Walter T. ‘Buck’ Lewis: “My Part-Time Home”

Even though I was born and lived most of my life in Carrollton, Missouri, a town about 70 miles northeast of Kansas City, since it was on the main Santa Fe Railroad line from Chicago and the Wabash from St. Louis, the Union Station was an active part of my life. During the late 1920s when I was 5 and 6 years old, the Santa Fe Railroad had what they called weekend excursions, reduced round-trip fares to Kansas City.

My mother would take my older sister and me on these excursion trips to Kansas City to shop. We would catch the train in Carrollton about 5 a.m. and the trip would take about two hours. We would either have breakfast on the train or wait until we got to the Union Station and Fred Harvey’s. We would take a streetcar up to the 12th Street area where we would shop all day and return to the station to catch the return train about 5 pm.

I had several relatives in the city; Henry Lewis, a manager with the K.C. Power and Light Co. for 50 years; J.V. Lewis, Kansas City park commissioner for over 25 years; and l.E. Miller, who was in the tax department under the Pendergast administration. In the early 1930s I would take the train by myself to make visits for 2 weeks or so. They would meet me at the station. Had my aunt not been able to meet me on the day I was slated to arrive, I would have been at the station during the Kansas City massacre in 1933. I arrived the next morning instead.

Pearl Harbor, December 7, 1941, took place during my high school senior year and I graduated the next May, 1942. I came to the city to live with my uncle, Henry Lewis, in the country club area on 68th Street. I attended a welding school at the North Kansas City High School with the hopes of getting a job in the war effort. Two weeks before I graduated, the 18-year-old-draft law was passed and no one would hire me with just school experience.

I went to work for Union Station’s railway mail and bagage department, where we worked on the track-level loading and unloading rail cars, and in the basement area of the station sorting parcel post from the post office. My shift we 3:50 p m until midnight.

I would take the country club streetcar to and from the station. After midnight they only ran owl-cars, one an hour. If you missed the one you waited another hour. I worked during the first full war Christmas mail rush. Through mail was so back logged that we had a pile of parcel post in the lower basement of the station over 50 yards long, 40 feet wide, and 6 feet high.

We would unload a car full on one end and take a load off the other end and send it out and on its way. We worked much overtime and were given time off to eat at the Fred Harvey station employee restaurant which was on the back side of the public restaurant at the north end of the waiting room. | worked at the station from September 1942 until April 1943 when I was drafted into the Army.

After basic training at Salina, Kansas I was asigned to an M.P.E.G. Company at Nevada, Missouri. We had Italian prisoners of war there, and we made trips overseas to bring back German P.O.W.’s All trips home or to other bases of course was through the Union Station. As the war in Europe was coming to an end I was reasigned to the Kansas City military police detachment. We were stationed at the Midwest Hotel just north of the Hereford House restaurant at 49th and Main. we had the entire hotel and I was assigned a room on third floor front whiqh contained two army bunk beds. We were required to sign in or out when when we came or left the hotel.

When I arrived they asked me where I worked before the Army and when I said the Union Station they told me I would be assigned as desk sergeant there immediately. Of course I already knew the tracks, most of schedules, how to find and read the information machines, and the overall parts of the station.

Our office was the small alcove at the southwest corner of the main lobby by the then-jewelry store. We had a desk, a lock-up closet, and a boarded up elevator for a lock-up or holding room. We also had a single outside door which gave us private access to our office.

We had three 8-hour shifts around the clock at the station with 3 to 5 men to a shift. When we signed out of the hotel we would walk over the viaduct to and from the station. Our primary duties were to assist all military personel through the station, but we also were to patrol the station, keep order, and assist the civilian police who were always on duty.

We had a red light on the top of the ticket office which I could switch on at my desk when I needed my men. I also inspected all M.P. Teams which rode all “in and out” passenser trains both from our detachment and others.

They would check their sidearms in when they signed in, which I would hold in the lock-up closet until they were ready to go out. Fred Harvey had a large room on the track level under the main restaurant area where they could sit and feed up to 250 men at a time. We were informed of all troop movements, number of men, trains, and arrival times. My men and l would meet those trains, escort the men to the restaurant and return them back to their trains.

