The BoxCar Kid

By Dick Miller

PROLOGUE

MARCH, 1930, Lima, Ohio

      Labored breathing quickened in rhythm with the pounding heart of the scrawny fifteen-year-old. His feet blurred as he ran through night shadows, glancing back to see if his pursuers had spotted him. The beams of their flashlights bounced off surfaces in a frenzied dance to confound his escape. He shot another glance backwards. An immovable object stopped him cold. When the boy's vision cleared, he stared up at the huge form of the most feared railroad detective in Ohio. The snared youth's stare locked onto his captor's eyes as they pierced the shroud of darkness to fill the shaking boy with dread. With eyes stretched wide, the young pup's single word was scarcely a whisper.
      "K...K...Crusher!"
      The "bull," as hobos dubbed these brutal railroad police officers, could have used his club, blackjack or the butt of his pistol to teach the squirt a lesson. Instead, he picked the boy up bodily, gripped his neck with huge hands and with a quick movement and audible crack, broke it.
      The brute switched off his flashlight. Under the cover of darkness, he dragged the limp body past rolling stock until he came to an open top hopper. Slanted ends of the hopper container left room at each end of its platform for the bull to prop up his victim, leaving the boys legs to dangle on either side of the coupler.
      Crusher inspected his work and smiled. You won't be trespassing on railroad property any more, kid. This baby will be pulling out early in the morning. No telling where you'll end up Mr. No Name - just another addition to the casualty statistics. After all, everybody knows how dangerous it is to ride on the platform of a hopper car.

1. THE CEMETERY
MARCH 23,1930, York, Pennsylvania

      "My Gloria said Marcie did it with a knitting needle."
      In the undercroft of St. Anne Episcopal Church, two men were relieving themselves in the rest room. A few moments ago, they had been among those who stood quietly against a chill March wind at the gravesite. The sight of the forlorn widowed father with his four children clustered around him had been unsettling to both.
      The men stood side by side before the porcelain trough-style latrine flashing quick side-glances at each other as they talked.
      "I heard talk that she'd done it twice before, but this time she got an infection," the second man said.
      "It's a cryin' shame what's happenin' to families these days," the first one remarked.
      "Yeah ... too many kids, with nothin' to feed 'em and nothin' to put on their backs."
      "I can't believe she was doin' it," the other said.
      "Hell ... I hear tell that plenty of other women have done it. or tried. These are hard times. It ain't surprisin' there's some that take desperate measures."
      "She was a beauty. Laid out like a princess, she was. I can see why Chuck couldn't keep 'is hands off her."
      The two men buttoned up their flies.
      "That oldest kid seems to be a strappin' lad. How come he hangs around at home? Now with Marcie gone, Chuck oughta send him out to fend for himself."
      "Yeah," the other agreed. "Chuck would be better off to kick 'is ass outa there ... one less mouth to feed."

      After the men left the lavatory, the sound of crying emerged from a stall where a thirteen-year-old boy rocked back and forth on the toilet. Bucky Ellis had just lost his mother, and now it seemed like his whole world had collapsed as he realized his sweet mother had committed an unthinkable act, and, as one she had birthed, in confusion and grief, he made the illogical leap to blame himself, in part, for what she had done.
      Bucky shuffled out of the lavatory into the room where the Ladies Auxiliary had served food. Bucky had not tasted any of it. During the burial service, his stomach had been queasy, and after the last "Amen," he dashed off to the toilet.

      After all guests had gone, Chuck Ellis left the church grounds. Walking beside him, twelve-year-old Lena felt comfort in her father's protective arm around her, while the youngest, Lil, at nine, clasped his other hand tightly. Bud, who was two years younger than Bucky, followed with downcast eyes, scuffling his feet along the path, kicking at small rocks and pebbles that stood in his way.
      Looking up with sad eyes, Lil asked her father, "Daddy, where's Bucky?"
      "Don't know, Lily. I haven't seen him."
      "Shouldn't we find him, Daddy?"
      "Don't worry, sweetheart. Bucky's old enough to take care of himself. He's probably at home waiting for us."
      They walked in silence along the sidewalk. Chuck wondered how he would take care of the children alone. Marcie, I'll raise them right and give them all they need. I swear it. Chuck was sincere, but had no clue as to how he would fulfill that promise. They were down to two milking cows, the harvest season was over and the planting season had not yet begun. At this moment, he had only the five one-dollar bills Father Griffin had pressed into his hand after the funeral.
      "Take these, Chuck," the priest had said. "Some of your friends in the congregation want you to have it."

      Assigned to St. Anne's Episcopal Church upon his ordination nine months before, this young priest with blond hair and a boyish face, and his wife, Becky, received a warm reception from the devoted congregants. Addressed fondly by many simply as "Father Michael," the young cleric found the Ellises devout members of St. Anne's. Bucky and his younger brother sang in the Boy's Choir. For their talent, they received twenty-five cents each month. Father Griffin also provided ministry to Marcie Ellis during her illness before her death. She, in fact, confessed to him what she had done. He would not have counseled her to do what she did nor would he condone it, but he acted without hesitation, tending to her funeral with sensitivity. Though inexperienced, he had a heart for people, and responded readily to personal need with compassion rather than harsh judgment.

       In the gathering shadows of dusk, Bucky walked home. He heard the wail of a train whistle in the distance. At school, he had heard about kids who left home to ride the rails. Nick, his best friend, had hopped a train a month ago. Buck had been with him the night he left. He had helped him roll a few belongings into a blanket.
      Nick wanted Buck to go with him. "Come on, Bucky. Come with me. Everybody says there's plenty of action on the rails, and there's work and money waitin' to be had, too."
      "Naw," Bucky said. "I got to stay home. My mom and dad need me to help with the kids and chores. Wood has got to be chopped, the chicken coop has to be cleaned, eggs gathered, me and the kids have to pick up coal dropped along the railroad tracks for the furnace in winter, and stuff like that."
      Bucky tightened his belt, gritted his teeth and headed for home. I was more of a burden than a help. Those guys were right. They'd all be better off without another kid to feed. I can take care of myself.get some work. How could I be such a blind jackass? I should've gone with Nick.
      Bucky knew what he had to do. His days of crying like a baby were over. Today he would become a man.