Hobos and Their Fans Descend on Britt, Iowa, for National Hobo Convention By Mark Westin Dateline: Britt, Iowa, Saturday, August 10, 2014 (Last weekend) After a 30-year absence I decided this was the year to rekindle my relationship with the National Hobo Convention in Britt, IA. My first trip to Britt in 1975 was in the role of news reporter for Duluth’s WDIO-TV “covering” the convention. In actuality, after reading a newspaper article about the upcoming event I begged the news director to let me borrow a camera, sound gear, and a few rolls of 16mm Kodak film (this is in pre-video days) to see if I couldn’t scrounge up a noteworthy human interest story or two. Several associates at the station, namely Mark Ryan, Brian Halliday and “John Boy” Koskinen, volunteered to accompany me and provide technical and other support. Reimbursement for one hotel room in nearby Garner and gas for my pickup were dependent on delivering a requisite amount of air-worthy content, the quantity and quality to be determined. That was fair. In fact, we collectively produced a series of four stories for the station’s 6 & 10 newscasts the very next week. First, was a general story on the convention, parade, king and queen contest, hobo jungle, and a profile of newly elected hobo king, Steam Train Maury. I believe Long Looker Mick was queen that year. We also did separate stories with hobos Pennsylvania Kid, Big Town Gorman, and the eloquent Lord Open Road. I recall there was a scuffle between Pennsylvania and Frying Pan Jack prior to the judging and threats were dutifully exchanged and acknowledged. All of the hobos of that era spent an important part of their lives traveling from place to place by freight train, hitchhiking and, unavoidably some days, the bus. For several more years I attended the convention and enjoyed this unique and vicarious celebration of American wanderlust. One year I invited Pennsylvania to visit our home should he ever make it to Minnesota. It should not have been a surprise when that fall there was a phone call from a local bar informing me that Pennsylvania had blown into town and needed a ride to my house. He spent three interesting nights with us while my dear wife, Kitty Westin, endured the final month of pregnancy. She still resents my generosity in giving the Kid our bed while we moved into the guest room with the topsy-turvy waterbed, a contraption not friendly to elderly hobos, nor pregnant women as it turns out. As a man of the road he understandably appreciated all forms of beer and spirits. He also enjoyed a nightly soak in a hot bath to which a measured cup of household ammonia had been added. Honest. During the daytime he and I toured the Twin Cities. My most vivid recollection was taking him to the observation deck of the IDS Center downtown. The other visitors were captivated by his colorful presence and engaged him in conversation. He wore multiple layers of shirts and coats, overhauls, a huge felt hat covered with buttons, feathers, key chains and other souvenirs from his extensive coast-to-coast travels. Pennsylvania was as awestruck by the 51-story view as anyone has ever been. Around and around he walked looking down at the city from the clouds. He’d still be with us today if not for Kitty’s eviction notice before a fourth night’s stay could be negotiated. I drove him to the VFW Club in South St. Paul, just across from the stockyards. He knew the place from past trips and, to my relief, was welcomed by all. That was the last time I saw Pennsylvania Kid. This year’s hobo get together had all the parts and pieces of previous conventions. I arrived in time for the parade which snaked through downtown Britt for an hour and a half. High school and other marching bands provided the soundtrack. Shriners in silly cars zoomed in figure-8s. The pretty Miss Congeniality of Hancock County waved from a convertible. Most businesses within a 25-mile radius of Britt were represented in some fashion. The Ewing Funeral Home and Monument Company participated but without the hearse. Every roadworthy police car, ambulance, fire truck, and rescue apparatus in northern Iowa made the parade. Most threw candy for the kids and the occasional John Deere cap for likely future farmers. And finally towed behind a shiny Dodge truck came the large implement trailer and its cargo of hobo king and queen candidates seated on folding chairs. On the green Astroturf at their feet lounged an entourage of humans and dogs. Elevated at the front of the platform rode last year’s king and queen, Gerard “Frog” Fortin and “Bookworm Bonnie” Morris, proudly upholding their ambassadorial duties for the final few hours. I did not recognize any hobo names or faces and didn’t expect I would. Earlier I visited the hobo cemetery at the edge of town and, sadly, found names of most of the hobos I’d had the pleasure of knowing including my pal, Pennsylvania. In hobo parlance, they’d “caught the westbound train” into the next world. Following the parade in a nearby park an enormous kettle of mulligan stew appeared and was distributed free to all, ladled into Styrofoam cups and devoured on the spot. Even the occasional dog found himself blessed with a tasty bowl of the hobo fireside staple. Lunch was followed by candidate judging. The large audience was treated to a colorful assortment of speeches extolling each hobo’s worthiness to become royalty. Voting, as always, was conducted by carefully measured audience applause. The vivacious Cindy Lou was elected queen of the hobos in the first round. The more competitive king contest required a runoff round. In the end, the dapper and gregarious fellow with the bowler hat, Songbird, was duly pronounced King of the Hobos. The ceremonial Folgers coffee can crowns and red and blue velvet capes were summoned from their protective cardboard to adorn the new hobo nobility. The two will embark on a host of ambassadorial duties visiting VA hospitals, nursing homes, schools and other places where normal people live, many of who may fantasize about living the hobo lifestyle. Next year’s National Hobo Convention takes place August 6-9 in Britt, Hancock County, Iowa. Put it on your calendar! Long live King Songbird and Queen Cindy Lou!
Posted on: Sat, 16 Aug 2014 22:43:53 +0000
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