VOL. I.

NOVEMBER, 1890.

No. II.

THE RAILROAD STENOGRAPHER.

BY E. S. ROONEY.

HE railroad stenographer, collectively, is as distinct from the ordinary slinger of hieroglyphics as the latter is from a hod-carrier, and, though he does not individually advertise the fact, he considers himself about as far above the ordinary shorthand man as the latter is above the class mentioned. Perhaps he has an excuse for so

doing. I will try to prove it so, and, if my defense is not strong enough, why, I expect to hear from somebody who is not a railroad stenographer.

In the first place, a stenographer in almost any other business has a daily routine to go through, which is scarcely ever deviated from to any extent. A railroad man, on the contrary, never knows what he will be doing within twenty-four hours. There is sure to be a certain amount of work left over from the previous day, but this he may not have a chance to even look at, because of some new and unforeseen matter springing up that engrosses his whole attention.

When he reaches the office in the morning, he usually finds the desk littered with reports of the happenings of the previous twenty-four hours, thrown there by telegraph operators and others, which he must gather together and arrange in such a comprehensive form that they may be gone. through quickly by his employer, comparisons made and results ascertained without any of the trouble of turning back or figuring up. The method or manner of classifying these reports is usually left entirely to him, and this is where a neat and ingenious fellow can make a favorable impression from the start, which is, of course, desirable, for one such impression always paves the way for others, and ultimate success.

Perhaps, just as he has the mass of reports at that stage of bewildering confusion which a few moves will resolve into a beautiful arrangement, the "old man" comes in and fires off a number of telegrams and memorandums at him while coming through the door; our stenographer drops everything,

Copyright, 1890. All rights reserved.

snatches anything in the shape of a piece of paper, takes what is being dic tated to him,-verbatim if a letter, or notes if the matter is to be attended to personally-and, just at that moment, somebody comes along and throws the windows open, and away go the precious reports, over the floor, under the desks, into the waste basket, all over.

This is a moment of trial. If he can preserve a calm, smiling demeanor and gather up the papers without any impatience, an award of merit is entered in the mind of his superior, which will help him in the future; if, on the other hand, he loses his temper, it will take a great amount of much harder work to efface the impression produced. It must always be remembered that your employer, unless he is better than the average human being, does not care as much for your trials and tribulations as he does for his own, and that, however much he may lose his temper, he does not like to see you do so, (at least, in his presence).

Now we will assume that the stenographer has become settled in his office position and got the hang of things to such an extent that he can perform his work almost mechanically; he is about to enjoy a little bit of a "snap" when a change takes place; forces are reduced, or the manner of doing the office work is changed, and his superior, looking around, notices that he is handling his present work without difficulty, and, thereupon, gives him a few additional duties to perform. Notwithstanding the fact that he feels a little flattered at the attention given him, it does not quite equal his chagrin at being knocked out of the "snap" aforesaid. But he reflects that life is full of dissapointments and goes to work with redoubled ardor.

Then, perhaps, he is promoted to a position with some official who spends a great deal of time out on the road, and, of course, our friend, the stenographer, accompanies him.

He has probably been under the impression that his head contained a great deal of railroad knowledge. If so, the first week on the road knocks this so far that he never thinks that way again and wonders whether he ever did know anything. He finds that all his ideas are upset. Private cars are not the luxurious palaces on wheels which the sensational reporter describes so often; instead, they contain only what furniture is really needful. A few days out on the road make him long for home more than he ever did in his life.

He discovers that it is impossible to write on a desk or table while the the train is in motion, and that, even with his book or pad of paper in his hand, he can hardly come up to fifty words a minute, and-O ye Gods!what outlines he does make. Of course, he gets accustomed to taking notes on the run after awhile, but the apprenticeship brings back to his mind the experience he underwent in learning shorthand, and the old feeling of disgust which he thought he had long left behind him.