I was desk sergeant at the station from late 1944 or early 1945 until I was discharged from the Army in April 1946. During my long assignment I made many friends among all who worked at the station. I am only sorry that I cannot remember their names: the redcaps who helped us in so many ways, the civilian police who we worked with. On the day shifts we ate downstairs in the troop room where we knew all the Harvey girls. I remember vividly the birthday party they had for me on my 21st birthday, with cake, decorations, and appropriate signs such as “first legal beer”. At night, when that room was closed, we ate at the main restaurant on the east end of the lobby next to the west port room, and knew the personel there.

During the day, the station was always crowded and busy, but at night, in the wee hours of the morning, things quieted down. The Union Station floors were mopped every night until they sparkled.

I remember a large heavy-set black man who used a mop with a 4 foot mop-head. He mopped with an easy large figure-eight stroke. On his night off it took three men to do the same amount of work.

I was on duty at the station on both V.E. Day and V.J. Day. Though V.E. Day was met with some exuberance the station remained relatively quiet. V.J. Night was something else. Since we knew it was coming for several days we were on alert and told not to be over 30 minutes away from our post and to report immediately.

The station filled up to wall to wall. Never was I kissed and hugged by so many strangers. The celebration continued for the whole night. The next day there were long lines extending way out into the lobby waiting to get into Fred Harveys. Most everything in the city was shut down and hundreds were unable to get food, even milk for their babies.

After my college years in California, I was in the station often to meet my future wife who worked at the BMA buikding across the street from the station. We would meet under the clock and take the train home to Carrollton. As the years went by there was fewer and fewer trains, and finally trains no longer stopped at Carrollton.

[In 1994] when you held your first open house, my son-in-law who had heard many of my stories, was anxious for us to attend. He wanted me to see if my key, which I still had, would open the track gates. We drove up, visited the station with all the others, and sure enough the key still worked the old locks. Some few had new locks. The building’s condition was depressing to me but I am pleased that you are making progress in restoring my part-tlme home. I joined the “Friends of the Union Station” and I wear my pin with pride. I sincerely wish you success with your plans and hope you can fulfill them in my lifetime.

John A. Dillingham: “Meeting Harry Truman”

Laura M. Johnson: “Green Balloons on New Years Eve”

As a child I will always remember the thrill of going to the station when we had relatives coming to town. We would stand breathlessly in the cavernous lobby peering anxiously down the long “arrival” corridor to perhaps get a first glimpse of our guests. Once in a while (if you had an agreeable doorman,) he would let us run down to meet them or when seeing them off you could go down to the track level to wave goodbye. The massive engines, puffing their streams of steam or purring diesels made conversation sometimes difficult.

We have close association with the Kansas City Terminal Railway for whom my father-in-law worked all of his life as an electrician, repairing the air conditioned cars, coaches and streamliners that once pulled into Kansas City, the only “in and out” station in the nation (meaning the trains did not have to be backed out of the station in order to continue their journey) as was the case in most others.

Of course we had the wonderful roundhouse which was a marvel to see the engines loaded on the turntable and then the repairmen could get in the pit and oil, grease or repair them. My husband was a locomotive fireman and engineer for over twenty years on the terminal. When our children were small we even took the chance of letting them be in the “cab” and pulling the whistle as the engine was driven around the loop. One didn’t realize what a hulk of power and machinery was at man’s disposal until you had an engine towering above you.

I remember my first New Years Eve “under the clock.” I don’t remember what year it was, probably i943 or 1944. World War II was still in progress. We were a bunch of high school kids, not yet involved in the war except for bond stamps, sugar, shoe and gasoline rationing.

I didn’t have a car. My folks did, but I wasnt allowed to drive yet. One of the fellas in our group had a party and his Dad volunteered to drive the “bunch” (about 6 couples in our group) down to the station. In order to try and keep from getting separated, we all tied long strings to our wrists with big green balloons tied on to them (this was our school color).

