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Mostly True: The West's Most Popular Hobo Graffiti Magazine
A companion piece to the author's documentary Who Is Bozo Texino? , this collection of railroad boxcar graffiti gives fascinating insight into vagabond culture. Filled with railroad nostalgia, freight-riding stories, historical oddities, and interviews with the graffiti artists themselves, this unique zine-turned-book seeks to acquaint the curious with the boxcar riders and taggers. Going beyond the graffiti itself and explaining its meaning in a larger context than simple aesthetics, this exploration examines the circumstances in which this art-on-the-move was created.
168 pages, Paperback
First published April 30, 2007
About the author
Bill Daniel
4 books1 followerBill Daniel (born 1959) is an American experimental documentary film artist, photographer, film editor, and cinematographer. He is also an installation artist, curator and former zine publisher. His full length film, Who is Bozo Texino? about the tradition of hobo and railworker boxcar graffiti was completed in 2005 and has screened extensively throughout the United States and Europe. Bill Daniel has collaborated with several artists from the Bay Area Mission School art movement, notably Margaret Kilgallen, and has worked on multiple projects with underground director Craig Baldwin. Film/video artist Vanessa Renwick of the Oregon Department of Kick Ass has been a frequent touring partner, collaborator and co-curator.
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
July 30, 2012
This is an item I got at the Chicago 'zine fest, one summer. This book is about freight train lore--hobos, freight train hopping, boxcar graffiti , especially the origins of the mysterious freight train tag of "Bozo Texino", a person wearing a cowboy hat with a pipe. Well illustrated with pictures, drawings, reprints of ads, etc. I recommend it to those interested in trains and American studies.
December 18, 2009
One of the most intriguing bearded characters in this slim zine-styled volume, Colossus of Roads, describes boxcar art in this way: “At first approached desultorily, incidentally, the process of drawing with wax crayons a character of comic proportions, who began to take on aspects of a legend in the fraternity of railroaders, began to reveal the possibilities of the ideas involved.” And what are these ideas, scattered amongst old-timer rail vernacular and photos of freight graffiti out of Laredo, Texas?
The graffiti as a mark of presence, an identity search chalked in rust, a daily communication to dissolve in the static here to random there, “derived from alienation, an attempt at transcendence” according to Colossus of Roads and intended to meet as many eyes as possible throughout North American crossings and train yards. The railroad as the system for disseminating the art, a rolling screen of familiar or mysterious icons calling out stoically from industrial anonymity to passerby in towns both unremarkable and classic. Through southern flats and midwestern plains, this is individuality making a stab at continental eternity and coming against lashing rain, chemical erosion, aggressive aerosol youth, scorching hazard but subsisting through word of mouth, name, and number.
Hobos, tramps, poke-about vagabonds, crust punks, liars, alcoholics, possible criminals (the F.T.R.A. – Freight Train Riders of America – an acronym bedded down with urban legend and media fear), and rail workers of all stripes contribute to this network of roving symbols, this graffiti binding and dividing, fraternal and aggressive, spontaneous and repetitive, claiming space to be immediately abandoned, mythologizing its own movement, recording some degree folk hero, American romanticism, fringe "freedom," underclass and economic bottom, cliche and posturing, you name it.
Authenticity, sought, overwrought, and perennially American, is marked and erased with the graffiti as closed system, as specific rail nomenclature, as tension between the boxcar and the artist and the copier and the liar. Development of moniker and sketch is the stake, then expansion of the legend across Texas up to Reno and beyond, then risk the moniker is stolen and distorted onto other freights heading opposite directions, and finally hope the sketch (Bozo Texino’s cowboy, Herby’s palm tree) is recopied and life-span extended. The photos are the best part of Mostly True, and thus the authentic versus lie versus copy versus cliche tension develops between name and image but takes an appreciative turn after barreling through South Carolina and Washington crossings and ending up documented in this volume, supported with stories ("You're Nuts; There's No Bozo Texino") handwritten far and wide to make your head spin.
