Compartmentalized

(1952 September 23, after travelling by rail from Boston to Chicago)


Our compartment was a scream, especially the bathroom. Ask me at Thanksgiving. When your father arose in the morning, he found the vacuum jug had leaked orange juice over everything in his black grip, and from his language one would never guess he had been at a Christian Convention. Every time he'd turn around, he'd knock his head when the train jerked, or a dixie cup would collaspse on him. It was a rare sight, and I lay on the upper berth shushing him and inwardly laughing and shuddering by turns.