The Hobo Shuffle

            Old Man Watson had taken a special liking towards the venerable tramp Johnny Belmont, a likewise staple in the Monterey community.  Watson, like the rest of the Monterey citizens, thought Johnny to be a wise soul, though they lacked the knowledge he had never learned to read or write so well.  Despite that he still may have been very wise beyond his years.  There was a cleverness in him that shines in clever people.

            Watson had made his fortune in bean export and owned a sizable house that sat alone on the bluff overlooking the county.  He would buy and drink a cup of coffee with Johnny Belmont every Sunday morning while Johnny would regale him with a grandeur story from his travels as a younger man or some wild-eyed theory of his that always had credibility despite their absurdity; Johnny whole-heartedly believed the two dollar bill would replace the one dollar bill.  Watson relished their time together, and knowing he was an old man getting older, he saw his lawyer about his last will and testament.

            In those days Johnny lived underneath the St. Thomas Bridge where he had a sleeping bag, a pillow, and one change of clothes.  More precisely he slept underneath the St. Thomas Bridge, and lived in the streets, the population his family.  He had taken up a partnership with William Terrace once, but that only lasted until one day Willie was at the library, reading about a fellow who once declared himself Emperor of the United States, and decided he would do the same thing.  So he moved to San Francisco where he declared himself Emperor Norton the second, Imperial Majesty over these United States and Protector of Mexico. He made proclamations often, and would claim that the U.S. Congress was operating illegally. Police officers saluted him and he would review their uniform and tell them if their shoes needed shining; once an officer was fined for not saluting the Emperor. He issued his own currency and it was guarded as legal tender at most establishments.  Emperor Norton II died solemnly in his sleep and has yet to have a successor. 

            Johnny did not lament the end of their relationship.  He was happy for Willie, and happy for himself.  Johnny spent his days sitting on his dock with his feet in the cold water, looking out at the ocean, smiling, while always getting tan.  He had a crate tied to a rope that was tethered to the dock, and he kept the crate filled with beer, safely secured drifting in the water.  He drank beer all day and pulled the crate up anytime he needed another one. It kept them cold and a little salty, and he liked that.  People would go to see him there, sometimes to hear a story, or sometimes to get advice. He would always offer beer, but nobody ever accepted, knowing that his beer was very precious to him.  Sometimes, and though he never asked, they would give him a dollar here and there. He made a big thing of it, until finally he would take it.  They would always tell him “It’s some walkin around money”.

            On the weekends, Dixie, opened up her bedroom, and for five bucks she’d let you spend ten minutes with her and Johnny would sit downstairs and get rid of any of the guys who got rowdy or gave her any trouble.  She gave him two dollars every night for that.  He lived meekly off of this income, because during the week Dixie was a waitress at Shannon’s Place.

            When Johnny had to attend Old Man Watson’s funeral, it was the first time in his life that he was called upon society to wear a suit.  Obviously he couldn’t afford one, so a charity was quickly taken up to get him one.  Then men of Monterey all donated their old ties, trousers, collars, and jackets.  Johnny then had accumulated quite a wardrobe of handsome unfitting tattered suits that he wore and tattered even more to the end of his life.  The funeral was somber. Johnny looked his best, with his hair greased over, and his face cleanly shaved, despite the noticeable and multiple cut marks.  Johnny struggled to keep his tears in, as he said goodbye to his old friend.

            The first time Johnny had been in an office was at the reading of Old Man Watson’s last will and testament.  Johnny had always known lawyers, but always public defenders in courts, never like this.  He was there along with Watson’s distant family. Watson had left to his nieces and nephews his handsome fortune for which they were gravely appreciative of.  And to Johnny he left his property, all of it, the big house on the hill and its furnishings.

            Johnny moved in immediately. He had a home then.  Social Security checks came for the first few months, and Johnny lived off of that, while still pimping for Dixie. When they found out Watson was dead, Johnny started selling some books and records and some old trinkets. Then it was the picture frames and the silverware. After that he started selling the furniture. And when he could no longer pay the gas, electric, and water bills, he sold the stove, appliances, and the bathtub.  Then it was an empty house, and soon to be a verifiable flophouse.

            Soon after that Johnny adjourned down to his dock as he always did, but upon arrival found a strange sight.  It was a young looking Latino fellow lying belly down with his neck hanging over the water, holding a string that fell into the bay. Johnny approached curiously.

            “Hi there, what’s that you got?”

