“I will, and,” he said before draining his mug, “I’ll have another cold one.” Patty refilled his mug and Bill started eating the pickled knuckles.
Enjoying his alone time he watched as the afternoon sun entered the barroom’s long windows and Bill saw that the small black and white floor tiles had more cracks in them since his last visit. Wait until the city builds a subway station just outside of the bar’s doors. Then the tiles will do some major cracking. He had a third beer and decided to go home. After he put on his hat and gloves he waved to Paddy who was filling mugs for a group sitting at one of the booths.
With a nod Paddy called out, “Come back soon, Bill.”
“I will, Paddy.”
Bill walked past the spot that would have a jukebox in the 1950s and 60s and he smiled as he remembered singing harmony with his friends in the ‘yet-to-be-built’ subway in front of the bar. Boy, he thought, when it rained out the subway tiles gave off some great sounds as it acted like an echo chamber for the singers of the crowd.
He crossed the street carefully this time and walked back to the 1800 Club’s garden. He opened the wrought iron gate and entered the garden. Bill walked towards the rear of the building and saw that the goldfish were still swimming around in their constant search for food so he went behind the waterfall and picked up the box of fish food. Taking a batch of fish flakes he sprinkled it over the water and watched as the fish went after it. He put the box back and walked towards the security door. Thanks to his fiancé, Shirley, he recognized the chrysanthemums and asters, which were among the many flowers that even though the weather was turning chilly, were still thriving.
Using the key around his neck, Bill opened the security door and entered the stairwell. He took out his Time Frequency Modulator and after entering his password, SAMSON, entered OCTOBER 3, 2015, 4:00 P.M. and pressed the activate button.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 3, 2015 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
The time traveler went up the steps to the second landing opened the door and stepped into his den. His beagle, Samson, immediately rushed and sniffed his master for any treats that he might be hiding.
“Hey, pup,” Bill said as he scratched the dog’s ears, “How’ve you been?”
Bill’s right-hand-man, Matt, entered the room and said as he bent down and put the leash on Samson, “Welcome home, sir. I trust you had an enjoyable trip?”
Bill sat and answered, “I did, Matt. I had a great time riding the brand new subway train.” He laughed and went on, “Boy, even back then it was a noisy ride.”
Matt stood, “I need some parsley for tonight’s dinner and thought that Samson would enjoy a walk.”
Bill rubbed the dog’s ears again, “One of his favorite things to do. When are you going to?”
“1951. Candellaro’s Fruit and Vegetable store on 10th Street and 7th Avenue, Brooklyn. I do believe they had the freshest fruit and vegetables around for the next thirty years.”
“And are we still having the March 17, 1959 dinner?”
“Yes sir. The St. Patrick’s Day for the presidents. As this is October the club members won’t be expecting it.”
“Sound’s delicious,” Bill answered as he patted his stomach. “I’ll work on tonight’s newspaper.”
Matt opened the door that would send him and Samson back as he said, “Come, Samson. Shall we go for a stroll?” Samson was out the door before him. At the bottom of the stairwell Matt entered his password into his Time Frequency Modulator then checked his watch. It was six-thirty in the afternoon so he typed in August 2, 1951, Eight p.m. He pressed the activate button and opened the door to 1951.
DATELINE: AUGUST 2, 1951 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, EIGHT P.M. NEW YORK CITY
Seeing a taxi just dropping off a passenger across the street, Matt left the garden and walked quickly to it. “I’d like to go to Brooklyn, sir. Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue, please.”
“You got it, pal,” answered the cab driver as he quickly put the flag of his meter in the down position to start the fare clock.
The cab driver drove downtown and then over the Brooklyn Bridge. The evening air was cool and Matt opened the windows to cool off as well as to allow Samson to put his head out the moving car’s window. At the end of the bridge they went up Flatbush Avenue and turned right on Seventh Avenue until they reached Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue where the two passengers got out.
