Boxcar Willy

When I was younger more than anything I wanted to be Boxcar Willy.  I don’t remember how I was first exposed to who Willy was but I found him immediately appealing.  Boxcar Willy or Lecil Travis Martin was born alongside a railroad where he and his family lived.  He rose to stardom in the Country Music world when he took on the persona of a hobo living a life of freedom by riding the railroads throughout America.  He even had his own television show.  For me, he was appealing.  I imagined myself with bandanna wrapped belongings tied to a stick, venturing out into the world alone. 

                

He was a singer of stories---life experiences I had yet to encounter.  He was magical, he represented a world where rules didn't exist for everyone, a place where freedom was just a train whistle away.  I used to play in my backyard with the other neighbor kids and pretend to be famous.  Stephanie was always Blondie.  She only knew the “Call me” part of the famous song but she could do so with such conviction that we were always impressed.  One time she stole her mother’s satin jumpsuit and clogs which ended up being her best performance. 

                

Stacy was always Johnny Paycheck.  The only thing she really knew about him is from a record her dad kept in their panel-lined rec room next to his beer can collection.  She used to repeat, “Take this job and shove it” over and over again as we laughed.  Sometimes we chimed in loudly with the ‘shove it’ part feeling rebellious that we dared to say such things. 

               

I liked Boxcar Willy.  I might have shown Stephanie and Stacy my outfit that I wore when I played in my room alone, but they didn't know who he was, so I became Johnny Cash instead.  I held a stick like a guitar, have my back to audience and then I would turn around and say in my deepest voice, “Hello, my name is Johnny Cash.”

          

Boxcar Willy had the coolest name though.  He did whatever he wanted.  No parents said that this was wrong or this is right to Boxcar Willy.  When I was nine, I tried running away once in the spirit of Boxcar Willy.  I wasn't brave enough to go to the train tracks which were too many blocks away from what were my childhood parameters.  I decided that the park was a better option.  I took my mother’s train case filled with all of my white cotton underwear and tennis socks.  My freedom was short lived; no one came to find me, but the picnic tables in the park seemed lonely and without adventurous stories.  There was no journey scratched into its surface—no passing scenery---just the same as home. 

              

I have often wondered what happened to Boxcar Willy.  I imagine that in the reality we live in, his show was cancelled, record deals were eventually lost, and he had to move to Branson where most country music stars quietly exist with their families.