Beginning in the 1860s, porters carried small brown Pullman Co. manuals that cataloged their duties in detail. They were required to know everything from how to perform first aid to repair the furnace. In the early years they were forbidden to sleep, sometimes working 24 hours straight, catering to the passengers’ every need no matter the hour. Later, they were allowed to take the empty beds but could only use blue blankets laundered separately from the passengers’ gold-colored blankets. The color lines were literally drawn. Porters had to know the 12 steps to pouring a beer, remember how a passenger took his or her coffee, and know the official way to make the beds. They were also instructed not to make eye contact with passengers and to face away when moving aside for a lady to pass, but always smile.

Porters were to be present and invisible at the same time.

After clearing dessert and washing the dishes, waiters Larry Mathus, Jeremy Kniola and Jeremy Johnson and chef Mark Guzman eat dinner in the kitchen, below the dining room. Greismann, the conductor, joins them.

I ask how they found the job.

“Craigslist,” they say in unison.

This is a small run, only three cars, but at full capacity there would be a conductor who oversees all operations, a steward (described by Pullman Rail Journeys as being like a maitre d’hotel), an executive chef overseeing four cooks and two waiters, a car attendant who does a bit of everything, and one porter. The porter performs various duties. He carries bags and explains the amenities of the train (as I’ve seen Lightfoot do already), cleans the rooms, makes up the berths at night, sweeps the cars, stocks drinks and snacks in the bar car. But he’s also expected to perform any of the other services and assist the other members of the dining car crew in making drinks and taking orders.

“What were you doing before this?” I ask the guys in the kitchen.

“I was the manager of a Blockbuster, but it went out of business,” Greissman says. “I’ve always loved trains, though. My wife hates them, so I didn’t get to ride them much. Then I found this job. A dream come true.” The waiters worked in upscale restaurants, and Guzman was a chef for Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus. He says he’s used to the travel: the circus moved around the country by train.

Around 3 a.m., after walking back and forth for an hour in search of Lightfoot, I find him helping a passenger look for a lost book in her room. Lightfoot finds the book wedged between the bed and the window. I ask him what was the strangest request from a passenger he’s ever heard, but he just laughs in reply.

The working conditions on the new Pullman trains are in stark contrast to the old days. Today, porters only work one run a week. Our train carries about a dozen passengers, as opposed to the original trains’ serving 100,000 beds a night all across the country. The crew says the hourly wage is low, but they make it up in tips, which are pooled at the end of each trip, and they have benefits. It’s been hard to find a job in today’s economy and they’re happy to have one.