My First Adventure

My first adventure was going from Pittsburgh, PA to New York City by Pullman train, at the age of 10.  The year was 1935.  To this day I can’t believe that my Mother, who took such good care of me, would let a 10 year old girl make that trip alone, but she did.  I had no fear since I wasn’t aware of potential dangers.  In fact, I loved those trips, which I made several times. 

I remember the first trip, just before Christmas.  I remember all those Christmas trees lit up in the windows, as Mother drove me to the station in our beautiful wine-red Plymouth convertible.  I remember that cold starry night, Christmas carols in the air.  Very exciting. 

On the train she said something to the big, black porter dressed in a clean, white tunic, the one who was in charge of that “car.”  I’m sure she gave him a good tip.  Probably asked him to look after me.  She said to me, “If anyone touches you…” I made a tight little fist and said, “Just let them try it!”

She showed me to my bunk, a lower bunk with heavy, dark green curtains separating it from the aisle.  She hugged me and left.  Many years later, when I asked her why she didn’t accompany me on those trips to New York, she said, matter-of-factly, “I had to stay home and work, to pay for your trip.  I wanted you to have a sense of family.” 

I went to the bathroom to wash my hands and face and brush my teeth.  Such a funny little bathroom!  The spigots worked differently from those at home.  Everything was different.  I found it fascinating!

Then I crawled into my bunk, put on my pajamas, and got into bed.  I could hear the other passengers just outside of the heavy, green curtains, but they couldn’t see me.  Later, when the train started to move and picked up speed, I opened the other curtains (they slid back, parting in the middle) and looked outside.  The deserted dark countryside rushed past, telephone poles, little towns, with the cold, starry sky above.

When we stopped at a station, I watched the passengers walking around, talking to each other, getting on and off of the train, black “redcaps” helping with the luggage.  But they couldn’t see me, lying there snugly in my dark bunk, eavesdropping.

I slept soundly all night.  In the morning, the black porter woke me up, saying we would soon arrive in Pennsylvania Station.  I heard him walking down the narrow aisle, between the dark green curtains, waking everybody up.

I got dressed and went to the funny little bathroom, with the funny spigots.  When I came back, by lower bunk had become a seat, so I sat down.  There was a very long, dark tunnel.  Then I heard the porter saying, “Pennsylvania station!”

As I approached the door, carrying my little bag, I thought with a pang, “What if Uncle Jack isn’t there to meet me?  What will I do?”  But he was there. Every time I made that trip alone, he was there, the moment I stepped off the train.  Tall, sturdy, smiling his little smile, so handsome and debonair!  My famous uncle, the star of his own radio show, in his grey overcoat, his grey felt hat set at a rakish angle, his white silk scarf.

“Hello, Nancy!” he said in a friendly way.  “Did you have a good trip?”  Then he drove me to their apartment at 468 Riverside Drive, in his powder blue Cadillac convertible.  That was the beginning of a wonderful Christmas holiday in a fantastic city.  Much more exciting and beautiful than Pittsburgh, PA.  

What I loved most of all was being part of  “a real family.”