I had a Trainload of Bosses

Memories of Life on the 20th Century Limited

"The World's Greatest Train"

by

JOSEPH B. KOMONCHAK

1974

© 1974 Joseph B Komonchak
All rights reserved.

Chapter I

January, 1927 - My Introduction to the 20th Century Limited

My introduction to the 20th Century Limited came about in a rather unique way in January of 1927. I was busy at my typewriter as secretary to the Vice President and General Manager of The Pullman Company when the boss came rushing into the office. This was on a Saturday afternoon. In those days we worked half a day on Saturday and once a month you had to work to five o'clock. This was my turn to work Saturday afternoon.

In an excited voice he said, "Get your hat and coat; you're on your way to Chicago. We'll call your parents and tell them of our emergency and that you'll be back Monday."

Not knowing what this was all about, I took my derby and overcoat (I also wore spats in those days) and went with him to Track 25 where the train was getting ready to pull out at 2:45. I was told that I would get my instructions as to what my duties were from the Pullman conductor. Prior to that the only knowledge I had of the 20th Century was that it was a train. I had no idea beyond that as to what I later learned was "The greatest train on earth."

After the train got under way from Grand Central Station, I was briefly informed as to my duties; that I was to follow the Pullman and train conductors who collected the tickets, introduce myself as the train stenographer and ask them their name and what their space accommodations were, and hand them a card, acquainting the passengers as to my services, which read as follows:

"The Twentieth Century Limited Train Stenographer will, upon request, register your name in case a telegram may be received by you ... write letters or telegrams that you may wish to send ... make reservations of Pullman space beyond Chicago or New York, or reservations for return trip ... arrange for transfer of hand baggage from train to residence, hotel or elsewhere, in Chicago or New York."

One thing the card omitted was that at some stations, such as Albany and Syracuse westbound and Toledo and Cleveland eastbound we would have a telephone hookup where occasionally a passenger might want to make a phone call to his office or home. On rare occasions we would have an incoming call and with the aid of the passenger register we were able to locate the passenger in a hurry.

I was fortunate in that the Pullman conductor on that first trip was Arthur Hoffman, a gentle natured man but one who lived by the book of rules. He was a strict disciplinarian and he expected you to do whatever you had to do efficiently and in a courteous manner. ·

The reason for my hurried assignment that Saturday afternoon was that the train stenographer regularly assigned had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. He died shortly thereafter and that left a vacancy. So, every Saturday after that I made a round trip, leaving New York in the afternoon at 2:45, arriving in Chicago the next day at 9:45 A. M.; then making the return trip on the Century leaving Chicago the same day at 12:40 P. M. and arriving in New York at 9:40 Monday morning, after which I would go to the office and start my regular duties as secretary to the Vice-President.

It was only after I made a few trips that I became aware of the reputation of the Century. Never having been exposed to anything connected with railroading but commuting on the West Shore between Haverstraw and Weehawken, I knew nothing of the elegance of this world-famous train whose reputation was praised in poetry, prose, numerous newspaper and magazine articles and even a big hit Broadway play, in the early thirties, by the name of "20th Century Limited."

It was then I began to take note of the luxury that surrounded this famous train, the elegance of the decor on the interior of the cars, a cuisine in the dining car that was comparable to the restaurants of the Waldorf-Astoria, the Plaza, St. Regis and other fashionable and high-class hotels; in fact, some of the columnists who frequently rode the train called it "The Waldorf on Wheels."

This weekend assignment continued until that Spring when I resigned as secretary to the Vice-President, where I was making the magnificent salary of $26 a week, which was considered a good salary. The salary of office secretaries in those days ran between $18 and $22 a week. The salary of a train stenographer was $175 a month, plus tips.

Luckily, I was assigned to the first section of the Century, which was the first train out in the parade of Centurys making the trip. A section is a complete train, sleepers, dining car, club and observation cars. This was the section the big shots, the leaders of the business world, finance, stocks, bonds, politicians, Hollywood celebrities, stars of stage and screen, sports, arts, etc. were generally assigned to. In fact, one man in the reservation office tried as best he could to get the important people assigned to the first section.

Chapter II

The westbound Century was known as Train No. 25 and left Grand Central Station at 2:45 P. M. At two o'clock the station maintenance men rolled out a red carpet for each section of the Century leaving that day. If there were three or five sections, all the passengers would enter through the gate at Track 25 and the ticket taker would tell them where their accommodations were located and what section they were assigned to.

The porters assigned to carry passenger's luggage to the Century were handpicked men, trained by the Head Porter Jim Williams, who wore a contagious smile exposing pearly white teeth that seemed to extend from ear to ear. It was rarely that his well-trained personnel had to be reprimanded.

The train crew reported for duty at 2 P. M. and at 2:15 we began to receive passengers. We were stationed at the rear of the train near the observation car where the "20th Century Limited " light shined "like a bouquet of flowers," according to one of Christopher Morley's articles.

The crew, consisting of the Pullman and train conductors, train stenographer, and the porter stood outside on the platform; as the passengers went down the platform we smiled and if we recognized any personality or celebrity we generally said, "Welcome aboard," or "Glad to have you with us today." Later, I learned how much such a greeting built up the ego of businessmen, celebrities and just ordinary people, to be recognized was sort of a status symbol, and when I got to know some of the regular riders, I never missed the opportunity to greet them by their name.

Also, before departure, we would receive a letter from the New York Central stating "Commander Eugene McDonald, President of Zenith Radio," or some other personality high in the business world, the entertainment field, or person of some reputation would be occupying such and such a space, giving the car they were assigned to. It was not unusual on some days to receive as many as seven to ten such letters. It was through this manner that we got to know who the persons were, who they were associated with or what their reputation was.

After I was regularly assigned to the Century, I had a loose­ leaf book in which I kept, in alphabetical order, the names of the prominent people, what their business was and who their business associates or friends were, which I made good use of later. With a train made up of from 10 to 16 sleeping cars, a dining car, club and observation cars, there were many occasions when friends and associates were occupying space on the same train unaware of each other.

Chapter III

Unusual Experiences and Episodes

Now to get on with my recollection of some of the unusual experiences and episodes.

Once we were receiving at the LaSalle Street Station in Chicago when down the platform came Maurice Chevalier with two big wolfhounds on a leash, accompanied by a swarm of photographers, who at that time used the powder flash for taking pictures. With so many flashes going off, it looked like a Fourth of July celebration. The Pullman conductor was Arthur Hoffman, the man who lived by the book of rules. As Chevalier proceeded down the platform to his drawing room and two compartments, Mr. Hoffman asked me to come along. Any time anything unusual happened we were instructed to bring someone along as a witness to whatever went on.

After much picture taking, the smiling Chevalier started to climb the steps with his two wolfhounds when he was interrupted by Mr. Hoffman, who told him that no animals were permitted to ride with human beings, according to an ICC ruling. Mr. Chevalier pleaded that he had reserved two compartments especially for the dogs and that the animals would be confined to the compartments and there was no need to worry about them getting out. Mr. Hoffman insisted that the dogs go up to the baggage car where the animal pets were usually placed. Chevalier was outraged, and he appealed to Clair Hardigan, the Stationmaster at the LaSalle Street Station for some assistance. When Mr. Hardigan tried to placate Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Hoffman pulled out his watch and said to him, "Mr. Hardigan, you have ten minutes to get another conductor, if those dogs don't go up to the baggage car." A more frustrated Frenchman you never saw as he escorted the dogs to the baggage car where he spent a good deal of the trip with the dogs.

A frequent traveler on the Century was Clarence Barron , at that time publisher of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL. He was a rotund, bearded man who looked every part of belonging to Wall Street. He was usually accompanied by two male secretaries to whom he alternately dictated for a good part of the trip, with telegrams and messages being dispatched at almost every stop. I never had occasion to do any work for him.

My attention was called to him by one of the dining car stewards telling me about his tremendous appetite. He would sometimes eat the equivalent of two complete dinners. Russian caviar was expensive in those days and cost something like $18 a pound and the dining cars only carried a pound because there wasn't that much call for it. There were times when he would consume the entire pound and then go on to eat a dinner after that. He was a good tipper, so he was always given special treatment, which was one reason to remember him.

Another bearded man was Monty Woolley , who played character parts in many movies requiring a man with a beard. He always carried a book, which he never seemed to read. It wasn't until I saw him open the book that it wasn't a book but that it contained a bottle of Jack Daniels, his favorite bourbon. This was in the days of prohibition when liquor was not sold on the trains.

Another notable passenger who made frequent trips was Spencer Tracy; sometimes we thought he commuted between Hollywood and New York. At times he would get so intoxicated the porter couldn't awaken him to make up his bed, and he would sleep through the night in his seat. In the morning he drank countless cups of coffee.

We had one passenger, if my memory serves me correctly, by the name of Nathan Rothstein, who made frequent trips on the Century. He would receive a telegram en route and after the receipt of the telegram would call the Pullman conductor and tell him that he was sick and wanted to get off at the next station. This always seemed to be on the westbound trip from New York. This happened to me several times, and the other train stenographers said they experienced the same thing. In reading the undelivered telegrams from the other sections, we found nothing to indicate anything unusual, 'just some sort of greeting. Then at Buffalo some railroad detectives and other men would inquire if Mr. Rothstein was aboard, and, of course, we would tell them he got off the train not feeling well.

note by Jim O'Brien - It appears the man referred to above as Nathan Rothstein may have been Arnold Rothstein, who was a notorious gangster purported to have been the man behind the 1919 Black Sox fixing of the World Series.
Arnold Rothstein was murdered in November, 1928

One night when we got to Buffalo around midnight, and as the train came to a stop two railroad detectives and two other men immediately sought me out and asked for my passenger register, which they literally ripped out of my hands, and then went looking for Rothstein. Of course, at this time of the night all overhead lights in the car were extinguished and only the small night lights located just enough light to see where to walk. Mr. Rothstein's accommodations were in Lower 6 or 8. In the dark it was hard to distinguish between a 6 and an 8.

The detectives, and what I later learned were two men from the Treasury Department, in their anxiety to arrest Mr. Rothstein, went to the wrong berth and literally yanked the man from his berth and took him and his luggage to the men's washroom where they proceeded to go through his baggage. The man was protesting that he was not Rothstein, that his name was so and so and that he was an officer of one of the banks in a Chicago suburb. When he proved to them who he was, they went to the correct berth and took Rothstein out of his berth, had him get dressed and took him and his luggage off the train.

We knew we would have trouble for disturbing and roughing up the wrong man, so I immediately wrote up a report of the incident, which was witnessed by the Pullman and railroad conductors and the porter, giving our version of the events, which I filed upon completion of the trip. We all apologized to the man for this disturbance, but he informed us we would be hearing from his lawyer. It was fortunate for me that I filed the report upon arrival at Chicago because the detectives and the two Treasury agents gave statements that I had given them the wrong berth.

It turned out that Mr. Rothstein was a big narcotics peddler and that they had been trying to nab him for over a year. The telegrams he had previously received en route were tipoffs that they would be waiting for him either at Buffalo or Chicago. I never did hear the outcome of the lawsuit, and I was never called to testify.

Eccentrics

Some of the people could be called eccentric because of their peculiar behavior. One of them was Joseph Schenk, one of the big movie makers of that period. While he never did this to any of the train stenographers, he would always do it to the waiters in the dining car. At that time the usual tip for a waiter was a quarter or a half dollar, but Schenke would throw a $5 bill on the floor for the waiter, but the waiters were instructed not to pick it up until he had left the dining car, usually grinning from ear to ear.

note by Jim O'Brien - Joseph M. Schenck was a Russian immigrant who with Darryl Zanuck founded Twentieth Century Pictures in 1933. Schenck merged the business with Fox Film Corporation in 1935 to form 20th Century Fox

Musicians

Some of the world's most renowned musicians of that era rode the Century for engagements in various parts of the country, and it was not unusual to hear someone like Fritz Kreisler or Mischa Elman playing tunes on their violins, but not without first asking us or they themselves asking their fellow passengers if their playing would be annoying. We were thus treated to a concert without having to pay for it.

