The Loon Says What We're All Thinking But Not Really

"I'm not a kite! Let me down! Let me down!" Photo by J. Scott 2001

With a lot of the ridiculous hoboes on John Hodgman's list, the back-story is right there in the name. Santa Fe Jinglebell, The World's Most Christmassy Tramp comes to mind, as does Ol' Barb Stab-You-Quick (obviously). Some hoboes were deliberately mis-named, like when a huge man is nicknamed "Tiny," or a bald guy is called "Curly." Occasionally, a member of this rag-tag above-ground underground of untouchables ended up with a moniker that held two or more meanings - both perfectly apropos.

Such was the case with The Loon, a man who is said to have wandered the rails between Wilmington, Lewes, and Rehoboth Beach, Delaware in the 1920s and 30s. Almost all we know of The Loon's hobo years comes from his "leavings" - the chalk and/or creosote-scrawled hieroglyphs he posted on barns and buildings and telegraph poles - and from a bit of oral history.

From the leavings...

"Only I can solve this."

"The yarn remembers, but will never speak."

"400 proof? What is this - Mothers Day?"

"Who is the more of clown - him who wears a squeak-nose and tons of makeup, and falls down to make children laugh, or I, who does the same but with no makeup?"

"The Loon is feeling uncharacteristically melancholy, probably due to his sudden switch to third-person."

"Never trust a rude frog. A prince would have better manners - and listen to your horse!"

"Not twenty years after the world finished burying the dead of the War To End All Wars, we're gonna do it all over again - only much, much worse. Learn your damn lesson, already!"

"One day, they'll let people in motor cars turn right in the midst of a stop signal."

"Stophack whipping tinker deterrent!"

"If you think the bumper cars are swell, just wait 'til you see the flying cages."

"I woke this morning to the horrible realization that there was still a bit of blood in my rumstream."

"I never said I always say that. I always said I never say that."

"I tried to go home, once. My father had left a couple of years prior, and my mother was talking to a coconut with one of his old hats on it."

"Don't blame me. I voted for Al Smith in '28."

"Soon, radios will come with pictures."

"The Loon says The Loon says The Loon says... AA-OOOOOOOO-GA!"

He left loonier track-side missives, but most of those were either too dirty or too violent to be reprinted in a nice wholesome family blog like this one.

The other reason he ended up being called The Loon was largely unconfirmed, having been passed from hobo to hobo for so many years, no one could remember who started it. It was said that the man was a master imitator of north American waterfowl.

That's all. Bye!