Ain't it a blessing
to be what you want to be.
— Finn
I saw an old movie about a kid whose parents died and the whole town rallied together to adopt him. Aww, that's sweet.
When my mom died, I became Wanatah's hot potato.
Every conversation I had felt strained until it ended, at which point whoever I was talking with would smile and slowly back away. I could almost hear the voice in their head shout, "NOT IT!"
I was on my own. The closest thing I had to a relative was Walter, who wasn't a relative at all. And he hadn't been seen in years.
Everybody knew.
Nobody wanted to ask... anything... because the answer might include some form of, "So can I stay with you?"
I couch surfed. I got by.
I worked. I scavenged.
I was homeless, but it was fine. More or less, though usually less.
I started catching freights out of Wanatah shortly after mom died. I just needed to see something else. I needed to prove to myself I could go.
Catching freights means what it sounds like. Hopping on trains, and hiding among the freight for a free ride, hobo-style.
Finding a train was easy. Train tracks cut through the center of town.
Anything headed west went to Gary, then on to Chicago.
Lying on a flatbed as a train rolled out of town at night felt like freedom. As long as it wasn't too cold, the trip could be almost... romantic. Just me and the wind, with the sound of metal meeting metal on the rails.
I loved it.
I wasn't alone on my first trip to Gary though. As I nervously climbed aboard a Norfolk Southern freight car and hid behind some cargo, I spotted a drifter who was already there. We took our time pondering the situation until we both realized it was pointless.
I said, "What the fuck, man. We gonna fight? Or are we gonna eat Fig Newtons?" The absurdity of the question made him laugh, but I needed to know if the laugh was sinister, so I tried again. "No kiddin' man. Respect a bitch who brings snacks, yeah?"
"Respect," he said, with a bigger laugh and a smile that meant we were cool.
Friends are better than enemies, and everybody loves snacks.
Drifters aren't bad people. They're just wandering because they can. Sure, they'll take advantage of you if you let 'em, but so will anybody else, right?
This guy looked like an old man, but I'm guessing he just lived hard. Not the hopeless kind of hard I grew up with in Wanatah. More like the kind where disaster might be straight ahead, but you go in face first because it is your choice to do so.
He told me his name was Finn, "Like the book." He could tell I was skeptical, but it didn't matter. He said he was free to be anybody he wants. "Ain't it a blessing," he said, "to be what you want to be."
I told him I was going to Gary and asked where he was headed.
"Where is for folks who got someplace to be. I'm just goin' that way," and he pointed west.
"...because?"
"Because I got tired of bein' where I was."
I respected that.
He asked why I was going to Gary. I wanted to be clever and say, "Because I got tired of bein' where I was," but the truth is, I didn't know.
I said I was going to Gary, because it's what's next.
"Hobart's next," he said. "Nothin' there. Gary's got a couple stops, just after that."
The look of his book said it had seen better days.
"I never read Huckleberry Finn. Is it good?"
He said, "It is, but it's not for readin'," and he held it up to show the pages had been hollowed out. Inside, was a pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards. We played Gin Rummy. I let him win because it felt like the right thing to do.
Hopping trains out of Wanatah wasn't hard. They have to slow down before they get to Main Street. Hop on. Ride out. Easy peasy. But getting off a train is something else. It's like getting out of a fire. As Finn explained, "Ya gotta do it with finesse."
Instead of stop, drop, and roll... it's drop, roll, and stop.
It was great to hear Finn say "finesse." I'm guessing he likes the word because it goes with his name, especially the way he says it. He slurred it with intention and hit both syllables as if each was its own sentence. He brought his arms close to his sides and wobbled like he was pretending to roll. Then he jerked his head high with a triumphant toothy grin and said, "Ain't nothin' to it."
Ain't Nothin' To It should be the motto for Gary, Indiana.
I went there to prove I could get out of Wanatah, but as I breathed in the stale air that smelled like diesel fumes, wet concrete, and indignation, I realized the only thing I'd found was a bigger way of being poor.
Still, that stale Gary air smelled like possibilities.
Maybe even freedom.
Two hours later, I was headed back ho... Er, back to Wanatah.
Editor's Note:
The official motto for Gary, Indiana is, "We Are Doing Great Things." The city's population has declined by roughly 12,600 since 2012, when the motto was introduced.