Who was Santa Fe Jack?
Santa Fe Jack was born in 1998 at the First Annual Atchison Hobo Days
Celebration. Named by Hobo King "Frog." He had worked for the Railroad
(Missouri Pacific) to put himself through college, rode the Santa Fe
trains to California almost every summer as a child, and was the
co-chairman of the local railroader club for the event. At the
conclusion of the week's activities, Jack Hayslett disappeared from the
local scene, quit his Chamber of Commerce job (historian, trolley
driver) and began a new life as Santa Fe Jack, and he, his Santa
Fe Jack Van, and Charlie Chan (the Chow) became a fixture at Hobo
Gatherings across the USA.
In late 2000, SFJ was derailed by a flu shot gone bad, and visual
problems finally left him virtually blind. The Santa Fe Jack Van, with
a new motor and transmission, sits idle - waiting for the time it gets
on the road again. But, that's another story.
Who was Jack Hayslett?
A sports minded kid, like all boys back in the 40's-50's, he went to
college and started a 30-year teaching-coaching career in 1963. He
returned to his hometown in 1991, and retired in 1993. He had two
passions - softball and travel. And, he did a lot of both. But, that's
another story or two also.
You asked for it.
You've not ever been to Kansas and never met Toto? Or, Chewy. Or
Santa Fe Jack-off His rocker. Or, on His rocker. "His" is capitalized
because He is the God of the Damned.
Able to hurdle tall tuna cans, leap over crawling worms and fly faster
than a speeding centipede or millipede. L@@K, down on the ground, It's
a bird, it's a plane, no it's SuperJack.
Who is SuperJack ?
An "Independent" Social Worker
FYI:
Not bound by rules, just by trust. To do the right thing. For the right
reason. To be
faithful, loyal, trustworthy, cheerful, friendly, helpful, courteous,
kind, obedient, thrifty, clean, brave and reverent. I learned these at
an early age. Few are taught now to children. Fewer are learned by
teenagers.
Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they do not. But, the good is
always in the effort.
In the past 8 years, I've had an 18 year old High School Senior
boy live with me after getting thrown out of their home for booze/wild
women/stealing his mom's car. At the time, John was camping out
in a tent near his girlfriend's home. A local Minister called me to see
if I had room. He moved into my travel trailer out back, and came in
often to visit, hang out, eat, etc. He graduated while here, two months
after moving in. After he had been away a couple years, the police came
by to tell me some "weed" was growing out back. In front of the
trailer. Then, old naive me noticed the medallion he had left on the
trailer key - it was a marijuana plant. I knew he liked beer, but had
not a clue about pot. Live and learn lesson 1.
I took in a 28 year old fella who worked where my sister-in-law did,
whose wife left him only a short time after their marriage. Andy stayed
here 3 months, then went back to his mom's place in Oklahoma. He was/is
still a great kid. His dad was in prison then. Another screwed up
family. He had some emotional problems resulting from an accident on
the job in Oklahoma before coming here. A freezer truck was closed with
him inside for several hours, and as a result all body hair fell out.
Hard to deal with. But, balsd being beautiful, and a baseball cap
to wear, and he did OK until his new young wife deserted.
A year or so later, Andy's little brother was not wanted any more by
his girlfriend (mother of two kids - his - and two other children) and
he asked if I would give him a place to stay for a while so he could
still be near his kids. He stayed around for 3 months, too. Left for a
new "love" who was a lonely divorcee with a near-teenage son. I guess
it worked out.
A hobo friend, who I met when my Atchison Rail Museum club put together
a Hobo Days Festival of music with real hobos, 1998 Hobo King Liberty
Justice, 6 years my elder, several years later was trying to "escape"
the company of his long-time wife and pursue his "dream" life in music.
