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Forms to be Filled out for Each Interview FOLKLORE
NEW. YORK
FORM A
Circumstances of Interview
STATE New York
NAM OF WORKER Frank Byrd
ADDRESS 224 West 135th Street, N.Y.C.
DATE March 28, 1939
SUBJECT Pullman Porters' Dining Car Workers' Stories
1. Date and tin:. of interview March 27, 11:30 A.M.
2. Place of interview 46 West 136th Street, N.Y.C.
3. Name and address of informant Marvin Leonard
46 Meat 136th Stbeet
New York City
4. Name and address of person, if any, who put you in
touch with informant.
Robert Ball
46 West 135th Street, N.Y.C.
5. Name and address of person, if any, accompanying you
None
6. Description of room, house, surroundings, etc.
Apartment Rouse
(Use as many additional sheets as necessary, for any of the forms, each
bearing the proper heading and the number to which the material refers.)
FORM C
Text of Interview (Unedited)
STATE New York
NANE OF WORKER. Frank Bryd
ADDRESS 224 West 135th Street, N.Y.C.
DATE
SUBJECT
March 28, 1939
Pullman Porters' Dining Car Workers' Stories
CHEF SAMTSOU45
When we were running on the Penney, there was an old chef
on our run who was the Eitl5esqlocet onery old cuss you ever
heard of. His name was Sampson and he could out -cuss a blue
streak. Die was short, squatty and black... and as evil as he
was black3 He was a dictator in his kitchen and there was
hell to pay any time the dining car waiters and cooks assist-
ants did not hue the line as far as chef's kitchen -rules were
concerned.
There was one thing he was particularly mean about. He
didn't allow anylody, not even the steward or second cook, to
go into his ice box. The steward had the right to, of course,
but even he used to humor the old man because he was so eff-
icient in his work. And any time the second or third cooks
wanted anything, they had to say:
"Going in, Chef!"
Meaning, of course, the ice boy. Well, if he felt in the
mood, he'd day:
"Go 'head ml"
FOLKLORE
NEW YORK
If he didn't, the answer would be:
*Whit a minute. 1211 git it for you. I got my box 'ranged
jus' lak I want it an' I don't want it mixed up."
We also had an inspector named Mister Trout. He was a tall,
rangy, mean -looking cracker from down in Georgia. He used to pop
up unexpectedly in all sort of little out of the way stations,
board the train and start gum -shoeing around, seeing what be sees.
Well, this day he climbs aboard at Altoona and just when we're
speeding through the mountains to Pittsburgh, old man Trout eases
back into the kitchen and starts rummaging through chef's ice bop.
A
Chef had his uack turned and was busy chopping some onions on a
board near the window. He heard the commotion, however, and,
without turning around, said:
"Git the hall outs dat ice bog."
old man Trout said nothing, but continued his inspection.
"Git outs dat ice box, I say!" chef repeated, still without
turning around.
Old man Trout straightened up to his full six, rawbony feet,
took one contemptuous look at Chef Sadpson and said;
"Who in hell do you think you're talkint to? My name is
TROUT 1"
Chef Sampson stared baok as cool as you please. Finally
he drawled:
"1 wouldn't give a damn if it's CATFISH. You git duh hell
outa my ice boxt"