 16,1932
9:42 PM
In the same double bed Ken Procter had installed in his little, behind the store, apartment in 1912, lying on their backs feet apart, “Jimmy?”
Turning onto his side, head cradled in hand, brothers near able to read the others thoughts. “Yeah, I am.”
“I love it here!”
"I Know, me, too, but… You even think that we never heard from dad because he doesn’t want us to know where he is?”
“Of course! Or maybe that he never made it to California, and he died someplace? Yeah, I do.”
“We don’t know, but we promised mom…”
“She’s dead.”
“I know…” Dane said “...but we promised, and if we don’t even try, what’ll we tell ourselves later? And the longer we stay here…”
“The harder it’ll be, and sooner or later we’ll stop altogether.”
Both boys quiet, staring at the ceiling.
...”When?” Dane asked.
“How much money we have?” Everything given them stored in a ‘Prince Albert’ tobacco tin. “Last I looked…” Jimmy said “...eighteen dollars.”
“That’s more then we had when we left home…. So?”
Hating to do it! With all their hearts hating to leave this loving place and these loving people.
10:05 PM
“Okay.” Leaving the bed, putting the clean coveralls on. Packing their rucksacks with all they have. Making the bed and straightening the one room apartment, and leaving a note for Mr. and Mrs Pink.“Let’s go!”
Locking the door on their way out, Dane put the stores key beneath a rock alongside the door…
10:07 PM
...Deciding to head south-westerly rather north-easterly and the two day walk towards the train yards in Cincinitti, where — knowing they would not have the mental agility to refuse them when, having not the slightest doubt, Mr. or Mrs Pink or both would come looking for them —Dane and James Dawson left Loveland bound for Kentucky.
December 22, 1932
121 miles to Carroll County, Kentucky
Southern Pacific Freight Yards in
Carlton, Kentucky
9:47 PM
The star-bight, moonlit night freezing cold, however without the slightest wind. For warmth, wearing both pants and coveralls and the shirts and jackets given them by Agnes Pink, they had sat huddled on a hillock behind a thick stand of brush about a half mile west of the Carlton Southern Pacific switching yards. The multi colored sky-lit Christmas lights cheerily strung between the lamppost's of the city of Carlton to the boys left. Since early evening and nightfall — when there was less chance they would be spotted — Jimmy and Dane Dawson had been waiting for the rumble and locomotive headlight of an approaching southbound cargo train adjacent the lamp-lit area of a curve in the steel tracts signifying a slowing of the trains forward motion where, running alongside, the boys might spot the open door of a boxcar with the train still moving at a speed slow enough for an illicit boarding.
10:05 PM
Sensing a slight vibration before actually hearing the chugging and seeing the bright locomotive head light piercing beyond the tracks curve.
As the laboring locomotive came into view, lightly punching his brother’s thigh, “Let’s go!” Standing, Jimmy started down the slight embankment with his younger brother close behind.
Out of sight of the locomotive engineer, running along side attempting to keep pace with the passing box cars…
Closed… Closed…— hampered by the double layer of clothing … Closed… ‘Open’.
Legs pumping harder... abreast now, reaching upward and grabbing hold of the round gate-post, with effort, hanging on, moving a step faster, legs swinging upward, Jimmy makes contact and is instantly upon his feet with left arm tightly wrapped about the gate-post, right arm reaching… “Come on, Dane!” Stretching his arm further! Stretching hand and fingers to their limit! “Come on Brother! Come on!… Fingers touching. Four curled fingers tightly held by four curled fingers. “Use your legs! Come on, use your…”
Four fingers slipping from four fingers, upward swing legs falling to the left… falling onto the undercarriage..
Happening so quickly. So quickly and completely, no time to scream. No time even for pain— flesh and fragments of bone falling onto the wooden railroad ties and the gravel road beneath the huge, rapidly rotating steel wheels, bits of red soaked shredded fabric blowing from between the hitched boxcars.
Ahead. Now a third mile ahead and by the moment growing even further ahead. Leaning forward, eyes searching for a sign. For any sign of his brother.
Thoughts swirling in micro seconds within the brain of James Dawson. Having not the slightest idea of where this train is going nor the many hours it might take to get there. Aware that he and his brother may well be lost to each other forever— a thought Jimmy cannot imagine— One thing he must do! Loosening and pulling his left arm from one strap of the rucksack, holding it tightly onto his stomach, curling himself into a tight ball, James Dawson rolled/projected himself from the speeding box car bounding hard on the stone covered road, but not so hard as the rock that made contact with his head, splitting the boys skull causing an arm jerking motion bringing the rucksack onto the steel rail immediately twisting, drawing Jimmies body onto the track…
Shredded Bits of blood-soaked clothing fabric following in the wake of the train… then catching onto weeds and nearby brush.
December 23, 1932
3:53 AM
Running into a major snow storm coming over the pass, pulling thirty-tw0 boxcars, the train coming to it’s first stop six hours from the Carlton Freight Yard.
Washed away in the storm, there was not so much as a trace of Dane or Jimmy Dawson.
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50
Chapter Five: Christmas & New Years 1932/33
