‘Bo Fenway a Girl Named Rose

Many of my stories, originate in memories and events in my life. All contain a combination of real and fictional characters with names changed as appropriate to protect the 'guilty.' They are memoirs spiced with a kinky imagination.

I hope you will enjoy my stories and comment on what you liked and perhaps didn't like to help me improve.

'BO FENWAY

Rose had to leave. She knew, even at her young age that there just wasn't enough food for her sister, two younger brothers, her mom, and stepdad if she stayed. Her step father, who had always been kind, had started to become abusive, almost it seemed, in direct proportion to his increasing frustration with not being able to find work and provide for his family. She knew many families at that time that did not have enough to eat. The Great Depression brought out the worst in many and the best in some so she packed what little she thought was hers and joined the thousands of others on the road, searching for work.

My name is 'Bo Becket and I would like to tell you about my friend Rose known by most on the road as 'Bo Fenway. Rose loved the Boston Red Sox and talked often about listening to evening games on the radio with her grandfather before he died. In the first hobo camp, known by the 'Bo's as a jungle, she encountered, she became 'Bo Fenway named for her much loved Red Sox who played at Fenway Park in Boston. She was 'Bo because all hobos called each other 'Bo, just as people in the towns used Mister or Miss. Hobos often chose a name, made up of places, things or even circumstances that were meaningful to them.

She had already been alone on the road for more than a year when I met her. She told me she was eighteen but also told me she felt and sometimes, especially when she was tired, even looked, like she was ten years older. A hobo's nomadic lifestyle is dangerous, and as a woman, she was very much in the minority among those on the road. Alone and in unfamiliar places and situations and being small in stature made her a target for theft and assault. Rose spent all the time she was on the road hiding the fact that she was really a young woman. She was 'Bo Fenway and a young man to almost all other hobos.

On the trains, and in the woods and jungles she always wore a man's cap to cover her very short hair and used soot black on her face and hands to further make herself look like a young man. Unless she was traveling with other hobos who were friends, she was in constant fear that someone would discover she was a woman and take advantage. Only a very few, very good friends knew 'Bo Fenway was really a woman named Rose. I count myself lucky to be one of those she eventually trusted.

Rose's grandmother had long ago taught her the art of "invisible mending." She could actually "re-weave" fabric that had been torn so that the tear was virtually invisible and the area of the repair was sometimes even stronger than before. There was really only one thing of value that hobos owned, besides maybe a little money, and that was clothing. Living in the woods and jungles, sleeping on the ground and climbing in and out of boxcars, made it difficult to keep clothing in good condition. It took a beating every day and in the depths of the depression it was virtually irreplaceable. Her skills were in demand in every jungle and Hobos who knew about her skill bartered with her to repair their clothing and often referred her to other hobos. She was, because of those skills, seldom hungry or cold.

Rose was also in demand by tailors and seamstresses in every town she visited. In addition, in the towns she was often able to travel freely as a young woman without any real fear. She was "Rose" to most she found work with in the towns.

I learned her true identity by accident when in the woods one day foraging for berries and nuts I stumbled on her bathing naked in a remote small pond. I sat on a bluff overlooking the pond and watched someone swimming, not realizing it was a woman, as I ate some of the blueberries and black berries I had found. It appeared to me, and I expected, looking only at her back and butt that it was a young man. My thought was only that it might be someone to walk out of the forest with. I looked at the shore just above the water and saw the clothing pile. I remember thinking for a moment as I watched, "Boy, that guy has a great ass." When I realized I was admiring a man's ass I chased the thought out of my head and refocused across the pond. When Rose turned to start back up out of the water I was surprised. That beautiful butt belonged to a woman. Like all hobos, us, I guess, her body was never exposed to the sun and yet her skin was olive brown. She appeared to be younger than me, perhaps much younger. Her breasts were firm, round and high on her chest. Although at that distance I could not really see her nipples her areola was large and pink, much lighter than her skin color. As she started to climb I saw the forest of dark brown hair between her legs and the now obvious distinct flare of her hips.

