Elsewhere off-site, dozens of subcontractors in all forty-eight states rushed to meet their own deadlines. The Ellison Bronze Company of Falconer, New York, for example, constructed two forty-five-foot-long bars for the ship’s public rooms, as well as mirrors, window frames, and display cases for the first-class shopping arcade. The local newspaper, the Jamestown Post-Journal, boasted that the first-class bar was “the largest piece of fine metal fabricating ever undertaken in the Jamestown area,” and that Ellison employees were working sixty-hour weeks to complete all of their work before the scheduled May 14 trial run.21
If the furnishings were modern and fireproof, William Francis’s layout of the passenger accommodations was thoroughly traditional. There had been some talk about making the United States a two-class ship, then a novel concept. But in the end, the Gibbs brothers and General Franklin decided on a traditional three-class arrangement; tourist class, Gibbs argued, could be used to carry enlisted servicemen and their dependents to and from Europe.22 As on earlier transatlantic steamers, first class was situated in the mid-portion of the vessel. This was where the least motion was felt, removed as it was from the propeller vibration at the stern and the heaving and pitching at the bow. Cabin class was located in the stern section, and tourist in the forward section.
Class segregation was strictly enforced aboard United States and ships like her, a holdover from the Victorian period. The only shared public spaces were the movie theater and the swimming pool, which were used by first- and cabin-class passengers at different times of the day. Separate doors and elevators ensured that there would be no mingling. Tourist-class passengers, segregated in the least desirable parts of the ship, had no access to the gym, but they did have their own movie theater.
Upon embarkation, a first-class passenger would walk up the gangway from the pier and onto the promenade deck, so named because of its twin strolling areas that ran along the sides of the ship. Each of these promenades was about four hundred feet long and enclosed by glass to protect walkers from the elements. During the voyage, they were lined with rows of red aluminum deck chairs. The sun deck, one deck above, had an open-air promenade that ran uninterrupted around the superstructure’s perimeter under the lifeboats; the bridge and sports decks above had shuffleboard and deck tennis courts. Pushing through a set of double glass and steel doors, the passenger entered the promenade deck foyer, with its sweeping grand staircase and bank of elevators. A large aluminum eagle, the emblem of the United States Lines, sculpted by Austen Purves Jr., crowned the landing of the grand staircase.
Walking forward from the promenade deck foyer, the passenger would enter the “Observation Lounge,” so named because of its thirty-two floor-to-ceiling windows that gave passengers sweeping views of the ocean rushing by. The H-shaped room spanned the entire 101-foot width of the ship. Despite its massive floor plan, the lounge was confined to a single deck in height, a fire safety limitation dictated by Navy design standards. Older vessels had two- or three-deck-high ceilings; high ceilings, overstuffed couches, and dark paneling created the feel of a grand hotel in London, Paris, or Berlin. Even the medium-sized America of 1940 had a two-deck-high lounge, adorned with lush murals and gleaming brass.
On United States, Marckwald had to make the low-ceiling space feel welcoming and soothing, not in any way claustrophobic. The room would be the most used area during the day, where first-class passengers would read magazines and books from the library, as well as play bridge and canasta. To make the Observation Lounge more inviting, Marckwald chose rich greens and soothing blues for the color scheme, to give the room a bright and cheerful appearance. The carpet was sea-green, and the chairs and couches were covered in blue cloth. She asked artist Raymond Wendell to create two massive murals out of gesso that would represent the underwater topography of the Atlantic Ocean. These murals, highlighted in gold leaf, would be placed on the room’s two curved bulkheads. She also called for rows of tall floor lamps to be bolted to the floor. The lamps would bathe the room in a soft, glowing light in the evening hours, during which the picture window blinds would be closed.23 To open up the space further, Marckwald used dozens of glass-topped card tables, as well as fourteen small, handcrafted round tables placed strategically around the room—each glass top was in a different shade of blue and adorned with small white stars.24
After admiring the space, the passenger would then turn around, walk aft through the stair foyer, and find himself in the ballroom. To appoint the large and luminous room, Marckwald commissioned Charles Gilbert to create a series of glass panels that would divide the space into sections. Each panel was etched with images of sea creatures and plants, highlighted with gold and silver leafing. When lit from above and below, the panels were stunning backdrops for men and women in evening dress. Marckwald capped the space with a shimmering, white-and-gold dome, which cast light on the dance floor and gave the space a two-deck height at its center. Banquettes and red barrel-backed chairs provided the seating around the dance floor. A bar and lounging area, located at the aft end of the room, was somewhat removed from the music and din of the ballroom. The kidney-shaped bar was forty-five feet long and one of the largest afloat. Here a white-jacketed bartender would shake cocktails and pour champagne into the wee hours of the morning.
Leaving the ballroom and continuing his walk toward the stern, the passenger would pass one of two special, intimate retreats for first-class passengers. The first was the Navajo Lounge, a small cocktail bar overlooking the starboard side enclosed promenade. Midnight blue in color scheme, the lounge would be named for murals by artist Peter Ostuni depicting sacred Navajo sand paintings, which would be backlit during the evening hours. Rather than using canvas, Ostuni painted the images in enamel on a metal base. The lighting, coloring, and artwork gave the Navajo Lounge a sleek, luminous look, especially at night.
The second refuge, opposite the Navajo Lounge on the port side, was a private restaurant. It could seat fifty of the ship’s most distinguished passengers, who wanted to avoid the gawking crowds and autograph seekers in the main dining room, located several decks below. Like the Navajo Lounge, it was also midnight blue in color scheme, with rich red curtains and chairs. It also featured seven large windows overlooking the enclosed promenade, as well as backlit crystal sculptures on the walls. To give his crystal light fixtures even more sparkle, artist Charles Lin Tissot mounted them on highly polished aluminum sheets.25 Like its cocktail bar counterpart, the small space radiated urban sophistication and exclusivity.
Following the aroma of cognac and cigar smoke, the passenger continued aft to the most masculine space on board: the first-class smoking room. Traditionally, this room aboard a large transatlantic liner was a wood-paneled refuge, stuffed with leather armchairs, green baize gaming tables, baronial paneling, even a few animal heads. A working fireplace might add to the atmosphere. Marckwald, who derided what she called the traditional “elk horn” style, could not panel the walls with oak or mahogany, nor could she hang its windows with heavy velvet curtains. Plus she abhorred “muddy” colors. On United States, she had the smoke room walls painted jet black and covered the windows (which overlooked the enclosed promenade) with plaid drapery. For the room’s centerpiece, William King created a simple aluminum Mercator projection of the world for the forward bulkhead. Small clocks positioned above each meridian showed the times of day around the world. A well-stocked bar was placed on the opposite side of the room. Chairs and couches upholstered in red leather—fireproofed, of course—completed the clubby look. It was not quite New York’s University Club or London’s Royal Automobile Club, but it was close enough considering the restrictions.