Eastland (2 page)

Mae and Karel had a ten-minute head start over me. It would
take more than a little hustling to catch up with them. But with
hundreds of picnic-goers swarming the narrow sidewalks, I
could barely walk, let alone run, the four blocks to the nearest
Chicago-bound streetcar. As if I didn’t have enough trouble, the
sprinkles I’d hoped would let up today seemed to be worsening.
I sidestepped a muddy puddle and turned onto Twenty-Second
Street, the paved boulevard that Mae and I took to work each day.

It was the wrong way to go.
People poured in from every side street like water through
a funnel. I found myself pressed up against the plate-glass
window fronts of the neighborhood stores. I slithered past the
butcher shop with the sides of beef dangling from hooks in the
window. On days when the wind blew in from the east, Cicero
was near enough to the Union stockyards to catch the stench
of slaughter. But now, the rain and this great surge of picnickers masked any hint of dung or urine. I’d slipped around the
red-and-white-striped barber pole in front of Giuseppe’s Barber
Emporium when someone called to me.
“Delia! What’s the rush?”
Mr. Mazurski, the greengrocer, was filling an outside stand
with potatoes beneath the bright orange canvas awning of his
shop. He waved a spud at me.
“You’ve maybe somewhere special to go today?”
“Now, Stosh. Don’t tease the girl.” Mrs. Mazurski scuttled
out from behind her cash register. “And Delia, tell Mae thanks
again for the tickets.”
“Yes, please,” said Mr. Mazurski. “We’re taking the last
steamer. We’ll see you in Indiana this afternoon.”
“I’ll tell her.”
I lurched forward, but not before smacking into the woman
in front of me and knocking her feathery, aqua hat off her head.
I caught it before it hit the wet sidewalk. The woman turned,
revealing a tangle of red curls and a pair of fiery, emerald eyes.
“Dolly! I’m so sorry.” I handed back her hat.
Dolly O’Brien, switchboard operator at Western Electric,
smiled at me with her heart-shaped lips
.
“Don’t bother yourself.
This mob is madness. How’re we ever gonna catch a streetcar?”
“I don’t know.” But I had to try. I elbowed my way through
the crowd.
“See you at Washington Park, Dee?”
“Mm, yeah, sure.” Although I really didn’t know Dolly
O’Brien all that well.
“Love your dress,” she shouted after me. “And that watch!”
I gave a wave of thanks over my shoulder and darted away.
A block later, I reached the Western Electric trolley stop
at the corner of Twenty-Second Street and Cicero Avenue. I
searched for Mae and Karel, but they weren’t in line.
Had I already missed them?
When the next crimson streetcar arrived, the crowd clambered aboard. In the stampede, I found myself cast aside and
left to wait with a dozen others for the next car. But that just
wouldn’t do. If I didn’t catch up with Mae and Karel before
they reached the docks, I’d lose them amid the seven thousand
Western Electric employees, families, and friends boarding the
six steamers.
I burst from the line and scrambled through the opened
doors at the rear of the streetcar, seconds before it rumbled
away. I steadied myself on the steps and glanced down at my
new watch. It was six-ten. The
Eastland
would begin boarding
in twenty minutes, though the ship wasn’t scheduled to depart
until seven-thirty. That gave me at least an hour to make it
aboard. I squeezed past the elderly couple on the top step and
burst into the center aisle. The packed trolley stank of damp
woolen clothing and picnic baskets brimming with cabbage
golabki and Italian salami. I was inching toward the fare box
at the front of the car, past chatty passengers squished side by
side on the bench seats, when it dawned on me that I’d left my
handbag back home on my abandoned picnic basket. I didn’t
have any money!
Should I turn around and pretend I’d already paid my way?
But what if the motorman saw me? He’d put me off at the next
stop. This was a real …
“Emergency. You need this in case of trouble,” Mama had
advised after I’d measured the material for my new picnic outfit.
“For when you need extra money.”
I thrust my hand into the secret pocket hidden in the lining
of my dress and fished out a coin. And to think I’d argued with
Mama about the extra sewing time.
When I reached the front of the trolley, I plunked my nickel
into the fare box mounted on the ceiling beside the motorman
and then made my way onto the steps of the opened front doors.
I inhaled a lungful of fresh air. Overhead, the electric streetcar
lines crackled and sizzled with each herky-jerky start and stop.
I loved the bumpy ride, but many people did not. Smart motormen kept a bucket of straw handy to cover vomit left behind by
nauseous passengers. I was leaning against the wooden banister, listening to the squeaky rattle of the mesh screens on the
windows, when the truth of my situation flared like fireworks.
