Post by ramadevi on Jun 15, 2010 7:32:18 GMT -5
Memoirs of a summer 'on-the-road'
In 1985, Lisa-Jill and I had been at a Grateful Dead concert in the Bay Area. We'd met up with a huge circle of mutual friends, many of whom were planning to attend the Rainbow Gathering in Pennsylvania. LJ(as most people called her) and I made a spontaneous decision to hitch-hike there.
We got rides quickly as we followed I-80 through California, but when we got to Wendover, Utah, our trail became as stuck as broken sticks in swamp mud. Not a single car drove by for one and half hours, and when one did, the people inside it cursed and spat at us.
The sun burned like a coal in the sky. We wilted in the oppressive heat and opted to take a break and buy cold drinks. As we walked into town, I noticed how desolate and tiny it looked compared to the wide-open vistas adorning the highway.
We came to a gas station, bought drinks and perched on top of a dumpster in the parking lot under a shady tree. I noticed an odd character approaching us. Sizing him up, I warned LJ not to talk to him. He looked like a weirdo.
“Many of our dearest friends also look like weirdoes,” she commented without looking up. “I’m sure he’s harmless.”
“Take a look and decide for yourself.”
LJ gave the guy a glance then drew in her breath in an exaggerated gasp. “Whoee--he’s unique; I can say that much! I kinda like him.”
He wore long dreadlocks which hung loosely and bounced as he drew nearer. The oddest thing about him was a jingling sound emanating from his locks where he'd affixed all sorts of objects, including bells, copper wire, beads, colored string and the crown jewel of a Mercedes Benz sign tied towards the top. He had faded brown denim pants, a white v-neck shirt highlighting a display of numerous, multicolored necklaces hanging at varying lengths. Some of them looked like seeds or pods while others appeared made of beads or silver--and some had bells too. A dog, looking like a cross between Collie, Terrier and Labrador, trailed close behind him, wearing the archetypal expression of loyal dedication and puppyish enthusiasm. Just like his master, his collar bore the adornment of tinkling bells.
“Hello ladies,” the man said with a musical Jamaican accent and a bright smile. At first I felt skeptical, but when I glanced in his eyes, I noticed the smile alive in them and felt a warm sensation, scented by sincerity. I have good instincts with people but at that age hadn’t yet learned to trust them.
“Hi,” I answered with a hint of reservation and a weak smile, though my heart told me to be friendlier. I gauged him to be about forty years old. He had rich brown skin, pearly teeth and twinkling eyes.
“Hey,” said LJ beaming back at him. I was both impressed and mildly annoyed by her attitude of instant trust. Having known her a few years, I knew LJ was a complicated person. In moments like this, she held her heart wide open--unaware of being vulnerable, but I knew of times when she'd allowed fear and anxiety to overwhelm her, usually when she did not feel in control of circumstances.
I had mixed feelings toward Chocolate. One part of me wanted to beam back at him just like LJ did. But I also felt responsible for keeping us safe and knew it would be unwise to wave aside caution at this stage.
I found myself squinting in the sunlight as he came around to the side of the dumpster; the blaze angled from behind him and ricocheted off the Benz sign. It looked like a halo surrounded him, and I chuckled to myself when my heart interpreted that as a sign he is a saint. My mind did not believe it, not yet.
“My name’s Chocolate, but lotsa folks call me Jinglin’. Dis here’s my friend Choco.” He nodded towards the dog who answered with a happy bark and a wiggling of his body--like waving hello. “What brings you to Wendover?”
Trying to divert his question, I arched my eyebrows and said, “What interesting names you have. They suit you.”
“We’re hitching east,” volunteered LJ. I gave her a warning look. I didn’t wish to reveal much to this strange stranger, no matter how nice an impression he gave.
“Oh, dat’s not de way to go from here. Folks won’t stop on dis on ramp. They’ll jus pass yah by. I can tell yah a betta way.” The radius of his smile widened. "Ride de freight trains. Dere’s one come sundown dat heads to Salt Lake City. I can take yah far as Salt Lake, though I wahsn’t planning to go dere ‘til next week. Don’t know why, but da good Lord wishes me ta help yah.You leave it to Chocolate; he’ll get yah on de way by sundown.”
“I’m game," LJ piped in. Oh brother. I rolled my eyes.
