The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1883-03-10
How a Hotel is Run.


good sized village. Let the Herald, for
minute, take off the cover and give its
readers a glance down into the beehive.
In the first place, there are from 500
to 800 guestS-and sometimes more
tramping through those corridors, laying
on those. lounges, punching Footballs on
those tables, and connecting schemes of
wealth and politics in those private par
Tors. In the next place, there are be-
tween 800 and 400 employes-many of
them visible-in the Railways, in the
dining rooms, in the rotunda, and at
every nook and corner; but by far the
greater number are out of sight-in the
cellar, kitchen, laundry, pantries, and
scores of other subterranean places.
There is the population of your village,
to start on.
But let us take tour of the house and
see what may be seen. And first, of
course, we start with the Office, with its
marble floors, gilded columns and pict-
ured ceilings. This is, in hotel par
lance, 'the office department" and
here, behind the counter, are-the cash
Ter, the room-clerk, the key clerk, the
letter clerk, the ''front" clerk-or man
who ''fronts" up to the counter with
genial mien to answer questions and do
the clever thing-and then the night
clerk and his assistant. All these, ex-
cept the two last, have their duplicates,
and the two sets alternate, s'heing on
watch" six hours at a time, from six
O'Clock in the morning until eleven or
twelve at night.
Then we pass up the broad staircase
to the velvet-carpeted halls, parlors and
''rooms"-and all this is the housekeep-
er's department The housekeeper is
usually matronly lady of dignity and
broad experience. She has charge of
everything, so to speak, above the office
floor, including from thirty to forty
chambermaids, with head chamber
maid; fifteen or twenty "scrubbers,"
with scrub woman generalissimo, and
from dozen to fifteen paint cleaners,
also with captain-about sixty or sew
enty women in all. The chambermaids
make the beds and get mans boots in
the wrong place; the scrub women wash
the floors, and the paint cleaners keep
the finger marks and coal SCOT off the
doors, not to mention many other places
vulnerable to dirt.
Then there is the head furniture man,
with his corps of from twelve to eighteen
assistants, whose mission in life is to
take down and put up bedsteads and
shove bureaus around besides half
dozen window washers, who delight in
risking their lives on the lodges of six
story windows; two or three furniture
polishers, who carry around channels
skin and oiled rags to preserve the gloss
on rosewood and mahogany, and about
the same number of upholsterers, whose
business is to keep the covers and tassels
on chairs and put caStors on dissolute
sofas.
But that is not all. There is a head
painter, too, and dozen or fifteen sub
ordinate painters, who keep the pine
wood from showing through where it
ought not to, and in this class are usually
one or two genuine artists, frescoers and
the like, who, do nothing but put fancy
touches on the ceilings, and keep the
naked man in the big blue cloud over the
rotunda from falling out of the sky or
becoming dustily blended with the fleece
covered lady driving chariot upside
down.
Then there is bell-boy at every turn.
He is usually colored, and forms only one
of dozen or more in his watch. Each
watch has captain, and they are all
under head bell-man, and they live to
carry up your card to guest, or escort
you to your room, and bring you ice
water and put wet towel on your head
if you happen to be guest.
But the porters must not be over
looked, and the reader may take them in
as we come down stairs from the upper
chambers. They are usually able-bodied
white men, any one of them skilled and
muscular enough to balance a shoe
drummer's sample-case on his chin or
walk it up to the sixth story on the point
of his elbow. They handle the baggage,
and the head-porter keeps a book telling
just what train each guests intends to
leave on and just what omnibus he ought
to be piled into. These porters, too, fif-
teen or eighteen of them-just by way
of pastime-''p shine on about four
or five hundred pairs of boots and shoes
a day in first-class hotel
Then there are the elevator boys, and
the watchmen, the whisk broom boys in
the Mushroom and elsewhere. They
brush your clothes and check your over
coat and put a clean towel and soap
where you want to find them-and it
keeps them rustling, too.
But we haven't got half through vet.
You've only seen the ''visible 'front.' and
none of the running department, as it
is called, which is where the real work is
done. This is the stewards department.
He has charge of the whole back of the
ihouse-the kitchen, the laundry and all
that they involve, including the dining
room and walters.
In the basement are some mighty en-
gines-as big as an ocean steamers, pos
sibly-which supply heat to all the
house, run the working departments
everywhere and keep the electric lights
glowing. Here there are two or three
tiremen and an engineer, both day and
night, and some plumbers, locksmith,
steam-ftters, gas-ftters and similar me-
chanics.
A first-class steward gets a salary of
from 81, 500 to $500, and under his di-
rection are a second steward, couple
OF receiving clerks, who take in all the
provisions; brace of storekeepers, who
have charge of them after they are taken
in; then seventy-fve or hundred wait
ers, with head-waiter, of course, and
usually French cook, or chef, with an
army IF coolS undnr hin, Tbaro o-o