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Nile Kinnick correspondence, December 1942-March 1943
1943-01-03: Page 03
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2 into Washington at six-forty, but didn't make it until ten minutes after nine. You can imagine what a delightful trip that was! We were held up an hour and a half in some little place called Petersburg. The next train out of Washington for New York didn't leave until 11 PM, so we had time to get a bite to eat and look around the station. The traffic in and out of there is terrific, but very efficiently handled it seemed to me. I wanted to phone Sid but couldn't remember the name of the family with whom she is staying. You should have seen the mob waiting to catch the eleven oclock train, mostly soldiers. When the gates were opened it was every man for himself in the mad scramble for seats. As I plopped down in a dirty coach seat just ahead of another guy, I recalled the leisurely manner in which I climbed aboard my Pullman in the winter of 1940. It hardly seems possible that three years have passed, does it? At midnight, as the old year yielded to the new, everybody was about half asleep, too tired for hilarity and the usual shouting. A few minutes later there was some excitement, however. I happened to be awake and saw it all happen. A huge, heavily muscled Negro soldier, well under
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2 into Washington at six-forty, but didn't make it until ten minutes after nine. You can imagine what a delightful trip that was! We were held up an hour and a half in some little place called Petersburg. The next train out of Washington for New York didn't leave until 11 PM, so we had time to get a bite to eat and look around the station. The traffic in and out of there is terrific, but very efficiently handled it seemed to me. I wanted to phone Sid but couldn't remember the name of the family with whom she is staying. You should have seen the mob waiting to catch the eleven oclock train, mostly soldiers. When the gates were opened it was every man for himself in the mad scramble for seats. As I plopped down in a dirty coach seat just ahead of another guy, I recalled the leisurely manner in which I climbed aboard my Pullman in the winter of 1940. It hardly seems possible that three years have passed, does it? At midnight, as the old year yielded to the new, everybody was about half asleep, too tired for hilarity and the usual shouting. A few minutes later there was some excitement, however. I happened to be awake and saw it all happen. A huge, heavily muscled Negro soldier, well under
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