The Secret Language of the Rails in California's San Joaquin Valley

During the Great Depression, the railroad tracks running through the San Joaquin Valley became moving highways for thousands of desperate men searching for work, food, and survival. In towns like Merced, freight trains carried wandering laborers north toward the orchards and south toward the cotton fields, vineyards, and packing sheds of California’s agricultural empire.

But riding the rails illegally came with dangers far beyond hunger.

The railroads employed men known as “Bulls” — railroad police whose job was to catch hobos riding freight trains, throw them off the cars, arrest them, or sometimes beat them badly enough to discourage them from returning. Hobos spoke about Bulls with fear and bitterness. A “Bull” was one of the most common terms in hobo slang, meaning a railroad officer or railroad detective.

Along the rail lines through the valley, especially near depots, water towers, orchards, and sidings, hobos developed a hidden communication system to help one another survive. It became known as the “hobo code” — a secret language of symbols scratched in chalk, charcoal, or soapstone onto fence posts, bridge timbers, water tanks, railroad ties, telegraph poles, and even the sides of buildings.

Many of these men traveled alone, but they relied on the warnings left behind by others.

A simple drawing could mean:

• A kind woman lived nearby.

• A house would give food.

• A farmer might offer work.

• The town jail was harsh.

• The police were dangerous.

• A train could safely be boarded nearby.

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One of the best-known signs was a simple cat symbol, meaning a “kind lady lives here.” Another was a circle with arrows meaning “get out fast.” A zigzag warned of vicious dogs.

The signs were usually temporary because hobos did not want townspeople or railroad men to understand them. Fence posts beside the tracks were ideal because other rail riders could quickly spot the markings while walking toward the rail yards. Water towers and bridge abutments near switching yards also became common message boards.

In California’s Central Valley towns, communities often had mixed feelings about the wandering men arriving on freight trains. Some farmers feared theft and vagrancy, especially during the Depression when jobs were scarce even for local residents. Others quietly sympathized because many hobos were simply displaced workers trying to survive.

The San Joaquin Valley depended heavily on migrant labor, and the line between “hobo” and “farm worker” often blurred. A man might ride the rails into Merced, pick peaches or cotton for a season, then move on again when the harvest ended.

Still, railroad companies viewed the riders as trespassers and threats. Bulls patrolled depots and rail yards aggressively. Hobos sometimes hid beneath cars, inside boxcars, or near the brake rigs under freight trains to avoid detection. Riding “on the fly” — boarding a moving train — was especially dangerous and often deadly.

The hobos also developed a colorful slang unique to rail culture. Some of the most common terms included:

• “Jungle” — a campsite near the tracks.

• “Flop” — a place to sleep.

• “Cannonball” — a fast freight train.

• “Bindle stiff” — a hobo carrying a blanket bundle.

• “Grease the track” — to be killed by a train.

• “Mulligan stew” — a communal stew shared in camp.

• “California blankets” — newspapers used for warmth.

  
  

One hobo writer, Leon Ray Livingston — better known as “A-No. 1” — described hobos as men governed by “unwritten laws and rules” among themselves.

The hobo camps, or “jungles,” that formed outside towns like Merced became rough brotherhoods of survival. Men shared coffee tins over open fires, traded information about where work might be found, and warned each other about cruel sheriffs or railroad Bulls waiting down the line.

Some local residents saw the riders as dangerous drifters. Others saw them as victims of hard times.

In many ways, the chalk marks left on fence posts and railroad bridges across the San Joaquin Valley were more than secret symbols. They were survival maps — quiet messages from one desperate traveler to another, scratched beside the rails of California during one of the hardest eras in American history.