“Kind of, it’s a horse-drawn carriage on tracks. It’s as large as a trolley car and goes right down to Hester Street and we walk about three blocks. I know because it’s been in operation since 1832. And it’s the form of transportation most people took. It’s a must.”
“Fine with me,” Bill said and looked at John. “Looks like we picked a real New Yorker.”
John smiled and patted his friend’s back as they started walking.
As they strolled it was Rocky who was out in front. He was a font of information about New York in the mid-1800s, and he knew where he was going, taking side streets as if he had just stepped out of one of the tenements they passed along the way. He smiled at the ladies and greeted anyone who passed them. He scooped up a ball that came his way, as it got by some boys playing on a corner. He threw it back while yelling, “Go deep! Go deep!” and laughed as the boys ran far for the challenge of catching his throw.
At a corner he turned to Bill with his nose wrinkled. “I read that the smell was bad in these days, but this is something else. These horses really smell bad.” He sniffed again and pointed to stacks of refuse in front of a row of buildings they were about to pass. “That too,” he said as they hurried over to Broadway. “And the river too. I forgot they dumped an awful lot of garbage in it at this time.”
Once on Bowery Street he looked both ways and then at his pocket watch. It said four forty five in the afternoon. It was the start of rush hour and businessmen and women were hurrying to get home. On Second and Bowery Streets, they spotted a horse-drawn carriage as it approached and a line of people on the corner who waited to board.
Bill pressed some coins into Rocky’s hand and said, “Here, Rocky, I brought some money along in case we needed it.”
Rocky’s face dropped. “Oh wow! Bill, I’m sorry. I totally forgot about money.” He looked at the coins. “Wow again! A date of 1838! This is fantastic!” He looked again at Bill and said, “Hey, I’ll pay you back.”
“Forget it,” Bill answered, as he gave some coins to John. “I foot all the bills on a mission.”
They got in line behind a few people. Once again Rocky got a dose of reality he never expected. Heavy clothes, lack of air-conditioning and no deodorant equals bad body odor, he thought.
They got on the large carriage and the big man at the reins sat passively as each passenger dropped a coin on the tin plate next to him. He looked up only when he didn’t hear the plink of a coin in the tin plate as a passenger got on.
His grim look caused a middle-aged woman to say indignantly, “I have to go through my pocketbook for the coin. I’ll drop it in after I retrieve it.” And she harrumphed off to her seat. Rocky noticed she dropped in her fare shortly after they started.
This is fantastic! he thought as the noisy streets slowly passed by. The driver went from being passive to loud and aggressive as they made their way through traffic. He shouted at other drivers and they shouted back matching his tone. It reminded Rocky of the cartoon of two dogs barking at each other while they are chained up, but when their chains broke, both dogs run in opposite directions.
The driver seemed upset that he was stuck driving along the fixed tracks and couldn’t deviate from them. A typical shouting match was the driver putting his head out the side window of the carriage and shouting at other drivers, “Can’t ya move any faster? What’s the problem with your horses? Don’t you feed them? Why if I wasn’t stuck to this derned track, I’d show ya how to handle them glue factory rejects.”
And the typical reply was along these lines, “If you ever got behind a real set of horses an’ had ta’ steer, you’d be bumping into gas lamps all over the city.”
Rocky smiled as he thought, Wow, this is something you never think about when you look at old black-and-white photographs and line drawings. These people had all the problems and pressures we have in 2011. I guess we don’t have exclusivity on road rage.
Bill and John stared at the sights going by but both were amused as they watched Rocky’s reactions on his first time back to the past. They could relate as they remembered their first trip.
Finally Rocky stood and pulled the cord that activated a bell that signaled the driver to stop. “C’mon guys, this is it.” The other two time-travelers stood up as the driver pulled a long lever and applied the mechanical brakes with a screech as the carriage came to a sudden halt. They jumped off as new passengers climbed up the wooden step.
Rocky stepped into a mound of horse manure and smiled as he exclaimed, “Hey, good luck!” He wiped off as much as he could, still smiling. “This is good luck for me, guys,” he exclaimed.
