A LAND OF UPPER BERTHS
There are times when a man can be very dense. During the past year I
have crossed the continent twice--stood by the "wine-dark" Pacific and
mused by "the salt, unplumbed, estranging" Atlantic--and all through the
journey, both going and coming, a piece of news that will interest all
travellers was "tickling my consciousness with the tip of its tail." But
not until my last day's travel did I make the discovery that aroused
both amusement and wrath. The story of it will now be told for the first
time because it will do as well as anything else to show a kind of
international tie that binds more securely than the arrangements
effected through diplomatic channels. Business takes no heed of
boundaries that are defined for patriotic reasons. It recognizes them
only when they can be used to its advantage. This incident will also
show how enterprise and organization may defeat democracy, and that
although we may be equal before the law our case may be different before
a Pullman car porter.
At different times during the past few years I have meditated writing an
essay on America--including the United States and Canada--as "The Land
of Upper Berths." No matter how far ahead I planned my trips and tried
to make reservations I could never get a lower berth in a sleeping-car.
But there were always uppers to be had and night after night I clambered
aloft. Always trying to make the best of everything I finally got so
that I rather liked them on account of the better ventilation, roomier
quarters, etc.
From time to time my nose for news sniffed at the prevailing conditions
and I wondered vaguely at the type of passengers who were always so
fortunate as to have lower berths. Instead of being "The beautiful,
pampered women of the wealthy bourgeoisie," they were usually brisk
young business men. Not only did they get the lower berths, but having
greater facilities for getting out of bed in the morning they were
always first at the washbowls and took an unconscionable time at their
morning ablutions; shaving expertly while the train speeded around
curves and grooming themselves like bridegrooms, while we poor
upper-berthers sat around, yawning sleepily and admiring the backs of
their silk undershirts and the nice warm suspenders that cost as much as
an ordinary man used to pay for a suit of clothes. They primped and
preened and left the rest of us only time to wash sketchily before
reaching our destination. Then they stepped from the train in flawless
form and ready to do business. Having had this experience over and over
again from Toronto to Vancouver and from Vancouver to New York, I should
have guessed something, but I was dense. That sleeping-car feeling
dulled my perceptions.
Out in Calgary I was given an explanation of the phenomenon that put me
on the wrong track and lulled my sense of outrage. I had protested to
the porter of one of the palatial hotels because he failed to get me a
lower berth to Lethbridge.
"Too late," he said cheerfully. "All the lower berths going both ways
are reserved two weeks ahead."
"What's the reason?"
"Everybody is travelling. If I wasn't a married man and tied down I
would be travelling myself."
Certainly everybody did seem to be travelling, for the hotels were
crowded to the limit and one had to telegraph a week ahead to get
reservations. Many times even that precaution failed. Often I have slept
on a cot in a corridor, and on several occasions when the corridors were
full I got a berth on a cot in the manager's office.
But the lower-berth gentry never had any trouble of that kind. They
would walk right up to the clerk's desk and register with an air of
authority utterly impossible to a man who has been sleeping in a top
berth and is looking dishevelled after dressing hastily. And they were
never disappointed. While others were sitting around waiting for some
one to check out so that they could get even an inside room opening on
an airshaft, the travelling princes would be led to the elevators by
obsequious bell-boys and personally conducted to palatial rooms with a
southern exposure and a bath. Having a keen sense of my own carelessness
and lack of foresight, I always humbly attributed my misfortunes to my
own shiftlessness and mildly envied men who could have their minds so
constantly fixed on sublunary affairs that they always got the best of
everything.
Finally I got what I thought was a possible way out of my troubles--at
least as far as lower berths were concerned. Often I had been told that
if I came around about an hour before the train started I might get a
lower berth. Some one who had a reservation might fail to turn up and if
I was on hand I might be the lucky one to get that lower berth. As I
never put much faith in the suggestion I did not put it to the test, but
when coming home from New York last week I had to come a couple of days
sooner than I expected and arrived at the ticket office about an hour
before the train started. The impossible happened. I got a lower berth.
I don't know when I have felt so puffed up. At last I was on terms of
equality with the aristocrats of the travelling public. Their
"gallusses" might still make a finer showing than mine in the
dressing-room, but as I shouldn't have to wait for the porter to bring
me a ladder I could probably beat them to the washbowls in the morning.
The country habit of early rising would stand me in good stead in a
competition of this kind. All the way up to Poughkeepsie I felt the
dignity of being a lower-berth passenger and kept aloof from the common
herd of people who have to climb to upper berths. Being new in my class
I did not feel quite up to interviewing other lower-berthers and
discussing high matters of international relations with them. Once
during the evening a Georgian from Atlanta asked me for information and
my reply made him so sad that perhaps it was as well that I kept to
myself. He asked me if there were any bars handy to the train when we
should get to Niagara Falls, Canada. I was obliged to break the news to
him that the nearest bar would probably be in Montreal. His distress was
pitiful. Like almost every one else in the United States he thought that
all Canada is wide open. And just think of it! He might have taken the
trip to Montreal just as easily as the trip to Toronto. He was
holidaying anyway. But I have wandered from my story.
While crossing the lake from Lewiston to Toronto I had dinner and
engaged in conversation with a well-set-up business man who was placed
at the same table with me. Being full of pride over that lower berth I
casually mentioned the wonderful luck I had had on the previous night.
He smiled a superior smile.
"I travel quite a bit," he said loftily, "but I am never troubled that
way."
Here at last was a _bona-fide_ lower-berther who might be induced to
enlighten me.
"Indeed?" I insinuated.
"You see I am a member of----and it attends to all such matters as
getting lower berths, hotel accommodations, and choice theatre seats for
its members."
That was a large and illuminating piece of news to be given out in one
sentence. I registered polite interest, being careful not to arouse his
suspicion by any show of eagerness. As I expected, he went on and
expanded his theme. He did a great deal of travelling, but by being a
member of this organization all he needed to do was to state his
requirements a day in advance and he would be properly looked after on
the trains and in the hotels either in the United States or Canada. They
always had plenty of reservations ahead so that they could look after
all travelling members. They held these reservations until an hour or
so before the trains started and then returned those they did not
require. He paid an annual fee of moderate proportions which he regarded
as an insurance premium--insuring comfort in travel. He did not explain
how the hotels and theatres are approached so that rooms and seats may
be secured, but it is managed all right. Not a bad arrangement for the
favorites of fortune, but how about the ordinary public? Are not Pullman
cars, hotels, and theatres operating under licenses or charters insuring
equal opportunities for all? If not, why not?