There are two versions of the story of how Britt, Iowa, became the Hobo Capital of America. The official version, as told by Bill Eckels, a volunteer guide at Britt’s Hobo Museum who also answers to the nom de hobo Boxcar Billy, goes something like this:
Still, Britt takes its hobo heritage seriously. The first thing you see when you drive into town is a big sign that says national hobo convention topped with a picture of a hobo carrying a bindle and a can of stew. There’s a diner called Mary Jo’s Hobo House, decorated with model trains, bindle sticks, and photos of famous hobos, some of which look suspiciously like professional head shots. There’s a garden decorated with metal cutouts of hobo signs and a hobo time capsule. And of course, there’s the museum, located in what was, until 20 years ago, the Chief movie theater.
The Hobo Museum draws firm distinctions between hobos, tramps, and bums. As a sign posted on the wall in the lobby reads, “A hobo wanders and works, a tramp wanders and dreams and a bum neither wanders or works.” But it’s hard to think of those distinctions as particularly meaningful when you look at the display of the worldly possessions of the Hardrock Kid, the first person buried in the corner of Evergreen Cemetery reserved for hobos. He died alone on the road, under a tree, and the people who found his body had no idea what to do and called up the Hobo Foundation. Hardrock had been carrying a toothbrush, toothpaste, a can of Campbell’s stew, a can of peanuts, and a crumpled pack of Camels. It all fits on a single narrow shelf.
But as with superheroes, gunslingers, pool hustlers, and other figures in our national mythology, it’s much nicer to imagine a footloose and free hobo instead of the reality of being a homeless itinerant worker who had to sleep in a boxcar. As Bill Eckels says, “I’m an honest person, but I’ll lie a little to make it sound better.”