“Well,” said Bill, “this town’s full of ‘good luck,’ Rocky. All you have to do is not look for it to find it.” Bill laughed as he looked down to watch where he stepped.
Once again it was Rocky who took the lead and they crossed the street at Broadway and Mott Street. He motioned them to step over a large puddle as they went down Mott Street. In the middle of the block Rocky stopped and turned to them, throwing out his arms, and exclaimed, “This is it! Little Italy back when it started.”
Bill came close to him and said in a low voice, “Shhh, Rocky. These people can’t even get a hint about where we came from. It’d be more than science fiction to them. It’d be like heresy. They’d be wanting to put us in the nut house straight off.”
Rocky covered his mouth and said, “Yeah, sorry, Bill. Guess I got carried away.” He stepped back and looked around. “But, my gosh, you were right! This is for real! We’re back here! Back where we make believe we are every time we go to the club. Man, this is nothing but fantastic!”
Bill smiled and answered; “Guess you know that you lost that half dollar bet to John.”
Rocky smiled again and said, “Man, this is one bet I’d gladly lose every day of my life. Thank you both.”
They started walking down the street to the restaurant when four young men stepped out of an alleyway and blocked their way. All were dressed very fashionably in three-piece black-and-white pinstriped suits. All had on pearl gray fedoras and wore wide matching ties with heavily starched white shirts. Their gray spats half-covered their highly shined black shoes.
Bill, John and Rocky started to walk into the street to go around them when two of the young men stepped in front of them, making it clear the visitors were to go no farther.
Bill stepped forward as the three stopped. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said.
A thin young man of about twenty smiled and said to one of the others with him.
“Tony, did you hear this fella? He called us gentlemen. Should we let them pass?”
The other young man said, “Sure! For two dollars each we let them pass.”
Another of the intimidators, a heavy man with the beginnings of a mustache, growled, “No! I think we need five dollars each for them to go by.”
The first man smiled mockingly at Bill and said, as he shrugged his shoulders, “I’m sorry, but my friend says he needs five dollars each.” He put his hand out and continued, “So just give me the money and you can pass.”
Rocky moved fast and grabbed the largest of the bullies by the throat, lifting him off his feet so the pressure was on his Adam’s apple. Although the man was taller and heavier than Rocky, he was so caught off guard by the smaller man’s quickness and strength that he couldn’t react.
Rocky began to speak menacingly in Italian.“Chi li pensate state giocando con stupid? Veniamo qui in buona fede da Brooklyn. Dovrei incitarlo a pagarli entrare in questa vicinanza puzzante. Dicavi l’amico di recedere o mangerete la pasta attraverso una paglia. Capisca?” (“Who do you think you are playing with, stupid? We come over here in good faith from Brooklyn. I should make you pay us for coming into this stinking neighborhood. Tell your friend to back off or you’ll be eating pasta through a straw. Understand?”)
The bully Rocky had grabbed started to kick but Rocky countered by thrusting his index finger deep into the man’s stomach. The big man stoppe
d wriggling as the other three stood and watched the mismatch that was underway.
Rocky turned and said to Bill and John, “C’mon, guys. This fellow just agreed we could pass without paying.” He turned to the man raised on his toes, “Right Stupido?” (Stupid?). He gripped tighter and the man answered, “Ye . . . yes . . .” Rocky dropped him and the time-travelers continued to the restaurant as the four punks hung back and began arguing among themselves.
Mama Candellaro’s restaurant was on Mott Street between a vegetable and a fruit store that teemed with shoppers who all seemed to be talking at once. Rocky smiled as he held the door open for Bill and John.
As they entered Rocky stopped. He stood in the doorway and took a deep breath with his eyes closed. “Mama! Guys, if I keep my eyes closed, I’m home. My mom would be in the kitchen cooking and singing. My pop is down in the cellar making wine from red grapes he grew in the backyard. My mom would open a big wedge of provolone cheese that was wrapped in cheesecloth. It’s funny, but that cheese never seemed to get any smaller as she shredded it to cover the pasta.” He stopped and breathed deep again.