Frequently before retiring after leaving Buffalo, I would go to the rear observation car and stand out on the platform to get some fresh air. On one occasion while standing on the deck platform, which could generally hold six people, John McCormack, the famous Irish tenor, came and joined me and exercised his vocal cords with an aria from one of the operas.

On another occasion Lily Pons or Madame Maria Jeritza, two famous Metropolitan opera stars -- I don't recall which now -- did the same thing.

In the operatic and concert world, in addition to the ones I previously mentioned, were Gana Walska, Mary Garden, Tito Schipa and Richard Bonelli , the latter two well-known Metropolitan stars.

Merle Armitage, a prominent concert agent at the time, rode the rails almost on a commuter basis between New York and Chicago.

The club car, at the head of the train, was a place where many people congregated to relax. This was during prohibition, as I mentioned before, when liquor wasn't dispensed on the Century, but many people brought their own in silver or gold flasks. They would order their mixers from the club car waiter and socialize in the club car. There were four booths where some people would be playing cards or just conversing. Many people would come up to the club car while their beds were being made and then return to their berths, while others stayed to make revelry.

On one occasionAl Jolson and Eddie Cantor happened to be on the same train. They came up to the club car where they had some refreshments after many of the passengers had retired, and as the evening wore on and the liquor flowed they started singing. I remember Al Jolson singing "Mammie," and "Sonny Boy," and perhaps a few other songs, while Eddie Cantor sang "If You Knew Susie Like I Knew Susie," and some other current popular hits.

When he wasn't traveling in a private car on a concert tour, Jan Paderewski, the great Polish pianist, traveled on the Century. While in a casual conversation with him, he told me that he still practiced by the hour and that when he finished he would rub his hands with olive oil, which I later did when I had a hard day in the courts and my fingers stiffened.

note by Jim O'Brien - Ignacy Jan Paderewski was a Polish pianist and composer, politician, statesman and spokesman for Polish independence. His musical fame opened access to diplomacy and the media.
Paderewski played an important role in meeting with President Woodrow Wilson and obtaining the explicit inclusion of independent Poland as point 13 in Wilson's peace terms in 1918, called the Fourteen Points. He was the Prime Minister of Poland and also Poland's foreign minister in 1919, and represented Poland at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919. He served 10 months as prime minister, and soon thereafter left Poland, never to return.

Commander Eugene McDonald, one of the Founders and President of Zenith Radio, was a handsome executive type man. He was supposed to have been associated with some Arctic Expedition. He was the owner of the Mizpah, the largest fresh water yacht in the world at that time. He had a sharp eye for good looking women and would generally wind up in the club car socializing with them.

At some of the shooting the breeze sessions that we occasionally had after a trip, we would tell some of our experiences and episodes that we experienced. I remember one that was told by one of the stenographers about McDonald. He had gathered with some friends in the dining car after the dinner hour and after discussion between themselves, he pulled out a gun and shot out six of the dining car lights, and those who didn't get excited and run from the car, applauded his marksmanship.

I remember on at least three occasions having Evalyn Walsh McLean on the train. She was the owner of the world-famous Hope diamond. Although we would know who she was (having received a letter from the railroad officials about her being aboard), when asked for her name she would say "Evalyn Walsh McLean, Evalyn with an "a" and "Mc," not "Mac." She would be bedecked with all kinds of jewelry, which some of the railroad personnel said was costume jewelry, the real gems resting in some bank vault. She would generally be traveling with her personal maid and always occupied a drawing room and compartment.

The Century was so well thought of that in the early thirties Charles MacArthur (Helen Hayes' husband) and Ben Hecht, who previously had produced the famous Broadway play, "The Front Page," produced the play "20th Century Limited," which was a big hit on Broadway and ran for a couple of seasons. While I never saw the play, I was told by some of the stenographers who did that the scenery of the entire play was based on exact replicas of Pullman sleepers and dining cars.

In my scrap book, I found an editorial from the NEW YORK WORLD for January 9th, 1930, commenting on the names of great trains, which read as follows:

"Of course, there is the name of names for anything pulled by the Iron Horse, a name so superb that one is almost tempted to say that after it there are no others. It was given that train of which the New York Central was so proud, and it is a name so magnificent that it should never be printed save in capital letters, thus: THE TWENTIETH CENTURY LIMITED."

Another incident that I would like to mention, although it was not on my section and which we did not learn of until sometime after, was that Lord Joseph Duveen bought Thomas Gainsborough's famous painting "Blue Boy", which he purchased from the Duke of Westminster for $620,000 for a California collector and that it was brought aboard the Century to his room while on each side of him were two Pinkerton men, who were on constant guard for the entire trip. The stenographers remember Duveen because he was a lavish tipper, giving $10 bills to those who rendered any kind of service to him.

Hairpin Goldberg

Another frequent passenger was a man who always identified himself as "Hairpin Goldberg." He was supposed to have been the largest hairpin manufacturer in the world and would make hairpins of every description, even gold ones for some of Europe's royalty as well as rich American women. He was a funny looking little man, giving you the impression of a monkey, but a very generous soul. As he would come strolling down the platform, we would always welcome him with "Glad to see you again, Mr. Goldberg," or some such friendly greeting and he would just beam from ear to ear. Sometime during the trip, he would go to the stenographer and ask him how many porters there were on the train. After getting the number he would give us money for each of the porters exclusive of the car in which he had accommodations and would give us $5 for ourselves even though you never did anything for him.'

On my last trip I had occasion to have him as a passenger, along with his wife, a short, dumpy, Jewish looking woman, and two beautiful children. I couldn't understand how two such homely looking people could have such beautiful children. He was on his way to Saratoga Springs where he had purchased a big mansion from some well-known editor, whose name escapes me now.

He told me he would not ride on the Century unless he could get accommodations in a porter’s car; as I remember it, the porter’s last name was Washington. He told me the story that when he was just starting out in business he was traveling on the Century when he got terribly sick and thought he was going to die.

Pullman Company for years conducted programs for training their personnel in first aid, which were not compulsory to attend but which they encouraged their employees to participated in. Porter Washington was one of those who attended faithfully and learned how to meet certain situations and administer to sick passengers. Goldberg was apparently suffering from stomach disorder, so Washington took him to an empty compartment and gave him, as I recall some winter­green, which apparently did the trick. Goldberg could delay his trip until he knew Washington would be making the trip, either from New York or Chicago, he thought so much of him.

Immediately after this incident, he wrote to the company to find out who the porter was, came east and bought him a home some place on Long Island, then asked him if he had any money to invest and Washington gave him $1,000 which he invested in his hairpin business, which he told him at that time was worth in the neighborhood of $25,000.

He also told me that in the mid-twenties he almost went bankrupt when bobbed hair, first introduced by some Hollywood actress, became the rage and made hairpins useless but then he invented the bobby pin, which put him back on his feet again.

Athletes and Sports Writers

Many sports figures and sports writers frequently graced my passenger lists. Some of those I remember were Floyd Gibbons (I believe he was a radio broadcaster), with the patch on one eye, lost, I believe, while covering some assignment in World War I, Heywood Broun, with his baggy trousers, (he always looked like he slept in them), Bugs Baer, Grantland Rice, Robert Benchley, Bennet Cerf, Ford Frick, Jimmy Powers, Dan Parker and others who were prominent columnists of that era.

I remember Bill Tilden, who dominated the men's tennis world at that time, and Helen Wills Moody, the women's national tennis titleholder.

The boxing world was represented by such champions as Gene Tunney, King Livinsky, Ernie Schaff, heavyweights, Tony Canzonari, lightweight titleholder, as well as many other well-known fighters. Tex Rickard, who promoted the second Dempsey-Tunney fight at Soldier's Field in Chicago was another well-known sports figure I met. .

One of the train stenographers, whose name I can't recall at this time, had resigned to take a job as Gene Tunney's private secretary after Tunney became heavyweight champ.

I believe it was in 1928 (The fight was actually on September 22, 1927) when the second Tunney-Dempsey fight was held that I was on the last section of the Century out of New York, which was made up strictly of private cars. Such millionaires as Bernard Gimbel, head of Gimbel Brothers, one of the Fleishman's of yeast fame, John J. Rascab, a well-known builder, William S. Todd, head of Todd Shipyards, and there might have been a few more, each with his own group of friends made up the train out of New York.
At Albany we picked up four cars which came down from Speculator, NY where Tunney had been training for the fight, for the trip to Chicago. I recall that Tunney's secretary gave me two ringside tickets for the fight. As I recall they were $40 seats, which I later learned were something like fifty rows back from the ring. I never saw the fight because I sold them. At that time my father had been recuperating from two broken legs which he received in a railroad accident and I was the breadwinner of the family and the $80 meant more to me than seeing the fight. I listened to it over the radio at the Atlantic Hotel.

Banking and Business World

Judge Kennesaw Mountain Landis, at that time Head Commissioner of Baseball, was a frequent Century rider.

Lord Birkenhead, former Lord Chancellor of England, Lord Joseph Duveen, who I mentioned before, and Desmond Fitzgerald, Minister of Defense of the Irish Free State, were some of the famous members or royalty that I encountered.

Sir George Hubert Wilkins, arctic explorer, just back from his North Pole expedition, and his wife Suzanne, and Dr. Hugo Eckener, Master of the Graf Zeppelin, made trips with me.

John D. Rockefeller, grandfather of Governor Rockefeller, was a rider we all came to dislike. I never had occasion to do any work for him. Although he was a multimillionaire, he was very tight with his money. No matter what services you performed for him, he gave you a nice new shiny dime. The average tip to a porter in those days was a quarter or half dollar and John D. would pose for photographers showing him giving a brand-new dime to the porter. Maybe that's why I don't like Rocky.

The banking and business world and Wall Street were always well represented on the Century's passenger list; such luminaries as Rufus Dawes, brother of Vice-President Charles K Dawes, a Chicago banker; Otto Kahn, and George F. Baker, New York bankers, and Richard Whitney, who I believe was head of the New York Stock Exchange and later sent to prison for some stock manipulations,as well as the giant of Wall Street, J. P. Morgan.

note by Jim O'Brien -- Wikipedia described Whitney's downfall as follows - While Richard Whitney was assumed to be a brilliant financier, he in fact had personally been involved with speculative investments in a variety of businesses and had sustained considerable losses.

To stay afloat, he began borrowing heavily from his brother George as well as other wealthy friends, and after obtaining loans from as many people as he could, turned to embezzlement to cover his mounting business losses and maintain his extravagant lifestyle. He stole funds from the New York Stock Exchange Gratuity Fund, the New York Yacht Club (where he served as the Treasurer), and $800,000 worth of bonds from his father-in-law's estate. In early March 1938, his past began to catch up with him when the comptroller of the exchange reported to his superiors that he had established absolute proof that Richard Whitney was an embezzler and that his company was insolvent.
Within days, events snowballed, and Whitney and his company would both declare bankruptcy. An astonished public learned of his misdeeds on March 10 when he was officially charged with embezzlement by New York County District Attorney Thomas E. Dewey. Following his indictment by a grand jury, Richard Whitney was arrested and eventually pleaded guilty. He was sentenced to a term of five to ten years in Sing Sing prison. On April 12, 1938, six thousand people turned up at Grand Central Terminal to watch as a scion of the Wall Street Establishment was escorted in handcuffs by armed guards onto a train that delivered him to prison.

My scrap book reads like a Who's Who in Business, recording such names as Marshall Field, head of a large Chicago department store; R. I. Bently of the DelMonte Food business; Elbert H. Gary, either President or Chairman of the Board of U. S. Steel; Harold F. McCormick, head of the harvester and reaper firm; Silas H. Strawn, attorney and Chairman of the Board of Montgomery Ward; John A. Topping, Chairman of the Board of Republic Iron and Steel; George B. Cortelyou, President of Consolidated Gas.