I had disrespected Mama. Outright defied her. I’d never
done that before. Despite her explicit command to stay home
today, I’d left. No two ways about it, I was in deep trouble. But
what could Mama do to me? I already had enough chores to
fill every spare hour of my life. I was too old for the strap. She
couldn’t keep me from my social life because I didn’t have one
to surrender.
I would have to make this up to her. I just prayed that she
would even let me.
At Clark Street, I transferred northbound and exited at
the Chicago River near the Clark Street Bridge. As usual, on a
Saturday morning, the downtown streets were congested with
cars, delivery trucks, and horse-drawn cabs. Add to that a horde
of picnickers plus the thunderous clatter of the green “L” passing
overhead on the elevated tracks, and the noise was deafening.
But what about that awful odor? The air above the wharf reeked
like nothing I’d ever encountered before. I tried not to gag as I
stood with a flock of other pedestrians waiting to cross Clark
Street.
The policeman directing traffic on this end of the bridge blew
his whistle. Vehicles in both lanes slowed to a stop. The crowd
surrounding me sprinted across the street, carrying me in the
flow. Before I could say my name, I was standing at the top of
a rickety, wooden staircase peering down at the markets that
lined the dock. Crates of fruits and vegetables had been stored
alongside cages of live chickens, but the produce and poultry
weren’t the only stinky things around.
The main source of that horrible stench was the Chicago
River.
Horse manure dumped into the water by street sweepers,
rotten vegetables, chicken heads, broken crates, and just about
every other imaginable sort of garbage floated on the greasy,
black surface.
The
Eastland,
her two outside decks already teeming with
passengers, sat anchored on the west side of the Clark Street
Bridge. The ship was majestic with her red namesake flag,
her towering twin smokestacks, and her sleek, white-steel
hull. She wasn’t as large as the pictures I’d seen of the oceangoing
Titanic.
But this Great Lakes steamer still looked mighty
impressive with a length that stretched from the Clark Street
Bridge to the LaSalle Street Tunnel a block away. She appeared
to be about as wide as a pair of two-flats set side by side. I
judged from the buildings behind her that she loomed around
four stories high.
The
Eastland
leaned toward the dock as picnickers boarded
the two gangplanks at the rear of the ship. But now, the boarding had slowed and the ship drifted into an upright position. I
scoured the wharf for signs of Mae or Karel, but it was impossible
to see anything through the black mass of opened umbrellas. My
only chance of finding my friends would be to board that ship. I
checked my watch again. It was six-fifty-three.
I was hurrying down the wharf steps, when the ship tipped
the other way—toward the river.
On board, children raced toward the riverside railings,
screaming in glee with each roll of the ship. And then, as quickly
as she had listed, the
Eastland
righted herself yet again.
I made my way toward the gangplanks, but it seemed that
everyone around me had that very same idea. The thought made
me laugh out loud. Didn’t all these anxious hopefuls know I had
one huge advantage over them? While they were hindered by
lumbering husbands or slowed by toddlers tugging on skirts, I
was alone. I had no one to worry about but myself. Lucky me.
Yet even without any burdens, it took me more than ten
minutes to reach the two customs agents admitting passengers
on either side of an opened gangway.
“Two thousand, four hundred, ninety-five,” the older agent
announced. He clicked a counter in his hand as he guided a
portly gentleman aboard. “Five more passengers and we’ve
reached capacity.”
A startled roar went up from the people on the dock. Someone
thumped me square in the back in apparent eagerness to be one
of those last five passengers.
But I hadn’t defied Mama, destroyed her trust in me,
not
to
make this ship.
“Twenty-four, ninety-seven.” The younger agent clicked off
his counter.
Only three more passengers!
I elbowed people left and right and seized the sleeve of the
young agent’s uniform.
“Please, sir.” I gave him my best smile, despite the fact that I
was being jabbed mercilessly in the ribs, arms, and head by the
overwrought mob behind me. “I must make this ship.”
The young agent glared at me. “Oh, really? It’s that important?”
“Life or death.” Or so Mama thought.
He studied me for another moment. “Well, if it means that
much to you.” He extended his hand. “Ticket?”
Drat! I’d left that behind along with my umbrella and the
money in my purse. I cranked up my smile. “Please, mister. I
have a ticket but I forgot—”
“Ain’t got time for sob stories.” He took my elbow. “You can
board.” I almost screamed with relief as he aided me across the
wobbly, wooden gangplank.

