Crusties: a hardened existence on the road

Reasons vary for nomadic way of life

The bridge of his nose is caked with dried blood. Beneath each fingernail is a line of dark grit. Reeking of body odor and cheap booze, he hops trains to travel and panhandles to get by. He goes only by "Mouth."

He claims he wouldn't have it any other way.

A homemade tattoo on his right thumb reads "BROKEN." It's not a metaphor for his life but refers to the thumb itself.

"I wore it out from a lifetime of hitchhiking," he laughs.

A 26-year-old originally from Seattle, "Mouth" is among dozens of itinerant, mostly young, mostly white "crusties" who pass through the city annually during the warm weather months. They arrive as stowaways on freight cars or by hitchhiking, and they stay in makeshift camps beneath Pittsburgh's many bridges.

Their appearance on the South Side is a sure sign of summer. Oakland and the North Side also are popular spots. They typically stay for a few days to a few weeks.

Many, like "Mouth," use only handles, rarely giving their real names because they have outstanding warrants across the country for offenses ranging from loitering to assault.

Though their reasons for living on the road vary, a sense of independence permeates the group-think of these tattooed nomads.

Ed Van Pelt, 26, and Terry Gobin, 23, grew up on the same street in Virginia Beach. They have adopted what they call an "anarchist lifestyle," generally disengaging from normal society.

"This is definitely an active choice," Mr. Van Pelt said.

"People assume that because we're dirty and sleeping outside, that something went wrong. That is the case for a lot of train kids, but not for us," Mr. Gobin said.

They said they both come from stable families, and they don't intend to travel forever.

"We travel because we're seeking life," Mr. Gobin said. "Others are running from it or have given up on it."

"We try to be as non-parasitic as possible," he said, explaining that they routinely get food from garbage bins outside grocery stores and in market districts such as the Strip.

"There's a bread Dumpster, a fudge Dumpster, produce Dumpsters there," Mr. Van Pelt said.

They said they almost never get sick, theorizing that their constant exposure to bacteria has bolstered their immune systems. They pick up odd jobs at times and panhandle regularly, brushing off criticism that they're sponging.

"No one has to give us anything," Mr. Gobin said.

In four years on the road Mr. Van Pelt estimates he's crossed the country dozens of times.

"Every day is different. Every city is different," he said.

But not every city is thrilled with the annual appearance of the crusties.

Cortney Buchanan, a manager at Piper's Pub and eight-year South Side resident, rolls his eyes slightly at the mention of them.

"Individually, I'm sure they have some interesting stories to tell, but as a group they're a one-trick pony," Mr. Buchanan said. He doesn't disdain their chosen lifestyle -- "Welcome to America" he quipped -- but said that if they're loitering near his establishment, he'll tell them to keep moving.

Matte Braidic, a local filmmaker and 11-year South Side resident, was less charitable.

"These gypsies are a yearly infestation that we residents must endure. They only take from us and leave a mess behind when they jump the next train out of town," Mr. Braidic said.

Aaron Sukenik, manager of business development for the South Side Local Development Co., said the crusties are an annoyance, but he stopped short of directly attributing neighborhood crime to them.

"They're certainly near the top of the neighborhood nuisance list, but I haven't seen or heard of any police statistics to indicate that they're any more of a crime problem than what we deal with on Friday and Saturday nights from unruly bar patrons."

City police officials did not return phone calls seeking comment about the travelers.

"Mama Lou" is a 32-year-old from Savannah, Ga., with pale blue eyes and a Southern drawl. She's been traveling with her common-law husband, "Link," for nearly four years.

"When you go to score pot and local drug dealers start offering you free samples of crack or heroin, then it's time to hit the road. They're trying to get you hooked as customers," she said, grudgingly admitting a past history of drug abuse.

Other crusties agreed that remaining in one place too long is an easy way to succumb to the temptations of harder drugs.

"Mouth" said he has hitchhiked and hopped trains for roughly half his life. An ex-heroin addict, he said his addiction was his impetus to hit the road.

"I traveled to kick [a drug habit] and get away from that," which, he said, he has.

Now, he can't stay put.

"I housed up [lived in the same place] for nine months once and I hated it. I love the outdoors. Being stuck in a house is the worst feeling in the world."

Link and Lou agree.

"When you're out in the woods, under your tarp and you can hear the raindrops, that is the most amazing, peaceful experience you could possibly have," Link said.

They said they prefer the country, but cities offer easier access to food, shelter, transportation, medical services -- Lou was effusive in her praise for Pittsburgh's Operation Safety Net -- and, of course, money.

Mouth said an average day of panhandling, from morning to night, nets him about $40. On Saturday afternoon on Carson Street, some people gave him pocket change or a buck or two, some politely declined.

Still others had choice words for Mouth and three and sometimes four others with him. The back-and-forth sometimes got testy.

One of the biggest points of contention: their pets. Many crusties travel with dogs for companionship and protection. Some animal lovers are not sympathetic and let them know about it.

Link has traveled with his dog, Dixie, for 10 years and will not abide criticism of his having a pet.

"My dog is with me 24/7/365. Where's their dog? At home in a crate, probably."

For some crusties, life on the streets simply is all they've ever known. Twenty-four-year-old Spaz spent Saturday sitting in a vacant Carson Street storefront, strumming a guitar and rattling off deadpan observations about the people passing by.

"Hey, mister, where did your legs go? They look invisible, wait -- oh, you're just wearing camo ..."

"Could you please spare some change, girl who just bought something, at The Exchange?"

"Hey brother, you look like you have a lot on your mind, don't be one of those guys who goes into a bell tower with a gun."

"Hey, couple holding hands, that is nice, not enough people do that anymore ..."

Spaz said he was born in Toronto to parents from Pittsburgh who were on the run from the law. He said his father is in prison for bank robbery, and he lived with his junkie mother in their car until she abandoned him around the age of 12.

He scoffs at those who say they willingly choose the nomadic, crustie lifestyle.

"I literally have no one. I have no options and nowhere to go. It's a pretty harrowing existence. I do what I have to, to survive. I'm not lazy. I play music, I sell things."

If he can scrape enough money together, he tries to find a cheap hotel room.

"I like taking showers. I like sleeping inside."

First published on June 20, 2011 at 12:00 am