Cause if Grandpa did indeed copy J.H. McKinley to become the prime purveyor of Bozo Texino, there are still a million and one stories (mostly Texan) as to the work of transformation. Our interest is encouraged not only by the material evidence of the photos, but by Grandpa’s tough-old-timer defense of his art, as when his boss at the yard tells him to quit marking the cars and he explains, “Sure enough, I told him to go fly his damn kite, you know.” Grandpa is a staunch defender of the dividing line between hobos and bums as well, always a point of interest, and he warns, “don’t you ever call a hobo a bum round me ‘cause I’ll, you know, I’ll get in your eyeball,” referring to a hobo code of ethics that (from what I’ve read) focuses on organization, self-reliance, generally positive attitudes to work and cleanliness, and skills in thriftiness. This freight graffiti reflects too the classic hobo codes thrown up on fence posts and barn sides to alert travelers to “angel food” or “homeowner with gun” or “kind lady lives here” or “talk religion to sleep in the barn” sort of statements, also an interesting component of a rail culture that I, admittedly, have had no real contact with.
Mostly True is fascinating for its languages and images buried deep in the American grain, and I'm talking about that fascination with trains, that desirable movement and romanticized freedom, a freedom maybe never there and easily hackneyed and tiresome, but a loss thereof reconciled somewhat through this rail art text. For paralleling the anonymity of these tags, in-jokes, long lost references, and obscene doodles is a certain record of American memory and forgetting. For instance...
If left-handed Grandpa did 60,000 Bozo Texino drawings in a year and 573 on January 18, 1981 specifically (according to his records presented here), who am I to be filled with anything but admiration? But if Grandpa only counted his drawings when he hit both sides of a train – despite doing “a jillion of them” overall, as he says – where are the uncounted ones, lost to some post-industrial ghost world, some folk scrap heap? Those are the images that keep you wondering how many are still making their circuit. Picture some classic Bozo Texino – the infinity hat, smart yet gentle eyes, and trusty pipe (McKinley’s style) or cigarette (Grandpa’s style) – from years back that had lost its sheen in the sleet and dust after ten-fifteen years, but then here comes an admirer to sketch it back in, revivifying it for future runs. That's the inexplicable drive and mysterious enthusiasm traced and retraced through Bill Daniel’s volume.
By the end of Mostly True all of these monikers – Herby, Coaltrain (John Easley, the original?), Matokie Slaughter, Water Bed Lou, “Tex”-King of Tramps, Bozo Texino (Grandpa + J.H. McKinley), J.B. King, Road Hog, Cardboard, Mud Up (Tommy Green: “I don’t lie, cheat, or steal”), Ho-Bro, and, most especially for me, Colossus of Roads (Gypsysphinx, Slay Spray, Buz Blurr, Breakman of Monotony) – are ever more legendary, bearded, approachable yet distant, knowable yet long gone, but from hereon to be considered every time I’m on a Polski Koleje Państwowe pociąg osobowy snaking through the Polish countryside or during the nights I dream of the sound of a Conrail freight running past Columbia Station, Ohio.
Consider what J.H. McKinley wrote in 1926: “I worked in the shops, on bridge gangs, watched engines, hostled, and in fact I did everything known to the railroad profession. I was promoted from a call boy at Pleasanton, to night roundhouse foreman at Crystal City. This was the longest distance jump I ever took in railroad circles. I finished my course in the school of experience, bitter and sweet as locomotive fireman, where the saddest words are not good bye, but do you recollect.”
What is it, really, with trains and recollection? Is it something in the toy-like tension between the rail structure and the locomotive as sheer power? What secrets do trains hold to an American promise and industrial deterioration? “Good bye” can always be replaced with an old-timer “so long,” but “do you recollect” never falters, only increasing in pulse, growing with the numbers of Bozo Texinos and Colossi of Roads crisscrossing the land. So what to recollect while you’re reading Mostly True but your own movements away and back home, raising up from Kerouac’s “October in the Railroad Earth” to think deeply about such movements, to watch those monikers and images barrel along and fade into night on the other side of the country, other side of the world, circling endlessly the infinity sign of Bozo Texino’s hat?
The graffiti as a mark of presence, an identity search chalked in rust, a daily communication to dissolve in the static here to random there, “derived from alienation, an attempt at transcendence” according to Colossus of Roads and intended to meet as many eyes as possible throughout North American crossings and train yards. The railroad as the system for disseminating the art, a rolling screen of familiar or mysterious icons calling out stoically from industrial anonymity to passerby in towns both unremarkable and classic. Through southern flats and midwestern plains, this is individuality making a stab at continental eternity and coming against lashing rain, chemical erosion, aggressive aerosol youth, scorching hazard but subsisting through word of mouth, name, and number.