I’d taken about a dozen steps onto the
Eastland
when the boat
made a second roll toward the river. I grabbed hold of the chair
rail on the wall and crept along the slanting, hardwood floor, as
the last two passengers scrambled across the gangplank behind
me. I could hear the two customs agents informing the people
on the wharf that they had to board the next ship, the
Theodore
Roosevelt,
or the
Petoskey,
scheduled to depart at eight-thirty.
But I didn’t have to worry about such things.

I’d made it onboard! All I had to do was find Mae and Karel,
and together we’d enjoy the cruise. I headed toward a wooden
staircase, pausing at a diagram of the ship to shake off the rain.

According to the drawing, the
Eastland
had four passenger
decks. I had boarded at the aft—or rear—of the lowest deck called
the Main, near the bar. The air down here near the opened gangway was stuffy-warm and loud with the bawdy sounds of people
drinking and carousing. At the other end of the ship, toward the
front—or fore—there was supposed to be a food counter, but
all I saw was a mass of people, pressing and pushing against
each other. I could hear peddlers, hawking enticements of taffies
and chocolates. My stomach growled in response. I ignored the
tempting sweets and pressed onward toward the stairs, but not
before checking the bar for Karel.

The tavern was dark, with mahogany-paneled walls and
hardwood floors, and only the faint light of a rainy dawn filtering
through the glass portholes. Two brawny bartenders stood behind the chest-high bar serving bottles of Schlitz and Coca-Cola
from an enormous electric refrigerator. I squinted through the
fog of cigarette smoke, scanning the flushed faces of the patrons
for any sign of Karel. But he wasn’t there, and for the first time
ever, I was thrilled
not
to see him. Perhaps he’d turn out to be a
teetotaler like me. Encouraged, I sailed upstairs to continue my
search.

The Cabin Deck was fully enclosed and housed a children’s
nursery, two luxury suites with private baths, dozens of ordinary
cabins, and a formal dining room. Cool, dry air streamed in from
overhead, making this second deck much more tolerable than
the Main downstairs. I stood under a blowing vent, happy to be
free of the dampness, and looked about. Children of every age
raced back and forth across the floral-print carpeting, while their
mothers struggled to remain seated on the red velvet divans.

Near the nursery I saw my neighbor, Mrs. VandeKipp, feeding her baby with a bottle. Mr. VandeKipp stood over them, his
eyes darting about as he tried to keep track of his three other
children. I’d come say hello to the family later, after I’d found
my two friends. Mae and Karel could never tolerate all these
boisterous children. Mae would want to be near the music and
the fun. What would Karel want? I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

The Cabin Deck was connected to the Promenade above by
a grand, mahogany staircase. I was walking toward those stairs,
marveling at the intricately carved banisters, when a ship’s officer climbed onto the landing. He cupped his hands to his mouth.

“We need everyone to move starboard.” He indicated the
dockside of the ship. “Please proceed up these stairs to the
outside railings on the Promenade.” I waited for the passengers
to move, but no one seemed to be paying him any attention.
“Please!” the officer begged. “For your safety. Make your way
starboard.”

