When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hobo. It seemed like an exciting life, fueled by freedom. Of course, grown-ups tried to discourage me. They thought I wanted to be a bum. I wasn't interested in panhandling, though; I just figured it would be fun to travel in a boxcar, visit different cities, cook my mulligan stew—whatever that is—over a campfire, and sleep outdoors under the stars. In my mind, it was a romantic fantasy, not something I planned to do in order to make all my relatives feel ashamed. I even subscribed to the Hobo News.
I recently was reminded of this when I read an obituary about the death of Maurice "Steam Train Maury" Graham at the age of 89. In hobo jargon, he "caught the westbound train." Graham began hopping freights when he was only 14 years old. At the National Hobo Convention in 2004, he was anointed Grand Patriarch of the Hobos. He once said, "A hobo is just a guy who went camping and never came home."
However, since my adolescent days, I've wondered about the sex lives of hobos. There was something both glamorous and unattractive about them, something both exciting and unappetizing, as revealed in the media. The New York Times recounted Graham's story of the Pennsylvania Kid, who shaved with a piece of glass from a Coke bottle. When the Washington Post asked him if it were true that some hobos used deodorant, he replied, "It's a shame, but I don't know what we can do about it." And, the Los Angeles Times' review of his book, Tales of the Iron Road: My Life as King of the Hobos, wondered if it neglected "a darker, hard-drinking, womanizing, gambling side" of his nature.
Do modern hobos have access to the Internet, and if so, is there online porn involving them? The Seattle Weekly's sex columnist, Judy "Bad Advice" McGuire, wrote: "As there are folks who consider dining on feces the ultimate erotic experience and still others who get off on jamming metal rods up their urethras, it's hardly shocking that there are those who find the desperately poor and/or hopelessly (and homelessly) drug-addicted wank-worthy. Sigh. Don't these tragic types have enough problems without being turned into fodder for some control freak's masturbatory fantasies?"
The answer is, no. But, she did discover "one of the more 'authentic' sites"—Hobosexual.com—which I checked out and linked on to several "Hobofoot" favorites:
Boss Trucker: "Galleries feature mature, old-school drivers in the buff. The men shown in Hobofoot websites are older, seasoned men. And, before anybody gets their panties in a bunch, we do not place truckers and hobos in the same category. The majority of truckers we meet are very clean, professional men."
Black Eye Saloon: "This is the first gallery originally called 'Hoboboot.' This unique website features real hobos, veteran rail riders, hardened, modern-day pirates, and attractive road tramps....Hi-res photos so close you can almost smell 'em."
Tough Nuts: "More old outlaws and drifter types spread out nekkid for the connoisseur."
Smegmen: "The latest website added to the Hobofoot Web. More hi-res images of naked old tramps and rough-cut vagabonds, close enough to breathe deep."
Silver Whisker Saloon: "Eighteen galleries of senior men 50 , bare buck nekkid and in living color. Handsome, naked old cowboys and silver daddies."
Rough Trade Male: "The best collection of older, hard black men online. Raunchy sex, body worship, full sexual servitude of ebony masters."
Sgt. Daddy's Men: "A big-ass picture of older men, bears, and masculine senior men."
Well, these characters weren't exactly what I was searching for. As McGuire describes them, "These guys appeared to be of a certain age (although hard living can age a fella, so who knows), sporting crusty rolls of fat and unkempt clumps of back hair (no man-scaping here!). Obviously, my computer doesn't come equipped with "odorama," but if looks could smell, I'm willing to bet their aroma was fairly funk-ified."
I don't really know what I had expected to find, although I did realize, judging by the action in the photos, that these sites were intended for homosexual viewing—which only underscores the irony of the word "gay." So, there are men who enjoy jerking off to the images of other, repulsive men. Fine with me. More power to them. That's diversity. It's what America is really all about.
Funny, I started out just wanting to satisfy my curiosity about the sex life of hobos, and I ended up being reminded of the law of supply and demand.
Paul Krassner's latest book, One Hand Jerking: Reports from an Investigative Satirist, has a foreword by Harry Shearer and an introduction by Lewis Black. It is available in stores, on the Internet, and from PaulKrassner.com.
