One catchy little refrain. That’s all “Banjo” Fred Starner wants the commercial industry to hear. The face of American folk music may be a-changin’, but it’s here to stay.
And the genre of the hobo – the rail-ridin’ vagabond whose off-the-beaten-path lifestyle embodies the purpose and passion of folk music – isn’t goin’ anywhere either.
“Hobos have somehow achieved a certain status in American folklore,” says Starner, who will join a few folkie friends in northeastern Ohio this weekend for a gathering of the Folk Alliance, a celebration of hobo music and poetry sponsored by Z Clark Branson Projects, Inc.
A 62-year-old guitar-pickin’, banjo-strummin’ minstrel out of Winnetka, Calif., Starner admits his rail-riding experience is limited. The college-economics-teacher-by-day has kept his hand on the pulse of hobohood’s emerging trends by writing songs of wanderlust for the past six years.
“Younger people are an extension of the tradition,” says Starner. “Just this summer, I was in Dunsmuir, Calif., and there were about 50 of us gathered around a campfire at the rail yard, right next to the Sacramento River. About half were under the age of 30.”
So what’s the allure — primitive accommodations? Eating out of a can? Prospects of an arrest for trespass? Starner says genetics play a factor. “They usually have some friend or someone in their family did it, maybe a grandfather or an uncle.”
More and more, “they” are females. “These young women are serious students – one is an English major, one is in environmental studies – they really take rail riding seriously,” says Starner. “They pare down their clothing, carry little packs and travel together. The secret is knowing which lines to travel for safety’s sake.” And which to avoid. Violence and police run-ins are more common along the Texas-Mexico border, as well as in areas such as Oakland and Los Angeles, Starner warns. “It’s a very dangerous thing. You have to know what you’re doing.”
Other rules of the rail:
— Don’t jump onto or off of a moving train; even if it’s moving slooooowwwly. (“More than 200 people a year are killed that way.”)
— Don’t drink and ride. (“It causes you to make some bad decisions.”)
— Don’t draw attention to yourself. (The lower the visibility, the better the chance of success – or, at least, remaining intact.)
The discriminating hobo opts to hop the grainer, according to Starner. When it’s not hauling wheat, it sleeps two, uh, comfortably, and offers protection from the elements. Boxcars are an option but are often locked. Rail riding is trespassing to begin with; those who break and enter seriously risk landing on the wrong side of the tracks.
Getting life back on track was key during the hobo heyday of the Great Depression. Where today’s hobos seem to be “looking for” themselves, their counterparts of yesteryear were usually running from something. “The typical pattern was that someone would lose a job, get a divorce or come back from the war and spend a couple years riding rails as a period of reflection and meditation. Then they’d go back to their regular life,” says Starner.
“Regular life” for Starner means building on a base of decades-old experiences that include 30+ concerts with folk legend Pete Seeger; panel appearances with Peter (Peter, Paul & Mary) Yarrow; four albums, including his latest, “Hobos and the Wind”; and a 10-part public TV series that, Starner modestly relates, won “some kind of award” a quarter century ago.
For the hobophobic among us, Starner is well-versed in debunking the myth of hobo as loafer and bum. “Hobo,” says Starner, is a variation of “hoe boy,” a common term for agricultural workers in the Civil War era. “There’s an old saying from the post-Civil War days: ‘A bum rides the rails and drinks. A tramp rides the rails and dreams. A hobo rides the rails and works.’ ”
And folk music will always work for Starner. – Jeff Woodard
“Banjo Fred” Starner and The Hobo Minstrels will perform at 8 p.m. Sunday, Feb. 13 at the Cat & Cream in Hales Annex of Oberlin College, 180 W. Lorain St., Oberlin. Admission is free. For more information, call 440-775-8565.