Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  “Then I confess I cannot fathom the cause of your dreary, foreboding facial expression,” said Obadiah, twirling his mustache.

  “My contemplation of the preparations for our journey unnerves me. An outing’s success resides squarely upon proper planning. I must not neglect any detail or scenario, but rather anticipate all of Emma’s needs and prepare accordingly.”

  A frown hip hopped across her brow as a new worry occurred. “Can our precious little Emma withstand the incessant jolting of the streetcar?” she worried.

  “Have no fear, the Sixth Avenue railroad, while still drawn by horses, is pulled along a smooth iron rail, eliminating the unremitting convulsing and jerking suffered by passengers on the rattling omnibuses.”

  The next day, the railcar deposited them behind the Croton Reservoir, right in front of the Crystal Palace. Joining the crowd of spectators admiring the awe-inspiring building, Nellie felt her excitement and anticipation mount. Resembling a large greenhouse of Moorish architecture, the building was different from any Nellie had ever seen. So grand, the outside alone is worth the trip to The City. She leaned her head back and squinted at the imposing structure. The building seemed to sparkle as the sun glittered off the glass.

  Enchanting. ‘Tis a fairy palace, enticing my entrance. Mercy, with a façade this grand, the treasures lying within must be more fascinating than the tales of Scheherazade!

  Obadiah strode toward the front entrance, pulling tickets from his waistcoat pocket, but Cornelia lingered. She deliberately turned her back on the captivating palace, and scrutinized a building directly across the street. The Latting Observatory rose, scraping the sky right in front of her, 315 feet in the air, the tallest building in the world. She stood, cradling Emma, her neck craned, hand shading her eyes, looking all the way up to the top of the iron-braced wooden tower.

  “‘Tis grand. The rather bizarre octagonal base stands stout and graceless, not built with any regard for beauty of form, but nonetheless, simply grand,” whispered Nellie to her daughter, squeezing her little hand. “Just like you, a wonder of the world.” The baby cooed back in delight.”A capital example of architectural skill,” said Nellie, and Emma’s fist curled around Nellie’s finger as if she appreciated the sophistication of her mother’s ‘baby talk’.

  They handed their tickets to the gatekeeper and walked through the turnstiles, flowing with the crowd into the grand center hall. The large statue of George Washington astride a horse, in the dead center of the building, commanded their attention. Light streamed down upon it, highlighting the fine carving of Baron Carlo Marochetti. As if pulled by its magnetism, the Wrights walked to the featured piece and stopped.

  “Spectacular,” whispered Cornelia, squeezing Obadiah’s hand. He squeezed back. “The architectural features of this rotunda, including the glass which makes the structure appear transparent, are fitting for the Temple of Industry and Art and do not disappoint.” They stood in that spot, turned their backs to the statue and rotated around its base, scanning the length and breadth of the palace.

  Designed in the shape of a Greek cross around the huge domed hall in the center, signs indicating the exhibits hung over each arm. The Wrights looked down each of the four wings’ corridors in turn. The exterior of specially tinted glass ensured that the entire palace was drenched in sunlight, making the overabundant displays, spilling into the corridors, dazzle enticingly.

  “Mercy, a plethora of items awaits viewing! The aura of excitement alone necessitates a return visit, without considering the overwhelming stimulation of the senses,” said Nellie, loosening Emma’s bonnet strings, and taking off her little sweater. The child looked around with wide eyes.

  Obadiah said, “I have examined Mr. Horace Greeley’s Art and Industry as Represented in the Exhibition at the Crystal Palace in New York from cover to cover. Our fine New York Tribune editor has crafted a quite comprehensive treatise. Using it as a guide to the exhibits, I have determined our course of exploration of these treasures.” He smiled down upon her with love in his eyes. “Moreover—yes, in answer to your thinly disguised hint, I concur. The critics do advise the wonders are too plentiful to limit one’s experience to a single visit. You need not fear, I have already decided: any display we neglect today we shall view at another time. We shall, quite willingly, place money directly in Old Horace’s pocket, for as an investor in this special exhibit he stands to profit every day we devote to attending the Fair.

