Atchison, Kansas
The Original
"Tales From the Side of the Road"
by Jack Hayslett
jackhayslett@sbcglobal.net
Who Is Santa Fe Jack?
Santa Fe Jack was born in 1998 at the First Annual Atchison Hobo Days Celebration. Named by Hobo King "Frog." He had worked for the Railroad (Missouri Pacific) to put himself through college, rode the Santa Fe trains to California almost every summer as a child, and was the co-chairman of the local railroader club for the event. At the conclusion of the week's activities, Jack Hayslett disappeared from the local scene, quit his Chamber of Commerce job (historian, trolley driver) and began a new life as Santa Fe Jack, and he, his Santa Fe Jack Van, and Charlie Chan (the Chow) became a fixture at Hobo Gatherings across the USA.
In late 2000, SFJ was derailed by a flu shot gone bad, and visual problems finally left him virtually blind. The Santa Fe Jack Van, with a new motor and transmission, sits idle - waiting for the time it gets on the road again. But, that's another story.
The Santa Fe Jack Van
Who was Jack Hayslett?
A sports minded kid, like all boys back in the 40's-50's, he went to college and started a 30-year teaching-coaching career in 1963. He returned to his hometown in 1991, and retired in 1993. He had two passions - softball and travel. And, he did a lot of both. But, that's another story or two also.
Who Is SuperJack
You've not been to Kansas and never met Toto? Or, Chewy. Or Santa Fe Jack-off "His" Rocker. Or, on "His" Rocker. "His" is "Jack" because "He" is the God of the Damned.
Able to hurdle tall tuna cans, leap over crawling worms and fly faster than a speeding centipede or millipede. L@@K, down on the ground, It's a bird, it's a plane, no it's SuperJack.
An "Independent" Social Worker
Not bound by rules, just by trust. To do the right thing. For the right reason. To be faithful, loyal, trustworthy, friendly, helpful, courteous, kind, obedient, thrifty, clean, brave and reverent. I learned these at an early age. Few are taught now to children.
Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they do not. But, the good is always in the effort.
In the past 8 years, I've had a 18 year old HS Sr. boy live with me for 3 months after getting thrown out of their home for booze/wild women/stealing his mom's car. At the time he was camping out in a tent near his girlfriend's home. A local Minister called me to see if I had room. He moved into my travel trailer out back, and came in often to visit, hang out, eat, etc. He graduated while here. After he had been away a couple years, the police came by to tell me some "weed" was growing out back. In front of the trailer. Then, old naive me noticed the medallion he had left on the trailer key - it was a marijuana plant. I knew he liked beer, but had not a clue about pot.
I took in a 28 year old fella who worked where my sister-in-law did, whose wife left him only a short time after their marriage. Andy stayed here 3 months, then went back to his mom's place in Oklahoma. He was/is still a great kid. His dad was in prison then. Another screwed up family.
A year or so later, Andy's little brother was not wanted any more by his girlfriend (mother of two kids - his) and he asked if I would give him a place to stay for a while so he could still be near his kids. He stayed around for 3 months, too. Left for a new "love" who was a lonely divorcee with a near-teenage son. I guess it worked out.
A hobo friend, who I met when my Atchison Rail Museum club put together a Hobo Days Festival of music with real hobos, 1998 Hobo King Liberty Justice, 6 years my elder, several years later was trying to "escape" the company of his long-time wife and pursue his "dream" life in music. He was heavily into pot/crack and everyone knew it. He had planned to go to Willy Nelson's recording studio in Texas, record his new music, and finally get the recognition he thought he deserved. Liberty had just stopped by here to see if I would go along. I Could not and had no desire to go with this sick, barely able to breathe and walk up my steps old man. Earlieer that year he came here looking for a place to live. Yes, after about 3 months away from home he went home to his great, understanding and loving wife. Factually, Liberty had his own band down in Texas. One night at the honky-tonk he was playing in a young red-headed kid came up and asked if he could sit in and play with Libby. Liberty said, sure. So, that is where the young Willy Nelson got his start! How 'bout that? I had Liberty taken down to Lawrence to see him again for the first time since their Texas meeting. Willy remembered his debut at the old "Red Dog Saloon." After he left here in such a bad condition, I called his brother, who had been very concerned. He got the police to find him. He got help in a Topeka hospital, then at the VA hospital, and I am happy to say that now he is home with his wife and they are getting along very well, considering he is weakened by his experience.
Then, back in late November, 2004, my nephew Dan, who was an associate social worker for the KC SRS, brought a young 20 year old boy. Dan had been helping Danny for a few years, trying to teach him some self-management skills. I investigated and learned that the boy was about 10 or 11 when his dad died, and his mom soon gave Danny up for a new boyfriend.