The officer circulated through the cabin trying to persuade
passengers one by one to go above.
“For your own safety,” he kept repeating.
But why? Was the steamer unstable?
“Mort!”
I heard Mama whisper
.
I pushed the unsettling
thought from my mind. There couldn’t possibly be any danger,
any death on a ship as lovely as this. Besides, weren’t we still tied
to the dock? The officer must be issuing a precaution. Distribute
the weight of the passengers evenly on both sides of the ship
and keep the steamer balanced. Sounded like a simple enough
request.
So why wasn’t anyone listening?
I didn’t have time to stand and wonder. I flew up the grand
staircase.
The Promenade was considered an open-air deck. The
center housed an indoor salon enclosed by an outdoor balcony
that encircled the entire ship. Hundreds of passengers relaxed
on wicker deck chairs or the wooden benches that lined the
Promenade or simply strolled along the mahogany railings,
protected from the stormy weather by the overhang of the
Hurricane Deck above. Mae, dolled up in all her finery, wouldn’t
want to spend any more time in the elements than she had to,
but I did one complete lap around the ship to be absolutely sure.
Breathless and sweaty, and convinced Mae wasn’t out here, I
slipped inside.
The elegant salon was a hive of merrymakers, the majority
of them young, single females in search of a beau. A five-piece
orchestra played a raucous ragtime beat. People swayed their
hips or tapped their toes to the Scott Joplin hit, but there wasn’t
enough room in the overcrowded room to really dance. I was
searching through and around the passengers, when I spied half
a dozen gals from my department, chatting and giggling in a
tight circle. I waved to them. Farther on, I found sisters, Jenny
and Anna, who looked like twins in their similar white-eyelet
dresses, and said a quick hello. So many coilers were here, but
where was Mae?
Then I saw a swish of lilac linen.
My ingenious friend had carved out a space near the dance
floor large enough for her to foxtrot. Despite the uneasy slant of
the ship, Mae and Johnny Volo were entertaining their audience
with a lively two-step. Mae had taken dance lessons offered by
Western Electric’s night school. After only a few weeks, Mae had
become so accomplished, she’d been promoted to instructor.
I’d never seen Mae dance before, but I only needed a moment
to understand why she alone had been chosen. Mae dazzled.
Johnny wasn’t half bad himself.
“Mae!” I waved to her over the heads of the people in front
of me. “I’m here!”
Mae stopped in mid-whirl and looked around. “Dee? Is that
you?”
“It’s me!” I nudged forward through the crowd. “I made it!”
Mae let out a squeal. “Sorry, Johnny.” She dropped his hand.
“I’ll be back in a jiff.” She rushed toward me and threw her arms
about my waist, nearly squishing me to bits. “I can’t believe
you’re really here. What made your mother change her mind?”
“She didn’t.”
Mae leaned back, appraising me. “She didn’t change her
mind? You mean you …”
“Snuck away?” I nodded. “Yep.”
“Good for you! Not that I want you to disobey your mother,
but you are an adult. You should be allowed to make your own
decisions.”
“Tell Mama that.”
Mae laughed. “I would, but I’m too afraid.”
“Exactly.” I glanced around. “So, ah, where’s Karel?”
“Upstairs. Probably standing out in the rain like a chump.”
“He’s not dancing?”
“Doesn’t like it. Says dancing is vulgar.”
Double drat! Oh, well. I wasn’t very good at it anyway.
A new tune started up. Johnny waved to Mae. “‘Oh, You
Beautiful Doll.’ It’s one of our favorites. Come on, Mae.”
She gave me a forlorn look. “I really do love this song. Mind?”
“No, go. By all means.”
Mae’s expression brightened. “I’ll get you a partner so you
can join us.” She tugged me toward her little corner of the ship.
I yanked back.
“No! I can’t.” Not without Karel.
Mae grumbled and released my hand. “Go. Have fun. Only
stay clear of my boring brother, if you know what’s good for
you.” She waltzed into Johnny’s open arms.
“I’ll come see you later,” I called to her. “Love you!”
Mae twirled around to face me. “Love you too, chickadee.”
She blew me a kiss.
I waved and then dashed for the doors but slowed when I
got outside.
During the short time I’d been in the Promenade salon, the
ship had tipped even closer to the river. The aft outdoor staircase was rain-soaked, sloped, and slippery. It looked as perilous
as an iceberg. Should I take the risk? Or stay inside, cool and
comfortable, and listen to the orchestra?
How badly did I want to see Karel, really?