During a recent trip to The Chronicle’s archive, I found a folder filed under “U.S. — Documents — Freedom Train” and assumed it had something to do with the Freedom Train that ran as part of Martin Luther King Jr. Day celebrations for 30 years on Caltrain.
Instead, the photos were from 1948 and covered the visit of the Freedom Train, a nationwide locomotive tour carrying 127 “priceless” American historic documents — “a rolling showcase for the cause of democracy,” as one Associated Press article called it.
The Freedom Train was the idea of U.S. Justice Department and then-Attorney General Tom Clark, who feared that after World War II, Americans had grown disconnected with the ideals of the country. To avoid accusations of partisanship, the American Heritage Foundation — with a board stacked with the titans of industry of the day — was set up to organize and sponsor the train.
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Among the documents on board: an early copy of the Magna Carta, a 1622 copy of the Mayflower Compact, Thomas Jefferson’s original draft of the Declaration of Independence, George Washington’s personal copy of an early draft of the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the original manuscript of the Gettysburg address and two versions of the Emancipation Proclamation — Lincoln’s first draft and the official version as passed in 1863.
As the Freedom Train left Philadelphia in September 1947, African American leaders and commentators were dubious that the ideals of the documents on board would win out over the realities of life in the U.S. — including Jim Crow segregation laws — during the train’s run.
Langston Hughes’ poem “Freedom Train” — briefly excerpted in The Chronicle — exemplified the frustration: “I hope there ain’t no Jim Crow on the Freedom Train / No back door entrance to the Freedom Train / No signs FOR COLORED on the freedom train.” The most critical parts of the poem didn’t make it to The Chronicle’s pages.
The issue came to a head when mayors in several Southern cities publicly insisted on segregating access to the train — separate lines or different viewing times for white and black residents to the see the documents.
In the end, the foundation decided the Freedom Train would bypass Memphis, Birmingham, Ala., and Hattiesburg, Miss., after those cities refused to desegregate the event.
The train arrived at the Marina Green in San Francisco on March 14, 1948. An ex-welder and ex-infantryman named George Chapman Marrin was the first in line at 2:30 a.m. — hours before the train actually arrived. By the time the exhibition opened its doors at 10 a.m., there were 10,000 people in line, despite heavy rain.
“A carnival air” surrounded the long wait, Chronicle reporter J. Campbell Bruce wrote. The Municipal Band blared, people tried to sell peanuts and popcorn and competing political petitions circulated.
Marrin told Bruce he was most excited to see the Declaration of Independence — he wanted to see the signatures — including John Hancock’s.
Some were just there for the spectacle — Percy Troy, a civilian employee at the Presidio came out “to see the crowds.” Others were especially committed to seeing the documents, even if they couldn’t explain why.
“Well golly, it’s kind of hard to explain,” Sgt. Herbert H. Gertz — who had hitchhiked from Fort Ord in Monterey County to attend— said when asked to explain what freedom meant to him.
The documents had traveled to San Francisco with heavy security — 27 armed Marines, wrote Chronicle reporter Richard Hemp in a March 15 article, “A Look at the Train and Men Who Run It.”
“There are two men to each exhibit car, an exit and entry sentry with .45 caliber pistols and sentries with M-1 rifles stationed immediately outside. At night a guard locks himself into each exhibit car.”
Nobody had tried to steal anything, a Marine told Bruce, but they’d thrown a few “boisterous talkers” off the train at other stops.
After three days in San Francisco, the Freedom Train continued on to Palo Alto, San Jose and Oakland — and by the end of its 16-month journey it had stopped in 324 cities and the documents were viewed by 3.5 million people.
For one man in San Francisco, the train had done the job of selling America to Americans.
“Looking at things like that — in their own handwriting — it does something to you,” Marrin — the first in line — told J. Campbell Bruce.
“It’s the United States — that’s the United States right there in that train.”
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From the Archive is a weekly column by Bill Van Niekerken, the library director of The Chronicle, exploring the depths of the newspaper’s archive. It’s part of Chronicle Vault, a twice-weekly newsletter highlighting more than 150 years of San Francisco stories. It is edited by Taylor Kate Brown, The Chronicle’s newsletter editor. Sign up for the newsletter here, and follow Chronicle Vault on Instagram. Contact Bill at firstname.lastname@example.org and Taylor at email@example.com.