Inside the cab John sat forward and watched the sights of 1901 glide by. Pre-trolley carriage cars being pulled by horses, and everyone he saw seemed to be dressed up. Every man had a shirt and tie on along with the ever-present hat, even on such a warm day. The women were in long dresses and wore large hats, and there always seemed to be at least two of them together. He never saw one woman alone. He suddenly realized he was probably the only adult male in New York City without a mustache. I’ll have to give that some thought, he thought as he stroked his bare upper lip.
The driver pulled up at the address John gave him; the New York/New Jersey Ferry Line, at the foot of Manhattan. John paid him and went into the low building on the wooden pier. He was surprised to find the building was already old. The wooden floors creaked as he walked to the ticket agent and the place smelled of mildew as the slap of water against the pier could be heard from below. A clerk with long, dark hair parted down the middle sat behind the teller-like cage, reading a newspaper.
“Excuse me sir,” said John, “can you tell me when the next ferry to New Jersey departs?
The man looked agitated at the interruption and mumbled, “In about ten or fifteen minutes, and that’ll be fifty cents.” He took the change John passed him, pushed a ticket under the brass bars and never took his eyes off his newspaper.
John grinned and took a seat on a ten-foot long, high-backed wooden bench facing the gate that separated them from the black waters. He noticed the bench was worn smooth from countless passengers who waited for the ferry over the years. The time traveler picked up a discarded newspaper and started to go over the one-hundred-year-old news.
Pablo Picasso was a rising artist in Europe and was having small shows, the entertainment section announced. A book written by Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams, was getting mixed reviews on the European circuit.
A shrill whistle got John’s attention, and he looked up at the ticket agent as the man inclined his head toward the gated opening in the wall. Behind the gate, John could see a red and white ferry as it approached the dock. He got up and went over to the gate and watched, as it got closer. A few minutes later a belch of black smoke from the ferry’s funnel, along with a thud, matched by a movement of the entire pier, announced the meeting of boat and pier as deckhands quickly tied thick manila ropes around yellow-painted posts on the dock. A dockworker opened the gate with a rusted, screeching sound.
Carrying his bag aboard, John started to wonder how the ferry stayed in business, as he seemed to be the only passenger who got on. That question was quickly answered as wagons pulled by horses arrived from a different loading ramp. Suddenly, burly men rushed their horses to the best spots on deck and as they nudged smaller wagons aside, quickly surrounded him. The few passengers went out of their way to avoid the men and their cargo, but John was agog with the history of it all. The only difference between these drivers and the drivers from my time, he thought, was the amount of horsepower available to them. Most of the men gathered together at the front and all lit cigars, pipes and cigarettes at the same time. Their conversation surprised him as they spoke of family, pay and the weather. Just like my time, he thought, with just over one hundred years difference.
The ride across the river was choppy but pleasant, and John loved seeing a New York with a much lower skyline. If not for the skyline, he thought, it could be 2011 or any other year. He suddenly recognized the spot that would have the Twin Towers built on it and removed his hat for a moment.
All too soon the men put out their respective smokes and drifted back to their wagons and taxis. As the gate lifted on the New Jersey side, the drivers reminded John of the chariot races in the movie Ben Hur.
Following other passengers, John spotted a sign for the New Jersey Train System, which led him down a cobblestone street inside the terminal area. He arrived at another ticket agent behind an almost duplicate teller-like cage as the one in New York. He plopped down his bag and asked for a train ticket to Dayton, Ohio.
The clerk looked at a large timetable and ran his finger down. He looked at John and said, “New Jersey Train, ‘The Union,’ leaving this here location at 12:30 p.m. today will make four water stops and arrive in Dayton, Ohio, after a five-hundred-thirty-seven-mile run, at approximately one o’clock tomorrow morning. No sleeper accommodations are available on this run; however, sandwiches and coffee will be served for a modest price. Do you still wish to purchase the ticket, sir?”
