How Times Have Changed

Following an aborted hitch-hiking trip to Alaska that ended with a night in jail in Eureka, I found myself in Livingston waiting for a ride to Cooke City where I had work.

It was hours before dawn and there was no traffic.

I curled up next to my backpack and closed my eyes.

The sound of tires crunching gravel woke me with a start. A Livingston police cruiser had stopped just feet away, and a cop, holding the passenger door open, said get in.

He drove me a few miles south of town, told me to get out, and drove away.

In 1970, that was how Livingston dealt with transients.

I wasn’t offended. It w...