Danny lived in group homes, until he started high school. He had schitzo. tendencies, and is bi-polar. He left and so did my wallett, credit cards and 2 cameras and.... on April Fools' Day. Yep, 3 months later.
Oh, I almost forgot. A young gutterpunk I met at the National Hobo Convention in 1999 lived with me for ..... Right! 3 months. Ran off with a jerk "old friend" named Joe. Beat the crap out of him a week later, I think he told me. In Frisco.
We were filming his counter-culture video in Lawrence, and he went out to a party without me, when he had another kid holding my video camera when he was stabbed by another guy. I have the footage still. The kid almost died, but quick abdominal surgery saved his life. I was the one holding his hand as he went in. None of his new or old "friends" bothered to even show up. They were drinking, smoking and having a ball after the cops left. Guess what, he met the kid that stabbed him out in Frisco a short time back. It must be at least a "stomping ground" if not a "breeding ground" for addicts.
So, thats where I am today. Alone and waiting for another - or maybe a repeater - to show up at my door. Que sera, sera.
We all have our own destiny to fulfill. From childhood to teaching and coaching 30 years to news and sports writer to unsuccessful businessman to bankruptcy to Atchison historian and Chamber of Commerce tour guide/trolley driver to "Rubber-tire Hobo at Heart" traveler to crippled old man blinded by a flu shot to..... whatever God, in his infinite wisdom, has planned for me now. Along the way, a Church leader/minister/pastoral assistant/worker. You know what they say about Jack-of-all-trades,... Now, I just write a lot on my new Mac-Mini. Until my next adventure???
In late July this past summer (2005), in walks - unannounced - my gutterpunk friend from 1999. He is settling in here for about a week, then is caught stealing and using my meds (Hidden) to get high. And, that's where his stay ended. He left and ended up in San Francisco County Jail for another month. He conned me (I'm a softie) into getting him out of Frisco, an expensive Amtraak ticket to Omaha. Then a ride here with my sister who was visiting family up there. Everyone goes out of their way to help my "friend." A few more days here, I'm thinking all is going fine, and more meds missing. An old/new boy "friend" (there is that word again) talks him into leaving to go do drugs with him and have some "good times." And, live together in harmony. Three months after his disappearance, he got in and out of Jail in Texas. Heading back here, he says. In actuality, he's going back to San Francisco to see if the habitual criminal statutes apply to him, I guess. Already had 3 strikes there. Poor Nikko.
The Religious Life
First there was young Jack, the high school runaway.
Then, the "for most of his life" non-attender for the wrong reasons Jack.
Then, the Prayerful Jack.
Then, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit.
Then Santa Fe Jack, the Minister of Hobos.
Now, the every day ever Praying Jack. The sacrilegious life aside once and for all. No cussing, no f-words left in me, a ritual-like life here alone with my Godsend, Chewy, and new friends like Nick, my very own Saint Nicholas - who shows me the best virtues of real life as a buddy, confidant and caring human being who God created, blest and sent to me.
A day in the life
I am sittin', Prayin', and sippin' hot tea - "Constant Comment" by Bigelow Tea Company, none the less. That's where I get my insatiable appetite to write, I guess. Right now, I am eating my morning grapefruit, a Tangerine and maybe later a little Maypo, if I have any left. I also love my Ovaltine, not the kiddie type - the Classic old style in the orange bottle (label) with a little extra yellow label Malt flavor added. I'd use the original stuff from England if it were not so expensive to ship here from someplace in China where the factory is now located.
Oh, and I'm waiting for my weekly visit from a Church home minister who brings me Communion every Sunday morning. Like clockwork. And, not "Clockwork Orange" like Nikko's stupid dream/hallucination/obsession with his "implant" that wasn't.
I get Absolution monthly by my Prest, Fr. Gerard on every First Friday, again like clockwork at 9:10 AM. That was, this time on Friday the 3rd of February.
So, you want to know about the religious pursuits of Jack? Well, here goes. Every significant detail. First there was young Jack, the high school runaway.
Not really, but I did secretly go to the Church Rectory for my religion lessons. Dad was Baptist, and didn't want me to just go to Catholic Masses with mom, so I either didn't go anywhere or had to attend both. That seemed absurd to me, a religious war in the family. So, I chose neither. And, I went out every Wednesday night to learn what I wanted to know. While in College a couple years later, I went to Hiawatha, Kansas, where my ex-Priest had been reassigned - to get Baptized. I even talked my old Grandpa into getting Baptized at the same time. Now, my mom and grandmommie would both be happy.
Then, the "for most of his life" non-attender for the wrong reasons Jack.