When he comes to write out his notes on the typewriter, he finds that his fingers strike the wrong letter about once out of five times; that the machine will not write in line; that he cannot strike the letters with a uniform pressure, and that, worst of all, he becomes terribly sea-sick. All of these difficulties but the last, can be overcome by practice. I have never seen a stenographer who could write on a machine with the train in motion for any length of time without becoming sea-sick. I have seen paragraphs in the newspapers to the effect that a certain railroad had introduced stenographers and typewriters to the public, who would take down and transcribe all your letters with the train in motion, but personal experience forces me to say that it is impossible to make a success of it. The stenographer's eyes also ache so much from watching the keys, which are vibrating and jumping around as if endowed with mischievous life, that he invariably gives up the attempt and writes everything out by hand, except where absolutely necessary to be typewritten.

But these two difficulties are not all. When a train is running at the rate of say but thirty miles an hour, all the windows and doors of the car. wide open in warm weather, and several people conversing, it is a difficult matter to hear the dictation, and, if he does hear, to understand it. Perhaps he is at the other side of the car when a message is commenced, and before he begins to write it down the dictation is half over; then again, the draught through the window sends your paper ever and anon across the floor, and, if you are not on the watch, out of the car.

These are difficulties that have to be met and conquered by every railroad stenographer. I will not speak of taking investigations of accidents, (sometimes without the trainmen seeing you), which are bad enough in an office and ten times worse on the road, for these things occur but seldom.

Many private secretaries, besides their own immediate work, have to see that baggage is not lost, attend to accommodations at hotels when they stop off, pay the bills, find out when mail is coming out from headquarters and be on hand to get it from the train, and many other duties of a like

nature.

Of course I have only mentioned the hardships and difficulties experienced by a railroad stenographer, because I wished to excuse his failing. mentioned at the opening of this sketch. If I were to attempt to chronicle the many pleasurable incidents which go to render his traveling existence happy it would occupy too much space. After all, these latter, though not so often thought of, make his experience one which he invariably looks back to with a sort of longing when he has attained a higher position. in life, and you will always find the railroad stenographer a jolly fellow, take him all around.

BY M. T. NEDE.

Chicago, Oct. 2, 1888.

N my own office, at last. This office, as you see, is a new thing, and, in fact, the first one I ever possessed. I have just completed a course with Prof. Devowell in the highest branches of the art. He wished me to stay another year with him, and said I would be all the better qualified and less liable to failure. But I was impatient to put my knowledge to pecuniary profit. He said I could write fast enough, if I kept cool, and could read my notes fairly well, but that I needed a little experience. He made a great point on this "experience." It seems to me I have a good deal of experience, for I have reported Swing, Thomas, and all the other noted divines of this city, and I have had no difficulty with them. I am now waiting for my first client, (who is an old friend of mine, a young lawyer) to have his first case come up, which event he said might happen any day.

Oct. 3, 1888.

Just a few minutes before 10 this morning, Grey sent over for me to take a case for him in Shepard's court. I grabbed up my book, jammed my pencils into my pocket and rushed over. I found another reporter by the name of Richy there. The case had been going on for a day or two and they commenced in the middle of a cross-examination. It was a case in which one Ettelsohn had been sued for some goods, and Ettelsohn was on the stand. Mr. Brandt appeared for the other side and conducted the examination. Half the time both the lawyer and witness were talking, in fact, I do not believe the witness ever stopped. He, evidently, did not know he was being reported. I was not aware of it myself, for I was so busy trying to understand what he was saying that I had no time to write anything except a mere outline of his evidence. Besides that, my attention (when I had time to bestow it anywhere else) was taken up with watching my brother reporter pound his book. I don't know what system he writes, but it is the biggest one I ever saw. Why, when things got especially hot, that is, when everybody connected with the trial was having a hand in conducting it, I don't believe he got more than a period on a page. Just after one of these hot disputes, I was called on to read the record of the dispute. I was dumbfounded. I didn't suppose they wanted me to take

that, and I really didn't wish them to ask me to, for they got their words so mixed up it would have been all nonsense to have attempted such a thing. So I told my lawyer I hadn't taken it. He looked disgusted,