She looked up, saw me, and I heard her words, "Oh Fuck!"

She started for her clothing pile and when she looked at me again I said the best words I could think of, "Don't panic, it's ok, I won't hurt you." I didn't move, fearing that would just make the situation worse. She was getting dressed looking at me all the time. As she finished I told her, "I'm Becket. What's your name?"

She saw I was older and seemed to no longer be frantic but still trying to assess what danger she was in. She answered, "Fenway."

I asked, "I've been on the road for two years. You?"

She replied, "Two years. No one knows I'm a girl."

I tried to reassure her, "Well Fenway, it's nice to meet you. No one will find out from me."

We sat on the knoll overlooking the pond and talked and ate berries.

When we started to walk she asked, "Where are you headed?"

I replied, "I don't know. Where to you think this trail will lead us?"

She knew. Fenway had been using that trail and that pond for weeks. The path we were on was overgrown and obviously seldom used but eventually we came across a dirt road and Fenway said we should go right. All the time we were walking we were talking, our pasts, our families, our plans for "after." "After" was the time people spoke of when the country would return to normal. Fenway and I traveled together for weeks. She would not tell me her real name until much later and explained that she feared I would use it by mistake in front of others.

Surprisingly, in spite of all the danger and the rough conditions, Rose enjoyed the experience. "I love the road," she told me once. "It gets in your blood. You're not going anywhere, you don't care, and you just ride. It's paid for. You're going to eat, that was more than you were doing at home, probably."

~~

We were headed North from Washington DC when we stopped in a jungle in Pennsylvania. Rumors were everywhere of a large group of Railroad police (Bulls) walking the rail line looking for Bo's. Rose and I left the jungle and hiked deep into the woods to be safe but with that safety came the inability to have a fire. It was a cold night and we only had our thin blanket rolls.

It was her idea, and like civil war troops we spooned for warmth during the night. That also allowed us to have the added warmth of two blankets. I was behind her with my arm around her waist. She was suddenly so small and seemingly fragile. As she pushed back into me all I could think about was the smooth skin of her butt peaches I saw at the pond. It had been a long time and my body was reacting to her body, so soft and warm. She felt it and moved away a little I thought, but she had different ideas.

I felt her hand on my hand and she brought it up and when she stopped my hand was on her naked breast. Rose had the most amazing firm breasts with perfect pencil eraser nipples. Her hand was on mine squeezing my fingers to pinch her nipples. I started to say something and she cut me off saying, "It's Rose, my name is Rose and I want this!" I felt her reach down and pull her pants down around her knees. She never turned to look at me but said, "Pull your pants down." When I did her hand was on me and she bent forward guiding me into her. She pushed back hard to force me into her wet but tight vagina. My hands were on that sweet butt helping her move. We slept together regularly after that night most often going off into the woods to be alone but sometimes in a camp with others all around us. Rose it seemed was insatiable. We stayed together until we reached Connecticut. I headed toward family in New York and Rose headed to Massachusetts. Rose was headed for a small Central New England mill town where she had previously found work at a tailors shop on Main Street. She had, in the same shop, caught the eye of the tailor's son Robert a young doctor.

~~

At that time the town was creeping out of the depression and the economy was slowly coming back to life. The tailor did not, as fathers often don't, notice the budding romance between Rose and his son. He did notice, however, that Rose did impeccable work and was honest. She was teaching him to do invisible mending, and he in turn was teaching her to tailor clothing. He also saw that his usually very shy and extremely reserved, big white mixed breed dog, Kelly, was in love with Rose and followed her every step. He trusted Kelly's instincts and knew that if the dog found Rose trustworthy then he could too, and so he did.

The tailor had enough work to keep Rose busy for a long time so he decided to risk a continued economic recovery and asked Rose if she wanted a full time job. He told her that right then he couldn't pay much but promised that she would make more as his business continued to improve. He also told her that she could continue to live in the small two room apartment above his shop and take some meals with him and his wife.

