It was 1933. A few years into the Great Depression. Times were tough. Life was a daily challenge.
Rusty was a young man down on his luck. He had a Mother, and siblings to help support. As the oldest son of the crew it was up to Rusty to find work and bring home some much needed cash. In his little rural town jobs were not to be found. So off he went on foot. Soul worn shoes. Thread bare trousers that seemed to just hang by the suspenders he had to fashion out of twine. A sack with a canteen of water from the tap, a few crusty pieces of bread and some dried beef from last Autumns smoker. Rusty would walk his way to the tracks and just keep walking until his train was in sight. He would keep his hopes up and his head high waiting for it to slow enough to hop on. Rusty became a Hobo.