He was heavily into pot/crack and everyone knew it. He had planned to
go to Willy Nelson's recording studio in Texas, record his new
music, and finally get the recognition he thought he deserved. Liberty
had just stopped by here to see if I would go along. I Could not and
had no desire to go with this sick, barely able to breathe and walk up
my steps old man. Earlieer that year he came here looking for a place
to live. Yes, after about 3 months away from home he went home to
his great, understanding and loving wife. Factually, Liberty had
his own band down in Texas. One night at the honky-tonk he was playing
in a young red-headed kid came up and asked if he could sit in and play
with Libby. Liberty said, sure. So, that is where the young Willy
Nelson got his start! How 'bout that? I had Liberty taken down to
Lawrence to see him again for the first time since their Texas meeting.
Willy remembered his debut at the old "Red Dog Saloon." After he left
here in such a bad condition, I called his brother, who had been very
concerned. He got the police to find him. He got help in a Topeka
hospital, then at the VA hospital, and I am happy to say that now he is
home with his wife and they are getting along very well, considering he
is weakened by his experience.
Then, back in late November, 2004, my nephew Dan, who was an associate
social worker for the KC SRS, brought a young 20 year old boy. Dan had
been helping Danny for a few years, trying to teach him some
self-management skills. I investigated and learned that the boy was
about 10 or 11 when his dad died, and his mom soon gave Danny up
for a new boyfriend.
Danny lived in group homes, until he started high school. He had
schitzo. tendencies, and is bi-polar. He left and so did my wallett,
credit cards and 2 cameras and.... on April Fools' Day. Yep, 3 months
later.
Oh, I almost forgot. A young gutterpunk I met at the National Hobo
Convention in 1999 lived with me for ..... Right! 3 months. Ran off
with a jerk "old friend" named Joe. Beat the crap out of him a week
later, I think he told me. In Frisco.
We were filming his counter-culture video in Lawrence, and he went out
to a party without me, when he had another kid holding my video camera
when he was stabbed by another guy. I have the footage still. The kid
almost died, but quick abdominal surgery saved his life. I was
the one holding his hand as he went in. None of his new or old
"friends" bothered to even show up. They were drinking, smoking and
having a ball after the cops left. Guess what, he met the kid that
stabbed him out in Frisco a short time back. It must be at least
a "stomping ground" if not a "breeding ground" for addicts.
So, thats where I am today. Alone and waiting for another - or maybe a
repeater - to show up at my door. Que sera, sera.
In late July this past summer (2006), in walks - unannounced - my
gutterpunk from 1999. He is settling in here for about a week, then is
caught stealing and using my meds to get high. And, that's where his
stay ended. At our request. He left and ended up in San Francisco
County Jail for another month. He conned me into getting him out of
Frisco, an expensive Amtraak ticket to Omaha. Then a ride here with my
sister. Everyone goes out of their way to help my "friend." A few more
days here, all going fine, and more meds missing. An old/new boyfriend
talks him into leaving to go do drugs with him and have some "good
times." And, live together in harmony. Three months now since his
disappearance, he just got out of Jail in Texas. Heading back here, he
says. In actuality, he's going back to San Francisco to see if the
habitual criminal statutes apply to him, I guess. Already had 3 strikes
here. Poor Nikko.
Only a few lines from Nikko since he left here. So sad, too bad.
Email from Nikko:
"Hey, Jack, I just wanted you
to know that you're one of the best friends I have everr had in my life
and I am glad you are getting bettter, hang in there."
"You will be happy to know
that I am clean and sober and I am doing quite well. I am looking for a
job and am getting my life back on track. So get better and take care
of Chewy."
"Jack. I love you, never
forget that. And know that one day you will see me in Heaven because
that is where I will be one day and even though you will be there
before me, I want you to know that I will always love you and miss our
talks that we used to have and I will always miss the times we sat at
the dinner table and ate, talking about whatefver came to our minds."
"This is how I will always
remember you."
"I will stay in touch to see
how you are doing. Stay Healthy and maybe I will see you again."
"You have taught me so much
about life and I am clean because of you and all the opportunities that
you gave me, all the chances you gave me made me see that my life is
worth something and I will always love you for it."
Nikko
Jack Today.