John was stunned. This man knew his job and did it well. “Yes, sir, I do. How much will it be?”
“Eleven dollars and ten cents one way and twenty-two dollars and twenty cents roundtrip.”
John smiled at him. “Well, I’d love to take advantage of the roundtrip price, but as I don’t know how long I’ll be there, I’ll just take the one way.”
The clerk stamped the ticket, took the money and said with a grin, “Don’t shoot the messenger, sir, I don’t set the prices.”
John laughed congenially. He looked at the large clock in the waiting area and saw that it was noon. He bought a banana from a street vendor, knowing that he wouldn’t have to wash the fruit before he ate it. Minutes later the clerk put a sign up on the departure board stating that the train was boarding. John joined the crowd, but as they boarded, he stopped to look and admire the steam locomotive. It looked and sounded powerful as it sat giving off a combination of smoke, steam and hot lubricating oil.
“Pretty. Right, mister?”
John turned to see a man with a half eaten sandwich in his hand as he stood looking the engine over. He was dressed in a dark blue shirt and high-top work pants that had years of oil and grease stains on them, and his peaked cap. He smiled at John as he said, “I’m the lucky guy what gets ta drive her. An’ I know the look of another steam engine admirer.”
John nodded. “Yes, I am. And I’m also one of the lucky people to get a ride from her.”
The man took another bite of his sandwich and said with a wink, “Best ya get onboard an get a good seat, friend. We leave in five minutes.”
The time traveler tipped his hat, boarded and found a comfortable seat by a window. He settled down and less than five minutes later a whistle sounded and the train started forward with a lurch. Shortly after that a conductor with a huge red mustache stopped to punch his ticket.
“First time to Dayton, sir?”
John smiled and said, “Yes. Nice town?”
“Dunno. Never got off there,” the man answered, “But if I was you, I’d relocate my seat. Get the one way back in the corner.”
John looked puzzled, “Way back there? But it doesn’t have a window and is dark.”
The conductor looked at him with a grin. “Exactly. No one wants to sit there, but since there’re no sleepers on this run, it’s the best seat to lie down on while everyone else has to sit up all night ‘cause they wanted a scenic seat. Get my drift?”
John smiled and nodded. “Okay if I make the change now?”
“Sure. Glad I could be of help. Sandwiches and coffee will be ready at three o’clock, sir. Have a pleasant trip.”
The trip was pleasant enough and the conductor was right. John had a comfortable sleep in the overstuffed seat in the dark corner. The conductor walked through the train at midnight and announced that Dayton was just thirty minutes away.
John tried to tip him, but the man smiled and said, “Why? For doing my job? Thanks just the same, mister. Have a pleasant stay sir.”
I’m really getting to like this time period, John thought as he grabbed his bag and went to the door of the car to wait for the train to come to a stop.
The June night was warm as he stepped onto the small wooden step stool the conductor placed on the empty platform. The station was in the middle of town, and he easily located a hotel, the Emerald.
A slim, young man was behind the desk reading a novel. He quickly stood and smiled as John approached the desk. “Good evening . . .” he glanced at the large clock on the wall and corrected h
imself, “er, good morning sir, do you have a reservation?”
John shook his head. “No, do you have a room available?”
The smiling young man nodded yes and slid the large register book to him. “Yes sir, we have rooms available. It’s a dollar a night or six dollars and fifty cents a week. How long do you wish to stay, sir?
John shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure, but I’ll check in for at least one week.” He placed a ten-dollar bill on the blue-gray granite counter and signed the book. He saw that the bar was still open. He took the key and his bag and settled into a tall seat at the bar.
The bartender was a thin man with the standard mustache and a ready smile. “You’re lucky, sir. I’m open late to take inventory. What will you have?”
“Just a cool beer,” John answered, then spotting hard-boiled eggs, added, “Oh, and can I get a chicken dinner?”
The bartender brought him a tall beer with a high, white foamy head and two eggs. “Ten cents, please,” he said.