Also, William Wrigley, Jr., Chairman of the Board of the Wrigley Chewing Gum firm and owner of the Chicago Cubs and Wrigley Field; Melvin Taylor, Chicago banker; Walter S. Gifford, President of American Telephone and Telegraph; George B. Everett, President of Montgomery Ward; Frank C. Wetmore, President of the First National Bank of Chicago; Leonard C. Welling; head of the Radio Manufacturers Association that sponsored a big million dollar radio show; David Sarnoff, then Vice President of RCA; Robert M. Hutchins, President elect of the University of Chicago, the youngest president of a large university at that time; W. Rufus Abbot, President of the Illinois Bell Telephone; Julius H. Barnes, Chairman of the Board of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce.

Owen D. Young, Chairman of the Board of General Electric and later RCA was a frequent rider, as well as Myron C. Taylor, President of Standard Oil of New Jersey; James Simpson, President of Marshall Field, Cornelius F. Kelly, President of Anaconda Copper, Julius Rosenwald, head of Sears Roebuck, who would receive telegrams at almost every stop, also a well­ known Chicago philanthropist; George M. Reynolds, Chairman of the Board of Continental Illinois Bank and Trust; and names like Armour, Swift, Cudahy, Wilson and other meat packing families were among our well-known riders, along with Samuel lnsull, head of the Midwest Utilities, and his brother Martin. I believe Martin related to some Chicago bank, but he frequently rode the Century.

Chapter IV

In connection with Mary Garden, I remember an incident where she was to star in a new opera. The composer conductor had sent the musical score for this opera to Chicago while he was in Europe and from the story told to me the composer got stuck in Europe, missing his boat and arriving in New York two days before the opening of the new opera.

Merle Armitage, the concert agent I mentioned earlier, came east from Chicago with some of the score which they didn't quite understand, and which needed some clarification, to meet the composer conductor upon his arrival. They discussed the matter between themselves and the composer conductor said, "Too bad there isn't a piano on the Century," wherein Armitage put in a call to the New York Central to see if they could put a piano aboard. They informed him it would be okay in the baggage car, which was at the head of the club car. We saw the piano being placed aboard and after the train left Grand Central Station the two of them went to the baggage car where they practiced until the wee hours of the morning, some of which I observed and heard in the baggage car. Just another example of "The show must go on."

On one of the trips we had the then famous Pussyfoot Johnson, a federal agent in the Alcoholic Division during prohibition, whose picture made headline news when they raided some big stills that were in operation, particularly in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia and some of the other. big cities. On one trip he got so loaded the porter had to get a wheelchair to wheel him to a taxi to be brought to his hotel.

Another frequent rider who had an eye out for pretty women was the head of the American Chain Company. He, too, like some of the other wolves, would roam the length of the train and would invariably come up to the club car and say something like, "That woman in lower 12 in car 259, I met her some place, but I can’t recall her name."

It was against the rules to give out such names and I would remind him that it was not proper for me to give him the name, and he would pat me on the back and tell me the Pullman Company should be proud of such people who stick to the rules. But as soon as I left my desk, where we had to leave the passenger list, he would look up the name and the next time I went by lower 12 in car 259 there he would be talking casually with the lady or they would wind up in his drawing room or in the club car having a drink.

On one such occasion he and the lady got more than slightly inebriated, and I guess his persuasions weren't enough to get her to accompany him back to his drawing room. It was late in the evening and there were only a few passengers in the club car when he came to me and asked who had the authority to marry them. I informed him I didn't think there was anyone on board who could do so, but he said if the captain of a ship could marry people, someone on the train should have that authority. Of course, I told him the conductor was the head man and in a light banter between us he said I should do it. This went on for several minutes and in a joking manner I picked up one of the telephone books that was on my desk and said something like “I pronounce you man and wife." Of course, the passengers in the club car were all amused by the incident. After giving me a tip, they headed for his drawing room.

The next morning, he came up to me and asked me for the loan of $10 until he got to his hotel, because he had been "rolled" by his companion of the night before. When he gave me the tip the night before, he peeled it off a roll of bills, which he apparently dropped on the floor instead of putting it in his pocket because when I got up the next morning, there was this roll of bills on the floor.

When something like this is found, you always called the Pullman conductor and both counted the money, noted the denominations and put it in an envelope, sealing it and signing our names on the envelope. When I told him he had dropped his roll, he was a happy man. If memory serves me correctly, it was about $500. I don't recall how much he gave me for my honesty.

One sultry hot afternoon I had received a telegram at Toledo for a woman occupying a drawing room with some companions in the adjoining room. In those days, before air conditioning, while each room had a fan and there were screens on the windows, it just blew the hot air around. When I rang the buzzer for the drawing room, a voice from inside said, "Come in." I opened the door and much to my surprise there were four women playing cards naked from the waist up. I immediately closed the door saying something like "Excuse me," when a voice from inside said, "Come on in; we don't bite."

I reentered the room and gave the telegram to her and she asked me to wait as she wanted to reply to the message. Meanwhile I am standing there looking at the ceiling and perhaps a glance at the women and I must have been blushing because one of the women said, "What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen women's breasts before?" (only she didn't use that language), to which I replied, "Only in burlesque," which almost broke up the card game in laughter.

On one eastbound trip as usual I went through the train taking the passenger register. I came to a room occupied by an older woman and a young beautiful blond, both of whom refused to give their names, which was not unusual. At our first stop, which was Elkhart, Indiana, I received a telegram for Jean Harlow. I had never heard the name before and knew nothing of her movie career prior to that. As events later turned out, Jean and her mother were coming east for the premiere of "Hell's Angels" her first big picture, in which she starred with James Hall and Ben Lyon.

The picture was produced by a young millionaire by the name of Howard Hughes, who had made a fortune in Hughes Oil Company and Hughes Tool Company, and at the age of 26 ventured into the movie business. The picture, according to the press releases, involved 87 airplanes, a German Gotha bomber and a Zeppelin, 137 pilots, a camera crew of 35 and 20,000 extras, a fantastic undertaking at the time. The picture cost four million dollars to produce, another fantastic figure, and was planned first as a silent movie but then changed to a talkie. Hughes had learned to fly when he was 14 and even in those days shunned publicity. He, also, rode the Century quite frequently.

To get back to Jean Harlow, if we didn't have the passenger's name on our list it was our custom to go through the train paging the person. In this case I went through the train paging Jean Harlow. Shortly after I got back to my desk I was asked by the porter. to go to a drawing room in his car, which was occupied by these two women, where the mother did most of the talking.

She asked me if she could read the telegram for Jean Harlow. I left the drawing room and a short while later I was asked to return to the same drawing room. At that time the mother told me her daughter was Jean Harlow but they didn't want anyone to know of their presence on the train, and then went on to tell me there was some rivalry at that time between Billy Dove Marlene Dietrich and her daughter Jean for Howard Hughes: affections, and that Billy Dove had vowed that Jean would never get to New York for the premiere opening. Apparently, there was scheme to get her off the train to miss the opening, which was scheduled for the next day.

When Jean showed me some identification, I gave her the telegram, which she and her mother read, returned it to me and asked me to seal it and have it marked “undelivered."

Both at Toledo and Cleveland I was approached by some men who apparently were police or detectives who asked me if I had a Jean Harlow aboard, and having been instructed not to divulge their presence, I said, no. They said she was a "platinum blond," an expression I had never heard of before. I told them there were a few blonds on the train, that they could go through to see if anyone answered that description, which they did. Of course, the door to Jean's room was closed so they didn't see her.

When the train got to Buffalo, again I was met by a few more men, who this time flashed their badges as police officers, asking if l had a Jean Harlow aboard, and, again, I told them what I told the others at Toledo and Cleveland. Again, they used the expression "platinum blond." It just so happened that our conversation was just outside the window of the drawing room occupied by Jean and her mother and they overheard the whole conversation.

After the train left Buffalo I was again summoned to their drawing room and asked about what other stops the train made. I told them Rochester, Syracuse and Albany, arriving in Albany early in the morning.

After leaving Albany I again responded to a call from them and asked if there was some stop near New York where they could get off and if it was possible to send a telegram. I told them our next stop would be Harmon where we changed from steam engine to electric but that we made no stops before Harmon. She said it was very important that they get a message off to a man by the name of Griffith, who at that time published a stage­screen newspaper that came out only on Sunday. She wrote the message and I told her I would see what I could do.

I then employed a means which we used only in emergency cases. I consulted the railroad engineer, told him the story and he agreed to signal the engineer (I believe it was three short pulls on the emergency cord, and the engineer would respond with three short blasts on the whistle that he got the message) to slow down at the next station so I could throw the telegram off, wrapped in a newspaper, with a note to the stationmaster that it was urgent that he send it immediately to the party to whom it was addressed. Any requests such as this from the Century were given priority and apparently the message got through because when we arrived at Harmon, Mr. Griffith was there to greet them.

When I returned to tell them I got the telegram off, they asked me to join them at breakfast in their drawing room. I accepted, of course. After all, how many times do you get an offer to have breakfast with a movie star? We had small talk conversation between us, in which I was asked if I was married, and I told them I was and that we were expecting our first very shortly. Her mother, who did most of the talking, said they would be happy to have us as their guests in their box at the premiere opening, which I had to decline because it was late August and we were expecting, so we thought, in early September. Estelle, of course, wasn’t born till October 23rd.

Jean did, however, give me an autographed picture, which I still have among my souvenirs. It was only in later years that she was labeled a sex queen. The thing I remember most about her was her face and her beautiful hair. It was indescribable. So many blonds look artificial, but her hair was, as the picture's publicity people said, "platinum." It was beautiful.

One other incident about a stage star, Helen Morgan, a singer who would generally sit on top of a piano while singing. She boarded the train at Chicago and received about six orchids from her many admirers. In those days, orchids were very expensive. It was the custom of the employees if anyone had an orchid to have it placed in the refrigerator in the club car and would be given to the recipient just before we reached New York to wear. The next morning, I brought the six orchids to her; she picked out the largest two and gave me two and the colored maid on the train two. One of mine I gave to Bess Foley, the woman who handled the train stenographers’ assignments, and the other I brought home, which I was going to give to mom, who at that time was my fiancée. Her stepfather was a big kidder who would rib the hell out of you about such things as bringing flowers to a girl and when I approached the house he was on the side porch talking to someone and being sheepish, not wanting to be called a sissy, I threw the orchid under the porch never saying anything to anyone about it until I was going home, at which time I gave it to her, which I am sure she would like to have smashed over my head.

Chapter V

People I worked with

Now, some recollections about the people I worked with. First, I will take up the dining car stewards.

The ones I recall best were Tom O'Grady and Tom Walsh, both of whom spoke with a thick Irish brogue, Harry Taggert, and Smitty, whose first name I don't recall. These stewards were tops and knew the culinary likes and dislikes of many of the regular passengers and it was not unusual for them to consult me as to who we had on board and if they were well-known regulars they would generally go to their accommodations advising them what was on the menu or if there was something special they could prepare for them. This kind of service endeared them to the hearts of the regulars.

Although I only saw this performance once, I recall that this was discussed every time Walter Chrysler was a passenger. Just before bedtime Chrysler would go to the dining car and ask for grapefruit for each member of his party, then would proceed to cut out the fruit himself with his pocket knife, eat the fruit and then fill the grapefruit shell with his favorite high proof cognac, set it aflame and when it cooled would drink it.

It was a well-known fact among railroad personnel that Joseph Medill Patterson wanted to set Tommy Walsh up in business in New York in a high-class nightclub type of restaurant, which Tommy declined.

Speaking about food served on the Century, every fall buyer for the railroad would purchase most of the prize beef at the Annual Stockyards Show in Chicago offering the prize steaks to their Century clients at that time for $1.50.

Perhaps a few words about some of the train stenographers that worked with me. I remember some of their names, but others escape me.

