Amerikai Magyar Szó, 1987. január-június (41. évfolyam, 1-25. szám)
1987-01-29 / 4. szám
14. AMERIKAI MAGYAR SZÓ Thursday, Jan. 29. 1987. up, too keep from freezing." "All night? How did you rest?" "With the corrugated metal frosted, it was painful to sit for a rest. The water at the bottom of the reefer froze and it felt like sitting on a bunch of cold ice picks. Sitting became impossible and standing for hours in one spot on a bouncing train seemed like torture. That was the most uncomfortable and miserable experience of my life. Finally, after daybreak, at Helena the train pulled in for water and coal. We couldn't get off fast enough." "Yeah, that was a tough ride," Vic acknowledged. "I'm glad we're in Mississippi, where it's warm." Only loud conversation broke the monotony of the noisy clickety-clack of iron wheels, some of which seemed square. I talked a lot. Vic rarely made a comment. I envied him sitting there, blessed with a luscious sandwich in his stomach. He must have been thinking of his good fortune. "Have you ever bummed for food, Johnny, like knocking on a door and telling the lady of the house you're hungry?" "I'm not sure whether this ended up as bumming, but that's what we had in mind once out in Idaho. Shortly after our Montana freeze, we were almost broke. I heard of hoboes offering to do odd jobs for a meal. At a small settlement in Idaho I picked out a nice white bungalow near the tracks and practiced my speech. With knees shaking, I knocked on the door, embarrassed to tell the pretty lady of about thirty that we had not eaten in two days and would be happy to work for a meal. She agreed it was a good idea." "Please chop some wood in the backyard for about half an hour while I fix breakfast," she said. "I was sleepy, tired, hungry, and had trouble lifting the axe. Taking turns, we chopped and stacked a high pile of wood. She checked our work, was pleased and invited us in to wash up for breakfast. She had eggs, pancakes, biscuits, sausage, bacon, home-made preserves and great coffee." "What are such polite boys like you doing so far away from home?,she asked." We told her and she was impressed with our efforts to find work. We were glad to have chopped a good pile of wood and helped with the dishes, when a man in police uniform walked in. "It's all right, boys. This is my husband, the deputy sheriff. He's here for his coffe break," she said to put us at ease. He gave us good tips on our travel plans, suggesting we avoid the Northwest and cut down to the California valleys for work. We laughed at his final bit of advice. "If you boys must come west again, take the southern route and avoid Montana." We thanked them and said goodbye. "I wish you hadn't told me about that breakfast. I can smell the bacon now, and I'm so hungry I could eat the ass-end out of a deer if you'd help me catch it," complained Vic. "For Christ's sake, you ask me if I ever bummed for food. I tell you my favorite experience, and all you can say is it makes you hungry. Why don't you help me remember how long it's been since we ate those Hershey candy bars?" We agreed it was three days, though it seemed a week. Hunger pains were gnawing at my stomach. I had a terrible craving for food. I even thought of going up front to the coal car and chewing on a piece of coal. At home the pigs ate it. Each time our cattle train stopped at a siding, it was Gojack between a half hour and an hour before we got on the main track again. "At this snail's pace, I think starvation will arrive sooner than a place to find food," I said aloud to myself. When we pulled into the next siding, the train with priority was not yet in sight. I did see a shack about two hundred, yards away, at the end of a cottonfield. Someone was sitting in front of it. "I'm going over to buy or beg some food. There's sure as hell not time enough to chop wood for it," I told Vic. Despite his Navy hitch, Vic was shy and declined to join me. "Watch out for the passing scheduled train and get back before our train pulls out," he warned as I jumped out of the boxcar. With sharp pains in my belly, I dashed across the cotton stubble as fast as I ever ran on the football field. Sitting in front of a tiny cabin, with clapboard windows and no glass, was a wrinkled, old man with white hair. His rickety chair appeared ready to fall apart and he looked the same. "Good morning, sir, may I buy some food from you?" "We ain't got no food, boy," he cracked in a voice I could hardly hear. "You must have something I can eat. I'll pay for it. I'm hungry and haven't had any food for over three days." Then, pressing desperately, "I'm terribly hungry and I'll pay you well for any food," showing him some coins. The old man pulled himself out of the chair and walked over to the cabin door. "Mandy, this 'yere white boy says he hon- gry. I'se told him we ain't got no food," he called out. "Yeah, Josh, you right. All we's got is the pot likker from last night's supper." "What's pot likker? Let me see it," I asked the woman in the darkened shack. In a minute a tiny, wrinkled, gray-haired lady stepped out. She looked even older than her husband and had trouble carrying a blackened kettle to show me. The bottom two or three inches were full of congealed remains of butter bean soup or stew. It did not look appetizing, but it smelled delicious. "I'll take it, and please let me pay for it." "We can't sell no food, son" said the old man. "Can he have it, Mandy?" "Course, Josh, the boy looks neah starved Family and needs it more's we do." I wanted to kiss her toothless smile, both for her generosity and the loving way she expressed it. My two new friends looked at each other, smiling and watching the white boy eat like a pig. I felt like a dog wolfing down jelled butter beans marinated in pot likker. I scraped every bit clean with a large spoon and would have put my head in the pot to lick it except for embarrassing my hosts. Almost finished, I remembered manners, lifting my head up for a smile and a quick thank you. The friendly black couple was sitting near me and watching my every move, with grins on their faces. I liked the butter beans because they filled my stomach, and loved the old folks because they filled my heart. With no passing train in sight, I spent ten minutes or more with them. "Thank you very much, Mandy and Josh, for sharing your food with me, and for inviting me into your home - it sure beats boxcars." Having gotten more used to the light from the dim lantern in the cabin, I could see how poverty-stricken this fine old couple was, and marvelled at how well they maintained their pride and dignity. It was a pleasure to slip two quarters under the butter bean kettle. Hearing the fast train approach, I shook their hands and gave each a bear hug. "I'll be back to see you some day, and we'll have a longer visit," I said, giving them both a peck on the cheek. "The Lord bless you, son," said the sweet old lady. "You be careful, boy, and when you come back Mandy will fix you some real butter beans," promised the dignified old man. They both shook my hands again, and I left some tears on the cotton stubble as I ran back for my train. My life has been full of wonderful people in many walks of life, who have enriched it tremendously. Mandy and Josh taught me a lot more than butter beans, now my favorite vegetable. They taught me courage, generosity, pride, dignity, and strength. I got back to the train in plenty of time, with Vic asking how I made out. "Oh, they were poor colored people, but they let me have some left-overs," I explained briefly. I was too emotionally involved with my experience to try sharing it with Vic. (To ^ continued)