Hobos, tramps, poke-about vagabonds, crust punks, liars, alcoholics, possible criminals (the F.T.R.A. – Freight Train Riders of America – an acronym bedded down with urban legend and media fear), and rail workers of all stripes contribute to this network of roving symbols, this graffiti binding and dividing, fraternal and aggressive, spontaneous and repetitive, claiming space to be immediately abandoned, mythologizing its own movement, recording some degree folk hero, American romanticism, fringe "freedom," underclass and economic bottom, cliche and posturing, you name it.
Authenticity, sought, overwrought, and perennially American, is marked and erased with the graffiti as closed system, as specific rail nomenclature, as tension between the boxcar and the artist and the copier and the liar. Development of moniker and sketch is the stake, then expansion of the legend across Texas up to Reno and beyond, then risk the moniker is stolen and distorted onto other freights heading opposite directions, and finally hope the sketch (Bozo Texino’s cowboy, Herby’s palm tree) is recopied and life-span extended. The photos are the best part of Mostly True, and thus the authentic versus lie versus copy versus cliche tension develops between name and image but takes an appreciative turn after barreling through South Carolina and Washington crossings and ending up documented in this volume, supported with stories ("You're Nuts; There's No Bozo Texino") handwritten far and wide to make your head spin.
Cause if Grandpa did indeed copy J.H. McKinley to become the prime purveyor of Bozo Texino, there are still a million and one stories (mostly Texan) as to the work of transformation. Our interest is encouraged not only by the material evidence of the photos, but by Grandpa’s tough-old-timer defense of his art, as when his boss at the yard tells him to quit marking the cars and he explains, “Sure enough, I told him to go fly his damn kite, you know.” Grandpa is a staunch defender of the dividing line between hobos and bums as well, always a point of interest, and he warns, “don’t you ever call a hobo a bum round me ‘cause I’ll, you know, I’ll get in your eyeball,” referring to a hobo code of ethics that (from what I’ve read) focuses on organization, self-reliance, generally positive attitudes to work and cleanliness, and skills in thriftiness. This freight graffiti reflects too the classic hobo codes thrown up on fence posts and barn sides to alert travelers to “angel food” or “homeowner with gun” or “kind lady lives here” or “talk religion to sleep in the barn” sort of statements, also an interesting component of a rail culture that I, admittedly, have had no real contact with.
Mostly True is fascinating for its languages and images buried deep in the American grain, and I'm talking about that fascination with trains, that desirable movement and romanticized freedom, a freedom maybe never there and easily hackneyed and tiresome, but a loss thereof reconciled somewhat through this rail art text. For paralleling the anonymity of these tags, in-jokes, long lost references, and obscene doodles is a certain record of American memory and forgetting. For instance...
If left-handed Grandpa did 60,000 Bozo Texino drawings in a year and 573 on January 18, 1981 specifically (according to his records presented here), who am I to be filled with anything but admiration? But if Grandpa only counted his drawings when he hit both sides of a train – despite doing “a jillion of them” overall, as he says – where are the uncounted ones, lost to some post-industrial ghost world, some folk scrap heap? Those are the images that keep you wondering how many are still making their circuit. Picture some classic Bozo Texino – the infinity hat, smart yet gentle eyes, and trusty pipe (McKinley’s style) or cigarette (Grandpa’s style) – from years back that had lost its sheen in the sleet and dust after ten-fifteen years, but then here comes an admirer to sketch it back in, revivifying it for future runs. That's the inexplicable drive and mysterious enthusiasm traced and retraced through Bill Daniel’s volume.
By the end of Mostly True all of these monikers – Herby, Coaltrain (John Easley, the original?), Matokie Slaughter, Water Bed Lou, “Tex”-King of Tramps, Bozo Texino (Grandpa + J.H. McKinley), J.B. King, Road Hog, Cardboard, Mud Up (Tommy Green: “I don’t lie, cheat, or steal”), Ho-Bro, and, most especially for me, Colossus of Roads (Gypsysphinx, Slay Spray, Buz Blurr, Breakman of Monotony) – are ever more legendary, bearded, approachable yet distant, knowable yet long gone, but from hereon to be considered every time I’m on a Polski Koleje Państwowe pociąg osobowy snaking through the Polish countryside or during the nights I dream of the sound of a Conrail freight running past Columbia Station, Ohio.