“Okay.” I relented with a sigh, resolving to give Chocolate a chance. His genuine disposition gained him plus points. “But since we’ve got hours ‘til sundown, why don’t we keep hitching and meet you later if we don’t get picked up?”
“You’ll be wasting yah time, sistah, and getting hot besides; but do what yah like. I’ll be by de tracks by four if yah change yah mind and want ta come early.” His smile broadened yet again and seemed to envelope us in a bubble of warmth. I sensed my caution melting and suddenly felt grieved we were not staying with him. But my stubborn mind insisted we try hitching first.
LJ complied and we proceeded back to the onramp. Chocolate ambled quietly away with Choco trotting behind. I noticed he had only a tiny bag with him and wondered where and how he lived.
We tried for an hour to no avail. So we opted to meet Chocolate early. He radiated the same warmth when we greeted him again, and this time his eyes sparkled with humor as he said, “Told yah dat Chocolate would help yah. If yah followed mah advice y’ud have enjoyed da time passing here in da shade and stress free. You should always listen to Chocolate; he’s here ta help yah.”
“Why are you helping us?” I asked in a friendly tone.
“Cuz da Lord told me to.”
“He talks to you just like that?”
“Jus’ like dat.” This time his smile was both deep and enigmatic. Choco barked approval as if he understood what had been said. Chocolate laughed heartily, and his whole body joined his laughter while the hair-bells tinkled merrily in unison. “Choco here knows da truth. You should listen ta him too.” Choco barked again with intense enthusiasm, throwing his entire frame into the laughter just like his master. The sound of jingling bells reverberated joyously.
We settled in a comfortable spot under a tree near the tracks. LJ and I sat cross-legged in the grass. After a short but comfortable silence, Chocolate started humming a tune. It sounded Jamaican. I had a Jamaican housekeeper growing up who was like a mother to me. The tune seemed familiar.
“Is that a Jamaican song?” I asked after hearing it a while.
“Dat’s a tune Chocolate made up just now, but I’s from Jamaica so yah hear the flavor in it.” I wondered how come he often referred to himself in third person as if he was only an actor witnessing himself talk.
“Where do you live?” LJ asked.
“Wherever da Lord wants me ta go. Chocolate’s got homes in many places. Salt Lake City’s one of ‘em. Dey know me as Jinglin’ dere.” He sighed cheerfully. “I love riding da trains. Freedom sings sweeter on the traveling breeze.”
He sounds like a poet. I was suddenly keenly interested in listening to him. “Tell us your story, Chocolate,” I ventured to say, expecting him to relate his biographical details— where he’s from, what he does, why he is on the road.
He lit up with enthusiasm and began talking. “Mah story’s da story of freedom. Freedom’s not jus’ doin’ what yah like. It’s being free. Free from da past and da futah; free from definition. Mah story’s about freedom by following da Lord and holding only laughtah in mah heart.”
We were stunned speechless by his words, and by the power of truth that fueled them. When a person speaks from their inner experience, the words themselves take on more vitality. I felt especially touched because his words echoed the spiritual ideas that had propelled my decision to follow an experimental summer on the road. I looked at him with wide eyes, suddenly receptive in every cell of my being.
“Why do you wear that Mercedes Benz sign, Chocolate?” I asked.
“All de rich folk think dey’ll find happy-freedom owning fancy t’ings. Dis sign’s a symbol of de freedom of not owning anyt’ing; of giving everyt’ing ta da Lord, so all I possess is His. Dat makes me as precious to da Lord as a Mercedes Benz is ta de Rich folk.”
He continued, “When yah follow da way a freedom, de Lord guides yah every place and any person on yah path is the Lord’s own messenger. He sent me to help yah find yah freedom--and Salt Lake City too!” He laughed at his own humor, and Choco cocked his ears and chimed in with another friendly bark to the accompaniment of tiny tinkling bells.
***
We sat for three hours listening to Chocolate, riveted and enraptured by his poetic storytelling style and gracious presence. I realized what a rare holiness surrounded him, and a selflessness I’d never encountered before. It was as if his entire being was there to serve us, guiding both our inner and outer journey with humility and grace. I cannot remember the details of the stories he told us, but I recall they were like parables and everything he said held gentle charm and deep meaning. He did not ramble incoherently, like one would expect, but sounded instead like a Jamaican Sage.
The serenity of the scene combined with Chocolate’s passion for spiritual freedom left a deep imprint in my heart. Now, whenever I hear jingling bells, I feel like laughing.
