Patty Perrin's "Encountering the Deaths of Innocence" (Other Views, Aug. 15) for me was a delightful and nostalgic voyage. I lived in the northeastern corner of Oregon where the hobos from the east part of the United States hopped off the freight trains so they could search for at least a meal in exchange for some work before they continued their journey. Since we lived close to a major rail yard we had many hobos knock on our door.
My mother, always a soft touch for a downtrodden person, said she was sure there was a mark on our front tree for other hobos to see. I, like Perrin, was about 5 (in 1930) when so many desperate men were leaving their homes and traveling the rails in search of any kind of work.
Maybe Patty Perrin and I met the same man. One told me he had a little girl that looked just about like me, except she had blue eyes instead of brown--I couldn't tell the color of her eyes from the snapshot he showed me because it was wrinkled and only in black and white. He said he missed her very much. He looked at me a long time and then said, "I hope I see my little girl again before she grows up."