Hobo Joe’s Tale

By Ophir Sabah

The homeless man often-found lying around Five Towns, most commonly Cedarhurst Park has been named Hobo Joe by the teenagers in Cedarhurst. People tend to give him “space”. He looks fragile and weak, yet weirdly intimidating at the same time. Few people ever associate with him. Nobody really knows what led him to the Five Towns, a primarily rich neighborhood. It isn’t an ideal place for someone like him to end up.

         His long grey beard swallows most of his face and is covered with dark dirt stains. He is so thin that a child could easily wrap their fingers around his wrists. His age took over the creases on his tan face. Holes in his jeans reveal the red damaged skin on his knees. His thin grey hair has numerous bald spots. When he opens his mouth he reveals one tooth the color of tar. His eye are red and swollen from irritation. It is clear that he doesn’t keep up with proper hygiene to anyone with a working nose.

He kept a heavy black coat under his arm and held a beautiful old key chain of the Kotel, the holiest site in Israel for the Jewish people, in his right hand. It lay firmly gripped in his palm. He struggled to balance the bike he grasped with his left hand. The bike was worn out with its frayed seat. This bike is his only way of transportation because walking is too challenging for the old man.

         Hobo Joe is a very quiet guy who respected people’s privacy and never asked anyone for food, money or help. He refuses to become a beggar. He didn’t talk often, but when he did it was to himself. His voice is deep and raspy. The sound of sorrow filled the ears of anyone who happened to pass by him while he was talking. A few parents concerned for their children’s safety, talked to the mayor of Cedarhurst about a “suspicious” man who watched their children at the park. Determined, the mayor of Cedarhurst felt it was most appropriate to approach him directly. He signaled to his chauffeur to stop the car beside the suspicious man. After making eye contact the Mayor said, “Sir, you cannot stay here. I understand that this may not be very convenient for you, but there have been far too many complaints and concerns from parents for their children’s safety. According to witnesses Joe politely nodded and kept straight ahead. “Sir! Would you like a ride somewhere? Perhaps we can stop by at Brach’s first to get you enough food and water for a couple of weeks?” The mans eyes glowed; he lifted his head as if it were the first time someone voluntarily lent a helping hand. Without hesitation he started towards the car.

The chauffer closed the door behind Joe. The car began to move, startling him. In panic, he grabbed the seat holding on for his own safety. The mayor, out of curiosity, started asking him about his life. He didn’t answer. After realizing he wouldn’t answer, the Mayor just stayed silent.

A few minutes later something sparked his attention, and he began to tell a tale.

Hobo Joe’s Tale:

         “It was a cold winter for the Ramos family. Thirteen-year-old, Martin Ramos was born in Argentina.  He along with his three younger siblings, Malena, Aldana and Santiago, was being raised in San Antonio, Texas. Unfortunately, Martin’s father passed away when he was only four years old. Martin carried a big responsibility since he was the man of the house. He took care of his siblings while his mother was at work. He got Malena and Aldana ready in the mornings and made sure they got on the bus to school safely.

         San Antonio was beautiful to many people, but Martin always felt out of place. He was miserable, but he couldn’t make up what bothered him so much. Although, he lived there for most of his life, it felt like a strange place to him. Maybe he wasn’t destined to live there?

         On Sundays, while his mom took his younger siblings to mass at a small church near the community, he worked four hours at an Italian restaurant. He cleaned dishes, floors and wiped tables, making roughly $4.50 an hour.

         When it came time for Christmas, his Abuela from Argentina flew in to help out and celebrate. She brought presents for everybody. She bought new clothing along with dolls for the girls and for baby Santiago a soft blanket. She gave Martin his present last. It was a gold keychain of Casa Rosado. A beautiful palace belonging to the president of Argentina: the white house of Argentina.

         From that day Martins curiosity grew about the country he was born in. His Abuela told him stories about Argentina and his family back home. She described the most beautiful sights in Argentina including Perito Moreno Glacier, Garganta del Diablo, Cerro Fitz Roy and Quebrada del Rio de las Conchas. She talked about all his cousins he never met and his eyes widened as she described their features. And how delicious the food was especially Tia Marie’s Empanadas. He couldn't stop thinking about just how amazing it was in Argentina whether it was because of the people or their culture.

         When it was time for his Abuela to leave he couldn’t help but envy her. The following night he pictured himself in Argentina surrounded by family. Argentina was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of before falling asleep. He quickly knew that’s where he wanted to live. He kept the keychain in his pocket everyday to remind him of how amazing his future living in Argentina would be.

         One Sunday, while he was at work, he stared at the keychain he received and came up with an idea. He asked his boss, Mr. Donati for a raise.  He agreed and gave him an extra $2.50. The extra money, he kept for himself. He didn't tell his mother know about the raise. He hid the money in a small bag hidden in a closet. It started adding up quickly, the older he got the more he earned. He planned on putting all his earnings in an account when he became of age.

         After a relatively good high school experience, Martin graduated earning his high school diploma. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to go to college, he was in search for a stable job to support himself. He was hired at a fancy Mexican restaurant as a waiter. It wasn’t the most stable job in the world but it would do for the time being. He rented a small apartment 10 minutes away from home. Martin met great people, loyal customers who tipped him a little extra. Unfortunately, Mr. Donati passed away and business declined. The restaurant eventually shut down leaving Martin with rent he couldn’t afford and a deteriorating bank account.

         Months after, he had no choice but to leave the apartment leaving him with very little, not enough to get him on an airplane. With this money the only viable transportation he could take was by bus. He took a bus to northern Texas, in hopes of finding a job enough to support himself and possibly his family. But he just hopped from one bus to another. He needed to escape the life of familial obligations and fears.

         The bus stopped dropping Martin and two of his suitcases at Cedarhurst. His eyed widened; he tried controlling his dropping jaw. He saw a big beautiful park, filled with families barbequing, playing soccer and everyone smiling.

         It was so incredible he felt like he could just sit there for months. After a failed attempt at finding a job, that’s exactly what he did. He was poor and a lone, his family was in Texas. Yet, he was still happy. He believed only a miracle could lead him to Argentina but this small town of people he grew up yearning to find, are all united in front of him. He valued this park as if it were his. Martin found happiness in this place.”

“It’s the first time I felt at home”, the suspicious man added