  “Let us start at the great display of carved fireplace mantels and parlor furnishings and peruse the perimeter of the dome before we venture down the arms of the edifice to see the entries from other countries.” Obadiah drew their path along the floor plan with his finger, and the Wrights started walking.

  “Mercy this parlor setting is grand!” exclaimed Nellie. Emma seemed to coo her agreement. “The marble of this fireplace is aglow and its aura is reflected in that enormous gilded mirror to our right.”

  “Now, now,” said Obadiah, gently guiding her by the elbow. “We have much to see. We mustn’t linger too long ogling any one particular exhibit.”

  Nellie allowed herself to be led to a spectacular glass case, which had caught her eye earlier. It appeared to be a pyramid. Upon closer examination, the Wrights discovered it was made, not of bricks, or mortar, but of rope, wound length upon length, crowned at the top with an eagle.

  “New fibers for rope,” said Obadiah, reading the display information. “I wonder if Entwhistle Enterprises’ fleet uses cotton rope like this fine hewn line from Macon, Georgia. It claims cotton’s attributes exemplary for ships’ moorings. Apparently, cotton fiber has vastly superior qualities to the hemp and twine previously hailed as exclusive roping material.”

  “The artful arrangement of the cord elevates this display from a mere industrial improvement to an art form,” Nellie observed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nellie saw a lifting platform ascend to the height of the glass-paneled ceiling. It hovered above the second-floor level of the great Crystal Palace. “Ladies and Gentlemen, please direct your attention to a phenomenal improvement to the elevator,” shouted a man into a bullhorn. “Introducing Mr. Elisha Otis, the inventor of the safety lift. As you can see, Mr. Otis rises high above us all to demonstrate this mechanical wonder.”

  As the crowd watched, Otis gave one final tug on the pulley ropes and touched the top of the banner furled over the second floor of the building with a grand flourish. At once, the entire platform began to descend.

  Suddenly, Otis took out his sword and slashed the rope. The elevator plunged downward!

  Nellie gasped. Some women screamed. Horrified, she held her breath for the inevitable crash.

  But Elisha Otis pulled a lever at his right hand and the platform’s plunge ceased in just seconds. At the pull of the brake, the elevator slid to a smooth stop after less than a foot of further free-fall. The crowd erupted into applause and shouts of relief.

  “I have invented a safety brake for lifts,” Otis announced, still bowing, and flourishing his arms. “No longer will elevator use include the risk of rope failure and deadly free-falls.”

  Nellie’s heart still raced a mile a minute as she listened to the crowd exclaiming and laughing. “Simply a spectacular demonstration,” she gasped to Obadiah.

  “Yes, the inventor is a showman, molded in the cast of P.T. Barnum, but there is no humbug in the value of this invention. I do believe the gentleman’s improvement shall pave the way for future buildings to assume greater heights.”

  “Pun intended,” laughed Nellie. “Think how easily the top viewing platform could be obtained with a steam elevator, complete with safety brake, in the Latting Observatory.” They turned toward the next exhibit, an elaborate case bearing the name “Tiffany & Co.” in gold lettering across its top. Nellie bent to examine the sparkling merchandise.

  “The jewelry is enchanting, its bewitchment further enhanced by the novel method of highlighting the gems. ‘Tis no wonder Mr. Tiffany won a silve
r medal at this Fair for the overwhelming beauty of this matching seed pearl brooch, bracelet, necklace, and earrings,” said Nellie. She walked around and around the case, looking intently at each item, lingering far beyond the allotted twenty minutes at the Tiffany Bazaar.

  Finally, she stepped back, spell broken, thinking, it is all too grand and glorious for a girl like me! She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the squeaky-clean glass of the display case and saw her hair was escaping her bun into ringlets, curling tightly in the August humidity. My efforts to maintain a neat coiffure, all in vain, she lamented to herself.

  Clutching the sleeping Emma, Nellie looked around with a sudden bashful lack of self-assurance, assessing the fashion of the women clustered around the spectacular display. Much to her relief, her attire withstood this comparison. Many of the other coifs in view were now sporting clusters of weather enhanced curls, and the multi-tiered ruffle of the skirt of her dress was similar to the multi-tiered ruffle of the jacket worn by the woman beside her. Praise the Lord, I do not appear a country bumpkin! Mercy, Mutter was correct—I did not err, and am certainly not overdressed in my lace-trimmed cambric. In fact, I must concede, I blend rather nicely with other well-heeled ladies.