“How much, sir?” asked Matt.
Six bucks, pal.”
Matt gave him eight and the happy driver drove off in search of another fare that he hoped would be going back to Manhattan.
Candellaro’s Fruit and Vegetable store was on the corner and Matt saw that Mike Candellaro was starting to carry the boxes of fruits and vegetables, that were displayed on the sidewalk in front of the store, inside for the night.
“Hi, Matt,” the tall, slim, dark haired man said as he wiped his hands on his apron.
“Good evening, Mike. I do hope that I’m not too late to purchase some parsley.”
“No problem. I’ve got all ya want. But first.” He picked up an apple and with his bare hands split it in half. He took out a knife and removed the pits and handed half to Matt and half to Samson who chomped it down.
“Mike, I have never seen an apple split like that.”
Mike winked, “You have to see my old man do it to walnuts.” He took a small brown paper bag and stuffed it with parsley, handed it to Matt and said, “Give me twenty-five cents, Matt.”
Matt handed him a quarter and seeing that Samson was finished, said, “Samson, say thank you to my friend.”
Samson just tugged on his leash as a group of teens walked by.
Mike asked, “Off to the park, Matt?”
“Yes. Will you be there?”
“Nope,” he said as he shook his head, “Madge is home waiting for some mushrooms.” He grinned and asked, “Going to Tennis House hill?”
“Ahh, yes. Have you ever gone there?”
“Once,” he said as he picked a few mushrooms from a wooden box and dropped them into a bag and continued, “Nothing happened, though. Although many of my customers have seen them and said it’s eerie.”
“Have they described them to you?”
Mike nodded, “Yep. Three white glowing figures walking from the small marshy area to the left of the paddleboat lake towards the old fenced in cemetery.” He looked up at the darkening sky and added, “This is a perfect night for it: just a sliver of moon. Enough to be able to see where you’re walking but still dark enough to see a glowing figure . . . from a distance!” he added with a grin.
Matt shrugged, “Well perhaps this evening we too shall become witnesses.”
“Good, luck, my friend,” Mike said as he picked up a crate of peas. “I hope to see you soon so you can tell me all about it.”
Matt waved, “Say hello to Madge for me.”
“I will. Good luck.”
Matt walked Samson up Ninth Street for two blocks until he reached his destination: the Ninth Street entrance to Prospect Park. He was one of many that entered the now dark park. There was just a little glow of yellow light that came from each of the old lampposts, which straddled the hexagon flagstone path they took. They all seemed to know that they were all heading towards Tennis House hill just over the one automobile road that ran through the park and some carried binoculars while others carried cameras.
Matt had heard of the three glowing figures that walked towards the old cemetery in Prospect Park and decided to try to witness it. The small crowd of about thirty people of all ages crossed the automobile road and just on the other side was the granite Tennis House. While it now was the Park Department’s offices, at one time its changing and rest rooms were for those who wished to play lawn tennis in the field below the hill.
The Tennis House
As they walked up the hill silhouettes of others that had come earlier could be seen against the darkening skyline. Matt and the beagle found a small spot near a tree th
at gave them a view of the area that many said was where the three ghosts walked. It was nine o’clock and the murmuring and whispers stopped as the crowd of fifty plus people settled down in their vigil. Samson, always ready to take a nap snuggled up next to Matt on the grass. “Tell no one of this, my friend,” said Matt as he scratched the beagle’s ears.
Matt checked his watch and saw that it was nine fifty-six. There was a slight movement as some of the audience decided to leave. I’ll wait until ten fifteen, he thought as he shifted his position.
It was ten oh five when from behind him came a gasp followed by whispers and movement. The small crowd seemed to stand at the same time and Matt joined them, as did the beagle. The tree line was jet black against the blue/black night sky and all stared at the spot that the figures were said to have been seen.
