BLACK PORTERS FINALLY TRAVEL RAIL IN STYLE : BYGONE ERA COMES RUSHING BACK IN PULLMAN BLUES TOUR.

Byline: Ellen Sweets The Dallas Morning News

Talking with Virgil and Garrard Smock is like having a conversation with history. They bring to life an era when luxury passenger trains criss-crossed America and African-American men served as porters on the segregated lines.

The Smock brothers served meals in dining cars where they could not eat; shined shoes they would never wear and fluffed pillows in cars where they could not sleep.

Together the Smocks - Virgil 81, Garrard, 79, and their late brother, George - have a half-century of service with the Pullman Company, one-time maker of the finely furnished ``palace'' train cars that carried the rich and powerful from the turn of the century into the 1960s.

``We came across some of just about everything and everyone,'' recalled Virgil Smock. Both Virgil and Garrard worked for Pullman from 1937 to 1960. ``One time a buddy of mine came up to my car and said: `You gotta come back here and see who's in my car!' Well, he wouldn't tell me anything. So as soon as I got a break, I went back there and there was The Duke (Ellington), sittin' there, writing music.''

For a week, the Smocks were the guests aboard a private rail car attached to several Amtrak trains. En route to Chicago, the trip began in Oakland, and made stops in Los Angeles, Kansas City, Mo., and St. Louis. They arrived in Chicago on Feb. 16 in time for a ceremony in the Pullman Historic District.

The Smocks were part of The Pullman Blues Tour, a cross-country trip honoring A. Philip Randolph, the civil rights leader who organized thousands of African-American men into the International Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters. The tour also promoted an oral history project developed by David Perata of Sacramento.

As the train sped through the Midwestern countryside, the Smocks recalled their lives as Pullman porters.

The porters, who were ordered to smile, were known for their courteous, dignified service - behaviors they quickly learned translated into generous tips. Working mainly routes in California, Virgil Smock greeted entertainment greats such as Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. as well as presidents and governors - including Earl Warren, who later became chief justice of the United States Supreme Court.

``We had always worked mainly for tips,'' he said. ``Our wages didn't amount to much of nothing. We'd work 300, 400 hours a month sometimes, and get paid less than $50. But I always knew that with Crosby I'd make some money. He had a rule; my tip always matched his bill. One time he spent $1,200 on the train. He gave me $1,200. I didn't need for Pullman to tell me to smile for that.''

Those were the good times. But there were also times when the porters had to endure insults, racial epithets and the continual affront of being called ``George.'' That nickname grew out of referring to African-American employees as ``one of George Pullman's boys.''

``I could put up with just about anything as long as people didn't put their hands on me,'' Virgil Smock said. If someone called me . . . `boy' I would just pretend I didn't hear him. If he called me `George,' I would either say, `I'm sorry, sir, you must have me confused with the other porter. His name is George. My name is Virgil.' And I would smile. They didn't know what to say then.''

In 1937, the International Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters became the first African-American organization in the nation's history to negotiate a union contract with a white-owned company - the firm founded years earlier by George Mortimer Pullman. For decades, Pullman had the upper berth in the sleeping-car business. He employed African-American men to serve as porters for the train cars that Pullman leased to the majority of the country's passenger rail lines.

Although surrounded by people of vast means, the Pullman porters did not have an easy lot. The company kept a close count of food and supplies. If a passenger walked off the train with a towel, the porter had to pay for it.

``They'd say how many oranges you needed to make so many glasses of orange juice and how many slices you should get out of a tomato or how many potatoes would feed so many people,'' Virgil Smock said. ``It was ridiculous.''

``If we rode a short haul, we had to bring sandwiches from home because we weren't allowed to eat the meals the chefs prepared on the train. If we rode a long haul, we had to catch as catch can. If we got into a town where there was a restaurant, we could buy a meal, but otherwise we were on our own.''

Such stringent rules led to clever circumventions.

``The chef knew most women couldn't eat a whole steak - Pullman did give the white passengers their money's worth - so he'd take that big sharp knife and slice that steak through into two steaks. So when the next order for a woman came up, he'd cook the other half. That way we'd have a whole steak for us,'' Smock said.

The oldest Smock brother, George, left railway service after only four years of a stormy relationship with the Pullman Co. Despite being fired, he later was asked to return three times because the family's history with the company was so respected. Instead, he joined the Army, where he served until 1969.

``George said he wouldn't step on another Pullman car if they hauled it out and put it in his front yard. He used to say that Lincoln freed the slaves and Pullman hired them. We used to laugh at some of the stuff we had to put up with, but George, his temperament wouldn't let him do that,'' Virgil Smock said.

Tales like these and many others moved Perata to compile, ``Those Pullman Blues: An Oral History of the African-American Railroad Attendant.''

Meanwhile, Virgil and ``Babe'' Smock were enjoying the ride.

``If you'd ever told me I'd be sitting on a parlor car and white people would be waiting on me, I'd have said you were crazy. It's quite a life, isn't it?'' Virgil Smock asked.

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Photo: Virgil, left, and Garrard ``Babe'' Smock, looking through a train car window, spent 23 years working as Pullman porters in dining cars.

Knight-Ridder Tribune Photo Service