hoe boys

I made it to Britt for the National Hobo Convention. As usual, I was about 30 minutes late and on Thursday evening, when I wanted to visit the National Hobo Museum so that we could press further East and have a smaller drive today. I missed it by just a half hour, but graciously, Eli agreed to stay in Clear Lake so I could visit the museum in the morning, quickly before we left. On the way back to Clear Lake I figured we could look up the crash site where Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, the Big Bopper and pilot Roger Peterson died on a snowy February 3rd, 1959.


We got lost as my directions were bad. We finally got help from a tiny soccer mom dwarfed by her huge SUV deftly blowing dust up on the country road which were also looking for the site. Despite driving a mammoth car, she was quite helpful and said “go left at that stop sign, then right, then look for a guitar on a post.”

I did this and there it was: a guitar on a post. It was disappointing to think that this was it. But I was wrong, it was just a sign that pointed us to the crash site about a half mile walk away.



It was warm last evening and the air was very still as we walked along a fence surrounded by soybeans and corn crops, all grown high. I could hear some trucks roaring by on I-35, but for the most part, it was just us and the crickets. I made some recordings of the sounds. I like Buddy Holly’s music and love the songs that I have learned of his, but I did not have an overwhelming emotional response to the site itself. I thought I would feel more sad. The problem lies more in that I don’t know enough about Buddy Holly himself. I know only the icon. But I have always liked guys in glasses.





















Last night I drove back to Britt to sit in the Hobo Jungle. They make a big Mulligan stew and everyone who shows up is welcome to eat. I had already eaten dinner, but walked around the campsite and campfire. I looked at the albums of past convention photographs that were laying about. I listened to the music that people were playing around the campfire. A past Hobo queen was in charge of keeping the show moving and she was very strict. Each act got 10 minutes or so and she would stand in front of them and wave until they saw that they only had one minute left. Most of the songs were about traveling and being peaceful.


I am not a Hobo and will not likely become one. I like the comforts of home and I enjoy steady companionship. #1BB arrives tonight in Milwaukee to spend the weekend with me, just as Eli is flying back to Baltimore. I’m sad to see Eli go home, simply because I fear the shows next week will return to what the tour in April was like: I’m tired of being a solo act. Anyway, this attitude leads me away from the Hobo life, which is seemingly about seeing the countryside and being away from everything and always going to somewhere else. It is also about living outside the mainstream and I do want to continue to ascribe to that with my life, although I do want some of my career to be engaging the mainstream more than I am currently.

I didn’t have time this morning to do anything but visit the Museum. By the time I made it through that and intended to go back to the jungle and seek out some actual hoboes, it was time to head back to Clear Lake to pick up Eli and head to Milwaukee for his flight home.


















About 20 minutes ago, as we’re tooling through western Wisconsin, my muffler, which has been getting progressively louder just broke through or something. It’s really loud now and we haven’t stopped yet to see if anything’s hanging onto the road, but the car seems to be fine….just loud. Sorry Wisconsin. The only problem being that getting work done on it at this stage in the game is almost impossible until I get it home. I can’t be without it. I hope its something easy and not going to cost me any of the money I’ve made on this tour.