            “A hook at the end of it” he said, “cracked a mussel and used the meat as bait. Haven’t got any nips yet”.  Johnny sat beside him, took off his shoes, and rolled his trousers up.          
            “Mind if I put my feet in?”

            “Shouldn’t do no harm”

            “Names Johnny, Johnny Belmont”

            “They call me LT”

            “What’s it stand for”?

            “I dunno, they never told me”

            “New in town”?

            “Up from Santa Cruz. ‘Fore that clear up by San Diego way”

            “Well I’ll be damned” and Johnny mused for a while as he pulled up his crate of beer, “Would you like one?” he asked.

            And for the first time ever, somebody said ‘yes’ to Johnny’s offer. He was pleased, shocked, and proud all at the same time. He had finally found a drinking partner.

            “You got a place to stay”? Johnny asked.

            “I figured under the bridge”

            “Well I got a house, no beds or nothin, but plenty of room and I bet we could rustle you up a blanket”.

            “That’d be real nice Mr. Bel-“ and then LT jumped up to excitement, lifting his body with one hand and yanking on the string with the other. Finally he proudly looked upon a dying and squirming Cod he brought up that was no bigger than his hand.

            “We’ll have it for dinner!” LT exclaimed.

            “I haven’t got anything to cook it”

            “I’ll figure something” LT said so sure. And then he found a bicycle rack, and took off a grated aluminum basket. With this he made a grill.

            Because there was no running water anymore Johnny did his business in the backyard. And so LT fashioned his makeshift grill in the front yard, by starting a fire underneath the upturned basket. They grilled up the fish and had a fine time of eating it. Johnny and LT got along like that for quite some time. Day by day LT would lie on his belly with that string of his and Johnny sat alongside him with his feet in the water. They didn’t get a fish ever day, and the citizens of Monterey could always tell when they did get dinner, whenever they saw smoke coming up from in front of their flophouse.

            On the weekends, LT accompanied Johnny at Dixie’s place, but Dixie never did take a liking to LT.  If there ever were such a thing as love at first sight, so too is there such thing as hate at first sight, because Dixie despised LT immediately, and seemingly without reason aside from the cut of his jib.

            And then by chance another fellow joined them turning the duo into a trio.  He was sitting at the end of the dock cross-legged eating a corndog.

            “Mind if we join ya?” Johnny asked.

            “Not at all” the young fellow replied. LT lied down next to the kid, and put his string in the water, while Johnny sat on the other side and put his feet in the water. Exchanges were made and they found that his name was Virgil, and that he wanted to come out West and now that he was there he didn’t know what to do, and he told them how he had road the rails all the way there from Missouri after his mother died.

            “Were very sorry to hear that, son”. Johnny said.

            “She was a great lady. Taught me how to play piano”

            “She sounds lovely” LT interjected.

            “Piano, you say?” Johnny inquired.

            “Yeah why?” Virgil asked.

            “I was just thinkin. That place Old Crows has got a piano, and I don’t think it’s been played in nearly twenty odd years”.

            “You think they’d hire me to play”?

            “I think we should go on and find out” Johnny assured. They did hire him to play piano, and coincidentally their busboy had just run off and they picked LT to replace him. From then on their nights were spent at the Old Crow; Johnny would sit by Virgil and listen to his piano, while LT brought them beers that they never paid for. One night Johnny met a girl, and she brought him home, when she went into the bathroom to freshen up, Johnny jumped in the bed and fell to sleep right off.

            In the morning he snuck into the kitchen and looked through her cabinets and found a large can of beans. He put them in his jacket pocket and quietly slipped out. When he returned to the flophouse he was greeted by Virgil and LT, and he proudly displayed the can of beans.

            “That’s the hobo shuffle, baby!” And they all danced like prospectors who just struck gold.

            “Ain’t nothin to it, baby!” LT and Virgil declared.

            “Whoo-eee!” Johnny emitted.

 LT started the fire and cooked the beans. Then the three stood around eating voraciously. Afterwards they all lied down in the sun, and Virgil passed out three cigarettes made from the tobacco in the butts from the bar ash tray and re rolled it with fresh papers. Then they discussed what they’d do with their millions. Virgil would go down to see Hollywood. LT thought he’d buy a ranch, have his family brought up. But Johnny, he would just keep living.

            Those three never did make their millions. They just kept shuffling along, drinking beer at the end of a dock. One lying face down, one cross legged, and one with his feet in the water. Living like goddamn Emperors.