The most notorious was Tommy Ryan, who hailed from Chicago. He had been a hearing reporter for the Chicago Police Department. It was rumored he was involved in an investigation and resigned from that position. It was Tommy Ryan who procured most of the free passes to the Chicago theatre, ball park, racing tracks, etc.

One of our frequent passengers was another Mr. Goldberg, a partner in the firm of O'Connor and Goldberg, who operated a chain of expensive shoe stores in Chicago and the Midwest. If Goldberg had occasion to use your services, such as sending a telegram or receiving one, he would give you his personal calling card and on the reverse side would write "Good for one pair of shoes." I only had occasion to get one pair of O'Connor and Goldberg shoes, but Tommy would manage to get a card every time he saw Goldberg; in fact, he would sell you the card for half the price of the shoes.

The dean of the train stenographers was a man by the name of Bill Marr a small man in stature, and when I first met him he was in his early sixties. He was a retired shorthand school teacher having taught in one of the schools over the line from Chicago in Indiana (Gary or some other close by city). He was a bachelor whose nearest relative was a nephew who lived in England. Bill carried a Gladstone bag, as most of us did, but his was a special bag. The only clothes he would carry were two celluloid collars which he would wash in water after each trip. He wore his shirts until they were practically black and would replace them when threatened by the Pullman conductor for his appearance.

Bill was a great horse player, but not a big bettor. The Gladstone bag I mentioned was one that he had made which consisted of compartments somewhat on the style of a file cabinet. His hobby was keeping records of the results of the races of several race tracks. You could name a horse and he would reach into his bag pull out a card and tell you what the track record performance; for the horse was. He spent most of his time on the train keeping those records up to date. He avoided doing any work on the train as much as he could.

Bill would daily bet $2 on a horse which he felt was a sure winner and also bet on a four-horse parlay? It was difficult enough to pick two horses, but four horses were something else. He wouldn't play this parlay by himself but would ask three of us to contribute fifty cents each to make up the $2 bet. His system was to bet on a sure winner in the first race, say a horse that paid a $4 to win. In the second race he would pick a horse that paid a little bigger odds, say something like $8. If that horse won he would now have $32 riding on the third race where he picked a horse with still bigger odds, say twelve to one. If that horse won, he would have quite a bundle going on the fourth race a horse that was a long shot. It was remarkable how many times he picked three races but lost out in the fourth. About three or four times a year his system clicked, and he would get somewhere between $800 to $1200 for the $2 bet, which he would then share with his co-bettors. I was never lucky enough to be one of the winners.

We had two other fellows who worked out of Chicago, Jimmy Smith, a short fellow who reminded me somewhat of Mickey Rooney, who was always clowning. He knew all the ways to get something for free. For instance, he would go to the barber school in Chicago to get his hair cut where the students practiced on him under the direction of an experienced barber. He would go to the University of Chicago Dental School to have his teeth fixed. He would go to the various stockyards just before lunch and mix with the tourists who were generally invited to the restaurant where they would sample free pork chops, lamb chops, hot dogs, etc.

Another stenographer was Lenny Hand, who hailed from Iowa, the tall corn country, as he would say, but unlike Bill Marr, Lenny was a big gambler at the race tracks, but you never heard him speak about his losses, only when he won.

We had a barber on the train whose name was Al Romano who considered himself a fashion plate. He wore the flashiest clothes and when Al Smith ran for the Presidency in 1928 he took a leave of absence to be on the train with him and his entourage.

Another barber was a man by the name of Martin Delfell, who spoke with quite a German accent. Most of the personnel I worked with were big racing fans, Arlington track in the daytime for the flat races and the dog tracks in Cicero at night. I only have a recollection of going to Arlington twice and once to Cicero. At that time being the support of the family, I couldn't afford the luxury of betting on horses and dogs. Of course, each one had their favorite system of rating the horses or dogs, consulting racing forms, the daily newspapers with their favorite offerings, etc., but Martin had his own system, which we called the Delfell system. Martin would go up to the fence just before the start of the race where the horses came out and paraded before the stands before going to the starting gate and would keep a sharp eye out for the first horse or dog, whatever track he was at, that relieved himself or crapped on the track, and would' then run up to the betting windows and bet $6 across the board on that horse or dog. Strange as it may seem, the Delfell system worked better than the others. His explanation was that having relieved himself the horse or dog was in a better condition to run.

Another character we had was a waiter in the club car, whose name I have forgotten, but was known to the crew as "The Preacher." If there was a coffin on the train in the baggage car, where the employees who smoked would generally go to steal a smoke, because employees were forbidden to smoke on duty, someone would tell the Preacher and four or five of us would assemble in the baggage car to hear him preach. Of course, you didn't dare laugh because he would quit immediately, but he would proceed to preach about the person's virtues, faults, good deeds, etc. and go on for 15, 20 minutes eulogizing someone he never knew. I heard him give at least three such performances and each one would be totally different. Some he would castigate for their sins; others that led a good life he would praise. Those who knew him intimately said he was a frustrated minister who flunked out in a divinity school.

Speaking of bodies and corpses, it is an ICC ruling that the corpse must be accompanied by someone on the train. I learned of a practice that is in vogue in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and other big cities. If a person dies in one city and must be transported to another city for burial, you can register with the Funeral Directors Bureau for free transportation.

This is the way it works. Say a person dies in New York and he must be shipped to Los Angeles for burial. The funeral director will provide free transportation to Los Angeles, or whatever city might be involved. The only obligation you have is to take the papers from the New York funeral director and when the body reaches its destination, you go up to the baggage car where the body is and you will be met by the funeral director who is handling the funeral at the other end. The funeral director is ahead of the game because he bills the people for transportation for the round trip.

This was made known to me by a college student who said he traveled that way between New York and California. He said his parents did this for their vacation, accompanying bodies to various large cities, seeing the sights of the city and registering for a call from the funeral director for a trip back home. He said sometimes they might have to wait a few days, but they always managed to get a free trip back home.

Chapter VI

1928 World Series

Another trip rich in my memory was taking the New York Yankee baseball team, winners of the American League pennant in 1928 to the third and fourth games of the World Series in St. Louis 'where they played the St. Louis Cardinals. The Yankees had won the first two games in New York and wanted to duplicate what they did in 1927, win four straight. This was a special train with only the players, Manager Miller Huggins, coaches, Col. Jacob Ruppert, the owner of the Yankees, the sports writers and Lou Gehrig's mother, the only woman on the train. On the way down Babe Ruth entertained the players on his harmonica. There was no nonsense on the way down with lights out and to bed at an early hour.

This was the team of sluggers, headed by Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Tony Lazzeri, with Waite Hoyt, Herb Pennock and Rosy Ryan as pitchers; Benny Bengough catcher, Gene Robertson at third, the rest I don't remember. Leo Durocher was also one of the Yankees.

From Cleveland down most of the trip was during daylight hours and the players and sports writers divided their time between playing cards and reading. As we approached St. Louis I went to Mr. Ruppert's drawing room and, as was our usual custom, asked if everything was satisfactory on the trip, and he said it was. I wished him good luck for the remainder of the Series and he asked, "Aren't you going to see the games?" I told him the crew was instructed to deadhead back, which meant taking the next train available back to New York. He then told me he wanted the entire crew held over for the return trip. I told him I didn't have the authority to tell the stationmaster at St. Louis to do that, and he said he would speak to the stationmaster himself.

Upon our arrival in St. Louis there were photographers and cameramen by the score taking pictures of the team, mostly of Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. During this time Mr. Ruppert and I went to the stationmaster's office wherein he told him he wanted the entire crew held over. The stationmaster said it was ridiculous, that that meant holding the crew for two or possibly three days as the next three games were scheduled to be played in St. Louis. Mr. Ruppert asked him if there was any written order he had to sign, and the stationmaster prepared some sort of paper, which Ruppert signed.

As we were walking out of the station, I thanked him on behalf of the crew, and he asked me if l was going out to see the games. I told him I didn't know if l could get tickets, but I would try. He also asked me where I was staying, and I told him I would be staying at the Pullman House, which was a large house in a nice section in St. Louis, across from which there was a nice size park. He said, "Why don't you come with us? One more won't make a difference." Apparently, he had reserved a certain number of rooms for the players, sports writers and others who accompanied the team.

Taxis had been ordered to transport the team to the Chase Hotel on Chase Boulevard, at that time one of the big luxury hotels in St. Louis. As we were piling into the cabs, I went with Herb Pennock, one of the Yankee pitchers, and Benny Bengough, the catcher. Pennock asked me my name and when I told him he said, "You must be Slovak; I'm Slovak, too." He said he came from some coal mining town in Pennsylvania.

We arrived at our hotel destination and I was assigned a room along with the others. The next day, after breakfast and lunch at the hotel, we were taxied to the Cardinals field, where I sat in a box with the sports writers. I was given a press pin which admitted me to the stadium, which I still have somewhere among my souvenirs.

The Yankees won the next two games by the same score, 7 to 3, with Tom Zachary pitching the third game and Waite Hoyt the fourth. My recollection is that in one of the games Babe Ruth indicated to one of the Cardinal outfields to go back further, that he was going to drive the ball in his direction, which he proceeded to do, except that it went into the bleachers for a home run. (He remembers the scores and the winning pitchers correctly, Gehrig hit two HRs in game 3, Ruth hit a 3 run HR in game 4. Ruth hit .625 for the series, Gehrig .545)

We had been told by the Yankee management that if they won the two games, as they were expecting to do, we were to assemble at the train that night for a return trip to New York. The stationmaster had been alerted to have the train ready for the return trip, and when we arrived at the station from the hotel the train was waiting for us, but without a dining car. A hurried conference was held and then within something like half an hour to 45 minutes some catering outfit brought in wicker baskets, such as are used for clothes baskets, loaded with fried chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, barbecued beef and other foods, which were loaded on the train and distributed in the cars, along with some beer which I understood was obtained from the Anhauser Brewery in St. Louis. Prohibition was still in effect. The beer was bottled beer.

Once the train got under way, bedlam broke loose and the party got wild. They warned Mrs. Gehrig not to leave her room, and then the team proceeded to tear each other's clothes off, not only the team's but the baseball writers, too. The players were running through the train naked. According to the newspaper writers it was a tradition for a victorious team to carry on in this manner.

When Lou Gehrig locked himself into the men's lavatory, Ruth and a couple of others battered the door down and proceeded to rip his clothes off also. Then they went to Colonel Ruppert's room, where he had already donned his pajamas preparatory to going to bed. He didn't escape either, one sports writer saying his $15 pajamas were in shreds.

At Mattoon, Ill., our first stop, Babe Ruth gave a rousing speech for Al Smith from the back of the observation car. Al Smith was running for President against Herbert Hoover.

Other stops were made at Terra Haute and at Indianapolis there was a smattering of local people to greet the victorious Yankees. I recall about a dozen Yankees, wrapped or draped in Pullman blankets, mulling around the people, looking like a bunch of Indians.

note by Jim O'Brien -- These pictures along with the above Union Station and Babe and Lou were taken by JBK with his tiny camera

The next morning at Erie, Pa., according to newspaper accounts, about 800 school kids greeted them at the station.

Of course, Ruppert thought they went a little too far in their revelry, but the joy of winning four straight games in a World Series was indeed cause for celebration.

The next day as we were coming down the Hudson after leaving Albany on our last lap to New York, I again went to Ruppert and reported to him the incident of the broken men's lavatory door, and he just said, “Send me the bill." I thanked him again for his hospitality and he then gave me money for tips for each of the crew, along with what I thought was a very good tip, something like $50. He said he was very pleased with the service on the trip and asked me for my name and address and said he would send me a season's pass in the spring. Just before the baseball season started next spring in the mail I received a gold colored pass which was good for four box seats in any American League park, which I got for the next two years.