  Self-confidence renewed, Nellie smiled and walked with a spring in her step as they wandered to and from amazing displays and made their way down the hall.

  “Pray tell, now who needs to be lured away from a clever casket?” Nellie laughed, after twenty minutes of viewing the Colt revolver display. Obadiah opened his mouth to protest but Nellie laughed again. “I am fully cognizant of the ingenuity of the arrangement of the firearms in the pattern of a coat of arms. It is cunning. Moreover, I can see the superior workmanship and finish of the patented and improved pistols. Howsoever, our patient Emma has fussed repeatedly in the last five minutes, a sure sign she is hungry, and I recall a wise man very recently proclaiming that twenty minutes was the upward limit for gawking at any particular display.

  “While I concede, the ingenuity and theatrical showmanship of the novel displays are every bit as captivating as the modern inventions they showcase, we must pause and attend to some basic comforts.” Nellie took him by the elbow and pulled him away.

  “Let us first take a peek into the hall of machines,” said Obadiah, trying to take Nellie’s arm to lead her.

  “Obadiah, our priority needs be attending to the care and feeding of the baby.” Cornelia tried the direct approach. Obadiah frowned at her. She pulled at her stray hair, and shuffled her tired feet, resolute to stand her ground.

  Obadiah smiled. “I would not disdain a bit of repast myself. You are wise; the Hall of Machines can wait. Come, let us visit the refreshment rooms inside the palace. We can rest our weary feet and enjoy an inexpensive treat of some oysters.”

  “Are their saloons genteel enough for a lady and a baby?” fretted Nellie.

  “I have it on the best authority that the culinary delicacies, offered in the parlor-like settings, are an important part of a lady’s exhibition experience.” Obadiah winked at her. “We would not want to miss the opportunity for some ice cream and soda water, would we?”

  Gratefully, Nellie allowed Obadiah to take Emma from her tired arms and lead her to the refreshment parlor.

  Renewed by their oysters and refreshed by their ice cream and soda, the spring returned to Nellie’s step and they turned to the Hall of Machinery.

  The flamboyant colors of a woman’s sleeves, fluttering around a strange machine on top of a high pavilion, caught her eye. The material of the sleeves on the woman’s exquisitely tailored dress fanned out over the edge of the machine, revealing an intricate pattern of colorful strips of fabric. As if pulled by a magnet, Nellie was drawn to the exotic colors.

  Upon her approach, the barker shouted, “Observe the Singer machine for sewing, the ultimate labor-saving device! Step right up, get a closer look!”

  Obadiah crowded closer to the machine, right alongside Nellie.

  “This entire exposition is a showcase of one improvement after another,” Obadiah said in a low voice to her, as they watched the woman sew a whole row of stitches in less than a minute.

  “Most of these inventions originate in the United States,” Nellie replied. “Our nation’s showcase documents its leadership in technological ingenuity.” Nellie could not take her eyes off the sewing machine. Imagine the hours saved, sewing a whole seam of fine stitches in less time than it often takes to thread a needle! “The wonder!” she exclaimed.

  “Mark well my words, within the decade these efficient, timesaving devices will be household items,” said Obadiah.

  People thronging the middle of the hallway between the exhibits suddenly parted. An odd contraption rolled past them as the crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed.’

  “Mercy, what in tarnation is that?” Nellie blurted.

  Obadiah frowned at her outburst. But a female voice behind Nellie said, “Sakes alive ‘tis a quadracycle velocipede—an improvement on the Dandy Horse.”

  Nellie knew that bossy tone. She whirled around to see her sister Agnes and brother-in-law Armistead craning their necks to see the disappearing contraption. Corporal Armistead Long’s head snapped towards them, with military briskness, as the vehicle made its way back in their direction. It seemed he and his wife could not take their eyes off the contraption.

  At the surprise encounter, the four exchanged greetings.

  “Are not these Dandy Horses usually two-wheeled?” asked Nellie.

