by Janet Dawson
“Where can I get a drink?” Mrs. Tidsdale asked.
“You can purchase beverages in the lounge car or the observation car. Now, the dining car will be open for lunch between noon and two o’clock. You don’t need reservations for lunch, or breakfast either. You do need reservations for dinner. Miss McLeod here, our Zephyrette, she’ll come around and make reservations. Dinner is generally between five and eight but we do have early dinners, for folks traveling with children.” He looked past her and smiled at Emily. “As for breakfast, first call is six in the morning, and last call is nine.”
“Thank you, Porter.” Mrs. Tidsdale pulled out her change purse and tipped him. “We’ll call you if we need you.”
Frank Nathan stepped out of the compartment. Jill entered and settled Emily and her teddy bear onto the bench seat near the window. Stella Nathan and the Fielders were visible outside on the platform, waving at the little girl.
Mrs. Tidsdale hiccupped again. “Tidsy needs to sit down.” She plopped onto the bedroom’s small free-standing chair, mink coat rumpled around her, as though boarding the train had sapped her energy. She had a large square-cut ruby ring on her left hand, a big diamond on her right. Her red dress was well cut and expensive, made of silk crepe. She was in her late forties, Jill guessed.
The whistle blew twice, the signal that the train was moving forward. The eastbound California Zephyr pulled away from the Oakland Mole. Emily scrambled to her feet and waved at Mrs. Nathan and the Fielders. When they were no longer visible, the little girl turned, tears streaking her face.
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy your trip, Emily,” Jill said. Emily didn’t look convinced. Jill turned to Mrs. Tidsdale. “I’m Miss McLeod, the Zephyrette for this run. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you with Emily.”
Mrs. Tidsdale looked up. “What? Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks.” She glanced down at Emily’s teddy bear, tracing its yarn nose and mouth with one blood red fingernail. Then she smiled at Emily. “Do you play cards, sweetie?” The little girl shook her head. “I’ll teach you how to play poker. It’s really easy.”
Jill retraced her steps. Frank Nathan was at the rear of the car, in the doorway to the porter’s compartment. He shook his head and frowned, speaking in a low voice. “Nine o’clock in the morning, and that woman’s drunk. Mama’s fit to be tied.”
“So are the Fielders,” Jill said. What a mess. But it was too late to do anything about Emily’s unsuitable escort. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on Emily. And Mrs. Tidsdale.”
The California Zephyr threaded its way through the Oakland rail yard, passing warehouses and piers near the waterfront. The engineer blew the horn—two long whistles, followed by one short and another long. There was a whole language of horn signals, and this one meant the train was approaching a public grade crossing, any street or road where vehicles or people could cross the tracks.
The trip from the pier to the next stop took about eleven minutes. Soon the Zephyr slowed, heading down Third Street in Oakland. The horn blew one long blast as it approached the Western Pacific station at Third and Washington. When the train stopped, it blocked auto traffic on Broadway, the main thoroughfare that led through downtown Oakland. But they would be here a short time. Frank Nathan opened the vestibule doors. When the steps unfolded, Jill followed him off the train and greeted boarding passengers.
“Here, George, take this suitcase,” one man said, shoving a valise at Frank Nathan. The porter took the bag, but his mouth tightened. Jill knew why. Porters took offense at being called “George,” instead of their proper names. They considered it demeaning and derogatory. The name dated back to the early days of the sleeping cars, and came from the first name of the founder, George Pullman. Sometimes the porters were called “Sam” or “Sambo”—and worse. That’s why Jill was careful to address all her fellow crew members by their last names, with “Mister” in front.
A middle-aged man was the last to climb the steps into the Silver Palisade’s vestibule. He was tall, thin, and bespectacled, with black hair going gray, and he wore a tan overcoat and carried a battered leather bag. He showed his ticket to Frank Nathan, who held out his hand for the man’s suitcase.
“Thank you,” the man said, his voice flavored with an accent. “I’ll carry my own bag.”
“As you wish, sir,” Frank Nathan said. “You’re in roomette two.”
Jill climbed up to the vestibule as the conductor approached, calling, “All aboard.” The conductor boarded the train. Frank Nathan closed and locked the doors. Then the Zephyr’s whistle blew as the train pulled out of the station. Mr. Wylie walked forward, toward the front of the train, while Jill headed the opposite direction.
The engineer blew the train’s warning signal almost continuously as it crossed the streets of the waterfront district, with its fruit warehouses and meat-packing plants. The Zephyr picked up speed as it headed through the Fruitvale district and East Oakland, where the canneries and factories operated, then through the small community of San Leandro.
Jill made her way through the Silver Pine, a sixteen-section sleeper, with semi-private seats that made into berths. These were reasonably priced—$15.40 for a lower berth to Denver; $11.75 for an upper. An older man hailed her, and she paused to answer his question. “Yes, sir, you do need reservations for dinner in the dining car. I’ll be coming through the cars later to take those. Breakfast and lunch are first-come, first-served.”
“Is there a Vista-Dome for the Pullman passengers?” a young woman asked, looking up from the book she held.
“Yes, ma’am. The Dome above the lounge car is reserved for passengers on the sleeper cars. That’s the first car forward from the diner. You can also use the Vista-Dome in the observation car, the last car in the train.”
Jill excused herself and walked through the next car, the Silver Rapids. The transcontinental sleeper was a ten-six sleeper, like the Silver Palisade, with ten roomettes and six double bedrooms. Though identical in design to other Zephyr cars, this one actually belonged to the Pennsylvania Railroad, and would be attached to a Pennsy train in Chicago for its run to New York City.
Jill stopped to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Perlman, who were coming out of their bedroom, heading back to the observation car and its Vista-Dome. Many of the passengers, both coach and sleeper, went immediately to the Domes to claim one of the upper-level seats, all the better to see the scenery from the wrap-around window. All told, the five Dome cars on the train—three coach plus the buffet-lounge car and the observation car—provided a total of 120 seats for Zephyr passengers.
Jill followed the Perlmans back to the Silver Solarium. The bedroom doors were closed, but from bedroom C, she heard the sound of keys striking a platen. Evidently Miss Stafford planned to use her travel time to write.
The Constanzas, who were traveling in the drawing room, were in the lounge at the end of the Silver Solarium. They were both reading paperback detective novels, an Agatha Christie for Mrs. Constanza and a Raymond Chandler for the opera singer.
“Good morning,” Jill said. “It’s a pleasure to have you aboard the California Zephyr. I heard you sing once, Mr. Constanza, in Denver. It was the summer of nineteen forty-six. You performed in Naughty Marietta, at the Denver Post Opera in Cheesman Park.”
Mr. Constanza smiled. “Such a lovely tradition, to have music in the park, free to all the people who bring picnics and sit on the grass. I have performed in the Post Opera several times. In ’forty-eight it was Rose-Marie, and this past summer, The Student Prince. I do enjoy the operettas. A change of pace from grand opera.”
Jill smiled, remembering those summer evenings in Denver. “We lived with my grandmother during the war, while my father was in the Navy. She lives in the Cheesman Park neighborhood so we’d walk to the park and claim a space on the lawn. We saw some wonderful performances, including yours. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your journey more enjoyable.”
She chatted with the Constanzas
a while longer, then went upstairs to the Vista-Dome to meet the other four “special attention” passengers who had boarded at Third Street in Oakland. Mr. Benjamin Finch owned several of the big canneries that operated in Oakland’s Fruitvale district, and his wife, Margaret, was prominent in social circles. Jill had certainly seen their picture in the pages of the Oakland Tribune and the San Francisco Chronicle. As Jill introduced herself, Mr. Finch offered his hand, and Mrs. Finch looked up from the book she was reading. It was that novel Giant by Edna Ferber, the one that Jill’s mother had liked so much.
