Browsing Tag: language

    The Legend of the Haunted Railroad Tracks in San Antonio, Texas!
    Articles, Blog

    The Legend of the Haunted Railroad Tracks in San Antonio, Texas!

    August 13, 2019

    In this area, it has a legend haunted story! In 1940s or earlier, There was a school bus carrying around 10 kids to the school. The engine was broken down while the bus was on the railroad! A bus driver was puzzled and tried to figure out a way to solve the engine issue. Apparently, a bus driver didn’t realize the bus was on the railroad. Then, he saw a train coming and it was too late to save kids or himself. The train crashed the school bus and everybody were killed. So what’s happening next now? Now, I’m getting a baking soda. What is this for? We’ll take a car on the railroad, then we will wait and it will eventually move. Maybe a car was being pushed by kids who were killed in the train crash. You might see kids’ handprints on those baking soda. Maybe they’re trying to save us from getting killed. You see the sign says no stop on the railroad, which means they know people do come here to confirm the experience. Now, I’m taking my car on the railroad. Justin will set a camera tripod to capture the entire action. I’m here to make sure that we’re not getting hit by a train. It’s what terrified me the utmost right now. I have that imagination what if it will hit us or not. You funny. I know you’re doing it. I’m parking here. We’re giving it a try again. Now it’s moving backward. I have to admit it’s the ideal spot for feeling tension or terrifying a bit. We were nervous about cars driving through us. I think it’s moving on its own. I didn’t do anything lol. Let’s check the baking soda. What! It’s true! We did several tests. Some did move on its own. We just had to see if there are any kid hands. And hands are right there! The total is 10 hands. I think it’s more than just ten hands. (Joking: not true about hands) (There are two cars testing the railroad now. I just learned that there is 2 inches horizontal off. When you park on the railroad, it will stay a while but it will move later. Why? It has a steep a bit. Once it’s moved, then everybody immediately assumed it is pushed by kids!

    The (mostly) true story of hobo graffiti
    Articles, Blog

    The (mostly) true story of hobo graffiti

    August 11, 2019

    It ranges from elaborate murals … to crude scribbles on bathroom walls. Leaving your name, or “tag,” on things
    that aren’t yours is an age-old practice in bragging rights – just to say, “I was
    here.” And the more intricate the tag or more challenging
    the spot, the better. But, this story isn’t about the type of
    tag you’ve probably seen. It’s about this one. The tag of the hobo. “Hobos,” or “tramps,” were workers
    and wanderers that once roamed the countryside by illegally hopping freight trains. Peak Hobodom in America began in the 1890s,
    continued through the 1930s, and usually coincided with periods of financial crisis and mass
    unemployment. Around the same time, the expansion of the
    railroad opened up new work opportunities in the West. This kind of classic late 19th century hobo
    was someone who kind of navigated between jobs and not having jobs. You know, a lot of these jobs are temporary,
    like seasonal agricultural work, or you know, “Thanks for building the bridge, now get
    out of here.” I’m Bill Daniel, I’m a photographer – I
    work in film, photo, and tall tales. By 1911, the number of hobos in America was
    estimated at 700,000. Being on the road wasn’t easy. Hobos were unwelcome in many towns and were
    constantly chased by both local police and private railroad police. And despite their reputation for being bums,
    100 years ago, a skilled hobo was called a “professional,” or, “profesh.” So a profesh is someone who’s, like, good
    at what they do, they’re able to not get caught by the law, and you know, leave the
    camp clean for the next guy. And maybe most importantly, they didn’t
    draw attention to wherever hobos were. A profesh, you know, does not blow up the
    spot. Hobos were constantly on the move, but they
    found a way to communicate with each other — through graffiti. Search “hobo graffiti” online, and you’ll
    find these mysterious icons that hobos supposedly used as a sort of coded graphic language. Symbols that they would scratch or draw onto
    houses and fence posts to let fellow wanderers know things like “kind lady lives here,”
    “there are thieves about,” or “good place for a handout.” Stories surrounding these signs have been
    circulating for a long time. Tramps have a sort of touch-and-go code. This sign, for instance, means “no good.” They show up in the original hobo literature,
    too. Like in the books of Leon Ray Livingston,
    also known as A-No. 1, once the world’s most famous hobo. In the early 20th century, A-No. 1 published
    several books about hobo life and lore, and included symbols like these. And news articles at the time even claim to
    decode the “secret hobo language.” This St. Louis Star article from 1921 even
    includes illustrations of how the signs were supposedly being used. The problem is, all this information came
    from hobos, a group that took pride in their elusiveness and embellished storytelling. The truth is, there really isn’t any evidence
    that these signs were as widely used as the literature suggests. It’s hard for us to know what the facts
    were because I think hobos used their mythology as kind of a cover. And so the tall tales, and the drawings, and
    even the books by A-No. 1 were ways to project an image of themselves that both kind of,
    like, blew them up, but also kind of kept them hidden. Hobo graffiti was actually rooted in a graphic
    representation of their road persona, called a “moniker.” Any hobo has a moniker that rides the rails. And different monikers fit different ’bos. Monikers usually said something about the
    person. Where they were from. A physical trait. If they were young or old. How hobos used their monikers sort of falls
    into two camps: leaving their tag on boxcars moving across the country, and something Bill
    calls “tramp writing.” Early original tramp writing has to do with
    addressing the issues of mobility and travel – announcing your place and direction and
    where you are. The original graffiti included arrows and
    letters indicating which direction that hobo was heading next. Sort of like a hobo tracker. Tramps are generally making these marks on
    water tanks or stationary things, you know, where they were camped out. So it worked as kind of a personal telegraph. You know, like, “I’m here, is anybody
    around?” Tinder for tramps. And it wasn’t long before the drawings moved
    from stationary objects like water tanks to railcars. I think there was just an evolution, kind
    of like what happened in New York, with, like, “Oh I can write on my street corner, but
    if I write on this train, boom it’s going everywhere.” And hobos weren’t the only ones doing this
    kind of graffiti. Rail workers, stuck in the same trainyard
    for years, marked passing boxcars with monikers of their own. I started doing it October of ‘68. A lot of them guys would go on vacation, and
    they’d say, “Well I seen one of your damn drawings in Canada, or Mexico, or California,
    you know? I thought well, I’ll never get there, might
    as well send something. Monikers aren’t used for communication anymore,
    but they do still exist in freight graffiti. And it’s kind of come to mean specifically
    this type of drawing. You know, usually oil stick or chalk-based
    drawing that’s usually an identity proclamation, usually a sketch, a lot of times a self portrait. “Moniker” just kind of is the perfect
    word to describe this type of art writing. At its core, all graffiti is a messaging system,
    even if the message is as simple as “I was here.” Tramp writing, you know, tramp marking, has
    that in common with graffiti that it has a little bit to do with making a connection
    with somebody in a really remote place, even when they’re not there. Just this ability to say, like, “Whoa, you
    got here too.”