Rose thanked the old man and told him she enjoyed working with him and would love to stay but just couldn't. She explained that she was away from her family for too long and now that things were getting better in the country she needed to return, at least for a time, to her mom, dad, sister and brothers. The tailor told Rose that he understood, hoped she would return, and would keep the job open for her as long as possible.

Robert learned from his dad that Rose could not stay. The evening before she left, in the little apartment above the tailor shop, Robert confessed to her that he also wanted her to stay but for entirely different reasons than his dad. He told her he understood why she would want to check on her family, but he asked her to return. He smiled and mentioned how both he and "her" dog, Kelly, would never be the same if she didn't. He said he would be watching for her until then.

For her part Rose had started to hope for more with Robert but had never assumed he would see a long term relationship with her. Interracial relationships were very uncommon in the time of the Great Depression. Now that she knew his feelings she was sure she would return but without promising anything told him she would do her best. As he started to leave she touched his shoulder. He turned and they were kissing. That first kiss of course was not enough and the little twin bed in the apartment soon had them in it with Rose on top, again as the aggressor.

The following morning Rose put her cap back on and became 'Bo Fenway once again. She returned to the rail-side jungle she knew still existed near the town woolen mills to begin the trip back to her family. That evening she was able to flip (get aboard) a south bound cannonball freight train (a cannonball is a fast train.) In only four days and as many connections later and with surprisingly few problems she was back where she started years earlier.

Before I tell you more of the story of 'Bo Fenway, I would like to be sure you understand the situation in our country at the time I knew her. We were only two in a sea of people who took to the road during the Great Depression. During that time hobos were found all across America. Most left their homes in search of work and a better life. Many, like Rose, felt like a burden to their families or like me they felt ashamed because they had no job to help the family.

Many people forced off the farm and out of the cities heard about work hundreds of miles or even half a continent away. More than two million men and perhaps as many as 100,000 women became hobos almost overnight.

In many cases, the hobos had no other choice but to flip freight trains illegally to look for work but riding the rails was dangerous. Railroad "bulls" were hired to keep hobos off trains, so you couldn't just go to a rail yard and climb on a train. Most hobos would hide along the track outside the yard. They would then run alongside a train as it gained speed, grab hold and jump into open boxcars. Sometimes they missed and some lost legs, arms, even their lives. As the train reached its destination, the hobos had to jump off ahead of the rail yard where bulls were waiting to beat and perhaps arrest them. But no amount of accidents, clubbing or shooting could keep all of the hobos off the trains.

Most people think of hobos as lazy good for nothing people that rob and steal, just criminals that live on streets. Actually hobos were wandering, traveling men and women working their way across the country, usually living by a code of ethics and staying away from criminal acts. Hobos have been labeled as unethical and unintelligent, but in fact they were in large part both very ethical and intelligent.

Hobos, Tramps, Bums and Yeggs were all active during the 1920's. Unlike hobos, tramps travel but will not work, bums neither travel nor work and Yeggs were criminals who traveled in gangs of two or more and gave hobos, tramps and bums a bad name.

Many hobos went on to be famous people. I will list only some you may recognize. There are, of course, many others, but see if you recognize any of these names:

Louis L'Amour, Novelist; Art Linkletter, TV Host; H. L. Hunt, Oil Billionaire; Eric Sevareid, Journalist; William O. Douglas, Supreme Court Justice; Bertha Thompson, "Boxcar Bertha" widely believed to be a real person; Jim Tully, author who penned several pulp fiction books about hobos; Raul Hector Castro, Cuba Castro family;

Jack Dempsey, Baseball player; Woody Guthrie - of folk music fame;

Burl Ives, of folk music fame; Jack Kerouac, Author; Jack London, Author; Rod McKuen, Poet; James Michener, Author; Robert Mitchum, Actor; Eugene O'Neill, Play Wright; George Orwell, Author; John Steinbeck, Author.

Hobos were actually smarter than most people thought at the time. Finding food was a constant challenge and hobos sometimes begged for food at farmhouses along the road but far more often they offered to work for food. If the farmer was generous, the hobo would mark the lane so that later hobos would know this was a good place to ask for work and food. Hobos relied on a shared system of symbols that let their fellow travelers know more about their current environment and some may still be used today.