Samson and two other dogs started to growl as they strained against their leashes. Matt kneeled down, “What’s the problem, Samson?” Samson, with the hair on his back and neck standing straight up, just looked past him and Matt followed his gaze.
Three figures moved across the field approximately one half mile away. They were against the dark tree line but they glowed as they moved. There were two men dressed in Revolutionary War uniforms and carried long rifles and a woman wearing a long flowing dress and a nurse’s headband. The three walked from left to right and all on the hill watched in silence.
Could they be a trio of pranksters? Matt thought. But he suddenly realized that they had no walking gait, they just flowed along as though they were floating on air inches above the grass. As soon as they reached the old fenced-in cemetery they abruptly disappeared which brought a gasp from those gathered on the hilltop. Slowly all started down the hill towards the park’s exit and it was as though they were all old friends as they spoke of seeing the three apparitions that many believed were bogus.
“Time to go home, Samson.”
Back at the 1800 Club’s garden Matt entered the stairwell, took out his Time Frequency Modulator and typed in his password then entered October 3, 2015, seven p.m., a good three and one half hours earlier than it was in 1951. He then pressed the activate button.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 3, 2015 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S STAIRWELL, SEVEN P.M., NEW YORK CITY
Matt and Samson went up the stairwell and opened the door to Bill’s den.
Bill still sat at his computer and Samson ran to him.
“Wow, you guys are back fast,” he said as he scratched the beagle’s ears.
Matt nodded, “Yes. I thought that since we were in the area we might go to Prospect Park and see if perhaps we could catch a glimpse of the three glowing figures that roam the park.”
Bill’s eyebrows arched, “And did you?”
“Yes sir, we did. It was quite unique.”
“Matt, you must take me there. I heard about it and I just have to see it for myself.”
“Yes, sir. Perhaps next week?”
“Great! Now,” Bill turned to his laptop and continued, “I’ve located three articles that occurred before October 3, 1862, the date set for tonight’s club dinner. I’m going to paste them into other articles of the same date and send them to you to be printed.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll check on dinner.”
Matt left the den as Bill proofed the articles he selected to weave in amongst other news of the day.
Brooklyn Eagle, January 31, 1862
Dear readers. When you look up at the heavens at night and try to count the points of light in the dark sky, you must now add another as on January 31, 1862, while testing a new 18½-inch refracting telescope, Alvan Graham Clark made the first observation of Sirius B in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts. Mister Clark, born in Fall River, Massachusetts is an American astronomer and telescope maker.
Chicago Times, May 15, 1862
A female woman arrived in our city a few days since, dressed in the male uniform of a Confederate soldier, accompanied by a gentleman who represented himself as an officer in the Confederate army. Suspicions were excited and the parties arrested and examined, when they told a plausible tale about being in pursuit of a spy, and were released. I learn that they have since been arrested in Chattanooga, Tenn., and are now held in limbo. I am tee totally opposed to women "wearing the breeches," and hope our city authorities will permit no more feminines to pass through the city in that sort of disguise. It is an infringement upon the "rights of men" that ought not for a moment to be tolerated.”
New York Journal American, May 24, 1862
Dear reader. Our British friends across the ocean are in a bridge building mood these days and our fine reporter in London sent us this short story, which shows that the New York Journal American is truly an international newspaper.
Westminster Bridge is a road and foot traffic bridge over the River Thames in London, linking Westminster on the north side and Lambeth on the south side.
The bridge is painted predominantly green, the same colour as the leather seats in the House of Commons, which is on the side of the Palace of Westminster nearest to the bridge. This is in contrast to Lambeth Bridge, which is red, the same colour as the seats in the House of Lords and is on the opposite side of the Houses of Parliament.
Satisfied, Bill sent the newspaper to Matt to print for this evening’s dinner.
