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21

Following are sketches I made in my memo of some of the passengers not already mentioned:

[[underlined]] Phil Gage [[/underlined]] was a tall, blond young doctor from Ridgwood, N.J. whose wife, although charming, cramped his style somewhat. I pictured him sitting at a table in the Club Georgian with his wife and six other girls and he dancing with all of them.

[[underlined]] A rowdy [[/underlined]] got aboard at Mackinac. He was half-tight by evening and made an ass of himself on the dance floor to the point where he was finally seized by members of the crew, who forcibly slapped him into his cabin and told him to sober up or get off the ship the next day in Chicago. Sitting next to me on the sundeck the next morning, he made some remarks for my benefit about my "diary" (presumably I'd started to work on my trip memo) and I was tempted to get up and sock him for a tasteless boob. He referred to one of the gulls as "Charlie" and I sense that he was the type who'd have enjoyed shooting the gulls as they soared along with us, beautifully graceful. My final conclusion was that this guy was one whom I, normally non-violent, would enjoy taking a good, healthy smash at and really cream that smug, tasteless, self-satisfied mug.

There was a [[underlined]] lanky, red-faced young man [[/underlined]] from Homestead Works of Carnegie-Illinois Steel, a pickler by trade, and one of the quietest, best-spoken, pleasantest, most gentlemanly men I'd ever met. He said he'd been making only $25 a week for several years and this was the first year the Company had given them a vacation with pay--one week. He introduced the ring-and-pointed-stick game to us (whatever it was).

A [[underlined]] pretty, gray-haired woman [[/underlined]] in her 30s apparently alone and always around the action, often in the bar, frequently dancing with another woman.

Young [[underlined]] Dr. Brotherton [[/underlined]] of Detroit escorting [[underlined]] Miss Moranz [[/underlined]].  Their relationship remained a mystery. He spoke of his 12-year-old boy. Whether he was a widower, grass-widower or what, I didn't know. But I was beginning to become more accustomed to such situations as this. My memo notes that "at any rate they were very pleasant."

And there was [[underlined]] David Allen [[/underlined]] of Cleveland, one of Dorothy Baptiste's great admirers. He was with Ohio Ball Bearing Co. and, Dorothy told me, supporting a younger brother and sister, with both parents dead. He was a nice fellow and a great comedian although he could settle down and be serious if necessary. He was short, pug-nosed and resembled Al St. John of the movies. He was a picture at the Fancy Dress Party, attired in a deckhand's blue shirt and sailor cap. I assume he also wore pants of some sort.