The Hobo life style continues even as I write this. People who still live this life are noted for their desire to travel and, especially their desire for independence. They work to support themselves but don't care for staying in the same place year after year. They want to see different places, do different things, and enjoy life without being tied to one place, one type of work, or to having to live a certain way.

Rose as you know left New England and returned to her home in Athens Georgia near Atlanta. When she arrived she found her family no longer lived in the apartment she left behind. She asked all the neighbors and everyone she spoke to said that her family moved almost two years before for a promised job. No one seemed to know exactly where they went but one woman thought they went to Detroit. That didn't give Rose much hope she could find them but at least they were still together. The Great Depression split families apart and they sometimes were never reunited. Rose was to be one of those cut off from her family.

Rose decided that her life on the road was over and she would not try to find her family based on what little she knew about where they might be. She then turned toward the only place she hoped she might belong, New England. Her trip north went well enough until she reached the rail yard in Worcester Massachusetts and then trouble came her way.

There is one thing all hobos know above all else. You must not try to get on a train until it is moving and you must get off a train while it is still moving or risk being caught and arrested or worse beaten by the rail yard bulls (Railroad company private police). The bulls check the train boxcars before trains leave and again when it stops. That means a hobo must stay awake while in a boxcar or at least wake up in time to get off before the train stops. In the one hundred degree boxcar heat Rose did the wrong thing, she fell asleep and woke only when the train braked as it entering the rail yard.

She knew instinctively that she was in trouble, big trouble. She poked her head out the boxcar door to see how bad it was and could already see a bull walking the length of the train not even seven boxcars away.

Without another thought, or wasted breath, she grabbed her things, jumped from the boxcar, and started to run for the woods. Unfortunately, she misjudged her leap from the boxcar. The bull she saw some distance away, saw her jump and was running in her direction and yelling even before her feet hit the ground. She ran as hard as she could expecting him to be on her at any moment. She could hear him yelling for her to stop almost as though he were screaming directly in her ear. She recalled the words of the old 'Bo Jenkins and knew what would happen if she did stop, so she ran on with even more determination.

Rose made it to the tree line, but before she was even twenty feet into the woods she had to pause to pick up her cap that was brushed off her head by a tree branch. After all this time on the road her cap was an important part of 'Bo Fenway's identity so she just couldn't leave it behind. She stooped to pick it up and when she looked up again she saw that an animal, a large black animal maybe even a bear or wolf, was directly in her path.

Everything was happening very fast but the footsteps and yelling behind her moved her past her temporary paralysis. Something in her gut told her she would do better dealing with the creature than the railroad bull. As she got to the animal it didn't move so she stepped around it and ran on.

The bull saw what happened and tried to do the same. Just when she was completely winded, and about to collapse, she heard a scream and it wasn't the bull screaming "Stop!" It was the sound of pain, and when she turned he was on the ground but scrambling to his feet and starting to move away in the opposite direction with the black animal on his heels.

Rose caught her breath and worked her way through what seemed like miles of woods to find the nearest jungle. She hoped she could get something to eat and maybe some sleep before she started for her final destination still some twenty miles away. She would not risk the trains again and felt she would be safer on foot.

She joined other hobos and paid them for a share of their Mulligan Stew (communal meal). Rose was 'Bo Fenway in this camp because she didn't know or really trust anyone. Before she could even fill her tin cup with stew, two big yeggs brandishing lengths of pipe entered the jungle and demanded money. These criminals were the worst of all of the people she encountered in all her time on the road.

Rose had actually managed to save a little money over the prior several months and refused to hand it over. In the scuffle over the money her cap was knocked off and her shirt was torn open revealing one of her breasts. Her eyes locked with those of one of the yeggs and she suddenly realized that she might have much more to worry about than her money. One yegg was yelling at the other, "Hold the bitch down! I call first dibs on her sweet pussy." She backed away looking to the other hobos in the camp to come to her aid but no one stood to help.