The handful of hobos would scatter before being seen by railroad officials, only to meet up later at the hobo jungle by Schwan Lagoon. It became a haven for tramps and drifters alike in the Santa Cruz area. Historical accounts from the period even tell of local law enforcement encountering these railroad travelers. During Prohibition, Sheriff Enoch “Noch” Alzina confronted a hobo known as “Kid” McCoy on a rainy night near the tracks, an encounter that offers a glimpse into the rough and sometimes uneasy relationship between the railroad camps and local authorities.

Schwan Lagoon itself was once a true coastal lagoon, connected to the ocean, and the railroad passed through this landscape, making the area a natural stopping point for men who lived their lives along the rails. It was in this world of freight trains, muddy tracks, makeshift shacks, and wandering men that Whitey became one of the familiar faces of the Santa Cruz railroad community. And somewhere among those drifters, beside the water's edge, the story of Whitey began.

They called him "Whitey"

A freight train hopper from the depths of Canada, Whitey made many travels throughout the years before making his final camp in the Santa Cruz area—a formidable shack near the water's edge of the small lagoon. It is believed that Whitey often jumped on and off the train at Railroad Street in Seabright during the early 1930s.

There, he would frequent the local establishments for a sandwich and an alcoholic beverage at what is now known as Brady's Yacht Club. In his disheveled attire, hair black as night, eyes blue as the sea, and red, rosy features that were the result of a life that was worn rather than lived, the aged hobo was well remembered for the songs he would sing, describing his great adventures.

One of those songs was the old hobo ballad:
“There is a lake of stew and of whiskey too, where you can paddle all around in a big canoe in the Big Rock Candy Mountains.”

Although Whitey's name certainly did not fit his physical description, one could only guess that his ghostly train hopping from destination to destination earned him the name Whitey. According to Phil Reader, in his work Whitey, the hobo's real name was John James McLaughlin, and he was described by the old-timers as having a chronic case of wanderlust.

Eventually, however, Whitey's wandering came to an end. According to the account recorded by Reader, Whitey was killed, bringing the life of the wandering hobo to a tragic end.
Perhaps it was not the end after all.

The Investigation

In March 2013, Santa Cruz Ghost Hunters was called to investigate a small restaurant known as the Surf Bistro, located directly next door to Brady's Yacht Club on Seabright Avenue, previously known as Railroad Street. Employees and patrons alike claimed to hear, see, and experience ghostly apparitions they believed to be paranormal. At the time of this investigation, S.C.G.H. was neither aware of the exact details of the nearby railroad station nor of the local hobo known as Whitey.

The description of the spectral figure given by business owner Javier Andrade Jr. and his wife was that of a male who appeared homeless yet dressed in clothing from an older period and a flat cap on his head. His wife was visibly excited as she attempted to describe what she had seen. One detail in particular was very important to her. She repeatedly described the figure as “white”—a very white face, extremely white. That specific detail caught our attention.

It was this unusual description that eventually led us, through our historical research, to the story of Whitey. The strange activity at the bistro did not stop with the apparition. Lights throughout the restaurant were reported to malfunction, repeatedly going on and off. In the kitchen, chefs and staff reported pots and pans falling from their stations without explanation. Even heavy pieces of furniture were reportedly found moved from where they had been placed, despite no living person admitting to touching them.

At the time of our investigation, none of us knew about Whitey, the old railroad station, or the history of the area.
The connection only emerged afterward.

The Surf Bistro eventually closed its doors in 2015, leaving behind an old railroad street, a collection of unexplained experiences, and one lingering question:

​Is “Whitey” the old man seen by Surf Bistro employees, revisiting his old stomping grounds? Are the station agents still wandering through this forgotten section of their once-forgotten past? Or is it simply a ghost story born from an old railroad town?

Is it a ghost—or simply a ghost story?

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Written By: Maryanne Porter;Video Enhanced: Jay Pierre Alvarez - Additional sources: Phil Reader - Whitey -S.C Photographs Provided by: Wenna Yechone / Additional Examples by Public Web Resource"http://www.santacruztrains.com"santacruztrains.com
S.C.G.H ;2013-2017.™surfbistro.allrightsreverved.®reworked2026
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          Some Call Him "Whitey"
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Today most would agree that Seabright in Santa Cruz is nothing more than a sleepy little town near the beach, with some quaint restaurants, a few dive bars, and some modest tourist attractions.

The same could be said historically as far back as the early 1800s. It was then, too, little more than a barren stretch of property, home to a few of its founding fathers, adjacent to the beautiful Santa Cruz coast and surrounded by a lagoon or two.


     What many may not know is that back in the late 1800s, Seabright, named for Seabright, New Jersey, became home to a major train station servicing passengers traveling between Santa Cruz and the Pajaro Valley. Now known as Seabright Avenue, this street was formerly known as Railroad Street. It was a sleepy little haven, home to a few dozen locals and many a sailor. The small town had a post office, grocery store, resort, and local bar, still known today as Brady's Yacht Club, among its main features. Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, the small town grew in modest popularity, and a nearby safe house was even allegedly frequented by the infamous Al Capone, throughout prohibition, but remains unsubstantiated.


​Imagine the large iron train chugging down the tracks, its chimney expelling dense smoke as the whistle fiercely blows into the morning air. The station agent steps out upon the open doorway and begins to wave his hand-held bell, alerting passengers of the upcoming stop. The massive behemoth slows to dock at the railway station, and steam begins to bellow from beneath the train as it pulls into its boarding destination. Men, women, and children begin to disembark the massive iron giant, while others wait at the station dock, their tickets in hand, preparing to board.

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Meanwhile, as passengers begin to get on and off the train amidst the hustle and bustle, hidden by the train's smoke and the morning fog, a few drifters flee from the rear freight cars, undetected by the wandering station agent. The handful of hobo's scatter before being seen by railroad officials, only to meet up later at the hobo jungle by Schwan Lagoon. It was a haven for tramps and drifters alike in the Santa Cruz area. Amongst the vagabonds, one in particular was well known.


The Hobo Jungle at Schwan Lagoon. 

Near the railroad tracks at Schwan Lagoon, a hidden community existed among the tramps and drifters who rode the rails through Santa Cruz. During the early decades of the twentieth century, men traveling by freight train would drop off near the lagoon and disappear into the surrounding brush, where they established makeshift shelters from whatever materials they could find. For those living a transient life, the area offered a secluded place to sleep, gather, share stories, and wait for the next freight train.










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