It was a good thing we had agreed on our meeting place to go home by 1 a.m. because when we got to the station all ballooned up, there were balloons everywhere, tied to vendor booths, in the Harvey Restaurant, and decorating the balcony that encircled the main lobby.

“Under the clock in Kansas City” was like Times Square in New York. Everyone hugged one another, stranger or not and wishes for a New Year bounced from everyone’s mouth. When the final tone of midnight struck, it was like the 4th of July with many of the balloons bursting with the prick of a bin. Hot chocolate from the Harvey House brought us together and just in time, for our ride was at the Southwest entrance near the baggage handling department.

Before we became parents when my husband worked at the terminal, sometimes I would meet him in the station on his supper break for a leisurely stroll to peruse the shops or pick him up at the locker room for employees west of the station among the maze of tracks. I waited in the car but it always amazed me how the engines came and went, criss-crossing the “yard.” Now its all computer controlled for the most part and the roundhouse has succumbed with the demise of the voluminous passenger business which is no more.

Gloria Kaufman: “Never Worked as Hard”

Isak and Ann Federman: “Refuge From the War”

During World War II I lived with my family in a small town in Poland. In December 1939 I was captured by the Nazis and found myself in many concentration camps for five years.

I was liberated by the British Armed Forces in May 1945, spent three months in a army field hospital since I had typhus and starved … almost gone.

After my release from the hospital in Soltau Germany, I spent a year in a displaced persons camp where I met my future wife and found out that my whole family was murdered by the Nazis.

December 1945 President Truman spoke to the nation and said that he will ask Congress to let a 100,000 refugees come to the United States. We decided if this happened, we will be there.

In June 1946 we were on the Marine Perch ship, going to America, along with my wife-to-be Ann Warszawski, her sister Gusti, her brother Aron Jack Mandelbaum, his uncle Zigmund Mandelbaum, his two cousins Bob and Arek Mandelbaum, Geniek Mittleman and David Wolowski — all Holocouast survivors.

Thanks to President Harry Truman, the Joint Distribution Committee (J.D.C.), the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society (H.I.A.S) and the K.C. Jewish Federation who made all this possible.

After three days in New York City, H.I.A.S told us that Kansas City is where we should go to live.

They gave us $50, on the train we go, after a transfer in Chicago, we arrived in Kansas City Friday morning at the Union Station.

We knew no one, we spoke no English; however, we noticed a young lady that tried to speak to us, her name was Esther Cohen/Levens. She worked as a volunteer for the Jewish Family Service. She kind of took charge.

We will never forget that friday morning at K.C Union Station. We have been here since Ann and I married, raised three wonderful children, all married. They gave us five wonderful grandchildren.

We love our wonderful family, we love America and we love Kansas City.

William H. Poyser, D.D.S.: “Red Cap Days”

In the summer of 1942 just after graduating from from Westport High School, and before going into service, I was a red cap at the Union Station.

We worked for the K.C. Railway Company and were guaranteed 45¢ an hour. We were issued 50 bag tags at 3:30 p.m. Each bag was tagged for 10¢. If we carried 45 bags that evening we would turn in $4.50 to the cashier. We were paid twice a month. That amount was our minimum, but we made much more in tips.

I remember one night a lieutenant from Fort Riley had me carry his bags. They were so heavy I could hardly lift them. He finally told me they were full of booze (whiskey) for friends at the camp.

Speaking of heavy bags, we learned to avoid salesmen with big black sample bags!

During the time I was employed at Union Station there were no elevators for passengers, so we had to carry the people using wheelchairs up and down the stairs.

Those who had Pullman tickets were my favorite passengers to take to the train. These cars were air-conditioned, and felt so good in the summer heat.

Many people were on the move during the war. We saw troop trains, wives and families of servicemen, and entertainers … all interesting groups of people.

My day ended at midnight. Before heading home on the streetcar I would go to Fred Harvey’s and order cantaloupe topped with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. My treat at the end of a busy day!

