Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2022 13:59:34 -0400 From: James Karvonen Subject: Song of the Lonesome Steel Rails: Prologue Thank you for all the positive comments I received on my last series, The Trailer Park Chronicles. I thought I would go ahead this time and send a novel in which I wrote some years back but never had published titled, Song of The Lonesome Steel Rails. This novel takes place in 1931- 1932 during the Great Depression so it would come under the Gay Historical Category. This story is about an 11 year old boy named Bobby who ends up at the Pine Island Industrial School and Farm For Boys in upstate New York for stealing. Eventually he manages to run away from the reform school and ends up riding the rails as a hobo from New York to Bakersfield California, where his father currently resides. This was a novel that I wrote some years back but it never materialized, so I thought I would share it with Nifty readers. This novel includes the following taglines, b/b, b/M, b/f, b/F, bondage just to name a few. I hope you enjoy it, and please if you can support Nifty so that we can keep this website going. ---------------------------------------------------------------- -Song of the Lonesome Steel Rails- -Prologue- 2015 The old man sat on the porch of the house that he had lived in for the last fifty years gazing over the field at the railroad tracks of the old Erie Railroad, now the Norfolk and Southern Railroad. It was a warm summer day in upstate New York. The old man had just celebrated his 100th birthday, and was still healthy despite smoking close to a pack of cigarettes per week. For years his doctor had been trying to get him to quit, but he was was a stubborn old cuss and he just ignored his doctors advice. The old man never dreamed that he would live this long, not after his childhood experiences back in the 30s of the last century growing up during the depression years. As he was sitting on his shaded porch relaxing he saw a car driving up his long driveway towards his house. Who could that be? He wondered. He had lived alone for the past fifteen years after his childhood friend and lover Johnny Quackenbush who's nickname was Quack had passed. Away. He had known Quack since he was 11 years old. Being that because he was gay he never married, Quack had been his true love. Due to arthritis in both of his knees the old man slowly and painfully stood up to greet his visitors, whoever they might be. Very rarely did anyone come visit him out here in the sticks. He had been living a reclusive life, only going to the nearest town, Otisville New York perhaps once a week to buy groceries and whatever else he might. Otisville was about three miles away. Not far from Otisville was a federal prison. His dog a German Shepard named Bullet started barking. In doggy years Bullet was about the same age as he was. Quack had brought Bullet for him as a Christmas present a year before he passed away. Bullet had some grey hairs also, so at least he wasn't the only one in the family who had grey hairs. "Quiet Bullet!" The old man shouted. Bullet quit barking. "Good boy." The old man said. He wondered who those people were who were coming to visit him. The car pulled up in front of the house then stopped. As soon as the car was parked, the doors on both sides of the car opened. Two people who the old man didn't know slipped out of the car. One was a man, the other a women. Both of them appeared to be in their mid to upper twenties. "Can I help you?" The old man called out. "Yes sir, are you Mr. Robert Rumph?" The young man asked. "I am, and who are you?" "My name is Mike Griffin and this is Kim Provost." "Please to meet you, and what can I do for you?" "We understand that you are one of the last true hoboes?" Mike began. The old man chuckled. "I guess you can say that. I hit the rails back in 1931 when I was knee high to a grasshopper." The old man beamed. "And how old were you back in 1931?" Kim asked. "Eleven, going on twelve. So why might I ask why are you here?" "We have heard so much about your exploits as a boy hobo through social media and other sources that we would very much like to write your story." Mike began. "You would, huh?" The old man grunted. He raised his hand and paused when he heard the sound of an approaching train. A few seconds later the train appeared. It was a New Jersey Transit passenger train heading west towards Port Jervis, New York moving at a rapid pace. There was no diesel locomotive pulling the train. Instead the diesel locomotive was pushing the five car passenger train. All the cars made out of aluminum were silver with blue strip centering the windows. The diesel locomotive pushing the train had a slanted front and a large blue circular MTA logo on the side which stood for Metropolitan Transit Authority written on the side of the diesel locomotive. Within seconds the train rumbled by and was gone. "That's what today's railroads have turned into, traveling aluminum cans and ugly looking diesel locomotives. At one time steam ruled the rails. Not anymore. Diesels have replaced the old steam locomotives. At one time at least ten freight trains use to pass by my house. Not anymore. Only two freight trains, one heading east the other going west if that pass by. And instead of box cars, gondolas, tank cars, hoppers and so forth with the name and insignias of several different railroads printed on the sides, only freight trains with container cars pass by nowadays, that's how much railroads have changed since I was a boy!" The old man rambled. For a brief second he appeared lost in a world of his own. "As I was saying we would very much like to write your story, if you don't mind of course. If this book gets published you would make good money through royalties, book sales, you name it. "I don't need no money. I have everything that I need right here." The old man replied. "Still there are many out there who would love to read your story. What was it like being a little boy who manages to somehow run away from a reform school where he would have been incarcerated for two years for stealing food from a grocery store to help feed his family during the depression. What was it like for a boy to ride the rails as a hobo from New York too California to search for his father who left his home and family in New York after losing his job leaving his family behind with promised to move his family to California once he gets situated, promises that never materialized. That's what America would like to read about and that's what our book is going to be about. Our book is going to be about you if you are willing to share your story with us." Kim explained. "I have no problems sharing my story with you. What you hear about me on social media is only part of the story. It's the candy coated part, the part your readers would want to hear not needs to hear. Social Media glorifies me and makes a legend out of me which is far from the truth. The truth is, when I was a boy who rode the rails from New York to California to find my father back in 1932 my life during that time was pure hell! Once I escaped from that hellhole, Pine Island Industrial School and Farm for boys and started riding the rails, not only did I live through both physical and sexual abuse even seeing death on occasion during the time I was riding the rails, but those individuals who I met while riding the rails you wouldn't believe. For example, there was this girl my age in Maryland who wanted to dress me up as a girl. Eventually she introduced me to sex. And then there was this preacher in North Carolina who's family you wouldn't believe. They were sex starved for sure. And then for a brief time I traveled with a crooked politician in Georgia who while on a political campaign who took advantage of me on numerous occasions. And then when I needed money badly there was this time that I spent as a boy prostitute in New Orleans living in a brothel off of Bourbon street. I even played at being a cowboy for a brief period of time on a large cattle ranch in Texas to earn money, so if you wish to write my story this is the story that I'm going to tell. My story won't be for the faint of heart. My story is going to be tough and gritty. It's not going to be the fairy tale that social media has made it out to be." "That's all the more reason why we want to write your story." Mike stated. "Very well, come on in. I'll brew up some coffee and we can begin. Did you bring your tape recorder?" "I did." Kim said. She produced a small digital tape recorder from the handbag she was carrying. "Very good. My story may take a couple of days too complete but I have all the time in the world. Again if this is what you want, I must warn you the story I'm about to tell won't be pretty. My story is going to be graphic and disturbing at times. I'm not going to leave any details out because I'm going to tell you how it was with me during the depression when I was a boy riding the rails. I'm not going to hide a thing. Everything I'm going to tell you will be the truth. This story will be my legacy, my song of the lonesome steel rails....