John put a quarter on the bar, and when he got the change, pushed the fifteen cents back toward the grateful barman as he took a long pull on the drink and relaxed.
He finished his eggs and bought a cigar. He took it outside and smoked it as he enjoyed the city night with no sirens, no TV or radio blasting and no car horns. Its a peaceful evening, John thought, as he finished his smoke and decided to call it a night.
The time traveler reentered the hotel and climbed the stairs to his room. He opened the door to a dark room and by the glow of the hallway gas lamps, spotted a gas lamp just inside the door. He took a wooden matchstick out of a tin container mounted on the wall and lit the lamp as he looked around.
It was a spacious room with a large bed that had a small end table on either side of it. One held a bowl and pitcher with clean water and towel. John smiled as he noticed the porcelain potty peeking out from under the high bed. There was a large, wooden roll-top desk against the far wall. On it was writing paper and a bottle of ink with a pen. Above it, hanging on the wall, was a square ten-inch mirror. Next to the desk was a closet. He sat on the high bed and unbuttoned his shoes. He had to laugh at himself for his old habits as he looked around for the TV set. John changed into a long one-piece nightshirt and hung his clothes in the small closet. He removed the pocket watch that Bill provided him with. It looked like a period piece, but when he opened the backside it had a built-in alarm, which he set for seven a.m. John placed it on the small desk next to the bed, lowered the lamp to a dim glow and went to sleep.
The low buzz woke him at seven in the morning. His usual habit was to get up early and jog, but he figured he would attract too much attention in this time period, so he decided to take a brisk walk around town. He washed his face, shaved and brushed his teeth. He put on a pair of gray, tweed workman’s pants held up by thick black suspenders, an open-neck white shirt and a pair of scuffed brown walking shoes. He looked in the mirror and went to his travel bag, fished around and retrieved a small 1900s baseball type cap, put it on and went downstairs. The lobby was empty as he went out the door and strode off.
John knew where the Wright’s house was as well as their bicycle shop by checking with Google Map before he left and set his course for them both. A milkman made his deliveries, and walked from door to door as his horse slowly pulled the white milk wagon at the same pace. The man tipped his hat to John, who waved back.
At a steady pace, the time voyager passed the Wright’s shop on West Third Street and peered in. He saw the front of the store with a counter displaying photos and drawings of various bicycles. As he turned the corner a few blocks later, he saw their house.
He knew Wilbur was an early riser and it was more than the brisk pace he had set for himself that made his heart pump in excitement. I’m here, he thought as he walked briskly by the Wright’s home, I’m back at the beginning of aviation and I’m going to see it happen. He almost tripped as he saw Wilbur come out on the porch and pick up a newspaper. They spotted one another at the same time and each nodded. John continued on and went back to the hotel.
He washed up again changed into his suit and went down for breakfast in the hotel’s modest dining room. He skipped the eggs, bacon, grits and sausage and settled for coffee and a half a sweet roll. No sense walking and putting it on at the same time, he thought. After breakfast, he walked at a leisurely pace to the Wright’s bicycle shop. He looked in the window at the displays just as Wilbur looked up from the counter, saw him and nodded.
A small tinkle of the bell over the door announced Johns’ entrance into the shop as both brothers were hunched over a design Orville had been sketching.
They looked up and greeted him. “Good morning, sir,” said Wilbur.
John smiled at the brothers and said, “Good morning, gentlemen.” Then he addressed Wilbur, “Are you the early riser I saw this morning, sir, as I did my constitutional walk?”
Wilbur nodded, smiled and said, “Yes sir. And, do I spy another worshiper of the long day?”
“You do, sir,” John replied. “I find my mind to be most active and alert early, before the noise of the day fills it.”
Orville grinned. “Are you two in a conspiracy against me?” he asked as he looked at John. “Knowing that I may oversleep has been my brother’s biggest fear. To start late on our many projects gives him red cheeks, and I fear for his sanity because of my human weakness for sleep.”
