Grandma and the Hobo



During the depression, many ordinary men were forced to become hobos and beggars. Work was scarce, and men who once held a decent paying job were often left penniless and homeless when through circumstances beyond their control, they lost their jobs.

Some men would take to the rails, dangerously hopping on boxcars and then hopping off when they arrived at an area where they thought they’d find some work.

Half-starved, hobos begged for food. They knocked on back doors of homes that looked like the occupants might have enough to eat that they’d be willing to share some with the less fortunate.

Which is why Grandma was so impressed the day the hobo knocked on her back door.

Grandma really didn’t have enough food to spare, but by the very act of knocking on her door, the hobo had made her feel wealthy, lucky and “upper crust,” as she said.

Smoothing her hair with one hand while she wiped the other on her apron, she told the hobo that of course, she would be glad to give him something to eat.

“Just sit down on the steps and I’ll bring you something to eat right away,” Grandma said, holding her back very straight and smiling to herself.

Oh it was good to help the poor, she thought as she headed towards the ice box. But now the problem was just what could she give him to eat?

She always had good crusty bread in the house as she made a loaf every other day. But what on earth could she put inside the bread slices?

Then she remembered she still had one piece of meatloaf leftover from yesterday’s dinner. She had intended to give it to Grandpa for his lunch, but he’d opted for his favorite baked bean sandwiches instead.

She decided that the hobo would get the meatloaf and he would probably be so thrilled to get meat, any kind of meat, he’d most likely tell her that she was the kindest and most generous lady in the whole town.

She was going to show the hobo what people like herself, people of “means” did to help others. And, she was going to set him up a tray that would be as nice looking as if she were serving the king of England.

She opened the sideboard and took out her mother’s silver-plated handled tray. On the tray she placed her wedding gift silver-plated salt and pepper shakers. A good beginning she thought smugly.

Then she chose one of her loveliest plates, a blue willow plate that had always been her favorite. A fine linen napkin and a Royal Daulton cup and saucer were also placed on the tray.

After cutting two healthy slices of bread, she put the meatloaf on one slice. Should she ask him what he liked on his meatloaf sandwiches? She had some butter, only a tablespoon or two, she had mustard that she made herself and she had lettuce she’d picked that morning from the garden. So she layered the lettuce on the sandwich, spread some of her mustard on the top slice and decided to keep the butter as it was so hard to come by.

She fussed with the lettuce so that a pretty ruffled green border peeked out between the bread slices. She cut the sandwich carefully into two perfect triangles and placed it on the blue willow plate.

What else? What else should she give him, she thought.

Ah yes, he would probably love a hard boiled egg and she had one of those in the icebox which she was going to have for her own lunch, but after all a woman who could rent a house that was nice enough that a hobo would knock on the door…well she would also have enough hard boiled eggs to share, now wouldn't she?

So the hobo got the egg and on the side of the plate she placed a good sized scoop of her homemade pickled three bean salad.

When the kettle started to whistle, she placed some tea in the cup and remembered she hadn’t put out any cutlery on the tray.

Spoon, fork, okay. The tray was perfectly set for a nice lunch – a lunch suitable for the church ladies, never mind a hobo.

On the tray she also placed the last two oatmeal cookies she had which the children were looking forward to eating, but she decided the addition of cookies would make this hobo tell everyone in the town what a wonderful lunch he was served by such a wonderful, generous lady.

The children could have cookies some other day.

Smiling she carried the tray to the back door and handed it to the hobo.

“Knock when you’re done and I’ll retrieve the tray,” she told him, using a voice that was not her normal voice, but the voice of a lady who could give out meatloaf to a hobo.

Now all she had to do was wait. She was very excited listening for the knock and anticipated what the hobo would say as he thanked her for the lovely and delicious lunch.

Knock. Knock.

Grandma walked quickly to the back door, smoothing the front of her dress and taking on an expression that Grandma called “Lady Bountiful.”

"Oh my, finished already?" Grandma said as the hobo handed her the empty tray without a word. Not a thank you – nothing.

As he turned to leave, Grandma sputtered: “Wait, wait, I wanted to ask you if you enjoyed your lunch. How was the meatloaf,” she inquired, putting emphasis on the word meat.

“It was… it was okay,” he said. “The meatloaf-- it was a little dry, if you ask me.”

And the hobo left just like that, shuffling down the driveway with his flopping soles and Grandpa’s meatloaf, Grandma’s egg and the children’s cookies in his belly.