Tale Of The Hosie (The Hobo Newsie)

Remember the Newsies? I sure as hell don't. Never watched the movie. But I do have a vague idea about what a newsie looks like. Picture a kid out of the 20's...maybe just in his prepubescent, or even teenage, years. He's a rebellious lad, and's he'sa gonna get a whippin' when he gets home, see? His poppa works in the steel mill and his momma feeds the family what she can. His attire ironically seems sought after by the modern-day N.Y. hipster who both prides and disillusions himself into believing nobody understands him. A pair of tweed knickers held up by suspenders and a dirty t-shirt. Possibly a tweed coat and a fisherman's cap that looks like he stepped off the wharf following a long trip to sea looking for fresh grouper. His face is smudged and grubby, yet it doesn't seem to mask the innocence of his cherubic features.

That is what I believe to be a newsie.

Picture this: Post-Incubus concert. Sunday night, August 21, 2011. I'm rocking my surfer wig that was freshly brushed to remove all the greasy clumps. 2, 24 oz cans of Bud Light deep, plus some pre-concert beverages. Feeling weird. Incredible, but weird. I was in a field of people listening to my favorite band of all time, basking in sonic glory, inhaling the faint scents of mesquite fires, grape tobacco, and weed. The air is warm, but slightly cool with the breeze. I am on a high I can't even describe...I feel as though I'm on another planet. To put it short, my brain is in another place.

After probably over a mile's walk back from the Peninsula to our RV, I find myself standing in a large, pretty much vacant parking lot. My wife is next to me as we wander to the other side of the lot which is cornered by two buildings. We notice a body, lying on the pavement in the fetal position. The head is resting on the curb and is facing away from us. His clothes looks pretty normal...slightly too big, and maybe a little unkept, but nothing out of the ordinary. Jackie is convinced the person is dead, that perhaps it was someone who drank too much at the show and passed out in a parking lot...she insisted he wasn't breathing. After closer examination, I could see a light rise in the chest and pointed out that this person was most definitely alive, and if anything horrible had in fact happened to him, he most certainly would not have fallen into a perfect sleeping position with his head resting gently on the curb. This stirs Jackie even more.

"Wake him up Josh!"

"What? No! What is going on here?"

"Josh...we have to do something! At least call police!"

"Why? What is he doing wrong? He's sleeping!"

"Well we have to make sure he's ok!"

At that moment, Beau walks up behind us, and after a brief explanation, he walks right up to the guy. "Hey! Hey buddy, you ok?" No response. What happened next will forever be seered in my memory. Beau again prods, "Hey man! You ok?"

In that very split-second the guy flies up out of his fetal position, directly onto his feet. Instantaneously, we all stumble back, and Beau literally jumps backwards as he screams, "Oh shit!" The man, clearly awake now, is staring at us. My heart is beating fast....I'm worried he has a gun. I look him up and down. He is tall and lanky...taller than me. His clothes appear much bigger now...they are baggy like the old pictures of hobos. His face is a little grimy and his hair is messy. His head is as round as a basketball and guess what? He looked like a Newsie!!!!

Beau says, "Hey man....you got somewhere to sleep tonight?"

The man stares at us and nods no.

Beau replies, "Ok. Well, you gotta figure that out."

We take off running, afraid of a potential violent aftermath. I continue to glance over my shoulder and notice that he is following us. As we load the RV, I proceed to the bathroom to poop, and I raise the blinds. I peer out and notice the hobo-newsie is walking in a 5-foot diameter circle in the parking lot. Round and round he goes. Lapping circle upon circle. Where is this guy going?? I wanted to give him food, but figured his brain was probably in a much weirder state than mine, and if given the chance, he might kill me and use me as a lampshade.

And thus is the tale of the hosie.