At that time, I was single and on my days off I would go to Grosson's pool parlor in Haverstraw where some of my friends hung out and when it was learned that I had a pass good for four, I was prevailed upon by my so-called friends to use it when I was traveling and unable to attend the games. The problem was that when I wanted to use it, which wasn't too often, I had a hard time locating who had it because it would be passed from one person to another. I believe it was only a few years after that that Ruppert sold the Yankees. -- editors note Col Ruppert owned the Yankees until he died in 1939

One other thing, Ruppert gave me a small loving cup to hold the baseball that I had autographed by most of the team.

note by Jim O'Brien - among Grandpa's scrap book we found a news clipping from the local Haverstraw paper"

HAVERSTRAW, Oct 17, Joseph Komanchak, of this village, who was attached to the world series special which carried the New York and St. Louis teams to St. Louis for the last two games and brought the victorious New Yorkers back, has returned home with a baseball signed by eighteen of the Yankee players and mounted on a cup presented him by Colonel Jacob Ruppert.

Komanchak has placed his trophy for exhibition in the window of Grosson's Cigar store.

Chapter VII

Radio Manufacturers Special

One disastrous trip I made was with the Radio Manufacturers Special. It was not a regular Century train but it had utilized all the Century equipment. They had requested a stenographer and I was assigned to it. The train was in charge of a man by the name of Leonard Welling.

After going through the train taking a passenger register, I was put in charge of two drawing rooms in the observation car filled with cases of pints of whisky. Each passenger was given a ticket with five stubs; three were for meals, one for mixers and one for the liquor. I was instructed not to give anyone a bottle unless he presented a ticket. Card games and crap games were going on throughout the train, with the biggest crap game held in the club car.

Everything seemed to be going along smoothly until we got a little past Utica when one of the men came back to where Wellens and I were sitting in the drawing room. He was down in the dumps and remarked, "I just dropped $3,000 in a crap game. The guy just made seven passes," which led Wellens to remark, "What kind of dice was he using?" The man never said another word but left immediately and went to where the crap game was in progress. From reports I later received, the man was still holding the dice and when he threw out the dice for the next roll, this fellow picked them up and found they were loaded dice.

At this point all hell broke loose. I wasn't a witness to this, so I can only recite what was told to me. The guy shooting the dice must have had some accomplices because when they pounced on him and searched him, he only had a small amount of money in his possession. Apparently, he was slipping it to someone next to him. While they were searching him, his accomplice disappeared. They beat the man pretty badly demanding to know where the money was, who his accomplice was, but he wouldn't say a word.

When word reached Wellens of what was happening, he asked me to go along with him. In attempting to find out who the accomplice was, Wellens asked that each man furnish some identification showing he was a member of some radio firm or connected in some way with the radio industry. This took a little time until they discovered one fellow who was not associated with any of the radio firms, and when they searched him they found some money on him, but it wasn't anywhere near what the other fellow had won. They searched his bag but couldn't find the money there. He got the same treatment that the crap shooter got, but not quite as bad.

The next thing Wellens did was to ask how much each fellow lost so they could divide what money was recovered. Each man must have doubled or tripled what his actual losses were because the money found between the two was nothing compared to their claims. Dividing the money was Wellens' headache, so I went back to the Pullman and train conductors and told them that the men who had been beaten had requested medical attention.

When we passed one of the railroad towers somewhere east of Syracuse, we threw off a wire asking for a doctor and the police. The men got off the train and I never did hear anything further about the incident, but again I filed a report as to what had happened.

This put everyone on the train in a disagreeable mood. They didn’t tip the waiters in the dining car or the porters. Usually on a trip like this they would pass the hat around for tips for the crew but there was so little in the kitty turned over to me I felt it was unfair to take my share from the porters and waiters, so I gave whatever money I received to them. A trip like this was usually good for about $25 for me. Wellens, who saw my gesture, said, "The only way I can make it up to you is by giving you some of this booze," and asked me to bring my Gladstone bag to the drawing room. I emptied my clothes from inside the bag, put them in a paper bag and he filled the Gladstone with 15 or 20 pints of whisky.

Gold Glovers to Chicago

Another group that I had was the Golden Glove winners sponsored by the DAILY NEWS, who were on their way to Chicago to meet the champions of that city, sponsored by the CHICAGO TRIBUNE for the intercity championship. As I recall there were thirty or more boxers who had won their titles in the various weight classifications, along with alternates or substitutes and their handlers and coaches, occupying two or three complete cars. There were a few sports writers along from THE NEWS. I believe Jimmy Powers wrote a beautiful account of the trip, which, unfortunately I do not find in my scrap book only the picture of the boxers on the rear platform. '

Most of these youngsters were poor and had never ridden on a railroad, their only experience with rail transportation being the subway, and some of them had never been out of the city. One thing I recall was that they were well behaved on the trip, considering their backgrounds, perhaps disciplined by their coaches and trainers. They stayed in their respective cars until dinner time. I don't know whether it was at the request of the people in charge that they waited until most of the other diners had left the dining car; but they were brought into the dining car, seated and given a menu. I'm sure a good many of them had never seen a menu before. They had to order from the menu. I was privileged to eat at the same time and you would hear such remarks from the youngsters as "What's hors d'oeuvres?" or "jellied consommé,'' "potatoes au Gratin," "calves sweat breads." As the dinner was served to them, some didn't like what they ordered and would swap with someone at the same table or across the way.

After dinner and while their beds were being made, some of them were taken to the club car while others were taken to the observation car. The supply of souvenir Century postcards was quickly depleted as they sat down to write home. Some of these boys went on to become professional fighters.

It was great to see these starry-eyed youngsters marveling at the luxury equipment, beds appearing where there were seats before and I'm sure that the trip on the Century was told again and again after their return from Chicago.

Al Capone

I almost forgot about a frightful experience I had going westbound from New York. Although they wouldn't reveal their names when asked, Al Capone and a party of six or seven came aboard occupying three or four drawing rooms adjoining each other, the doors in between being opened by the porter for the convenience of going back and forth between the rooms. Unknown to me at the time was another Chicago gangster by the name of Spike O'Donnell. O'Donnell ruled the north side of Chicago while Capone's domain was the south side. There were frequent shootouts and clashes between the two factions. When the dining car steward recognized O'Donnell, knowing that Capone and his henchmen were also on board, we became a little concerned, but nothing came about between the two.

However, I had a telegram addressed to Ralph Capone, Al's brother, that I had received at one of the stops that I had to deliver. I rang the buzzer and a voice from inside wanted to know what I wanted. I told him I had a telegram for Ralph Capone. This, I later learned, was a common way to get someone to open the door for you in gangland. When the door was opened very slowly, I found myself looking into the barrel of a sub­ machine gun. I delivered the telegram and didn't even wait for a tip.

Another group I remember was Paul Whiteman and his band at that time one of the nation’s top bands. They were going to New York for some engagements. What I recall about them was the band occupied two complete cars and that card playing went on between members of the band for most of the trip. $5 & $10 bills were bet on the turn of a card like they were nickels and dimes, and this was in the days when a $5 bill was a lot of money. There was one young fellow, who seemed to me to be the youngest of the group, who played his horn throughout most of the trip, playing one song after another while the card players kept hollering for him to keep quiet.

Chapter VIII

Famous personalities

After the passage of years, it is difficult to recall many incidents and experiences, but as I write of these events my memory is refreshed by recalling certain people.

One famous personality of those days was Clarence Darrow, one of the country's leading trial lawyers, who was the attorney for John Scopes in the much-publicized evolution trial which took place in Tennessee. He was supposed to have been a drinker, which I couldn't verify for the times he was on my train. He had difficulty sleeping on trains and would come up to the club car about 11:30 where our cubbyhole office was located, dressed ready for bed in an old fashion nightgown with the slits up the sides, sit down in the chair next to my desk and would talk for hours, not so much about his famous trials but about everyday matters, sports, current events, when I had last seen some of his friends or acquaintances, just small talk, unless I happened to bring up some trial in which he had participated. It was a pleasant experience listening and talking to one of the country's great trial lawyers. Many times, his dress was anything but what you would expect from an attorney of his experience and reputation, sometimes unshaven and shoddy in appearance.

Vincent Bendix and the "close call"

Another one of the men who could almost be called a commuter was Vincent Bendix, an inventor, who invented the self-starter for automobiles and the four-wheel brakes, along with about a hundred other automotive and aviation inventions. Prior to the invention of the self-starter automobiles had to be cranked. He was founder and President of Bendix Aviation, but just what they had to do with aviation I never knew.

When I first met him, he had his private male secretary accompany him, because the secretary would come up to the club car and talk to me on occasions. In those days many of the executives had male secretaries. In fact, half of my shorthand class in high school were male.

Occasionally I would do some work for him after he decided to leave the secretary at his Chicago office, mostly in the line of sending telegrams, buying stocks, and perhaps writing a few letters for him. From reading the telegrams he would send to the broker, I took the hint and bought a few stocks myself, stocks like Indian Motorcycle, Fifth Avenue Coaches, and a few others that were priced low, something that sold for under $5 a share, which would climb four or five points and then I would sell. One stock I bought, upon his recommendation, was DeForest Radio. He had bought something like 25,000 shares. DeForest was the inventor of television. This was just a few months before the stock market crash in 1929, but I won't burden you with that story.

Bendix lived in South Bend where one of his plants was located, which was 16 miles from Elkhart, Indiana, our first stop out of Chicago. Occasionally Mr. Bendix, who was a short squatty man, about five-five and weighed about 190 pounds, would be accompanied by his wife, who towered over him by a full head; and the best description I could give you of her was that she looked like a big German housewife. She also was quite heavy and although her clothes came from Marshall Field some expensive New York shops, they just didn't seem to do anything for her.

On some of these trips Mr. Bendix would be accompanied by two young women in their late twenties or early thirties. At that time, I guessed his age to be in the late fifties, early sixties. I never understood why he had two, but I knew they weren't his daughters.

On the trip I am about to relate he had a blond and an auburn colored red head accompanying him in his drawing room out of Chicago. He had given me some telegrams to send when we were taking the passenger list, which meant I had to go the head of the train at Elkhart because that station only had a very short platform. As the train was pulling into Elkhart, I noticed Mrs. Bendix standing on the station platform with two suitcases getting ready to board the train. As he later told me, after he left Chicago she had called his office and was informed that he was on his way to New York so she decided to accompany him.

When I saw her standing there, I gave the telegrams to the conductor to give to the stationmaster, along with the money and I hurried back to the car in which Mr. Bendix was located. Our stop at Elkhart was very short, just long enough for anyone to board and to give the engineer any train orders, before we pulled out.

When I reached his accommodations, the door to his drawing room was closed. I pressed the buzzer and was asked who it was and what I wanted. I told him I was the stenographer and it was urgent that I see him. Thinking I wanted to be paid for the telegrams he had given me earlier he told me to come back later. I persistently pressed the buzzer four or five times and he kept telling me to come back. Finally he came to the door and I told him Mrs. Bendix had boarded the train at Elkhart. He told me to head her off so that he could get rid of the two women.

I met Mrs. Bendix a few cars away, told her to have a seat until the conductors came through and we would escort her to her husband's accommodations. Once he got rid of the two women, he came forward to meet her. He called me aside and gave me enough money to purchase other accommodations for the two women he previously had in his drawing room. That night, in the club car, before retiring he came up to me and said, "That was a close call."

While this is not related to the Century, my next encounter with Mr. Bendix was when I read an article in the NYACK JOURNAL that Mr. Vincent Bendix was a guest of Dr. Pierre Bernard, also known as Oom the Omnipotent, at the Central Nyack resort then known as the Clarkstown Country Club. It was reputed to be some sort of love cult which practiced revisionism, wherein you stood on your head for a period of time and with some other exercises was supposed to make you more sexually potent. No, I never was one of his disciples.

It was a well-known fact and well publicized in the New York newspapers that one of the Vanderbilt’s and others high in New York society were guests of Oom's.

When I saw the article, I thought it would be nice if l could see him again. I believe this was either the late thirties or early forties. So, I went to the place, which had a large gate across the road entrance with a guard stationed inside the gate. I told him I wanted to see Mr. Bendix and he asked me if I had an appointment. I told him no, but that I had known him from years back. It was harder to get into that place at that time than the White House.