***
“Da train should come in ten minutes if it be on time.” He peered down the tracks, and his eyes grew round and bright when he noticed the colors of sunset decorating the skyline behind them. His eyes possessed rich beauty and depth. “De Lord paints us some beautiful entertainment.” His peace and contentment seemed contagious, and we all remained in happy silence, absorbing the lovely hues with our gaze and contemplating Chocolate’s stories.
“I hear the train!” shouted LJ. She seemed suddenly nervous and afraid. The sound grew louder and the ground began to vibrate.
“Don’ worry yah mind, chile. Chocolate’ll take care of everyt’ing.”
The sky darkened quickly. By the time the train drew up, we could not see clearly in the dim light that remained. The lead engine rushed by with an orchestra of whooshing, rumbling and clattering sounds. This terrified LJ, who backed away from the tracks and seemed ready to sprint in the opposite direction. Chocolate noticed her anxiety and came up behind her. “Dear chile, I’m behind yah. Nothing will hurt yah. Calm yourself. We have ta stand near da tracks. Da train stops only for a minute. Be ready.”
The train clickety-clacked in gradually diminishing cadences and finally stopped with an explosive burst of air as the brakes were released. Chocolate began throwing our luggage into an open, empty boxcar. LJ ran away. She seemed hysterical. Suddenly, Chocolate’s tone grew sharp and he commanded her to stop. Seeing she had lost her cool, he chased after her, grabbed her forcefully and literally threw her into the boxcar. The shock of his behavior stunned her into submission.
“Climb on quickly!” Chocolate urged me as I scrambled to climb up the ladder. Before Chocolate had a chance to jump on, the train made a chug-alug sound and suddenly started to move. “Don’ worry ‘bout a thing,” he yelled. “Chocolate’ll catch up with yah in a minute. Come on Choco boy!”
I leaned out of the car to watch Chocolate and Choco racing alongside the train. They seemed confident in spite of the looming metal, scraping steel and copious steam. Choco barked with excitement. He seemed delighted, as if it was a gleeful game. Chocolate grabbed the metal ladder at the back of our car that lead to the roof, while Choco raced ahead to jump inside the door of our car. I was astonished when he accomplished this feat, like a daredevil stunt dog.
LJ crouched in shock, ensconced safely behind our backpacks with eyes tightly shut.
Suddenly, Chocolate performed an acrobatic maneuver, swinging from the roof into our car like a gymnast on the uneven bars. He laughed uproariously and Choco barked in various pitches, like a choral harmony.
Startled, I joined the laughter, but then Chocolate noticed LJ cowering in the corner. Instead of trying to talk to her, he shifted gears, settled down and hummed to himself for a few minutes, as if he knew it would help soothe her nerves.
LJ fell asleep as if Jinglin’s tune had been a lullaby. Chocolate smiled tenderly seeing her at peace and stopped humming. “Poor girl got a fright,” he whispered. “But Chocolate took care of it. Had ta throw her on here or none of us would’ve made it on da train.”
I smiled back at him and chuckled. “She’s doing fine now. When will we reach Salt Lake City?”
“About 3 am, depending on if da train stops or not.”
“Oh,” I said. “What will we do from there?”
“Don’t you be concerned, sistah. Chocolate’s thought of everyt’ing. You and LJ will stay in de women’s shelter I’ll show you. In late morning, dere’s a train to Denver. I’ll make sure ya get on dat train.”
***
He lived up to his word and took such good care of us, thinking of our every need. He walked LJ and me to the women’s shelter, introduced us and made sure they gave us food. Then he met us again mid-morning. He'd left Choco at his shanty-home, in the care of a hobo friend who sometimes stayed with him.
On the way to catch the train to Denver, he brought us to meet the ‘king of hobos’--the leader of the underground subculture. The hobo-king gave us a grand, warm welcome. It was the oddest experience--being treated like royalty by the gracious host of the homeless. I’d grown up on Central Park West in New York City and gone to posh schools, yet I’d never before in my life been treated with such sincere respect and concern.
The hobo-king sat enthroned under an underpass on an abandoned highway just to the side of the railway tracks on the outskirts of the train yard. He had a circle of guards standing sentinel. At first I found it scary, thinking they were like gangster’s bodyguards. Later, I realized they were standing there to be of service when he asked them to get things for us.
