Hobos in the Backyard

My son-in-law’s mother, Vickie, recently told me a story which happened during her early childhood upbringing. It involves hobos.

The words hobo, tramp, vagrant, and vagabond may be politically incorrect, but they were different from our homeless of today. 60 years ago, they traveled the US illegally by hiding on railcars. They rode from town to town looking for work.

Vickie was born to a mother who was too young to raise a child. She was therefore raised by her grandmother, Bertha Murphy. They lived by the railroad tracks in a little town called Oildale, three miles north of Bakersfield, California.

Bertha, or Ma Murphy as she was known, was married to a man who worked the oilfields. He was a good man but only returned home once every few weeks to give his wife his check and to catch up on the chores.

Ma Murphy was a very religious woman. Prayer and church were an important part of raising Vickie. Bertha was extremely tough, but an amazingly caring woman. She felt it was her ministry to take in battered young wives with their children to protect them until they could heal. She became so well known for this; the local police department would bring battered women to her with hopes that she could house them.

One time she became concerned that the wives would not be safe if they were found by their husbands. The police chief responded by saying, “Don’t worry Ma Murphy, we have a retired police dog named Wolf that will live at your house from now on and as long as you help the women, we will supply you with dogs and dog food. The dogs will die to protect you.” As the years went on, when one dog passed, the police brought another. They were all named Wolf.

As the trains would roll into Oildale and park their cars on the side spurs, the hungry hobos would climb off looking for food. It is common knowledge amongst the hobo population that if a home is friendly and gives out food, they will mark it. This cuts down on the chance of being chased off with a shotgun.

Ma Murphy always had a pot of beans on the stove and when a knock came on the door, she would bring out a bowl of beans, a glass of water, and a piece of bread for the hungry man. Sometimes if they were tradesmen, they would fix something in the home. Sometimes they would push the mower and clean the yard, but always they were polite.

One evening, because of the women living in the house and hobos in the yard, Ma Murphy ran out of food. Vickie remembers that night because her grandma fed everyone but had nothing to eat for herself. Not knowing when her husband would return from the oilfield with his check, she had no idea where their next meal would come from, so she called everyone into the living room to pray.

That night, the women, Vickie, and Bertha asked God for food. Then they went to bed. The next morning Vickie was awakened by the sound of Ma Murphy screaming from the front porch. Jumping out of bed, Vickie ran through the house and out the front door. There stood the women, the hobos, and her Grandma on a porch that was covered with bags of groceries.

One night, Ma Murphy’s fears became reality. A murderer, who killed a man who he thought was having an affair with his wife, escaped from the jail. Thinking it was possible that his wife was hiding in the Murphy home, he waited until dark, crept into the backyard, lifted the kitchen window, stood up on the gas meter and attempted to climb inside the house. For some reason Ma Murphy heard the noise in the kitchen and went to investigate.  Upon turning on the kitchen light, she found the man with his head and one arm through the open window. With the fearlessness of a momma bear, Bertha ran to the man, slammed the window down on his neck, and held it there.

“Victoria Lynn, let Wolf outside and call the police,” Bertha screamed.

Vickie swung open the front door and the already frantic Wolf ran outside. Never, ever, be a bad guy when a retired police dog lives in the house you are breaking into.

When the police arrived and handcuffed the man, his legs were severely bitten and bleeding. He had in his possession a knife. The police said he would have killed with to get his wife back. Wolf was a hero.

Shortly after this incident there was a knock on Ma Murphy’s front door. Upon opening it, Bertha found a semi-circle of men in her yard. They were all hobos.

“Ma’am,” a spokesman said. “We understand that someone tried to hurt you tonight. We want you to know that we will always be watching your house. No one will ever try to hurt you again.”

And no one was able to, ever again.

The Hobos, or the homeless; sometimes we think they have no value even though we know nothing of their life’s circumstances. It is easier to sidestep and avoid them than to give them our attention or some help. Maybe in the case of Ma Murphy, they appeared to be, but they weren’t hobos at all.

Hebrews 13:2 Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.

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