Hobo Stew

Life really is just a matter of perspective.

A couple years before my mother passed away I went on one of my weekend visits to see her and we were sitting at her kitchen table talking about her memories of growing up during the Great Depression. You know —that period of time before you were born that your parents and grandparents refer to with awe in their voice. Awe and respect. They know how transient a stable economy can be and with uneasiness remember a time when everyone had so little but made do with what they had, and were none the worse for wear.

Mom grew up in a small town in Arkansas and was remembering how sometimes Hobos would come to their door. Grandma called them Tramps. They were looking for food and would offer to do work around the house for it. She said sometimes Grandma gave them work but more often than not, she just made them wait on the front porch while she went inside and made them a sandwich. Grandma never turned anyone away. She always said "The least we can do with what little we have is share it with those that have nothing." That made quite an impression on mom.

Mom also talked about the Big Celebration they had every fourth of July. She said it was the one day of the year when friends and family gathered at their house and had a feast. They had a family friend who worked for a Soda Pop company, and he'd show up with a huge tub of soda pop. She said all the kids drank pop all day and as many as they wanted while the grown ups were talking and laughing and not paying attention. What a treat that was! They always had a heaped tray of hamburgers for supper. Grandma made the absolute BEST hamburgers in the world Mom said. She could still remember how good they tasted. "Did you BBQ them outside on a grill? "I asked. She looked shocked "Oh No. Grandma would never have done that. She said 'that's how the hobo's eat, outside cooking on a fire. Why would we do that when we have a nice stove and an inside kitchen?!'"

Interesting viewpoint when you think about the hundreds and thousands of dollars people now spend on BBQs and backyard kitchens.

The next weekend after this talk with mom, we had Grampy over for dinner at our house. Grampy lives in the same town we do while my mom lived about an hour and half away. So Grampy comes over often. He and my mom are the same age but never cottoned to one another. We were sitting at the kitchen table and I got him to talking about growing up. "Oh yes...the Great Depression" (reverential pause as he gathered his thoughts) "When I was a young teenager, my little brother Willie and I ran away from home, heading east from Phoenix to Dallas and lived with the hobos along the way. We rode the trains with them and we camped in their hobo camps. They took us under their wings." Grampy paused again, fond memories tramping through his mind. "The Hobo Community took us in with no reservations or second thoughts. We were just kids but there were a lot of kids riding the trains.  We were all in the same boat and we all shared everything. Of a day we'd all go into town to scavange and come back to the tent camps in the evening. Someone would have onions they found, someone else a meat bone they dug out of a trash can. Everyone brought what they had and we cooked it all in huge pot on an outdoor fire. Mmmmm. It was Hobo Stew and the BEST food I've EVER had. I can still taste it now — how good it was!" He was patting his belly while he said this and I reckon he was telling the truth.

I told Grampy what my Grandmother had said about Hobo cooking. About her nice, inside kitchen and stove. He frowned, wiggled his finger in front of my face and said "Well that woman was a damn fool!" The next weekend I went to visit mom and told her Grampy's story and what he'd said about Hobo Stew being so good and all. She just laughed "Yeah" she sniffed (her nose a tad high in the air) "I expect Tex was always so hungry even an old shoe would have tasted great if they'd thrown it in a pot and cooked it. Hobo stew indeed!"