The king wore faded denims tucked into clunky army boots and a striped, button-down shirt worn open over a grey t-shirt. He greeted us with great joy and warmth, as if we were his own children. He enquired about our health and if we had eaten. He asked where we were going and if we’d hopped trains before. Then, in a soft, gracious tone, he ordered his helpers to gather gifts for us. They brought some canned food and a can opener, a sheet of plastic in case it rained, a bag full of apples and a train map indicating all the trains running through each state.
The hobo king motioned us closer to him as he spread the train map on his lap. “See the lines in yellow, they show trains heading east and the green lines show trains heading west. The dotted lines show trains that run infrequently, so you best avoid them.” He peered up and his expression told me he felt genuinely pleased to note we’d comprehended his map-reading lesson.
“Thank you so much, Sir,” I said.
He laughed like a kind old grandfather with children on his knees. “Don’t mention it. Our kind helps each other like family. It’s our joy and pleasure to do so." He winked at Chocolate, leaned back, and laughed again. "Now, you best be getting to the tracks. That train will be here in twenty minutes.”
Just before we took leave of him, the hobo king turned to Chocolate and commanded, “Jinglin’, you must take these youngsters to Denver. Ride the train with them and make sure they get where they’re going without trouble.”
‘Yes, sah,” agreed Chocolate. “I wondahed if da train officials are still causing trouble in dat place. I’ll get dem through safely. You can always count on Jinglin’.”
***
When we reached Denver, some officials shouted at us and began running towards us from a distance. Their voices were intimidating. Chocolate yelled, “Run!”
We raced behind him as he wove in and out of train cars. I found it exhilarating, but LJ looked intensely irritated and terrified. With Chocolate’s help, we managed to escape the officers' scrutiny and slip out through a hole in the fence hidden behind bushes. A very narrow escape!
“I’m through with this,” muttered LJ.
”But we escaped,” I said. “And it was fun!”
“I’m getting a flight home to New Jersey.” LJ’s tone was insistent, and I had no doubt that was just what she would do. I knew she would call her parents to wire money.
“Dat’s all right, little sistah. You can fly from here. Da freight trains won’t be easy from dis town.” He sighed consolingly and then smiled. “Nina best take a bus or hitchhike. Chocolate’s work is done. Now’s da time for him to head back ta Salt Lake. If da Lord decides it, we’ll meet again. Jinglin’ll show ya how to get ta da airport and bus stations, den I’ve got a train to catch at noon. Have to get back to mah Choco.
***
True to his word, Chocolate helped us find a Western Union, then led us to a travel agent and got LJ booked on a limo to the airport. LJ gave me some cash, so I opted to take a greyhound bus out of Denver, with the idea I'd resume hitchhiking from friendlier locales.
“I’ll take yah to da Greyhound depot to be sure yah get seats. Then I’ll be on mah way. Da Lord brought us together and we had a grand time. If da Lord wishes, maybe we’ll meet again.” He beamed his unforgettable grin. “LJ, your limo is leaving in five minutes. So we got ta say bye now.”
He looked at her deeply for a few seconds in silence, then turned his gaze to me.
I beamed, drinking in his benign face. I could find no words to convey my gratitude. For a few moments, Chocolate and I contemplated each other with minds silent and hearts aglow. It reminded me of the time I first met my Buddhist teacher; we’d shared an experience the Buddhists refer to as ‘the meeting of two minds’. I think the long, wordless gap made LJ nervous, as she soon interrupted by saying we should all share a group hug--which we did.
“You’ve taught me so much about freedom, dear brother,” I said as he withdrew from our hug circle. “We’ll never forget the example you give in how you live your life.”
“Sistah, mah life’s not mah own. It’s da Lord’s. He gives me sweet freedom every moment.” Chocolate laughed his rich and memorable belly laugh. His laughter lingered a few seconds, while the bells in his dreadlocks echoed in the background as glints of sunlight flickered off the Mercedes Benz sign I’d come to love. Then he turned to LJ and said, “Don’t let circumstance upset yah. We have da freedom to react or to respond. I always aim for being happy.”
I cannot recall my exact parting words when I left Chocolate at the bus depot, but words do not matter much. It is the spirit of his freedom-soul that remains vivid in my memory. To this day, the sound of jingling bells still brings my heart a smile and fond recollection of the inestimable hospitality of Chocolate, the hobo sage of the unusual court of the hobo king: a being entirely precious to the Lord.