We all have our own destiny to fulfill. From childhood to teaching and
coaching 30 years to news and sports writer to unsuccessful businessman
to bankruptcy to Atchison historian and Chamber of Commerce tour
guide/trolley driver to "Rubber-tire Hobo at Heart" traveler to
crippled old man blinded by a flu shot to being crippled by diabetes to
going on Kidney Dialysis..... whatever God, in his infinite wisdom, has
planned for me now. Along the way, a Church leader/minister/pastoral
assistant/worker. You know what they say about Jack-of-all-trades,...
Now, I just write a lot on my new Mac-Mini. Until my next adventure???
One year ago I am sittin', Prayin', and sippin' hot tea - "Constant
Comment" by Bigelow Tea Company, none the less. That's where I get my
insatiable appetite to write, I guess. And I am eating my morning
grapefruit, a Tangerine and maybe later a little Maypo, if I have any
left. I also love my Ovaltine, not the kiddie type - the Classic old
style in the orange bottle (label) with a little extra yellow label
Malt flavor added. I'd use the original stuff from England if it were
not so expensive to ship here from someplace in China where the factory
is now located.
Oh, and I'm waiting for my weekly visit from a Church home minister who
brings me Communion every Sunday morning. Like clockwork. And, not
Clockwork Orange like Nikko's stupid dream/hallucination/obsession with
his "implant" that wasn't from a jail stay in Frisco.
I get Absolution monthly by my Prest, Fr. Gerard on every First Friday,
again like clockwork at 9:10 AM. That was, this time on Friday the 3rd
of February, 20006.
So, you want to know about the religious pursuits of Jack Hayslett?
Well, here goes. Every significant detail. First there was young Jack,
the high school runaway.
Then, the "for most of his life" non-attender for the wrong reasons
Jack.
Then, the Prayerful Jack.
Then, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit.
Then Santa Fe Jack, the Minister of Hobos.
Now, the every day ever Praying Jack. The sacrilegious life
aside once and for all. No cussing, no f-words left in me, a
ritual-like life here alone with my Godsend, Chewy, and Mass on TV and
my best friend in the entire world - Nick, my very own Saint Nicholas -
who shows me the best virtues of real life as a buddy, confidant and
caring human being who God created, blest and sent to me.
So, you want to know about the religious pursuits of Jack Hayslett?
Well, here goes. Every significant detail. First there was young Jack,
the high school runaway.
Not really, but I did secretly go to the Church Rectory for my religion
lessons. Dad was Baptist, and didn't want me to just go to Catholic
Masses with mom, so I either didn't go anywhere or had to attend both.
That seemed absurd to me, a religious war in the family. So, I chose
neither. And, I went out every Wednesday night to learn what I wanted
to know. While in College a couple years later, I went to Hiawatha,
Kansas, where my ex-Priest had been reassigned - to get Baptized. I
even talked my old Grandpa into getting Baptized at the same time. Now,
my mom and grandmommie would both be happy.
Then, the "for most of his life" non-attender for the wrong reasons
Jack.
In my new job, I started going to church regularly. Until... I got
upset with another parishioner over money. I should help pay for kids
in Kansas City to attend Catholic Schools there? No way, I thought. I'm
a public school teacher, making pennies, and they want me to give money
to KC kids to attend some fancy school? So, a dumb move I regretted a
long time. Never went back there except for funerals of students who
had died. I did go to Church occasionally during the next 28 years,
either when visiting Atchison or when on the road someplace and in need
of some peace.
Then, the Prayerful Jack. The Hopeful Jack. The "new" Jack.
My mom was suddenly stricken by a heart attack. I had her taken to the
Kansas City hospital noted for its cardiac care. This part is hard to
write, even think about. Doctors gave me a number scare right off the
bat. "She has a 25% chance of surviving." I was absolutely going out of
my mind. I began praying so hard that my blood sugar dropped off the
scale. As I recall, it was 5 or 6 that next morning. Not 50 or 60, but
5 or 6. Impossible, you say? Nope, I even had one of 8 a few months
ago. Anyway, I prayed and prayed and prayed. Then it was over. I
remember my mom's last words to me. It devastated me. "You brought
me here," she uttered. I remembered that mom had said she did not want
to be on machines if she was dying - like grandmother wanted some six
years earlier.
