 |
 |
 |
03/10/10 |
|
|  |
|
September 9, 1934 was the most fateful day of my youth. I left home, family, friends, a job, and Catherine, my girl friend. On that hot, humid Sunday evening, at midnight, I walked out of our home to the outskirts of Bedford. Soon, I got a ride to Cleveland, and then hitchhiked to Chicago. |
|
I found a place to sleep on a bench in a court building. Later that day I remember visiting the World's Fair, but my thoughts were on leaving home. I went into the lobby of the elegant Palmer Hotel, and using their stationary, I wrote my first letter home to my mother. That letter would take another two days to arrive. From that fateful Sunday to Friday no one knew what had happened to me. Yes, it was thoughtless and cruel. But I didn't mean to hurt my mother and family or anyone. Actually, I did not plan to leave home. Proof of that is that I took nothing with me—no toothbrush, shaving gear, extra socks, no shorts or t-shirts. So, what did occur that evening and why did I walk away? I had a date with Catherine. We took the bus to Maple Heights to see a movie, "Stand up and Cheer", a Shirley Temple film with James Dunn and Sally Eileers—a good inspiring film depicting the end of the depression and better days ahead. F.D.R.'s New Deal had begun. On our bus ride to Bedford and on our walk to her home, I was unable to persuade Catherine to set a date for our next movie. Our movie dates had been diminishing and now it seemed they might end. I said, "Goodnight," then slowly started my long walk home. I entered our home and went upstairs to my bedroom. It was too hot and humid upstairs, so I went back downstairs. My mother heard me and asked," Hugo, you just came in, didn't you?" I said, "Yes, Ma, I'm just going out for some fresh air." In my closet upstairs, in the handkerchief pocket of an old suit, I had hidden four 5-dollar bills. I did not even think about taking that $20.00 when I went out of the door. In a way, the money was not mine. A month earlier, I had a discussion with my older brother, Vito. I suggested that if we could get more than a dollar allowance, we would buy our own clothes. I felt we had to assert some independence since he was 23 years old and I was 21. Vito was reluctant and didn't want Mom and Dad to get mad at us. I had to do it alone. On my next payday, I received $16.00, kept my normal one dollar allowance, and gave my mother only ten dollars. She asked for the other five. I told her that Vito and I would buy our own clothes with the extra five. She insisted, and Vito gave in. I kept that five-dollar bill, and three more the following three weeks all neatly tucked in that suit pocket. However, there was a price to pay, especially during those three weeks. A "coolness" had set in towards me. I sensed it from my mother, my father, my brothers, and my sisters. My job at Stalwart Rubber was on the "swing shift", 3:00 PM to 11:30 PM. It was better than the previous year, 1933, when I was on a 12 hour "night shift" from 6 PM to 6 AM. I spoke several times to my supervisor, Lester Brannon, of my desire for working the "day shift". A few weeks after my last request to Mr. Brannon, what does he do? He hires a new employee on "days", doing the same job that I did on "nights". I was fit to be tied. Mr. Brannon explained that it was beyond his control. The owner, Mr. Osborn, had hired the new employee. I was dejected and frustrated with the continuing "night shift," which prevented me from enjoying radio shows and going to movies with my buddies. It also kept me from bowling with my teammates. Three weeks later, I had that date with Catherine on that fateful Sunday, Sept. 9th. |
|
It seemed to me I was at the end of my rope. Having no answer to my predicament or any possible hope of better days ahead, I just walked away. After leaving Chicago, I hitchhiked to Kansas City, where I came to know Joe Baron. Rather quickly, we became friends. Encountering me on the sidewalk, he tried to "bum" a cigarette. I told him I didn't smoke. The next day he stopped me once again, asking for a smoke. Before I could answer, he recognized me and said, "Oh, you don't smoke." We both laughed. This was the starting point of a long friendship. Joe asked me if I was at the Bureau. "What's that?" I replied. He explained it's a place to get food and lodging and get cleaned up. It was for "transients". Their stay was limited to three days. Without any hesitation I followed Joe. In the two days that we stayed there, I got acquainted with the place and with my new friend. Joe gave me his Gillette razor, so I had my first shave since leaving home. Joe said I could keep the razor. He had a brother in Grand Junction, Colorado, and he was hoping to get a job there on the railroad. His brother worked for The Grand Junction and Rio Grande. We started hitchhiking together, but got no rides. So we decided to split and go separately to Grand Junction. Before doing so, Joe offered me a dollar. I declined, and only then, did I tell him that I had some money and would be able to get by. I left home with $5.25. If I spent money it was only for food when I had to. I managed to hang on to my money all the way to Los Angeles. When I arrived there on Sept. 30th, I still had $2.00. Getting to Grand Junction was not easy, even going alone. I was forced to hop a freight train, and eventually I found Joe Baron at his brother's house. However, there would be no jobs for Joe or me. Joe was going to return to his home in New Jersey and I decided I had to go west to Southern California for the warmer climate. That evening, after a pleasant dinner, I wrote a letter home. I told Vito that I was heading for California and to send me a letter in Los Angeles, c/o General Delivery. The next morning after breakfast, I thanked Joe and his brother and we said our goodbyes. From Grand Junction I continued on freight trains, through Salt Lake City, then to Reno, and finally to Sacramento. I didn't like riding the trains, nor the mobs of transients or hoboes that rode with me. I stood aloof, kept to myself, and merely followed the crowd, since they seemed to know when to catch a train and when to get off. They also knew where to find the transient bureau in each city. When the freight train stopped in Salt Lake City, and everyone was jumping off, I did too. There must have been hundreds getting off. They marched along the tracks for a couple of miles before arriving at the transient bureau. I followed them in. Like Kansas City, it was a wonderful place for the transients, hoboes, "bums" or the unemployed to freshen up with food and a good night's sleep. I continued riding freight trains to Reno and then to Sacramento. Each city became a stopover since both were blessed with a Transient Bureau. After arriving in Sacramento I had enough of "riding the rods". I felt much better now that I was hitching rides in cars again. I went to San Francisco, and while there, I stayed a full 3 days at their Bureau before hitchhiking south. I was lucky to catch a truck ride all the way to Long Beach. From there I headed north to get my General Delivery letter at the Main Post Office. Sure enough, there was a letter from Vito. I was so glad to get it. After reading it I felt sad and lonely. From the post office I walked up Main St. until I arrived at a Catholic Church (St. Vibiana). I went in and sat down in a pew and had a peaceful rest. I'd come this far. What next? Hugo P. Cipriani |