Consider what J.H. McKinley wrote in 1926: “I worked in the shops, on bridge gangs, watched engines, hostled, and in fact I did everything known to the railroad profession. I was promoted from a call boy at Pleasanton, to night roundhouse foreman at Crystal City. This was the longest distance jump I ever took in railroad circles. I finished my course in the school of experience, bitter and sweet as locomotive fireman, where the saddest words are not good bye, but do you recollect.”
What is it, really, with trains and recollection? Is it something in the toy-like tension between the rail structure and the locomotive as sheer power? What secrets do trains hold to an American promise and industrial deterioration? “Good bye” can always be replaced with an old-timer “so long,” but “do you recollect” never falters, only increasing in pulse, growing with the numbers of Bozo Texinos and Colossi of Roads crisscrossing the land. So what to recollect while you’re reading Mostly True but your own movements away and back home, raising up from Kerouac’s “October in the Railroad Earth” to think deeply about such movements, to watch those monikers and images barrel along and fade into night on the other side of the country, other side of the world, circling endlessly the infinity sign of Bozo Texino’s hat?
November 15, 2025
I randomly stumbled into some internet threads about monikers and a user recommended this book. I’ve always like Americana/folk art, graffiti, trains, etc so figured this would be a fun read. It’s a very unique book with lots of great stories, you can tell Bill Daniel and the other contributors really put a lot of love and effort into this book. Great to pick up on a weekend and enjoy a few sections with some coffee/tea. Highly recommend for anyone with an interest in the subject matter or who just wants to read some cool stories about unique individuals
December 30, 2025
We need more of this kinda stuff...
August 4, 2019
I enjoyed this book, but it definitely isn’t for everyone. What I loved most was the ‘out of time’ sense the reader got. Most of the stories were undated, and while the book/magazine was structured to move linearly through time, the book defied being dated. There would be antique advertisements for mail order bicycles next to stylized ads for brick and mortar stores with websites. The other interesting thing about this book was how it tried defining the hobo lifestyle through many different angles, each of them answering some questions but always asking more. It made one realize that the only way to truly understand the lifestyle would be to travel the rails, and even made it seem a desirable and honorable way to travel!
However, this books structure made it difficult to read at times, and I almost wish that I had spread it out longer so that I could have absorbed it more.
However, this books structure made it difficult to read at times, and I almost wish that I had spread it out longer so that I could have absorbed it more.
July 22, 2008
This is the companion bk to Daniel's movie "Who is Bozo Texino?" - a documentary about train graffiti. The bk includes the stuff that didn't make it into the movie &, probably, has some overlap. The layout, apparently created by Rich McIssac, Gary Fogelson, Phil Lubliner, & Sam Friedman, cd hardly be better. Framed as the "April 1908 Vol. 19, No. 7" issue of "The West's Most Popular Hobo Graffit Magazine", this has a motley plethora of interesting stuff like hobo symbols, interviews w/ train car graffitists, old & new relevant ads, &, of course, fotos of the graffiti itself. There're even a few oblique references to neoism such as Colossus of Roads' Monty Cantsin graffiti & a letter from Dave Zack. All in all, a thorough bk lovingly assembled.
November 26, 2008
this was def a fun dive into a world that i haven't thought about or know much about, but was able to gain an appreciation due to our good friend bill's obsessive dedication to the subject. there are enough snippets and funny things to look at to even please the ADD internet addict in us all. I really enjoyed the format of the old-school visually and aesthetically beautiful hobo mag, and left me wondering what was real, fake or mostly true i guess. my only complaint is that it left me wanting more.
September 6, 2009
Nicely assembled material on the Hobo and Rail worker subcultures, both of which contribute to the chalk scrawlings on freight cars. A good companion to the doc, "Who is Bozo Texino?" An interesting tidbit: controversy accompanies the practice of members of the new generation of bos retracing the faded drawings of their elders. Who would have thought the notion of the authenticity of the artist's marking gesture was so pervasive?
January 10, 2016
Just a easy read about something kind of interesting .
December 24, 2016
A true thing of beauty. I'll treasure this one. Glad to have found it.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews