The Century

Conductor, when you receive a fare,

PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare!

A blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare,

A buff trip slip for a six-cent fare,

A pink trip slip for a three-cent fare,

Punch in the presence of the passenjare!

CHORUS

Punch, brothers! Punch with care!

PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare!*

In Williamsport, Pa., and in Collinwood (outskirt of Cleveland), two little bands of workmen have been holding regular meetings after shop hours. They are employes of the New York Central R. R., and "bands" is meant musically. The week of June 12 the men will take their instruments to Grand Central and LaSalle Street stations, respectively, and serenade the Twentieth Century Limited as it starts out June 15 on its Silver (25th) Anniversary run.

Passengers boarding the Century always tread plush. But next week the red platform carpets will be new, as red and plush as money can buy. Brass polish will be copiously consumed this week on observation-car railings, and, no doubt, even upon the service-shiny buttons of John Joseph Kennedy.

Senior conductor of the road, John Joseph Kennedy it is who, if you are on the Century's first section out of New York, smiles at you and your ticket, punches the ticket and conducts the road's 750-ton prize package as far as Buffalo. This he has done for 16 years, returning to Manhattan on the Empire State Express.

It has been said that in New York the Century is thought of as "just a train" while in Chicago it is an institution. If that be true, perhaps Conductor Frank V. Hendrix will seem even more of a personage than Conductor Kennedy, when he officiates at the Chicago end of the anniversary run with his colleagues, Conductor Frank A. Jefferey and John S. Lund.* Gruff as a Southern colonel and as proud of tradition, Conductor Hendrix lacks but a few days of Conductor Kennedy's seniority. Both joined the road in 1873 when Commodore Vanderbilt was its president. Both retire before another Century anniversary rolls around, on Feb. 1 and 14, 1928.

Conductor. But it is John Joseph Kennedy who is to the New York Central what the commanders of flagships are to steamer lines. Of his apprenticeship as waterboy and brakeman he bears no mark. In the days of pin coupling, brakemen were seldom "set up" as conductors before they had managed to lose a finger or two. Conductor Kennedy's hands and memories are as smooth as a college professor's. The shield-shape perforation which he carefully makes in your ticket, in your presence', is done with the punch he used on his first passenger trip in 1887.

Conductor Kennedy was born in Albion, N. Y., but he never met another native of that countryside, born 27 years before, with whose works he was to become so closely associated--the late George M. Pullman. The smile on his long, gentle face will grow shy if you ask him to tell about all the bishops, actresses, pugilists, governors, bankers and U. S. Presidents (all since Grover Cleveland's first term) that he has conducted and known. Off duty he lives in a small house under old elms at Rochester, N. Y. One son is a plumber; another a Baltimore journalist. His daughters teach school.

Train. In 1902, when the Century first ran, an English newspaper commented: "Surely it is only an experiment. . . . The operators will soon find that they are wasting fortunes in keeping their property in condition and then, loving money better than even notoriety, the 20-hour project will be abandoned." The English newspaper was obviously unaware that New York Central had had six months' experience in whisking people over the 960 miles between the Harlem and the Chicago Rivers during the summer of the World's Fair (1893).

The new train was named after the fresh, human division of Time that had just begun, and Financier John W. Gates of Manhattan, one of the 27 passengers who made the first trip, said to Manhattan newsgatherers: "The 20th Century will make Chicago a suburb of New York." Suave, he said to Chicagoans upon arrival: ". . . New York a suburb of Chicago." The new schedule made it possible for a businessman in either city to snap on his cuffs around lunch time, entrain, and be dictating or telephoning in the other city by a bright 10 o'clock next morning. All other trains of 1902 cost virtually an entire day's office hours. Stockbroker George B. Hopkins of Manhattan bought and framed the first tickets sold on the 20-hour trains of 1893 and 1902.*

When the anniversary Century pulls out next week, the only formal speeches will be from head conductors to engineers. "Bo-o-oard!" they will intone. The only flags flying will be the two on each engine's forehead, little green racing silks quivering stiffly back with speed. But in 1902 there were trackside Century receptions-- bands, handkerchiefs, hat-throwing --as far west as Syracuse, as far east as Toledo.

The Century is not the fastest train in the world nor the longest non-stop racer. Between its seven stops to change engines and crew it averages only about 50 m.p.h. Its 182-mile non-stop spin between Buffalo and Cleveland in 214 min. is longest in the U. S., fourth in the world./- For several months of 1905, the Century ticked off its 960 mi. in 18 hours, but by 1912 the 20-hour schedule was proved to be more desirable.

The five-car-and~locomotive Century of 1902 represented an outlay of $115,000--about the price of one of the electric engines used to haul one ten-car section of the present Century from Manhattan to Harmon, N. Y., today. Since sometimes as many as seven sections of the Century are now required, the company must maintain an $8,000,000 herd of 87 sleeping cars, 15 observation cars, 12 club cars, 8 diners and 24 engines exclusively for Century service. The gross earnings of this herd are $10,000,000 per annum.

Only the newest equipment is handled by the oldest crews to keep up the Century's boast of "most famous . . . in the annals of railroading." Century patrons seldom hear a "kicker" (faulty air brake). Like a smooth serpent the long steel caravan slides over the rails with a heavy murmur that is broken only by oily sounds as soft and satisfying as the solid clock of a custom-made limousine's door as it shuts.

Inside the Century, in addition to barber and valet service, ladies' lounge and maid service, shower baths, free stenographer, observation car telephone (until departure), and market and sport reports, travelers now notice that white enamel is replacing nickel on plumbing fixtures, that upper berths are more private and accessible. These features, of course, are to the Pullman Co.'s credit, as is much else about the Century.

Porter. New York Central officials deny that there is any distinction between Century sections. There is, they say, no "first," no "last," save as the trains are spaced a block* or two apart on the runs. Nevertheless, should Calvin Coolidge or George V or Charles Augustus Lindbergh signify a desire to travel as a private citizen (i. e. not in a private car) between Chicago and Manhattan, he would undoubtedly be assigned space on the section conducted by Conductor Kennedy or Conductor Hendrix, the section called "first" only for convenience, perhaps, but invariably attended at one end of the run or other by George Joseph Warner, a gentleman of 63 who looks, in his bat tie and wing collar, precisely like a modest bank president seen through brown-smoked glasses. George Joseph Warner is the road's crack and senior porter. His section is always the "first."

Other "first" section porters are Matthew Pearson, Charles A. Henry, Felix Caldwell and tall, light-colored Hunter Newson. All respect Mr. Warner as their chief, even in the matter of billiards, which is their common pastime off duty. None of "the men he runs with" (i. e. Century colleagues) can match Mr. Warner for calmness and accuracy with a cue. His record billiard run is 22.

Mr. Warner's aptness with a billiard cue is doubtless partly due to his health. Never has he needed a doctor since the hour of his birth. His aptness at taking cues from passengers is unquestionably due to the 38 years he has spent at that major study of all Pullman porters, Human Nature.

Watch Mr. Warner when the train leaves the station. He moves unobtrusively through his car--it may be the French Lake, Red Ridge, William Beaumont, Lake Drain, Alfred Nobel, Point Case, Christopher Wren, Glen Manor, Louis Pasteur, Cyrus Field, Edmund Halley--or any of 76 other names--doing small things for large people and quietly watching them, studying them, children and greybeards, ladies and gentlemen, to size them up in one of two Pullman-porters' categories.

All Pullman passengers may be divided into two parts, the "nervous," the "not nervous."* For the "not nervous" Mr. Warner gives silent thanks and hastens to anticipate the imaginary wants of the "nervous." The shade down a little? Yes, Sir. Magazine from the newsboy? Yess, Madam. Drink of water? Ginger ale? Another pillow? Right away--and the more testy the request, the more cheery the service. That is professional ethics. Invariably, the "nervous" are poor tippers. But Mr. Warner and his peers are nearly certain to make up their average of $1 per capita in tips from the "not nervous," who often want bags opened, cocktails shaken, cards brought.

One of the few porters whom travelers may call "George" without affront, Mr. Warner was educated at public school in New Orleans. His seven stripes indicate 35 years, going on 40, with the New York Central. His residences are on St. Nicholas Ave., N. Y. C., and Calumet Ave., Chicago. His chief club, The Turf Club (Chicago). His sons, Devere Joseph and George Joseph Jr., are in civil service and sportdom, respectively. George Joseph Jr. achieved some fame as a pugilist (nom de combat, "Jose Alvarez, the Mexican Kid") and fought "Kid" MacPartland to a bloody draw in his last ring appearance, in Illinois. Mr. Warner Jr. now bets on race horses.

*When Mark Twain read these jingles in a newspaper, they took (he said) instant and entire possession of him. He could not read, he could not write, he could not eat or speak or sleep, save to the drumming, infernal accompaniment of

"PUNCH brothers! PUNCH with care!

PUNCH in the presence of the PASSen-jare!"

For three days he was wracked, wrecked, frantic with insidious syncopation. Not until he repeated the verses to a friend was he released from torture. The friend learned the jingles quickly, eagerly--and went quite as mad as Mark Twain had been.

The new madman was a clergyman and Conductor, when you receive a fare haunted him all the way to Boston from the moment when "the train started and the car-wheels began their 'clack-clack-clack-clack-clack' ". . . The funeral was a nightmarish medley of blue and buff trip slips for three-cent fares to Heaven.

Only by having him recite and transfer the jingles to "the poor, unthinking students" of a university did Mark Twain save his friend (he said) from the asylum.

*Comfortably-built Christopher Morley lately spoke, on his "Bowling Green" in the Saturday Review of Literature, of "two stout, elderly, ruddy nabobs . . . the two rotund conductors, Tweedledum and Tweedledee" whom he, during a Chicago-to-New York trip on the Century, saw conferring on the LaSalle Street and Elkhart, Ind., platforms. N. Y. Central men are agreed that Mr. Morley must have seen Conductors Hendrix and Jefferey, of whom only one, however, might be called stout, rotund-- Conductor Jefferey. (Conductor Lund may have been Tweedledee to Conductor Jefferey's Tweedledum; he is heavier than Conductor Hendrix. But between Conductors Lund and Jefferey there has long been a "feud"; they rarely confer.)

*Nowadays adjuncts to the Century run to and from Boston and Cincinnati.

/- Longer, faster non-stop spins are all English:

Cornish Riviera Limited, Paddington to Devonport, 226.9 mi. in 244 min.

London, Midland & Scottish R. R., Euston to Colwyn Bay, 219.5 mi. in 253 min.

London & Northwestern R. R., King's Cross to York, 188.2 mi. in 210 min.

*Track section between signals; length: one to two miles.

*Porters of Century-calibre seldom indulge in dice, slang or other inferior pursuits. But among "small time" porters and station "red-caps," there is a glossary, e. g.:

"Live one"--a good tipper, generous to porters.

"Good man"--one who has traveled and appreciates service.

"Twenty-cent limited"--the Century.

"Cheap snake"--heavy suitcases, poor tip.

"Rah Rahs"--college youths, usually left strictly alone; "can carry more baggage than us porters any day"; never "slip" more than a dime.

"Bale of hay"--straw suitcase. Bearer is left strictly alone, as being too rural to "appreciate."

"Larger the conversation, smaller the compensation"--porters are leery of voluble patrons.

"The baker heater committee is holding a session"--porters are not supposed to visit one another or converse on trips. When they do huddle for a conversation the group is referred to as in the old days when cars were heated by stoves resembling bakers' stoves.

"Stove pipe committee"--conductors in conversation (cf. Tweedledee & Tweedledum above). In the eyes of some porters, some conductors are "pretty high-hat," toplofty, consciously superior.