  “That is the clever part,” said Armistead, searching through the crowd for another glimpse of the vehicle. “Not only has this inventor made the two-wheeled contraption more stable with the addition of two smaller wheels, but he also added a pedal mechanism to make the wheels turn, rather than necessitating the rider’s feet pushing off the ground.”

  “It rather resembles a carriage without horses. The contraption is much improved by these additions,” said Nellie.

  “Perhaps we might purchase one?” Armistead proposed in a jovial tone that was quite a contrast to his soldierly bearing. “It might be just the curiosity we need to become the talk of Chicago!”

  Chicago? Nellie echoed in her thoughts, confused.

  Agnes’s laugh contained a scornful edge, “Sakes alive! We shall be the laughingstock, railroaded out of that frontier town before we are even settled.”

  “What ever is making you adopt such a cross tone with your lighthearted husband?” whispered Nellie, trying to prevent a scene.

  “Has Mutter not broadcast our news? We are scheduled to depart for the West—the wild frontier—within the month,” harrumphed Agnes. “My dread of this impending disaster quite overwhelms my delicate constitution. It casts a blight upon my life. It hinders my enjoyment of this fine Fair.”

  “Take heart now, Agnes,” said Armistead mildly. “Chicago hardly deserves the moniker ‘frontier’, these days. The latest Army reports claim there are upwards of five thousand citizens spread around the mighty Lake Michigan.”

  “Pshaw, call it a muddy swamp then, certainly,” said Agnes, not placated for a second.

  “There is talk of raising the streets above the mud, and then this little contraption might come in handy. We surely would be the talk of the town,” Armistead replied in an even tone.

  Mercy, I am in the novel position of pitying my cantankerous sister Agnes. Imagine having to follow one’s husband to the far corners of this land, so far from the amenities of civilization. She handed baby Emma to Obadiah and took her sister’s hand.

  “Pshaw. Imagine having to raise a family of two boys in a one horse, uncivilized, cowpoke of a town,” said Agnes, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Not so,” cried Armistead, rising to the bait. “In 1840 Chicago was the 92nd most populous city in the United States.”

  “As Mr. Wright has been known to declare: I rest my case,” said Agnes, folding her arms across her chest.

  Nellie and Obadiah exchanged glances as Obadiah handed Emma back to he
r. “Armistead’s fact does damn his argument with faint praise,” whispered Nellie.

  “If you will allow me to continue my dear,” said Armistead through gritted teeth. “The city is so favorably located, is blessed with so many natural and modern advantages, it is now the ninth most populous city in our country.”

  Agnes sniffed. “It is still an outpost.”

  Armistead answered, “With canal systems and the steam locomotive connecting it both East and West, the natural beauty of Lake Michigan, the telegraph... the benefits of the location are quite extensive.”

  “We are blessed with all those attributes here. Moreover, we have a cultured society. What of music, the arts, the theater? One could not stretch the imagination far enough to suppose anything similar in a town in the middle of nowhere,” sniffed Agnes.

  Armistead planted his feet, adopting an ‘at ease’ position. He enlightened his in-laws, “I have received my orders. As an officer of the Army Corps of Engineers I shall review the feasibility of constructing a Toledo to Chicago water passage. Now, my predecessors already dug the Clinton-Kalamazoo canal ditch, but I must assess the viability of reviving and extending this conduit.”

  Nellie patted little Emma and fiddled with a stray curl. Agnes sniffed.

  Nellie cleared her throat and said, “Agnes, you shall storm that town and assume the task of civilizing it.” She gave an emphatic nod of her head. “Armistead counsels Chicago is quite the up-and-coming city. You can imbue its citizens with a renewed sense of the fine arts. After all, it is just a float up the Missouri River from the well-established, sophisticated city of New Orleans. You, my dear sister, shall bring Chicago culture.”

  Encouraged by the support, Armistead said, “Agnes, mark my words. Within a year’s time I shall engineer a canal system enabling your whole family to visit with a mere weeklong journey.” With this attempt at reassuring his wife, Armistead spun her around and tried to hug her. Agnes submitted to the hug, but not from love, only to avoid making a scene.