So, I said to mom, tears in my swollen eyes, "Mom, if you want to be
with daddy, now, it's OK. I love you both so very much." Then, it was
over. Still, today, my eyes swell up - even the not working eye - and I
can't even see to type. All our plans, all our expectations, all our
hopes - smashed - as God snatched Her from us. The beginning of my "God
is an Indian Giver" mentality. He giveth, and He taketh away.
The next several months following my mom's funeral, which I had to plan
and carry thru on, were my photo tribute to mom, and busy-work with my
hobby. By the way, the funeral was a Celebration of the life of the
world's greatest mother. My words, read at the funeral. Carefully
chosen words of love and praise. Trying to not forget the rest of my
family's hurt, too. For my little hobby project, I built a scale, from
scratch, model of Atchison's old Union Depot. It sits in the Atchison
County Historical Museum now, as I donated it for historical
perspective. It's about 8 foot by 4 foot.
Then, the Jack-in-the-Pulpit.
I sought God's help to deal with everything, and visited the old parish
I had been to as a kid. Would you believe, I became Fr. Roger's right
hand man, chauffeur, lector, minister of Communion, chorus member,
liturgical minister to the shut-ins and homebound. I even was on TV
Mass as lector and carried the Holy Oil of Chrism at the Mass of Chrism
representing all Atchison Parishes. I also refurbished the 100 year old
Pulpit in the Church. OK, I was very involved. Daily Masses, Church
work, even a part (Joseph) in the Millennium Celebration of
the Church dramatic presentation. I was a big man, "Yesterday," but boy
you should see me now. I am well known to all the monks at the
Benedictine Abbey here in Atchison. I've even eaten with them and gone
to Masses with them and help take care of some of them. But, that's all
in the past as is almost everything that is good.
Then Santa Fe Jack, the Minister of Hobos.
In '98, I took to the road with my hobo friends. Taking the Lord along
for the ride. There were a few Catholics among the "regulars," like
Queens "Connecticut Shorty" and "New York Maggie," and Hobo King
"Frog." The Priests here approved of my taking Communion to these
hobos.
At the end of the summer, I had my only run-in with the law. Arrested
for being a hobo. Clear lake, Iowa. The last place Buddy Holly ever
saw. The last place I ever want to see again.
But, you know that story.
Now, the every day ever Praying Jack. The sacrilegious life
aside once and for all. No cussing, no f-words left in me, a
ritual-like life here alone with my Godsend, Chewy, and Mass on TV and
my best friend in the entire world - Nick, my very own Saint Nicholas -
who shows me the best virtues of real life as a buddy, confidant and
caring human being who God created, blest and sent to me.
I even have my computer read prayers along with me. The Rosary, Morning
Prayers, Bedtime Prayers, prayers for just about everything and
everyone. Yes, even you. And, Nikko the screw-up. By the way, he called
while I was composing this email just five minutes ago. He said, from
Austin. Ha Ha. Not a funny ha ha. Just a "he's not believing I believe
that" Ha Ha. I do very much believe that God gave me the task of
helping Nikko to get straightened out. Help is love. Hard, very hard
Love. It is tough to Love someone who loves only himself. But, I try.
Not his way, but "His" Way. The Way of the Cross. May God Bless every
character I type, every thought I have, every word I say, every person
I meet and every pet in the world. God Bless Chewy and Rose, Mike and
Janis, Nick and Nikko, Danny and Barney, Luke and Cory and baby
Katherine, all the pets of this world, all my family and friends,
living or deceased, and everyone else I may have not remembered to pray
for. Amen.
Now, it's Fall, 2007, and I sit her thinking what a flop I've been.
Easily fooled, naive as a newborn and perhaps a failure as a friend.
Jack