By Nick Demuth
There is a common belief among pop history enthusiasts that hobos had their own secret code that all the hobos knew and used that code to leave messages for each other when arriving at a town.
Allegedly, the next hobo would see a sign written on the ground or on a fence and know if they could get a meal at a house or know to avoid a house because it belonged to the sheriff.
Even today, when giving tours at End-O-Line, we often hear the common refrain: “Oh, my mother or grandmother must have had a sign on her fence. All the hobos came to her house for a handout.”
The Myth of “Hobo Hieroglyphics”
Unfortunately, the existence of “hobo hieroglyphics” as a secret communicative language is almost certainly a fabrication.
As early as the 1870s, newspapers across the country started reporting on the doings of hobos and tramps. With the growing network of railroads crisscrossing the country after the Civil War, itinerant travelers were beginning to visit many more small towns all over the country, making the hobo lifestyle all the more visible to the public and engendering a romantic view of the hobo lifestyle.
Leon Ray Livingston, better known by his moniker A No. 1, was one of the most famous hobos of his day. He played a big role in perpetuating the myth of hobo signs.
He gave many interviews to various newspapers throughout the U.S. and wrote about the existence of hobo codes in his books. However, Livingston was a verified teller of tall tales and most likely would have been paid for his stories. The more outlandish and sensational his stories, the more money he would make from his books and interviews.
To this day, no existing hobo code signs have been found or documented.
During the heyday of hobo travel, many people went undercover to write pieces on the hobo lifestyle, and they say that while the idea of hobo signs is exciting, it was not a reality.
Josiah Flynt, a sociologist and author, took to the road posing as a hobo in order to study the sociology of the tramp and hobo. In 1895, he began publishing his findings over several volumes. In his Notes of an Itinerant Policeman (1900), Flynt writes:
“…hoboes do not make use of the marks and signs with which the popular fancy has credited them…”
Many subsequent historians and sociologists have agreed that hobo signs were fabrications.
What Hobos Really Left Behind
Why, then, did the idea of a secret hobo code catch on in the popular imagination?
Part of the reason, besides being exciting, was that hobos were well known for leaving graffiti!
However, the graffiti that hobos left was not hard to read, nor was it mysterious. Hobos were quite well known for leaving their “moniker” — an assumed name used for travel, such as “Tennessee Slim” — along with their direction of travel and the date.
They did this so they could leave a record of their travels and meet up with friends and other hobos farther down the line.
Most of these markings would have been done in chalk or ink, but the more industrious among them would carve their monikers in wood.
We have several examples of actual carved monikers from the area at End-O-Line Railroad Park and Museum.
These prolific examples of railroad graffiti primed the public into believing that railroad travelers had their own secret system of signs and codes.
Tex – King of the Tramps
One of the more famous monikers was Tex K.T., or Tex King of the Tramps.
Tex was a tramp who was quite well traveled and was liberal with his moniker. In Murray County alone, there are at least two surviving examples of his name — one in Currie and one in Fulda.
However, his name has been found all over the United States. In almost every railroad town he visited, he allegedly left his name.
According to the man himself, he left more than 7,300 signatures over 15 years.
It is hard to verify, of course, because his markings were often temporary and many of the buildings where they were left have fallen into disrepair or disappeared altogether. But his story may well be true, as his moniker has been found all over North America.
