Who is Bozo Texino? The Secret History of Hobo Graffiti (review)

Bill Daniel's documentary, Who is Bozo Texino? The Secret History of Hobo Graffiti, is framed as a quest. Texino is a graffiti artist whose work (a simple line drawing depicting the head of a pipe-smoking male wearing a large Stetson hat, upon which the lone star of Texas is prominently featured) has appeared on the sides of trains for generations. In spite of the relative notoriety of his work, the man himself is something of a mystery. Thus, through the documentary's title question, Daniel offers a challenge—albeit to himself—to uncover what has previously remained hidden and "secret." Daniel therefore submerges himself into hobo subculture, riding the rails with a variety of hoboes in the hope of uncovering the man behind the symbol. However, the quest for Texino's identity does not remain the documentary's central concern. Instead, it hovers in the background while Daniel offers an overview of contemporary hobo subculture and its associated outsider art. The grainy, naturally lit, black-and-white documentary, in which Daniel straddles the dual roles of participant and observer, details the results of this journey.

Daniel is a Texas native, an affiliation that suggests a regional interest in the subject matter explored. However, Daniel's interest, and indeed the documentary itself, progresses beyond regionalism and into the muddy realm of hobo mythology. Thus, although it is suggested that Texino's identity will be revealed at the end of the film—as indeed it is; he is a retired railroad engineer—Daniel is less concerned with the man behind the mask than he is with the concept of hobo myth and lore. Texino has passed into folkloric legend, and in many respects, the legend will always be more appealing than the man. This is further intimated by the variety of ways in which Texino is characterized. Barry Breakshoe claims, "Yeah, Bozo Texino, him and I got drunk one night." Road Hog USA, meanwhile, suggests, "Bozo Texino, he's a bo that rides that low line there, but I seen his handle. But unfortunately I've never had the pleasure of meeting him." Herby Mayer argues, "years ago I used to actually see the original hobo, Bozo Texino. . . . He's been dead a long time . . . All these you see now are not the real Bozo Texinos." Colossus of Roads concurs with Mayer, suggesting, "This has been carried on for at least three generations." Thus, it begins to be suggested that Bozo Texino is of more value as a symbol of both the longevity and past-focused nature of the subculture, in which concrete details, vagueness, and legend appear to hold equal importance.

Indeed, in a mirroring of form with content, Daniel, like Texino, attempts to construct an aura of anonymity, largely removing himself from the film as either a face or voice. Instead, it is the hoboes who offer the majority of the narratives featured—either on camera or via voiceover while the screen is filled with still photographs or images filmed from a moving train. Initially, the hoboes tell individual stories of riding the rails; however, their voices fade in and out, as if there is no beginning or end to an interconnected narrative that is universally hobo.

Of course, it should be remembered that Daniel is both an invasive interviewing and editorial presence, controlling the documentary's journey. Before more slippery concepts are examined, Daniel is firstly interested in pinning down the concrete aspects of hobo subculture. Thus, the first section of the film provides a certain amount of edification to the layperson, a characteristic feature of much work on the hobo. The crux of the matter, however, is the deceptively simple issue of definition, and the documentary's treatment of it is worth examining here. This issue is addressed by Road Hog USA, who states, "a tramp . . . he won't pick up a goddamn stick of wood to help. . . . Where a hobo, he'll...