Part III: Grandfathers' Hobo Trek of 1930

St. George Thurs. Oct. 16—In my new work of soliciting repairs I find it quite different to soliciting in a city.  Here the people are very careful in spending, they usually trade work and produce with someone else, receiving different produce or a return of labor from the other party.

 

 

Sun about the 21^st of Oct—Sun is here again, I have just finished breakfast of Jungle Mulligan, the first I have had time to prepare since beginning my work of soliciting here.  I have just returned from a forage of the pile as I will need some cans in which to put my spices eggs ect.  I also found a round piece of tin about 4 ft in diameter which I put on top of a tub for a table top; I don’t just relish the idea of moving now that I have my Jungle  house hold in convenient shape.  I have a nicely arranged grate for my fireplace which I salvaged from the dump.  My bed of auto springs in a cabin 2 miles from is getting used to me now that I can sleep the entire night I must leave it. It’s a good thing I’m going by auto or I would have to ditch much of my chuk box, well leave it as you find it is the jungle law and it is seldom violated except by the Marceled punks that have little or no regard for the rights of others.

 

 

While on my way to work yesterday I beheld an amusing spectacle and which was freely commented on and criticized by older and more experienced members of the jungle fraternity; nearing town were several efiminated hiking shuks all with their hair perfectly coifured and rolled socks, most of them showed signs of having flopped (sic) in a barn or beside a campfire; straw and hay clung tenaciously to the clothes of some, the others were covered by ashes a little soap and water would have increased the appearances of the majority of them but oh! How that marcel was taken care of.  (Marcel; to wave the hair with special irons).  Alltho it is early morning (8 a.m.) the thots of the other stiffs have already commented on this day as the Sabbath  from there it is plain that religion finds at least a fleeting rest on their minds and finally expressions are heard, one stiff inquired concerning the Mt. Meadows massacre and Murphy long a traveler in Utah, blurted out with the information that the Mormons was drove outa Misouri and ILL, suffering untold afflictions and percecutions from the Misourions, which they never forgot and when this gang of Mossback misourions came through Utah they got just what they handed the Mormons when they were in Misouri  the mormons had to wait a long time to get back at them Misourions and “I don’t blame the Mormons a G.W.Bit I got as much use for a Mis. As I have for a buzzard, 12 years ago I hiked across that damn state and couldn’t hustle enough chuk to feed a canary, them Misourions got just what was comin to em”.  To bad they didn’t go back and mop up on the whole mule herding state”.

 

I must write Edith a birthday letter it is soon the 25^th, I must also write Bro Harry a short epistle and acquaint him with the fact that he may soon be visited by his illustrious older Bro., and Mim my little sister whom I haven’t seen in 8 years may also behold her derelict Bro. 

*Edith was 2 years younger than my mother, and daughter #2 by second wife Ora.

 

St. George  Oct. 26—Today is Sunday again, and as is characteristic of Sunday the inhabitants of the Murphy clan jungles spend the day “boiling up”.  It is 11:30 a.m. and I have just finished boiling up; in this jungle the pond of water is beside our fire, after boiling up I heated some water and bathed beside the pond without feeling any cold and this on the 26 of Oc.

 

Sat. Nov. 22—Las Vegas Nevada—At last the Western Wonderland the Eldorado of the west to those whose circumstances in the past have been somewhat cramped.  Leaving St. George, one is struck by the complete bareness of the country, not withstanding that Nev is noted by its great amount of arid land.  Mile after mile of wasteland, signs along the road read something like this: nearest drinking water 111 miles; or goes through a process of filtering which leaves it almost or little better than before  it maybe pure but the taste is not what most people expect.  I arrived in Las Vegas at 7:30 p.m having ridden on the rear of an open truck bound for Los A. with 2 tons of dressed turkeys.  One of those Nevada wind storms blew from the north.  About Sundown the driver a Mex, invited me to ride with them in the cab, which act I think saved one as I was so numb I could hardly get off the rear end of the truck and walk around to the front.  Arriving in Vegas I walked around tightly squeezing my full capitol of 60c which I had to make last until the next job.

 

North Moapa Valley  Nov. 29-30  As I turn my back to the fire and look toward the west where the sun has not long since set, the beautiful horisen of green, purple and blue seem out of place with the vast expanse of desert which surrounds me for miles in every direction and in this large area of apparent wasteland only water is needed to make it the garden spot that Southern Cal. So loudly boast of: what miracles could be wrought here with water, of which to much also makes wasteland.  I wonder by what science this land will be reclaimed, if one only knew or could see ahead 15 years what an enviable position a person could be set in; here gold maybe found for we paned (sic) out a small pan of the frillings from the well hole, by what means in the future will it be this desert be made to yield a fitting reward for the lives and fortunes of men who have gambled, battled against natures most formidable weapons, burning sun and no water; has this region been reserved for a future time or for a chosen purpose or people, surely there is plenty here to make one wonder and marvel at the beauty of waste and desert.  Here one my stay and rest secure far from the din and tumult of civilization and science, I wonder if I fully appreciate this so called wilderness.  Here there is no strife, here the speed of civilization never comes, the wail of want the senseless screaming of pleasure seekers is here but a memory and oh! What a victory t’ would be to fight against nature and win a place on the desert, it will be as ever before the pioneer, one in a million of inhabitants, will wrest against nearly impossible odds from nature his claim of victory.  Strange that I am not dissatisfied nor blame the wild city life, am I getting old?  Our living here boarders on the primitive; yesterday I cut 6 willow sticks 7 ft. in length these I drove in the miry sand and wove willows thru them for a wind break against the north wind, and each night before the camp fire, we talk of future possibilities here in the desert, and always it is “if we could only strike water” and think of ways to bring water flowing over this rich but arid land.  Greg is a typical deseret man, (me: now I am not sure if he meant desert or Deseret regarding the Mormons) for 35 years he has fought this desert, given the best part of his life and most of his savings in search of water.