DATELINE: OCTOBER 3, 2070 PLACE: HISTORY TRACKING CENTER, NEW YORK CITY
Alexis Shuntly sat sipping a cup of tea in front of the History Tracking Group’s computer in the group’s conference room. She had just arrived on duty when a batch of new holograms arrived and she looked through them as she thought, Mmm, Civil War. My favorite era so, here goes. She slipped one of the silver cylindrical hologram tubes into the computer, activated it and sat back as the Confederate States Army fired their cannons at Fort Sumter. It was April 12, 1861 and as she was familiar with all that happened she put the hologram in fast forward and watched for anything unusual to happen.
One hour later she watched as the Union forces surrendered the fort. She ejected the hologram and slipped another into the computer and watched as it came to life.
Looking at the bottom right hand corner of the hologram she noted that it was taken on July 22, 1864 and was titled, ‘Battle for Atlanta’. The drone taking the hologram was in the shape of a large hawk that glided slowly over a tree-lined dirt path. It dropped down lower as a blue clad figure rode on horseback along the path. Alexis squinted her dark green eyes and fiddled with her thick glasses to make him out. Finally she pressed the zoom control on the computer and sat straight as she recognized the rider. It was Federal General William T. Sherman and he rode his horse hard as his four escorts drove their steeds to try and keep up with their boss. The commander of the three Union armies closing in on Atlanta rode from his field headquarters to a temporary headquarters, two and one-quarter miles to the southeast and in closer proximity to the city's center. His men had established his new command post at Augustus Hurt's two-story, wood-frame home and plantation. Hurt's estate was on a hill and commanded a sweeping view to the west and south except for a small-forested area.
When Sherman finally arrived, he walked past the two troopers guarding the unoccupied home and down a hillside for a closer look at Atlanta. The drone flapped its wings and ascended a bit to get a bird’s eye view of the area and Alexis saw that the four escorts finally arrived and scurried after the general. From a vantage point near the western edge of the hill, Sherman used a telescope to view Atlanta, which was a prime objective of his military campaign. One of the escorts quickly unrolled a map of the area and using it for reference, Sherman scanned that section of Atlanta.
Once again the drone climbed higher in the sky and pointed its cameras and sensors in the general direction that the general was looking at through his telescope. Alexis saw that there were Confederate fortifications and batteries about one mile away. General Sherman scribbled a note and handed it to one of his escorts who quickly mounted his horse and trotted away to alert the Union forces.
; Two minutes later the general and the five troopers were surprised to see the messenger returning. Before they could gather their wits they saw six other riders closely following him with pistols aimed at his back. The six men were dressed in gray, the color of the Confederate Army uniform. Before the Union soldiers could climb back up on their horses a squad of Confederate soldiers broke from the tree line and surrounded General Sherman and his troops.
Alexis quickly opened the conference room’s door and summoned Ted, the head of the drones and hologram group.
“Yes, Ms. Shuntly?”
“Ted, will you gather the group, please?”
“Yes, m’am. Be right back.” He walked quickly down the hall towards the door at the end.
One hour later the rest of the Time Tracking Group sat around the conference table.
“Something breaking, Alexis?” asked Jerry Sullivan as he folded his hands as though he were in school.
“Yep! Civil War. Could be bad. I’m running a computer ‘what if’ program right now.”
John Hyder pulled gently on his thick blond and gray sideburns and asked, “Can you give us a date?”
Alexis looked up momentarily from the computer screen and said, “Yes, July 22, 1864.”
Maryellen Muldey shrugged her slim shoulders and as she ran her fingers through her shoulder length white hair said, “Mmmm! 1864. That could be the Battle for Atlanta or the beginning of the Union March to the Sea.”
“Yes,” answered Alexis, “The Battle for Atlanta.” She got up and went to the printer at the end of the room and stood there as a few sheets of paper printed out.
Joseph Sergi nodded his head and then pushed back the lock of black wavy hair that fell in front of his eyes. “Something up with General Grant?”
TimeTravel Adventures of The 1800 Club [Book 12] Page 18