In my new job, I started going to church regularly. Until... I got upset with another parishioner over money. I should help pay for kids in Kansas City to attend Catholic Schools there? No way, I thought. I'm a public school teacher, making pennies, and they want me to give money to KC kids to attend some fancy school? So, a dumb move I regretted a long time. Never went back there except for funerals of students who had died. I did go to Church occasionally during the next 28 years, either when visiting Atchison or when on the road someplace and in need of some peace.
Then, the Prayerful Jack. The Hopeful Jack. The "new" Jack.
My mom was suddenly stricken by a heart attack. I had her taken to the Kansas City hospital noted for its cardiac care. This part is hard to write, even think about. Doctors gave me a number scare right off the bat. "She has a 25% chance of surviving." I was absolutely going out of my mind. I began praying so hard that my blood sugar dropped off the scale. As I recall, it was 5 or 6 that next morning. Not 50 or 60, but 5 or 6. Impossible, you say? Nope, I even had one of 8 a few months ago. Anyway, I prayed and prayed and prayed. Then it was over. I remember my mom's last words to me. It devastated me. "You brought me here," she uttered. I remembered that mom had said she did not want to be on machines if she was dying - like grandmother wanted some six years earlier.
So, I said to mom, tears in my swollen eyes, "Mom, if you want to be with daddy, now, it's OK. I love you both so very much." Then, it was over. Still, today, my eyes swell up - even the not working eye - and I can't even see to type. All our plans, all our expectations, all our hopes - smashed - as God snatched Her from us. The beginning of my "God is an Indian Giver" mentality. He giveth, and He taketh away.
The next several months following my mom's funeral, which I had to plan and carry thru on, were my photo tribute to mom, and busy-work with my hobby. By the way, the funeral was a Celebration of the life of the world's greatest mother. My words, read at the funeral. Carefully chosen words of love and praise. Trying to not forget the rest of my family's hurt, too. For my little hobby project, I built a scale, from scratch, model of Atchison's old Union Depot. Gone, too, but never forgotten. Just like Mom. It sits in the Atchison County Historical Museum now, as I donated it for historical perspective. It's about 8 foot by 4 foot.
Then, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit.
I sought God's help to deal with everything, and visited the old parish I had been to as a kid. Would you believe, I became Fr. Roger's right hand man, chauffeur, lector, minister of Communion, chorus member, liturgical minister to the shut-ins and homebound. I even was on TV Mass as lector and carried the Holy Oil of Chrism at the Mass of Chrism representing all Atchison Parishes. I also refurbished the 100 year old Pulpit in the Church. OK, I was very involved. Daily Masses, Church work, even a part (Joseph) in the Millennium Celebration of the Church dramatic presentation. I was a big man, "Yesterday," but boy you should see me now. I am well known to most or all of the monks at the Benedictine Abbey here in Atchison. I've even eaten with them and gone to Masses with them and help take care of some of them. But, that's all in the past as is almost everything that is good.
Then Santa Fe Jack, the Minister of Hobos.
In '98, I took to the road with my hobo friends. Taking the Lord along for the ride. There were a few Catholics among the "regulars," like Queens "Connecticut Shorty" and "New York Maggie," and Hobo King "Frog." The Priests here approved of my taking Communion to these hobos.
At the end of the summer, I had my only run-in with the law. Arrested for being a hobo. Clear lake, Iowa. The last place Buddy Holly ever saw. The last place I ever want to see again.
But, you may already know that story.
Nowadays, I even have my computer read prayers along with me. The Rosary, Morning Prayers, Bedtime Prayers, prayers for just about everything and everyone. Yes, everyone I know. Especially for Nikko ,the screw-up. By the way, he called while I was composing this email just five minutes ago. He said, from Austin. Ha Ha. Not a funny ha ha. Just a "he's not believing I believe that" Ha Ha. I do very much believe that God gave me the task of helping Nikko to get straightened out. Help is love. Hard, very hard Love. It is tough to Love someone who loves only himself. But, I try. Not his way, but "His" Way. The Way of the Cross. May God Bless every character I type, every thought I have, every word I say, every person I meet and every pet in the world. God Bless Chewy and Rose, Mike and Janis, Nick and Nikko, Danny and Barney, Luke and Cory and baby Katherine, all the pets of this world, all my family and friends, living or deceased, and everyone else I may have not remembered to pray for. Amen. Oh, yes. Ian, too. Ian Murphy-Mitchard. Not the raindog of old. Amen.
Wanna' Gripe, Comment or Tell Me Off?
mailto:jackhayslett@sbcglobal.net
Index
http://jhayslett.dashjr.org/