After some conversation by the guard over the phone, I was permitted to enter the grounds, and at the main building I was again interrogated as to why I wanted to see him, and I went through the same story I told the guard. Finally, after some more telephone conversation, Mr. Bendix appeared and when he saw me he recognized me and asked me what I was doing there. I told him I lived in the vicinity, that I had read that he was a guest and I thought it would be nice to talk to him again.

We sat and talked for a period of time. His health had failed, and he was only a shadow of his former self. He told me that his wife had divorced him and that he was then living in Chicago but spent quite a bit of time in New York.

I don't recall whether it was on that occasion or on one of his trips he told me about a medal that had been presented to him by King Gustav of Sweden for having donated $65,000 for some kind of temple. He thanked me for paying a visit and recalling some fond memories.

It was ironic that sometime later, I believe in the forties, that I got a call from Dr. Bernard, whose financial fortunes had dwindled by that time, to do some secretarial work for him. In its heyday Clarkstown Country Club was a beautifully kept place and had a zoo with elephants, lions, etc. When I was there to see Bendix, peacocks were strutting all over the place. There were quite a few buildings that housed the elephants and other animals. But this time the lawns were not as nice as they previously had been, the buildings needed painting and the whole place showed signs of neglect.

Bernard was a tobacco chewer who was constantly spitting on the rugs, which were stained with tobacco juice. I did some secretarial work for him, but he seemed to be constantly interrupted by some women who would come and whisper to him. In the space of an hour they must have interrupted him ten times. This property was later sold to the Nyack School District and the Hilltop School is presently located on the grounds.

Jane Addams, famous social worker and sociologist and founder of the Hull House in Chicago was an interesting personality I encountered several times. She was a leader in the suffragette movement and a Nobel Prize winner. At that time, she was getting on in years but was a very interesting person to talk to. I almost forgot another occasion of doing a great deal of letter writing to Congressman, United States Senators and legislators in various states for Margaret Sanger.

For the benefit of those unacquainted with Margaret Sanger, she was the leader and great advocate of the birth control movement during those years. Apparently, looking back over the years and judging from the family I raised, her teachings and advocacy fell on deaf ears as far as I was concerned.

Chapter VIII addendum 1

Lou Nova

note by Jim O'Brien - Included in JBK's papers when he passed was an addiltional pamphlet "I Turned Back the Clock to Yesterday". Along with this was a note regarding the following story which JBK wished he had included in this book. Therefore I've included it here with some additional notes.

In my book about my stint on the 20th Century, I had written about having done some work for Doc Bernard at the Clarkstown Country Club. I don't recall that I mentioned that hanging on the wall of his office was a pair of boxing gloves, which I went over to look at and Doc said, "If you want them, take them. They're the gloves that Lou Nova used when he won the world's heavyweight title from Max Baer in 1939."

I was reminded of the incident recently when I read a story in the May 1975 issue of True Magazine entitled ''It Happened in Sports: A Moment of Cosmic Truth," which related the unusual training of Lou Nova at the Clarkstown Country Club, where he was attended not by the usual handlers, but by young women dressed in flowing white Grecian-style gowns, who would wipe away the sweat, patted him with little towels, and rubbed his neck. In the background elephants strutted around while strutting peacocks roamed the grounds.

His training consisted of drinking nothing but goat's milk and studying Yoga at night under the stars. The story goes on that Oom had invited Nova to work out at his 300-acre estate and through the cult's teachings developed special powers needed to beat his opponent, Baer. According to Oom, these powers were cosmic in nature.

One of the sports writers of the time, Hype Igoe of the New York Journal-American, reported, "If Lou stays in this nuthouse, he 1s sure to lose the fight." At a press conference, Oom told the reporters, "Nova will absorb our doctrine of mind over matter and be given inner strength no other fighter ever had," and that Nova had developed what he called the "Cosmic punch." Oom went on to say that among astronomers "nova" meant a star which suddenly flares and increases its energy output.

The story goes on that one of the reporters' response was that this was a lot of crap. One moonlight night Nova was observed dancing over the grass wearing what was described as a great big hunk of cheesecloth, being instructed by Oom in how to arrange himself in various Yoga positions.

Mike Jacobs, who promoted the Madison Square Garden fight, at first thought it was a publicity-stunt, but later changed his mind and was worried about what the goings-on would do to ticket sales.

On the night of the fight Oom was sitting near the ringside with several of his followers looking confident. The first three rounds Baer won easily and Nova lost Round four because of a low blow. In the fifth round Baer was all over him cutting Lou above the right eye. During these rounds Nova was booed loudly. However, in the sixth round, pivoting his hips in what might or might not have been a cosmic movement, Nova struck Baer flush on the mouth ripping it open. From that time on it was all Nova. In the tenth both of Baer's eyes were virtually closed and his legs started to go and in the eleventh Baer collapsed in his corner, unable to continue. After the fight Nova revealed that in the third round he hurt his hand on the top of Baer's skull so badly he didn't think he could continue. However, he said, "Oom and the cosmic punch saw me through."

I got a big kick out of the last paragraph which said Lou ran on what he called the Utopian Party ticket for President of the United States. Oldtimers on Cauliflower Alley sighed with relief when his presidential ambitions failed, for guess who--if he was elected--might have been Vice-President? So you see, those boxing-gloves we had had a history behind them.

Jim’s note – Joe Louis was the World Champion from 1937 to 1949.
The first Nova Baer fight was on June 1, 1939. Nova won but then lost in his next fight with Tony Galento on Sept 15, 1939. Nova was injured badly and was treated in hospital, almost losing an eye. He fought and defeated Baer again in 1941.
On September 29, 1941 he fought Joe Louis for the heavyweight title. Nova was knocked down once in the 6th round. Nova made a poor showing. According to Nat Fleischer (The Ring, December 1941, page 4) he didn't win a round and took a terrible beating in the sixth round. The end was somewhat controversial because the fight was stopped with just one second left in the sixth round when Nova arose unsteadily from the knockdown.

From NY Times Tuesday, Sept 30, 1941 – Title “Cosmic Punch Lands, All Right, But It’s Nova Doing the Catching” the final three paragraphs with heading “Cosmic Punch” Victim Then came the sixth when the cosmic punch appeared. But J. Shufflin’ Louis had it. He took aim like a hunter with a rifle and let fly with a right. Nova was knocked flying to the eastern edge of the canvas, right by the rope. The victim wavered his way up at the count of “nine” and Louis pursued him and belabored him in fearful fashion. Just before the bell rang the Dark Destroyer nailed his victim with a left that opened a wicked cut over Nova’s left eye. The challenger was a gory wreck. He was helpless and his case was hopeless. Revere Donovan gave the “all off” sign just before the bell rang to end the round. The result was a blow to the study of yoga in this country. And the US Army will get an undefeated heavyweight champion ready for a private’s life in a squad tent.

Chapter VIII addendum 2

BABY BORN ON 20TH CENTURY

In my book I overlooked an incident which came to my mind after the book was printed, and that was when the American Medical Association was holding a convention in Chicago or some western city. On such occasions the Association would book reservations, sometimes taking the whole train; but in this incident there were, to my recollection, five or more cars containing doctors on their way to the convention.

Sometime during the night I was awakened by the Pullman conductor and told to get dressed, that we had an incident which required our presence. After getting dressed, the Pullman maid told us that a baby had been found in the ladies room and was wrapped in Pullman towels, with blood all over the cushions as well as the floor. There were only two women in this car, so it wasn't hard to find out who the child belonged to and it was very evident that the woman needed medical attention, as did the baby. My job was to find a doctor to administer to her. I looked over my passenger list and chose a doctor in that car, awakened him and told him of our problem. He got up but recommended that I call another doctor who was an [obstetrician) which I proceeded to do. The doctor came back and we removed the woman and the baby to a compartment or drawing room where he gave her whatever assistance was necessary.

Of course, we had to write up a report, and I remember the conductor was of the opinion that the lady tried to abandon the baby but was told by the doctor that she was in -a state of shock and didn't know what she was doing. We later learned that she was the wife of a Milwaukee flour manufacturer and that the baby was born prematurely. Of course, we wired ahead for an ambulance to meet us on our arrival in Chicago.

It was one of those "Believe it or Not" situations where we had several carloads of doctors but the baby was born without any medical assistance. I was told it was written up in one of the medical magazines but was never able to get a copy of the article.

The problem in making out the report was: in what state was the baby born and what time? Since we had to guess when we were at approximately some time before the baby was born.

Chapter IX

It was not unusual when passing through the train to be stopped by someone to inquire about a friend or business associate. On one such occasion J. P. Morgan stopped and asked if Mr. Whitney, head of the New York Stock Exchange, had been a recent rider. Of course, I got the usual letter that Mr. Morgan would be occupying a certain drawing room, but once you saw Mr. Morgan you never forgot him. He was well over six-foot, heavy and had a big bulbous nose. Mr. Morgan was usually accompanied by his valet, who would occupy the room next to him. I told him I hadn't seen him recently and we got into a general conversation.

As I recall he asked me where I lived, and I told him in Haverstraw. He asked me where that was, and I told him it was on the west side of the Hudson about 28 miles from New York. He told me his partner, Dwight Morrow, lived in Englewood, which was also on the west side of the Hudson and for some reason he proceeded to tell me about his first visit to the Morrow home; that the Morrows had two children, Anne, who later married Charles Lindbergh, and another child.

He had been invited to the Morrow home for dinner and apparently Mrs. Morrow had cautioned the children, who at that time were very small, not to make mention about Mr. Morgan's nose. They had dinner and the children behaved beautifully, and when it came time for tea, Mrs. Morrow called the maid to take the children to their rooms. Quite relieved that the children behaved so nicely, not having said a word about his nose, she turned to Mr. Morgan and said, "Will you have one or two lumps in your nose, Mr. Morgan."

On another occasion when I returned to my desk I found Mr. Morgan sitting in my chair, the rest of the club car chairs all being occupied. He evidently came up while the porter was making his bed. I had just taken some dictation in the form of telegrams which had to be dispatched at our next stop, which we would reach in about half an hour. I didn't want to disturb him, and he was not aware of my presence behind him, but as time was running out and I had to type up the telegrams, I asked him if I could have my seat, that I had some important messages to type up. He got up from my seat without a word and went back to his accommodations.

After Mr. Morgan left the car, a little Jewish man, who was sitting across the way, came over to me and said, "Do you know who that was?" and I told him I did. He said, "That's J. P. Morgan. You'll get fired for chasing him out of the seat." I assured him Mr. Morgan understood that it was important that I get the messages off at the next stop.

This is another incident of an episode not related to the Century, but since I mentioned Charles MacArthur before, I thought I would relate my meeting him again. One day, I believe it was in the forties, I got a call from John Kilby, a Nyack insurance man, who asked me if I would do some secretarial work for Helen Hayes. I never turned a job down, particularly at night since this meant extra money for my growing family. I went to the Hayes residence and for several weeks I did some letter writing for her. She was a gracious lady, perfect in manner, etc. What she saw in Charlie MacArthur I'll never know. He was a loud, boisterous type of individual, who punctuated his sentences with cuss words. However, the old proverb says that opposites attract.

One night, after I had finished doing some work for Mrs. MacArthur, he approached me and asked if I would do some work for him the following night. All the work I did for his wife was done in her living room, which was all furnished in the motif of her latest play, "Queen Victoria."

The next evening, I reported to Mr. MacArthur and we went downstairs to his office, which was on the lower level. The house sits on a hillside on Broadway with the main entrance at street level. The office looked out over a beautiful lawn, a swimming pool and the Hudson River. The grounds were well kept and the landscaping was beautiful.

