Boxcar Bertha - Ballad Of The Broken Guitar

The latest from Boxcar Bertha, a woman that rode the rails for 30 years seeing the country as what was once called a hobo but is now labeled a freight hopper, is Ballad Of The Broken Guitar.  This is an account that evidently happened to her while on the rails because she sings the story in the first person. It is a tale that lead to confrontation, assault, and death. That the song hit very close to home was evident at the recording session, as Bertha had to take some time between takes to collect herself. A few days after we got the song on file, we called her and made sure she wanted to release it, as there is a possibility that she incriminated herself in a death. But she assured us that was not the case, and that she wanted to go ahead with the release. She emailed us the following:

I thought long and hard about recording this song, but it was something I needed to do. What happened has haunted me these past years, and it was time to deal with it. It happened early on, about six months after I went on the road. I was still learning my way, met some good folks and some not so good. The man that confronted and ultimately assaulted me was someone I had never met before. People told me after fact that he never really was 'right' in the head, and he was getting worse and worse from drug use. He had a history of assaulting and abusing women and I was determined to not be one of his victims. 

I didn't go into it in detail in the song, but his intention early in the morning was to rape me as well as smash my guitar. Once I got him off me and hit him with my guitar, I got the upper hand. I hit him with the body of the guitar, so it pretty much just broke apart without causing much damage outside of stunning him. But I hit him once with the neck of the guitar, a solid piece of wood with a steel rod called a truss rod that helps keep it stable and for fine tuning.  Yes, that's what I used on him, hit him just right with it over and over, a few time between the eyes, knocked him cold and he quit breathing. Hard to believe a guitar neck can kill someone, but it's the truth. I've never been in such a rage before then or since. Kind of zoned out, don't remember much about it until it was over.

I remember the others there told me to high tail it, they'd take care of burying him. I was determined to contact authorities, but I was advised to not do that. It would cause more trouble than it was worth. The man had no relation, at least none that cared about him. So I skeedaddled and lived with the thought of being a murderer.

Our legal advisors told us it was a story with no available witnesses (imagine trying to find a witness among a group of freight hoppers 30 years ago, many of them most likely dead) and no corpse and no possibility of finding any remains. Who knows where he was buried. So now Bertha's conscience is a little cleaner. She's been told it was all done in self defense, as who knows what would have been her fate otherwise. She could have been the one ended up in a hobo's grave. We have suggested to her to see a therapist, but that will be up to her. It is a powerful, very dark song.

 You choose life as a freight hopper
There’s things you learn really quick
Travel light, and learn how to fight
Even if you need a big stick

Carried a small bindle with me
Had most things I needed to be
Always felt home, no matter how far
As long as I had my guitar

Used to play ev’ry night ‘fore bed
By myself, but not always
Most like a song, and sing along
But this one night a man turned crazed

“Quit thumpin’ that goddam thing!
We all wanna crawl into bed!
Git it quick through, I’ll bust it in two!
Right over yer goddamed head!”

Folks came to my defense right then
But I quit playin’ you all see
He's got the right, call it a night
He don’t want to listen to me.

I took my bedroll farther down
But I had a real fitful sleep
Tossin' and turn, stomach to churn
Not very restful nor deep

It was a good thing ended up
I saw a dark shadow slinkin'
Laid really still, ready to quell
Guitar hater I was thinkin'!

Under the stars, it was him!
Tried to get my guitar near me
I had the hunch, beat him to the punch,
Grabbed it as he lurched over me

So here's the thing, my dear friends
Wasn't much I could do instead
I wrestled the thing from his hands...
AND SMASHED IT OVER HIS HEAD!

He stepped back more surprised than hurt
He come back to his wits real fast
That's when I used the guitar neck...
Kept beating on him 'til he passed...

Was sad for a long time after
Was really unhappy, a wreck
I left the rest to bury him…
But I kept that guitar neck!

Carried a small bindle with me
Had most things I needed to be
Always felt home, no matter how far
As long as I had my... guitar...