Mary Mills: “Reunion Under the Clock”

As a young girl living in Independence during the 1920s-30s, many of our out-of-town visitors would usually arrive by train, so it was an exciting time to meet aunts and cousins at the Union Station. What fun waiting near the big doors for them to arrive, to sit on the long wooden benches, listening to the announcements of trains arriving and leaving.

It was important to dress up in your sunday best when going to Kansas City, and what a special treat to have lunch at the Fred Harvey Restaurant there in the Union Station. It was a long walk from the huge waiting area to the restrooms; so when you are 13 or 14, quite grown up (you think), and at that age easily embarrassed, especially after a trip to the ladies room, to have a stranger say, “Pardon me Miss, but did you know that you have the morning paper on your heel” OH MY! was my face red, seeing that strip of toilet tissue stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

Aug. 1942, I left the Union Station aboard a train For Tacoma, Washington (a 3-day and 3-night journey) to visit my fiance, who was a sergeant in the Army, stationed at Ft. Lewis. On Sept 2, 1942, we were married im the chapel at Ft. Lewis. In just a few weeks, Alan received his orders for active duty to Hawaii, South Pacific area and Philippines Islands.

After three years, Uncle Sam finally released him to return home.

It was a very special reunion for us to meet again under the big clock at the Union Station about 2 a.m. that October morning in 1945.

William A. Hatcher: “Still Have the Ticket”

l first walked into Union Station the night of February 13, 1945, having just arrived from Pratt, Kansas on the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railroad. I was a 21-year-old corporal in the Army Air Force with a treasured three-day pass in my pocket and a lump stuck solidly in my throat. I was there to meet my girlfriend, a red-headed SPAR from Illinois named Jean who was on furlough from duty with the women’s Coast Guard in Washington, D.C. It was my conviction that Jean was the girl with whom l wanted to spend the rest of my life — and I intended to take this chance to ask her to marry me.

I found Jean at the Travelers’ Aid desk, and very shortly we had walked to the park that still sits across the street from the station.

We strolled up a hill and talked well into the night. We each got a room at a hotel nearby. It was in that hotel, in the early hours of Valentine’s Day that Jean agreed to wear my engagement ring. I didn’t have the ring with me, though, I later sent Jean the money to buy a ring.

I still have the ticket that took me to Union Station that day–and I still have that red-headed SPAR from Illinois–after more than 53 years of marriage. We settled in Fort Worth, Texas, where we have raised three children.

Jean Morrison Baker: “5 a.m. Rendezvous”

When I was 19 years old, I spent one entire night in the ladies lounge at the Union Station. It was February, 1943. I was a student nurse at Research Hospital, 2200 Holmes, in Kansas City. My steady boyfriend had finished basic training at Great Lakes Navel Training Center and was coming home for a weekend before returning for further training. We were thinking about getting married.

The train from Chicago was due very early in the morning of February 18, 1943, and I wanted to be there to greet him so, after the 10 p.m. bed check in the nurses’ dormitory, I sneaked out and walked the dirt path down Signboard Hill to Union Station (The Crown Center Plaza Hotel stands there now).

I spent the night curled up sleeping on a bench in the ladies restroom and, when the train arrived about 5:00 a.m., I was there to greet my future husband.

The next day we rented a car and drove to Olathe, Kansas, where we were married by the Justice of the Peace. Nurses were not allowed to be married in those days, so we kept our marriage a secret for six months. Then I left nurses training and joined my husband on the east coast for submarine training in New London, Connecticut. The marriage lasted until my husbands death in a traffic accident in 1971.

When we were students in Oak Grove, Missouri, high school, the place to go after the senior prom was Fred Harvey’s Restaurant at Union Station. Four of us did this in 1941 and, when we were ready to go home, my date’s car wouldn’t start so we pushed it until it did. Unfortunately, I stepped on the hem of my beautiful prom gown and tore it badly.

I will always remember where I was when I heard that President Rooselvelt had died — picking up luggage at the Union Station after traveling home from the east coast.

The Union Station holds a very special place in my memory…