However, his room was a mess. At one end of the room, where you came down from the stairs, was the biggest table I had ever seen. It must have been 18, 20 feet long, and it was piled high with mail. It seems that he had just returned from a trip and the correspondence was scattered over the entire table. At the other end of the room was a wooden horse like those on a merry-go-round that was mounted on some sort of stand. This was during the war years. In the toilet bowl in the lavatory down stairs he had some artist paint the head of a Jap with his mouth wide open with big buck teeth ready to catch whatever was deposited in the bowl.

We went through the mail that first night just sorting the junk from the mail he wanted to answer. The letters he was throwing out filled several waste baskets. He asked me to come back the following night, when he proceeded to dictate some letters. I went back there several times.

On one occasion, which was a very warm evening, before starting any work he called Gilbert Crawford, who at that time was our County Treasurer and the owner of the Nyack Ice Company and asked him to bring up a truck load of ice. He must have asked him what it was for because he said, "Never mind what it's for; just send up the ice."

In due time the ice arrived in a truck driven by a colored man. He told the driver to dump the ice into the swimming pool, that the pool water was too hot to swim in. The funny thing about it is that he never entered the pool that night.

As soon as you entered his room he immediately brought out a bottle; I don't recall whether it was scotch bourbon or rye and poured himself about three quarters of a' large glass, and the same for me. He drank his straight. I kept diluting mine with water and nursed it for the entire evening. He told me I would never amount to anything because I didn't drink enough, that all successful men were good drinkers.

On one occasion Ben Hecht, who also lived in Nyack, his collaborator in the play "The Front Page," were at the MacArthur home trying to put a play together based on some vice rackets that were getting a lot of publicity in New York at the time. Sometimes MacArthur would mount his merry go round horse and would dictate from there. He reminded me of Napoleon sitting astride a horse.

As I recall, that evening amounted to nothing because while they were trying to put words together for some plot or drama, each one would dictate a sentence or two and the other would comment that it stinks or some such uncomplimentary remarks. The play was never finished because shortly after that I read that they had parted ways over some misunderstanding that they had.

Peak Travel

There were periods of peak travel, mostly around Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter when the Century ran in multiple sections. One year I remember starting out on December 5th and didn't get home until Christmas Day. During these peak seasons, while you didn't get paid extra, such as overtime, you had to double back on the next train. So, from December 5th on I would leave New York, arrive in Chicago the next day return that same day from Chicago to New York, then take the next Century back to Chicago and repeat the process. Of course, this threw you out of line with your regular run, which in my case was the first section.

On December 21st or 22nd I left New York on the last section of the Century, either the seventh or eighth section. When we left New York it had started to snow very hard. When we reached Albany, with so many sections running and the snow we were about 15 to 20 minutes late.

Shortly after leaving New York a man came to me and asked if I would do some work for him. I went to his drawing room and he proceeded to dictate a contract having to do with a bid for an oil company, as I remember, Cosden Oil Company in California, by a group representing some Baltimore interests.

After I had completed typing the contract, he made a few minor changes and then told me he wanted me to do something very unusual. He asked me to take the dictated material and on one sheet of paper to put every other word, and on another sheet of paper the other words, which I had skipped. It just didn't make sense to me at the time and I thought this was some kind of nut. It was very difficult to do because as you type you tend to write two or three words next to each other. Finally, in desperation, after four or five tries, I figured the only way to do this was to cross the word out as I typed it, which was very time consuming.

When it was finished we checked it for accuracy, and then he addressed both sets of papers to someone in California and gave me a hundred-dollar bill with instructions to send one set via Western Union and the other by Mackey Cable. By this time, we had left Syracuse, running quite late, and our next stop was Buffalo, where I sent the telegrams. I don't recall how much these telegrams amounted to, but it was quite a bit.

When I got up the next morning we were running something like two hours late and not making up any time, because the snowstorm had not abated. The passengers were quite concerned because many of them had westbound connections from Chicago on the Chief, Overland Express, and other trains to the coast and other west cities.

Sometime after we left Toledo, Cecil B. DeMille , one of Hollywood's big movie producers, said he had reservations on the Chief and asked if there was any way we could get the Santa Fe to hold the Chief until the arrival of the Century. Several other people who overheard the conversation made inquiry as to other trains.

I started thinking about a meeting of railroad officials held in the Vice President's office when I was his secretary, at which some of the General Passenger Agents were present, in which one of them related some similar event when the trains, which were all made up and waiting at the station, went out almost empty, which was not a profitable venture for the railroad and what should be done in such a situation. But I don't recall that anyone had a solution for it.

I then went to the Pullman conductor and asked to see the Pullman tickets for people who had westbound reservations from Chicago. There were quite a few. Armed with this information I then went to the individuals involved and told them I was wiring the various railroads to hold their trains, because of our running so late, until the arrival of the Century, not only my section but the several sections ahead of me.

Of course, everybody wanted me to do this because they all wanted to be home for Christmas. Everyone offered to pay me for the telegram. I explained that I was sending this by railroad wire and there was no charge, but almost everyone gave me a tip; as I recall the minimum was $2 and some gave me $5.

I sat down and consulted the Railroad Register, which was kept on my desk, which listed all the railroads in the United States and Canada, their time tables and the names of the various General Passenger Agents, the men in charge of train schedules, of the various railroads. If memory· serves me correctly, I prepared five or six telegrams addressed to them at their Chicago offices, picking out some big name which would be familiar to them heading the list. The telegram read something like this: "Cecil B. DeMille and 15, 20, or whatever the number was, arriving on Century has reservation on today's Chief. We are running two hours late. Is it possible to hold the Chief?" and then signed my name.

Of course, there were no stops between Toledo and Elkhart, so I had to employ a method I described before, either throwing the message off at some station or at a signal tower. When I consulted the railroad conductor about slowing down for a station, he didn't think the engineer would do this because we were so late already, so I had to depend on the tower.

As we approached the tower, the brakeman, who was always stationed at the rear of the train, signaled the tower man by way of his lantern, that we had a message to throw off. We threw the messages off wrapped in newspapers and saw the man leave the tower to pick them up.

When we arrived at Elkhart we received the glad news that at least the Chief would be held up. A cheer went up from those passengers affected, and I was given additional tips by some of the passengers. At Englewood we received other news that some of the other railroads were holding up their trains also.

On that same trip a man approached me after leaving Toledo and asked if I could do some work for him. He occupied a compartment, so I went to his accommodations and he dictated a contract bid, believe it or not, on the same oil company that the man the night before had dictated, but his group represented some New York and Boston interests. Many times, since I have thought how much it would have meant if I didn't keep the confidence and had revealed it to one or the other.

I believe it was while I was typing the second contract that the man representing the Baltimore interests came up and asked me if everything went all right at Buffalo and I told him the messages were dispatched and I gave him the change. He gave me a bill, which I didn't bother to look at because I was busy typing, stuck it in my pocket, thanked him and proceeded writing the second contract. After completing the work, I delivered the second finished product to the man representing the New York interests and he gave me something like $3 or $4.

It was usually our practice when approaching the Englewood station to change from our railroad uniform to our street clothes, which was generally done up in the barber shop in the club car. The barber casually asked what kind of trip I had, and I told him I made a killing and I started pulling money out of my pockets and putting the crumpled bills on the shelf where the barber usually kept his toilet waters, aftershave lotions, etc., when I spotted a hundred-dollar bill. I know the Baltimore man gave me a similar bill the night before and that I gave it to the telegram people, so the only one I thought could probably have given it to me was the Baltimore man. So, I immediately went back to his drawing room and asked him if he had given me the hundred-dollar bill, and he said he had; I told him I thought it was too much and he informed me if l had performed my function, it was worth that to him.

Before we reached Englewood, knowing that the train would be at least two hours late, I informed the various passengers that they could present their stubs and get a refund of $1.20 for every 55 minutes the train was late. Many passengers were too much concerned with making their westbound connections and would say, "Here, you redeem them." I don't recall how many such stubs I collected, but it was a goodly number; the $2.40 refunds amounting to quite a tidy sum.

When I counted all my tips for the trip and the refunds, I had something close to $350 for the trip’s efforts. That money and the tips I had made starting with the December 5th trip amounted to something close to $500. When I came home on Christmas day, I turned the money over to my father, who paid off the remaining mortgage on our Sharp Street house.

Chapter X

Layover Leisure Time

I had previously mentioned that my colleague and associates spent their leisure time at the race tracks, movies, shows, etc., while I tried to spend my 27 hour layover in Chicago on more interesting diversions. In small talk conversations with some of the heads of corporations sometimes we would get around to a product which the company manufactured or processed and my knowledge being nil I would make such remarks as "It must be interesting to see how it's made."

To one such comment Commodore Gene McDonald of Zenith Radio replied, "Why don't you come up to the factory to see how radios are made? which invitation I gladly accepted. I went to the place and saw the intricate wiring and tubes being assembled in an assembly line fashion and the finished product. So, the next time McDonald was a passenger we had something in common to talk about and we got to know each other better.

At the end of this trip I thought maybe this would be a good way to learn more about the products and broaden my education during my layover time in the Windy City.

Another frequent rider was a Mr. Buffington, head of the Portland Cement Company, who had a plant just outside Chicago, which was named the Buffington Plant. Here, again, I inquired how cement was made and what did it consist of. I was asked if l had any time that particular day and if l could beat his Michigan Avenue office at 11 A. M., that the plant manager would be there and I could go with him to the Buffington Plant. I was there promptly at 11 and was chauffeured with the plant manager to their operation. He took me on a tour of the plant, explaining and describing various processes, etc. On the next trip, again we had something to talk about.

By the way, do you know what cement is made of? It consists of a mixture of lime or chalk and clay and heated to a certain temperature called clinkering, and then grinding the clinkers to a powdery substance and then bagged for the market.

I had a similar invitation from Mr. Gary, head of the United States Steel Company, to visit their plant at Gary, Indiana (named after his father or grandfather). Gary is about 25 miles from Chicago, but I was never able to make the trip for some reason or other.

Speaking of Mr. Gary, let me relate another incident. It was very unusual to have any private car on the Century, but on this occasion, we had a private car with some members of the Board of Directors of the United States Steel Company aboard, which was placed ahead of the club car. Of course, I got the usual letter from the railroad informing me of their presence. With the Pullman and train conductors I went up and the usual procedure was followed, the conductors collecting the tickets and I getting the names for the passenger list and leaving a card with them which listed my services.

Sometime during the trip, I was summoned by the porter to go up to the private car where a short meeting was being held, in which some resolution was passed by the Board members, which I then typed up for them. So, I can brag that I took a meeting of the Board of Directors of U. S. Steel.


It was the custom on the Century going westbound to put aboard the train enough Chicago newspapers, the CHICAGO TRIBUNE and the HERALD EXAMINER, the two leading morning Chicago newspapers, which were distributed free to the passengers. On the eastbound trip at Albany they received THE NEW YORK TIMES and the HERALD TRIBUNE.

On this occasion, having determined the day before how many passengers were in the U.S. Steel party, I brought enough Chicago papers for their reading enjoyment. When I entered the car, which was rather early in the morning, the only one awake and sitting at a table was Mr. Gary. I left the papers with him, for which he thanked me and gave me a tip and asked if I had had breakfast yet, and I told him I was going back to the diner at that time for such a purpose. He said, "Why don't you have breakfast with me? I don't like to eat alone; the others won't be up for a while." I accepted his invitation and I remember having breakfast of bacon and eggs. After all, how many times does one get an invitation from the head of the U. S. Steel Company to join him at breakfast? It was surprising not only in this instance but many other instances how men of such high character were never high hat and never made you ill at ease while talking to them.

Chapter XI

The Makeup of this Famous Train

Since railroading is a thing of the past and not too familiar to the present generation, perhaps I should acquaint you with the makeup of this famous train. The train was pulled by the Hudson type engine, in railroad circles called the 5200's, because the engines were numbers from 5200 on up, the most powerful engines up to that time, 96 feet long, and called "the thoroughbred of the rails," eating up four tons of coal between Harmon and Albany.