Margaret Finch was an attractive woman with short brown hair and bangs, her hairstyle similar to that of the next First Lady, Mamie Doud Eisenhower. “It’s a treat to be traveling with such a renowned opera singer,” she said. “I went over to the War Memorial Opera House earlier this fall and saw Mr. Constanza in La Traviata. I’m fond of opera, but Ben isn’t.”
He didn’t look like the opera type, Jill thought. The cannery owner was a big man with powerful shoulders, who looked as though he’d worked on the line in one of his canneries. Now he laughed. “I’ll take Benny Goodman any day.”
The Finches had two daughters. Nan, who was about twelve, sat in one of the forward chairs. She looked as though she was ready to read her way through the journey. In the chair next to her was a stack of blue-backed books with familiar covers—the Nancy Drew books by Carolyn Keene.
Cathy, who appeared to be nine or ten, stood at the front of the Vista-Dome, her arms spread wide. “It’s like flying,” she said as the train left the small town of Hayward, heading south. On the left, the East Bay hills rose, their slopes green with winter rain. To the right was San Francisco Bay, the sun glinting off the water through a break in the clouds.
“The Constanzas are in the drawing room,” Mrs. Finch said. “I haven’t met whoever is traveling in bedroom C, but I hear a typewriter, tapping away. Do tell me, Miss McLeod. Is the mystery passenger a reporter, a writer?”
“A writer,” Jill said. “Miss Lydia Stafford, the novelist.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Mrs. Finch said. “The one who wrote that book about the California Gold Rush?”
Jill nodded. “The very same.”
“I loved that novel. What a treat. I can’t wait to talk with her. Of course, with all that typing, she must be working on another book.”
Jill talked with Mr. and Mrs. Finch for a few minutes, then she excused herself and went down the stairs to the main level of the observation car. The train picked up speed as she walked forward to the next car, humming “Ah! Sweet Mystery of Life,” from Naughty Marietta.
She paused to introduce herself to several other passengers traveling on the transcontinental sleeper, people bound for cities all over the eastern part of the country—Cleveland, Buffalo, Philadelphia, New York City, even Boston. Then she walked forward to the Silver Pine. A boy of about ten ran down the aisle toward her. “Slow down, George,” the boy’s father said. “Don’t bump into this nice lady.”
George skidded to a halt and grinned up at Jill. He stuck out his hand. “I’m George Neeley. Who are you? Why are you wearing that uniform? Do you work on the train?”
Jill smiled and shook the boy’s hand. “Welcome aboard, George. Yes, I do work on the train. I’m a Zephyrette, and my name’s Miss McLeod.”
“You get to ride the train all the time? Wow, that’s great. I’d like a job on a train. I want to drive a locomotive.”
“That’s quite a big job,” Jill said. “But if you want to drive a locomotive, I’m sure some day you will.”
“You going all the way to Chicago?” George asked.
“Yes, I am. How about you?”
“We’re going to Nebraska,” he said. “My grandma lives in Hastings.”
She made her way to the Silver Palisade, stopping to check on Emily and Mrs. Tidsdale. Emily had her nose to the window, looking out, while Mrs. Tidsdale seemed lost in thought as she puffed on a cigarette.
Jill continued forward to the Silver Gull, which was a six-five sleeper, with six double bedrooms alternating with five larger compartments. The porter in charge of this Pullman was an older man named Si Lovell. She said hello and asked him where the Gunthers were. “They’re in compartment G, Miss McLeod,” he told her.
“Thanks, Mr. Lovell.”
Compartment G was in the middle of the car. She stopped to say hello to the Gunthers, who were settled in, Mrs. Gunther on the bench seat that would turn into a lower berth at night, and Mr. Gunther in the free-standing chair. After chatting with them, she turned and walked forward again. Several of the other compartments and bedrooms were empty, awaiting passengers who had yet to board.
At the front of the sleeper car, on the left, was the porter’s seat, where Mr. Lovell rode. Opposite this was a toilet for his use, as the compartments and bedrooms had their own toilets, and several lockers, for clean and soiled linen.
