To his credit, Pullman wanted to help ex-slaves achieve employment and a new life; he saw trains as a symbol of freedom and escape for blacks. At least that's the story given by the "rat" discovered spying for the corporation while masquerading as one of the would-be founders of the union. The scene of this scrappy older man, Leon, being weeded out as the source of leaks to the other side, whimpering his confession, is effectively pathetic. Stretched beyond endurance, brainwashed and bribed, he watches his wife of forty-three years walk out of the room and his life.
By betraying the nascent union, he has betrayed her, she says. The ladies' auxiliaries, composed of the workers' wives and other female family members, play an indispensable role in the process, as material and spiritual supporters.
But back to the chronological plot: Randolph is forced to resign from his job by the Pullman execs--the alternative is firing of his comrades, which the hero won't abide.
A veteran organizer of numerous failed unions, he changes jobs, writing and producing a socialist newspaper, The Messenger, whose small circulation is supported by his beautiful wife's thriving beauty shop.
This selfless heroine looks white until the camera is practically on top of her. If I have any criticism of the film other than its predictable production and outcome, it's the presence of a white female in a black role. She is the only woman in the cast who receives a supporting role. The black women are strictly in the background or cameos at best.
The acting is, by the way, notable, with ugly Milton Webster's portrayer, Andre Braugher, stealing the show even in his role as a sleazy stereotype.
This is the era when white unions were forming all over the country; white train conductors were unionized.
The first conference is called and the event is published in white newspapers, prompting one white exec to call Randolph "the most dangerous Negro in America."
Calling ERP a meaningless sham, the founders establish dues of $10 a year, resolve to cease accepting tips, and the independent labor group is conceived, the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters.
Six thousand dollars is collected from some six hundred workers; Randolph accepts a token salary to lead them. He is prompted to consult with a powerful black ex-bailiff in Chicago, Milton Webster, whom he finds chewing on a cigar and draped around by a sleazy waitress who also makes eyes at the newcomer, who hides his disgust as he tries to shake sleazebag into sobriety.
He succeeds once "Web" is convinced he's onto something. "If he's not tough enough, we're all dead," says Web, one of the forgettable lines in the film that does overcome a lot to succeed.
More memorably, Web expresses admiration for the Whites for trading a bottle of bourbon for Manhattan Island and taking the rest of the country far more brutally. Brought over in boats, we're still in chains, he says.
He is the black waiter on the train with the gumption to crack a wiseguy white in the face, starting a large brawl in the narrow dining car. He is the provocateur to violence while Randolph insists on the inverse. The conclusion is ultimately a draw. With would-be union members surging in a crowd about to vote, Webster threatens the white intruder attempting to interrupt the progress, with a riot. Off slinks another skimpy wimp. Voting, not violence, becomes the language toward justice.
Randolph's wife Lucille, meanwhile, is approaching rank poverty as the Pullman people have bought off her customers and they have boycotted her business, passing out leaflets calling the Randolphs Bolsheviks.
Another confrontation revolves around the ERP rulebook; firings occur though the rule is for hearings to precede them, which do not occur.
"This is a white people's country," growls one of the Pullman execs.
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