Water in the engine would be replenished with a slight decrease in speed, to about 45 miles an hour, by way of a water trough almost a mile long, which enabled the engine to pick up the needed water without stopping. During the winter this water was heated to prevent it from freezing. The speed of the train forced the water up through a scoop into the tender, instead of having to pause in a wayside tank as most engines had to do. This saved time. As I recall, only the 5200's engines could do this.

Next came the club car which housed a baggage compartment occupying about one third the car, then came the barber shop and shower, the club car attendant's working space where soft drinks, ice, mixers, etc. were kept, and the refrigeration; then four booths where many groups played cards or discussed the events of the day and a goodly number of individual upholstered chairs for the comfort of the passengers. Smoking was permitted in the club car. Toward the back of the car was space allocated for the stenographer where a typewriter was kept and a chair next to the desk for anyone wanting to dictate could sit. Next to our desk was a writing desk where passengers could write letters, telegrams, etc.

The latest popular magazines, bound in leather covers, were available here and stock market quotations were posted in the club car, as well as the results of sporting events, such as baseball scores of both National and American Leagues, principal football games and other important sporting events of the day.

You could get a haircut and shave from an experienced barber for $1.50 and valet services were provided. A 3 piece suit would be sponged and pressed for $1.25 and a woman's skirt for 75c, and you could take a shower for 50c.

Another feature of the train which appealed to women traveling alone or accompanied by children was maid service who were experienced manicurists.

Immediately in back of the club car came the sleepers. The ordinary Pullman sleeper contained 12 upper and lower berths with a drawing room at one end of the car. A drawing room required two railroad fares and could sleep four and had a long lounge that could be made up into a bed and it was not unusual to have a family unit occupying drawing rooms.

Drawing rooms were the final word in Pullman luxury referred to by some as "an apartment on wheels." It had individual toilet facilities, an upper and lower berth and the lounge I referred to.

A compartment was slightly less roomy but also had private toilet facilities and an upper and lower berth. This required two railroad fares also. In the newer cars clothes closet for personal belongings was included.

In the early thirties a new single room called a "roomette" was introduced that required only one railroad fare. This type of accommodations became very popular and many passengers, particularly those traveling alone wanting a little privacy preferred it to the compartment.

The drawing room, compartment and roomette type cars were generally placed near the dining car, both before and after it.

The dining car was the last word in luxury. Meals were served ala carte and passengers desiring to eat in their accommodations were required to notify the porter the hour when they wished to be served. Each dining car was staffed by a steward two chefs trained in European and American cooking and six waiters.

At one end of the car was a modern, up to date kitchen which hours d housed the refrigeration, food supplies, dishes, tablecloths, napkins, etc. The steward was top man in the dining car. Neckties and coats were a necessity before being admitted to the dining car, even on hot, sultry days.

The observation car was generally referred to as the train's living room and contained a drawing room and one or two compartments at the head of the car. The rest of the car was luxuriously furnished with comfortable upholstered chairs an observation-lounge room with spacious windows and a writing desk with plenty of 20th Century stationery, souvenir postcards to send to relatives and friends, and blank telegram forms, lighted with the latest form of ceiling lights and in addition several reading lamps, and here also all the leading popular magazines of the day for the passengers reading enjoyment.

The schedule of the Century in both directions provided daylight trips along the Hudson River. The observation car permitted full enjoyment of this and other scenic attractions along the way. The observation platform outside could hold four chairs comfortably where the passenger could enjoy the fresh air. Lap robes for use on the platform could be obtained from the porter upon request.

The doors of all Pullman cars were constructed with a special anti-pinch shield to protect fingers from being caught between the door and the frame. Each car had an overhead ventilating system and fans were located throughout each car and dust and cinder deflectors were installed at each window.

After each trip every car was inspected as to mechanical and electrical condition and then the cleaners took charge, scrubbing the outside and inside, polishing the windows and metal work, vacuum cleaning the rugs, checking the mattresses and blankets for defects or tears, and then restocking with new linen and towels. The Pullman Company operated its own laundries and repair shops and often was referred to as "The world's greatest housekeeper."

Of course a status symbol for the celebrities, particularly stage and screen stars, and other famous people, was to have their photographs taken standing on the platform of the observation car with the lighted 20th Century sign prominently displayed. Newspaper and newsreel photographers were always on hand at the train to take pictures.

I can recall many Hollywood and Broadway stars having their pictures taken. My scrapbook reveals such artists as Gloria Swanson, Zasu Pitts (who played character parts as Calamity Jane in many movies, but was, to my mind, prettier than some of the other stars), Joan Crawford, Charlie Chaplin, George Arliss, Maurice Chevalier, Texas Guinan and Helen Morgan, stars to the theatre and nightclubs, Roxy Rothafel, head of Roxy Theatre, Flo Ziegfeld, and his wife Billie Burke, as well as some of Hollywood's great producers, men like Sam Goldwyn, head of MGM, Adolph Zukor, top man in Paramount Pictures, David Belasco, Morris Gest, Balaban and Katz, who owned a string of movie theatres throughout the Midwest, Ernst Lubitch, one of Hollywood's big directors, a man I despised. He was the greasiest looking man that seemed to be surrounded by a bevy of young starlets trying to win favor with him.

Mention of riding the Century became an accepted topic on Broadway, in Hollywood and in high society and columnists in their daily press and radio broadcasts frequently mentioned gossip overheard in the Century dining car, club car or observation car.

Jimmy Walker, when he was Mayor of New York, often accompanied movie and stage celebrities partying with them as far as Albany, where he would get off and return to New York.

Occasionally a passenger, usually a personality of some reputation, requested the pleasure of riding in the cab of the engine between Harmon and Albany. This privilege created such excitement in some persons it reminded you of a little boy with a new toy on Christmas. I once overheard a man who made such a trip joyfully remark, "The engineer let me blow the whistle."

It was not unusual for a big business tycoon, a celebrity or just a plain ordinary passenger to ask where we were, if we were on time, how long before the next stop, and various other questions. Occasionally we would be invited to sit down and talk, usually about some friend or business associate, or the events of the day. They would spend considerable time reading newspapers, magazines, books or business reports and seemed anxious to relax and talk to someone, preferring us rather than a stranger. I recall many such moments of just small talk with many of these people. We were well informed on scenic, industrial, historic and business interests along the right of way, which we gladly discussed with them.

Competition between the Century and the Broadway Limited, Pennsylvania Railroad's 20 hour train was keen. They tried to outdo each other in advertising for the cream of traffic between New York and Chicago, but the most important single contributing factor was the Century's reputation as a train which was patronized by the most enviable names in the world of finance, business, fashion and professional celebrities of the stage, screen and trade. To travel on the Century was a hallmark of importance with wide spread implications. The train was considered "The Rolls Royce of the railroads," said Lucius Beebe in his book "The 20th Century Limited."

Speaking of the Broadway Limited, near Gary, Indiana, the tracks of the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central ran parallel and it was not an uncommon sight to see the Century with its 14 to 20 cars and the Broadway Limited with its 6 to 9 cars racing side by side toward Englewood, a Chicago suburb and the next stop for both trains.

In 1929, the Pennsylvania Railroad began advertising four 20 hour trains daily westbound from New York to Chicago and five eastbound from Chicago to New York, but none of them were able to take from the Century’s list of regulars.

Just west of Buffalo the east and westbound Centuries would meet almost at the exact spot. We could always tell if one or the other train was running late.

Christopher Morley, in an article in one of the leading magazines of the day, said it was more than a train; he said, "It was the velveted corridor between New York and Chicago."

The Century was called the fastest train in the world covering 960 miles between New York and Chicago. The Broadway Limited covered somewhat less miles because it was a more direct route while we followed the water level route from the Hudson, along Lake Erie and Lake Michigan.

The Century ran until 1957 when it was combined with the Commodore Vanderbilt and from then on it went downhill. It was reported mail received by the railroad officials vilified and abused them for tampering with a long-established Century tradition. Three years later they tried to restore some of the elegance but were never successful.

Reading the newspapers that the Century was to make its last trip, I wrote to the President of the railroad asking that I be advised when the last trip was to take place as I wanted to relive some memorable experiences, but I never heard from him. This was not too long ago, which by this time they had added coaches to the train. Thank God I didn't make the last trip. I read in the press that the train arrived in Chicago eight hours late.

To break the monotony of the Chicago run, or occasionally when a stenographer was sick or taking his vacation, I had to fill in on the Southwestern Limited to St. Louis, also an extra fare train which advertised service 'Just like the Century," with the same services, barber, stenographer, maid, etc. The train left New York at 5:10 PM. and arrived in St. Louis the next afternoon at 5 PM. The thing we didn't like about the Southwestern was the long daylight ride from Cleveland around 6 A.M. because this train didn't have the type of riders the Century had. You had a lot of time on your hands and it was only when you were lucky enough to get some Texas businessman or Oklahoma oil tycoon that you got any work to do.

In St. Louis the Pullman Company provided us with sleeping accommodations, for the barber, conductor and stenographer at a place we called The Pullman House, an old brownstone house that accommodated perhaps 25 people in upstairs single rooms, where you had a single bed and a bureau, with toilet and washroom facilities which you shared with four others. The house was located on a tree lined street in a nice neighborhood with a park across the way.

My memory of this place was the friendly atmosphere that prevailed there. Everybody seemed so relaxed in the place. A porter, who I understood was injured in some railroad accident, oversaw the place and he kept the place immaculate. If my memory serves me correctly he played the piano very well. The downstairs parlor-living room was quite large and after supper those present would congregate there. Besides the piano player there were others who had musical instruments, such as guitars, banjos, violins, etc., and we would spend a good part of the evening singing.

We had a Pullman conductor by the name of Vernon who had taken ballet dancing lessons in his youth and sometimes they prevailed upon him to do the "Dance of the Seven Veils," but instead of veils he would tear off about 8 to 10 feet of toilet paper for each veil, would strip to his shorts and as the tempo of the dance increased he would dance around the room starting with one veil until the seven veils were fluttering around, never letting a veil touch the floor. You didn't dare laugh because if you did he would immediately stop short.

One hot summer night I remember spending half the night in the park across the street singing. It seemed half the block, not merely the Pullman employees, participated in the sing out. No air conditioning in those days.

The next morning, we left St. Louis at 9 A. M. arriving in New York at 9.50. Here, again, it was a long daylight run from St. Louis to Cleveland.

Another thing I remember about the Southwestern run was that in the spring of the year at one of our stops, which I think was Bellefontaine, Ohio, there were hundreds of crates of baby chicks, which were put aboard the baggage car for shipment throughout the country. It was called the baby chick capitol of the world. As soon as the train stopped the peep, peep, peeps of the baby chicks were almost deafening. The baggage car men said they had to wear ear plugs, otherwise they would go batty. It was at this stop that we changed engines. The stop was long enough to permit us to go across the street to a restaurant that specialized in chicken dinners for 25c, which consisted of chicken soup (what else?), half a chicken in any form, fried, boiled, dessert and coffee. We also got eggs there for 10c a dozen and if you bought 10 dozen they would throw in a basket to put them in, no egg boxes in those days. It was not unusual to see the stenographer at the end of the run carrying his bag, typewriter and a basket of eggs. Everybody in the Pullman office was supplied with eggs this way. I, too, would bring some home to Haverstraw with me.

My services on the Century came to an end in 1932 at the height of the depression when 10 out of 16 stenographers were laid off for economy reasons.

There are other times and other events which I run am sure I have overlooked, which the course of time has erased from my present memory, which I am sure I will recall in days and years to come, but these were the glorious days of my life as I look back at them, when I rubbed shoulders and elbows with the high and the mighty, the rich and the poor and the numerous salesmen we encountered who were our most generous tippers, probably be because they had expense accounts.

These events would not have been recorded had I not read Lucius Beebe's book "20th Century Limited" and referring to my scrap book recalling to mind the events and episodes of my experiences on the world's greatest train in the golden age of railroading.