07.02.08. On The Road

8. ON THE ROAD

After working at his job for a few weeks and spending his money as fast as he made it in riotous living, he made his way one night down to the railroad to bum his way out of town. He had sold and expressed home all his belongings but the clothing he had on and with seven dollars in money, he waited at the water tank for a train to pass through.

"Stepped up to the brakeman
And put up a line of talk.
He said if you have the money, sir,
I’ll take you to New York.

I have no money or ticket,
Pity me, I’m poor;
Get out of there! the brakeman said,
And locked the box car door.

"All around the water tank,
Waiting there for trains,
Tired and hungry I lay down,
Talk! ’twas all in vain.

Thinking of those good old days,
Wish I was home again,
But I’m a thousand miles from home,
Beating an old freight train."

About midnight a red-ball freight came through and stopped to take on water and he climbed aboard, little dreaming that this was just another spurt on a career of suffering and sin and that box cars would be his means of conveyance over many, many weary miles. When he finally left this train it was in a city and a state where they had the open saloon. He had never seen one in his life, but passing the open door of one and seeing no one inside but the bartender, he entered, placed his dollar on the bar and called for his first glass of beer, and although the sign on the door said "no minors allowed," it was served without comment. That was the first time. Oh! that it had been the last time, but it was repeated again and again, until the day came when he would ask men for money to buy food and go spend it over the bar for beer. Had Todd’s mother sung that evening as she so often did,

"Where is my wandering boy tonight,
The boy of my tenderest care,
The boy who was once my joy and life,
The child of my love and prayer." the answer would have been, "Down, down, down, down,
Down in the licensed saloon."

He did not write home now, and it was a long time before his mother or any of his people ever saw him or heard from him again. There were times when he had a good job and the work was easy, and there were other times when he swung the pick and shovel and worked at the hardest manual labor. There were times when he could enter a restaurant and order a square meal; at other times he would make his way to the back door of some humble home and ask for bread to keep soul and body together. There were times when he had a good room in a hotel, and times when he spread newspapers on the floor of some box car and shivered in the cold throughout the night. When he traveled he sometimes bought a ticket and rode the cushions, but more often he was broke and beat his way, riding the "blind baggage," the "Side-Door Pullman," or almost any place on the train where he could hide from the crew. During all these months he did not stay long in any one town, but drifted from place to place, like the prodigal son "wasting his substance in riotous living." On one occasion he passed within less than a mile of his sister’s home but did not go to see her or let her know he was near, although he had not seen her for years.