Where is for folks
who got someplace 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 Tonawka'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!"
The closest thing I had to a relative was Walter, who wasn't a relative at all and hadn't been seen in months.
I was seventeen. On my own.
Everybody knew, but 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.
That's when I started catching freights out of Tonawka. I just needed to see something else. I needed to prove to myself I could go, and it didn't matter where.
Catching freights means what it sounds like. Hopping on trains and hiding among the freight for a free ride.
Finding a train was easy. Train tracks cut through the center of town.
Anything headed west went to Gary. Anything eastbound went to South Bend, but that was too far away for me to easily get there and back, so I went west, to Gary.
Riding the rails felt like freedom. As long as it wasn't too cold, the trip could be almost... romantic. Just me and my thoughts, with the sound of metal meeting metal on the rails.
I loved it.
I wasn't alone on my first trip to Gary though. When I climbed aboard a Norfolk Southern freight car, hoping to hide behind some cargo, a drifter 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 Tonawka. 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 probably tell I was skeptical, because he said, "Out here, I'm free to be anybody I want. And ain't it a blessing 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 headin' 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, after Tonawka.
"Valpo's next. Gary's still a ways off," he said, as he reached for his book. It looked like it'd seen better days.
"I never read Huckleberry Finn. Is it any good?"
He said, "It is, but it's not for readin'," and he flipped open the cover to show the pages had been hollowed out. There was a pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards stashed inside. We played Gin Rummy while the train rumbled on. I let him win because it felt like the right thing to do.
Catching trains out of Tonawka wasn't too hard, especially if there was traffic somewhere along the line to slow a train down. Hop on. Ride out. Easy peasy, as long as you don't get spotted. 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 hard, as if each was its own sentence, while bringing his arms close to his sides and wobbling 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 Tonawka, 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 Tonawka.
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.