Railroad Jack’s track record is legacy of help for children

Second of two parts. Read part one.

When Harry “Railroad Jack” Cooper peeked out from beneath his two warm blankets, he liked what he saw.

The soaking rain that had been falling the night before when the “Highbrow Hobo” arrived in Charlottesville had stopped. The clear skies were a welcome sight, but not the colder temperatures.

It was Dec. 1, 1908, and there was a very noticeable nip in the air. Railroad Jack probably didn’t tarry in the stockyard where he had spent the night.

Traveling light

He certainly wouldn’t have fussed with making breakfast, seeing as how he ate only two meals a day. His meal hours were at noon and midnight and always consisted of vegetarian fare.

The affable vagabond often boasted of spending no more than 60 cents a day. He was fond of offering anyone within range of his voice “11 cents cash” if they could prove they had spent less money in the previous 30 years than he had.

“Yes, I have made a barrel of money, but the barrel is not very large,” Cooper has been quoted as saying. He also would say that he was “very sensitive about telling you what I do with my money.”

History has revealed what Railroad Jack was loath to make public about his financial habits. Every year for decades he gave $1,000 to the Michigan public school system.

In accordance with his wishes, the money was broken into $5 prizes to be given to school children who had done particularly well in their history courses. Railroad Jack also would inspire youngsters to embrace history during visits to their classrooms, where he would demonstrate his extraordinary command of historical dates, events and personalities.

Ready for challenges

Cooper would work his magic pro bono for the children, but when he was operating on college campuses or street corners, it was a different story. He would offer a dollar to anyone who could “stump” him with a question about a notable date or person.

If the questioner failed, as he apparently always did, he was expected to give Cooper a nickel. During one question-and-answer session a college student yelled out “1820.”

Cooper has been reported as firing back, “Daniel Webster was 38 years old, King George III died that year at age 82, Queen Victoria and her husband were seven and nine months of age, respectively. Pope Pius was 30 years old and Robert Fulton was 55.”

Another person asked, “What were the circumstances under which Anne Boleyn died?” Cooper’s quickreply reveals a sense of humor as sharp as his memory.

“As the result of believing in the double standard of morality, through influences of her husband, Henry VIII, the axe fell on her neck in 1536, causing her through the excitement to lose her head.”

Although Cooper’s home was wherever he happened to be, he was particularly fond of Michigan. By 1920, he was famous enough for Henry Ford to seek him out.

As the story goes, Ford walked up to him and said, “Hello, Railroad Jack, my name’s Henry Ford.”

Cooper took a look at one of the most well-known faces in the world and said, “If you’re my old friend Ford, I’m John D. Rockefeller.”

Apparently the automobile tycoon got a kick out of that and spent some time chatting with Cooper. Some accounts have Ford giving the hobo a job on the assembly line of his tractor manufacturing plant.

If Railroad Jack did take the job, it lasted for less than a week. The traveling man was a creature of the road, and that’s where he was the happiest.

In a story that appeared in the Literary Digest issue of July 2, 1921, Cooper said he had traveled at least 50,000 miles on freight trains. But as automobiles became more plentiful, he took a liking to hitchhiking.

As it turned out the automobile may have played a role in bringing Cooper’s travels to an end. In early October 1933 he was walking near Coldwater, Mich., when a car hit the little cart he was pulling and seriously damaged it.

Cooper spread his blankets in a shed behind a gas station where his cart was being repaired. Sometime during the night of Oct. 4, 1933, Railroad Jack took the ultimate journey home.

Initially, Coldwater officials didn’t know what to do with the old hobo’s remains. His family had disowned him decades before and had “no wishes” as far as funeral arrangements were concerned.

Fortunately, the story of Railroad Jack doesn’t end with him being buried in a pauper’s grave.

In 1918 he had made the acquaintance of Father Thomas R. Carey, curator of Holy Trinity School in Detroit.

The two men became close friends. When Carey was transferred to St. Thomas Church in Ann Arbor, Mich., he often invited Cooper to speak with the students at the church’s school.

As soon as Carey received word of the demise of his dear friend, he made arrangements for the body to be brought to Ann Arbor. The priest then gave the brilliant philanthropist a proper burial in the church’s cemetery.

In 1959, the memory of Railroad Jack was still alive in many minds. That year some of his Ann Arbor friends met in the Sugar Bowl Restaurant and took up a collection.

The money donated was used to purchase a headstone for Cooper’s grave.

It reads “Harry Cooper, better known as Railroad Jack,” followed by the dates and places of his birth and death.

When Railroad Jack graced Charlottesville with his presence in the late fall of 1908, he must have liked what he found. Although he had to be quickly on his way, he promised to return.

“I will visit Charlottesville when the robins nest again,” Jack said as he was leaving the office of The Daily Progress.

“There is some unfinished business Congress has left over that needs my attention, and I must hasten to Washington.”

With those words Railroad Jack continued his march into history, for the sake of history.