In a university gymnasium on a hot Saturday afternoon, parents and their teenage children gathered in excited anticipation for a high school graduation ceremony. This threshold of adolescence offers hope for a future and a belief in a justified path.
Five miles away, on a street corner in a trendy shopping district in Richmond, Virginia, sat two young men, both nineteen years of age and both very far from home. They had gone through the same ritual in different gymnasiums, making their parents proud, but then decided to take a path that is not as comfortable and often misunderstood. When the road turned, they kept going straight.
These two individuals make up a portion of the population that is not recognized by the U.S. Census count. They do not pay taxes. They do not own homes. They are nomads of the industrialized world.
Ben wore black overalls rolled up to the knees. His shoes were split at the seams, and his smile appeared to be permanent. He was thick with filth and idealism. Originally from New Jersey, he said he had once met a man who rode trains around the country. Ben spent long hours asking questions and learning all he could about this way of traveling. In the end, Ben felt the need to go because life grew duller every day as he dreamed of this foreign reality. After some hesitation, he made his way to a New Jersey rail yard at night, jumped on a “hot shot” (a nonstop freighter heading south) just as it started to roll.
“I’ve never felt so trusting of the uncertain in all my life,” Ben told me, describing his personal transformation five months ago when the train began to gain speed and carried him away from a comfortable home.
Tanner was a few months younger than Ben. He sat in the narrow slip of shade caused by an overhang, holding a sign around his neck in a subliminal manner. The sign read clearly: Give me money for some goddamn beer. His face showed traces of a struggling beard, but his eyes were bright and clean. Tanner said hello to all who passed by, his voice filled with true intent. One young, attractive woman passing by glanced down at the content young man and broke into a smile herself. She continued to walk on, then turned back and gave them each a dollar.
“Those smiles are definitely worth a dollar,” she said.
“Funny thing about it all,” Tanner remarked, “we don’t even drink beer.”
Tanner, also from New Jersey, had not known Ben previously. He made his way to Florida by hitchhiking. Not knowing much about the rail system, he preferred to stick to the road. In no real hurry, with chance as his compass, Tanner had been absent from structured life for eight months.
“I don’t really have any set plans,” he said. “You know, you make some plans, goals, or whatever, and before you know it, they’re so butchered you have a hard time remembering where you were going to begin with. Things just may go the craziest way ever.”
It was in Florida that these two new friends met. They told me of their journey to the mountains of North Carolina for an anarchist gathering. With Ben’s novice knowledge of the rails, they opted to ride freighters up from Florida. After the gathering—of which they both agreed that even anarchists need a little structure—they decided to head toward West Virginia for a hobo camp in an undisclosed location.
On this trip, they were led by a lone, unnamed female who knew the tracks better than either of them. The group made it as far as Richmond before being spotted by a “bull” (rail yard police), forcing them to abandon their boxcar and flee into the city. Now, with their gear stashed in a hiding spot near the highway, they were spending the next four days in Richmond, after which they would each go their separate ways.
I questioned them about their upbringing, work ethic, and dreams for the future. Tanner and Ben said they came from average families and still called home from time to time.
“So as not to make them worry too much,” Ben added.
“It was definitely confusing to them when I told them I was going traveling,” Tanner said. “Now they see that it’s just what I need to do. They are more proud that I’m finding my own way… but they still worry.”
They both had held many different jobs. They had sold themselves by the hour and did not like the taste.
“You see a lot of unhappy people sitting here,” Ben said, referring to the stern faces rushing by on their way to work. “We don’t even usually panhandle. It just gives us something to do, and you meet a lot of people this way—people who would usually ignore you.”
Ben began to talk about the extreme waste caused by modern society and how it could sustain a human life. He then took a long drink of water before speaking again.
“I consider myself a freegan,” Ben said, explaining his lifestyle. “I’ve found that what I really need in life—not what I want—will always present itself.”
Some look at these boys as having made a mistake.
“Some people,” Tanner said, “seem more validated in their life decisions seeing us sitting here.”
Tanner and Ben had learned the patience of remaining flexible. They knew that one day their paths might change, and they would change with them. Ben talked of the future—of going to film school. Tanner, however, didn’t plan the day. He said he was just enjoying his life right now and always looking forward to tomorrow.
“They should put a disclaimer about living like this,” Tanner said with a smile. “It’s easy to get used to.”
As we sat and talked, I noticed a group of seven young girls, all in white dresses, crossing the street and heading our way. I recognized the costumes and realized these girls had participated in the graduation earlier that day. The girls huddled tight as they passed, nervous in the world. Tanner focused on one girl carrying a Styrofoam box—leftovers from their previous meal. He stood as the girls approached and, with a very large smile, asked the group if any had food to spare.
A muffled “no” came from those who acknowledged him, while the others simply gathered closer and fidgeted for their cell phones.
Realizing he needed to be more specific, he emphasized, “The Styrofoam box—no reason to carry that around.”
The girl carrying the box immediately awakened to his plea, turned around, and ran back to give him half a club sandwich. She seemed pleased with herself for being able to do such a good deed. Tanner thanked her, wished her a nice day, and turned to share the sandwich with his friend, while the girl hurried to catch up with hers.
“It’s just different worlds, man,” Ben said of their choices. “Dresses don’t stay white in our world.”
Story by M. Dulin
Illustration by Brian Nozynski