The next car was the diner. Jill walked past the tables, some set for two and others for four passengers. There were radios in the buffet-lounge car and observation car, operated by the attendants in those cars. But here, in the middle of the dining car, near the linen locker and the steward’s counter, was the master control board for the train’s radio and public address system. Recorded music had played while passengers boarded.
Now Jill turned off the music, keyed the mike, and began her welcome-aboard message, the first of many announcements that she would make during the trip.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Jill McLeod, your Zephyrette. On behalf of the Western Pacific, Rio Grande, and Burlington Railroads, I want to welcome you aboard the California Zephyr.
“In case you are not acquainted with some of the unusual features of this train, I should like to tell you something about them. This public address system will be used during the day and evening hours in announcing station stops, meal periods, and to call your attention to some of the points of special interest. To insure the reception of these announcements in roomettes and bedrooms, the occupants of those rooms should keep their radio panel at station number four.
“The buffet car, which is located behind the coaches, offers beverage refreshments, sandwiches, coffee, and snack items, and is open now and until midnight for refreshment service and until ten P.M. for food service to all passengers.
“Refreshment service is available in the observation car for sleeping-car passengers. The diner is located between the coaches and the sleepers. Dinner is served on a reservation basis in order that tedious standing in line may be avoided. You will be given an opportunity this afternoon to secure seat assignments for dinner this evening. No reservations are necessary for breakfast or lunch in the dining car, nor for meal service in the buffet car.
“The Vista-Domes of the three chair coaches are for the enjoyment of the coach passengers and the seats are not reserved. The Vista-Domes of the buffet car and of the observation lounge car are for the enjoyment of the sleeping-car passengers, and here again, the seats are not reserved.
“The Vista-Dome affords a marvelous opportunity for camera fans, the best results being secured by using twice the normal exposure time.
“When passing through the train, and when leaving the Vista-Dome seats, please watch for the steps. We have endeavored to make them conspicuous. Two steps will be found at each end of the corridor, directly under the Dome. In the folder rack of your car, you will find not only timetables, but a leaflet entitled ‘Vista-Dome Views.’ This folder should add materially to your enjoyment of the trip as it describes chief points of interest along the way. The inside back cover explains the various features of the train.
“If you have any questions concerning the adjustments of the roomette and coach seats, the foot and leg rests, or the Venetian blinds, please ask your porter. You may hand me mail to be posted at any time.
“As I pass through the train, I hope you will stop me if you think I can be of service. We are anxious to do all we can to add to the comfort and enjoymen
t of your trip. Thank you for your attention.”
Jill replaced the mike. Recorded music would be played at various times during the journey, along with some news programs, and it was Jill’s job to monitor the broadcasts and adjust the volume so that it wasn’t too loud, allowing passengers to carry on conversations in a normal tone of voice.
Jill walked forward through the train and met Mr. Wylie, the conductor, in the first Dome coach car, the Silver Pony. Together they walked back through the train, car by car. Passengers expected to see men onboard the train, but many people weren’t used to seeing the train’s sole woman crew member.
There were attendants in each of the chair cars, but unlike the Pullman porters in the sleepers, the chair car porters were employees of the Western Pacific Railroad, part of the train crew that would change at various stops along the journey.
The Zephyr slowed, blowing its grade-crossing warning. They were approaching the small town of Niles. This was a flag station. That meant the train would stop only if there were passengers waiting to board. As it happened, there were three, a family traveling in the third coach car, the Silver Saddle. The whistle blew and the Silver Lady began its journey through Niles Canyon, winding through tree-covered slopes, with Alameda Creek below.
The man who’d boarded the Silver Palisade at Third and Washington had already settled into his roomette, the pocket door open, with books and file folders piled onto the seat beside him, and spilling from the briefcase on the floor in front of him.
Jill paused in the doorway. “Good morning, I’m Miss McLeod, the Zephyrette on this run. If there is anything you need, please let me know.”
The man quickly tucked the paper he’d been reading into a manila folder, as though he didn’t want her to see what it was. He set the folder on the stack of books and looked up, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his long nose. He smiled, lines crinkling the skin around his hazel eyes and his wide mouth.