They laughed, and John responded, “Sir, the answer to that is no. In fact, your brother and I have just this very morning set eyes upon each other for the very first time. I arrived in your fair city on the early morning train.”
“From where, sir?” asked Wilbur.
“New York, sir.” said John. “The city that never sleeps.”
“And what brings you to our city, sir?” Orville wanted to know.
“Just a place to work undisturbed,” John explained. “New York is a city that tends to keep many awake with it, to the detriment of our creative abilities.”
Both brothers nodded their understanding. “Your business, sir,” said Orville, “What would that be?”
John was ready with an answer. “That I would call myself an inventor could be an overstatement, but I am an engineer and what many call a tinkerer.”
“Ah,” said Wilbur, “one of us, I dare say. Well, if it’s quiet you seek, you’ve come to the right place.”
John said warmly, “As I walked past your house this morning, I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the area. Thick trees and lush surroundings all lead to a creative environment, I feel. I wonder if there would be a place in the vicinity where a person could rent a room for a while?”
Both brothers said in unison, “The Andersens!”
They laughed as Orville said, “Sir, as luck would have it, right across from our humble home there is a room for rent. Mrs. Andersen takes in borders and at this very moment she has a room available. If you wish, I’ll write down the address for you?”
John shook his head in amazement. “Why, what luck. First in selecting a nice quiet town, then on the first day, meeting two brothers who also profess to be tinkerers and a room available across the street from them. Why, it’s my lucky day, indeed. Perhaps you would let me buy you lunch today?”
The brothers looked at each other. “That would mean closing the shop for an hour,” said Wilbur.
“Something we try not to do, sir,” said Orville. “Usually, one of us would ride home and make a small bite for us to eat as we work.”
“Then, let me have sandwiches made in a small pastry shop I saw this morning,” John said. “And we’ll have lunch here and you will be able to keep your shop open. I insist, in return for your kindness to a stranger in your town.”
The brothers gave the notion some consideration and Wilbur said, “Fine idea.” He offered his hand. “I’m Wilbur Wright and this is my brother Orville.”
“And I’m John Brand. It’s settled then,” he said. “Now I’ll go over to see Mrs. Andersen and
see about accommodations. Why not write down your selections for lunch, and I’ll be back with them at noon.”
Their orders in hand, John left to run his errands.
Noontime found John with his arms full, trying to open the shop door. Wilbur came out quickly from behind the counter and helped him in.
“Lord, John, you have brought the store back with you.”
John laughed as he put the wrapped sandwiches and pickles on the counter. “No, but everything looked so good, I couldn’t help myself.”
When the three were sitting at a small, round table eating their sandwiches, John glanced at the drawings of a bicycle Orville had designed.
“Very nice, Orville,” John said biting into a pickle. “It looks to be a fast machine.”
Orville nodded and said, “Fast, yes, but safe, too. See the handlebars? Not so wide that they may get entwined with bushes or fences. We call it the Van Cleve, after Catharine Benham Van Cleve Thompson, our great-great-grandmother. Safety is one of our major concerns. It should fetch a fine price. What do you think of it, John?”
John munched on his sandwich, wondering how far he should go with his help. Then he remembered Bill saying that they had to do anything to get the Wrights back on the right path. “May I?’ he asked, reaching for the pencil. “What if you had something like this?” He drew a round object protruding from the handlebar. “If there were a mirror attached to the bars, one could see behind one’s self. That could also be an attractive safety element should there be a horse and buggy passing you.”
Orville stopped eating his sandwich and looked at the drawing.
“Wilbur, look at what John has designed. A handlebar, rear-looking mirror.”
Wilbur turned the paper around and stared at the drawing. “So simple! So simple . . . it’s perfect.” He looked at John eating his sandwich. “Why, John, with something like this on a bicycle, it would be the safest bicycle in the world. Have you patented it?”
John swallowed as he fibbed, “No, to be honest, I don’t even know if I designed it or remembered seeing it before.”
Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II Page 4
