Not sure when or where I found this, but I can most likely trace it back to my friend Ron who finds me all sorts of hobo goodies on the Internet.

I’m particularly fond of this image because it’s got it all. The hobos dancing, playing music, hopping trains, sitting around the fire, beards, creepy skeleton like figures: it is a picture of the hobo jungle.

We haven’t talked about it in a while, but the hobo jungle was the place where hobos congregated, told their stories and shared food. Everyone brought something, everyone got something. Everyone came to the “table” with their ideas, their tall tales, their struggles, their way of life, and all walked away having learned something, eaten something, and most likely drank some hobo alcohol. They’d exchange places to find work, teach the younger hobos the way of life on the rails, and keep their community alive.

I doubt these jungles were ever a formal place that was established by someone (King of the Hobos) as a place to pass down their culture, but rather an organic community that arose out of a necessity for companionship in a lonely lifestyle.

In our modern hobo ways, head down to Venice Beach, you’ll find a modern hobo “jungle”. While not necessarily the same (they’re pretty organized, meet every week, have a website…), this is the basic idea. People with a common interest, a common thought, etc, gather in one place to share something about themselves.

Start your own hobo jungle. In your backyard, at the park, at a gym. A hobo jungle from back in the day was usually just on the side of the tracks, not always in the jungle or necessarily hidden from view (enough so they wouldn’t get caught by the railroad bull), so get out there. Be a hobo. Meet some people, share your life, and drink some alcohol with them (preferably that you made).

(Below is found on the site where I located the image. Talks about the spirit and joy to be found in the jungles.)

Many people regard hobos as down-and-out bums, but in this painting, Delaney reminisced about the social conviviality of the life of a hobo with multiple vignettes.

“Somehow I thrill more to the tune of hobos singing John Henry on a freight train going down Mingo Hollow in West Virginia on a dark night and the still flow of the Virginia River, or the first ring of John Henry’s hammer whooping that man’s steel, spikes, iron … You talk about music. I cannot stress the point – something about being on the road, especially when those coal cars are winding their way up and down the slopes of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia while smoke of the engine filters through the pine and thick brush on the mountainsides. To have a thrill of this when you are young and wild can’t be matched with the best opera or any other put-together entertainment.

Pic and quotes found here: http://sunsite.utk.edu/delaney/hobo.htm