“She used to make red sauce from the tomatoes she grew in the backyard. She and Pop tried to edge each other out, for the sunlight in the garden without ever saying it to each other. He needed it for the grapes, and she needed it for the tomatoes and eggplant.” He slowly shook his head side to side, “I can still see them.” He opened his eyes. “Guys, you’re gonna love this place, I can tell.”
They took a table by the window.
John looked at Bill and with a smile commented, “Are you sure you didn’t send him back before this and not tell me?”
Bill laughed and answered as he looked at Rocky. “No, this is his first time. Although you wouldn’t know it.” He turned to Rocky, “Tell me, Rocky, how is it that you seem to fit right in so easily here?”
Rocky smiled as a little boy placed fresh bread and a dish of olive oil on the table and scampered away. He broke off a hunk of bread and dipped it in the olive oil. “It’s not the time, it’s the place.” He shrugged his wide shoulders as he went on. “Italians have been Italian for thousands of years. They don’t change. They love to shop for the best fresh foods and to cook for their family and friends.”
He kissed his fingers and offered them up to the god of food. “This time period is the best for food. Here they use only the old methods. They make their own pasta, their own sauces, their own ravioli, their own bread, even their own wine. No way do they go to the store and buy a can of spaghetti and meatballs. No, we may be back a hundred plus years, but it only gets better if you’re Italian and love the old ways.”
Bill nodded and asked, “Anyone see a menu?”
Rocky shook his head, “There probably is no menu because the food being cooked in the back is usually the only dish available.”
A short, heavyset, elderly woman with black hair, who was the owner, came to the table and said, as she wiped their already clean tablecloth, “Good day, gentlemen. Today we make ravioli with red sauce and thin sweet sausage. We gonna start you with antipasto and a minestrone soup. Then, ravioli and sausage. Next American or Italian coffee with sambuca. Later, vanilla ice cream but you got to wait, because the ice cream is made in Piatio’s store, two blocks away.”
The time travelers nodded and watched as the woman placed the napkin on Bill’s lap as a mother would do for her children. The other two quickly put their napkins on their laps, as she eyed them before she walked off to her kitchen.
To Bill and John, it was like the food never stopped. The portions were huge and the owner seemed to stay and make sure they ate all she brought out. Rocky ate as though he ate like this all the time. When he wasn’t eating he was complimenting her in Italian as she beamed over them. When Bill left some bread ends, she clucked and shook her head.
When they were having their dessert, Bill took the opportunity to start briefing Rocky. “Why don’t I tell you what this is all about?”
“Please, Bill, go ahead.”
“Rocky, We need someone to go back, even further in time than this, to pull off a rescue mission. We have to take a, John Elsey, off a British ship of the line, on July 10, 1772, at 1:36 p.m. The ship will be off the coast of central Ireland, and is the HMS Raisonnable, captained by Captain Maurice Suckling. John Elsey is the great-great-grandfather of Ronald Reagan and if we don’t rescue him, he dies and Reagan is never born.”
Rocky suddenly sat forward, “You need to get someone off a British ship of the line? Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”
Bill nodded and said, “Yes, yes, I do. It’s going to be tough for anyone who goes back. That’s why we want the best. You!”
“Just how do I go about doing that?”
“I really don’t know,” came the response. “Believe me, I’d go if I could, but I’m sort of grounded. Besides I’m not a sailing guy. I was with the Navy SEALS, but they didn’t teach sailing. Anyway, the planning is strictly up to you. I’m here to supply you with anything you might need. I’ll brief you as much as I can, but then it’s up to you as to how you go about accomplishing the mission . . . if you choose to take it.”
Rocky looked at John and asked, “You went on a mission, John?”
John nodded, “Yes. It was a tough one too, although it was more in the time period we are used to.”
Bill leaned forward, “Rocky, you don’t have to go. We can just go home and forget about it.”
“But, then Bill, who would get him off the ship?”
“We’ll work something out. But I have to be honest. If it doesn’t work, this country is in for a load of trouble. Some bad changes coming soon.”
Rocky held up his hand, “Whoa, I’m going! Nothing could stop me from going back to the days of sail. I’ve dreamed of being a pirate all my life.” He shook his head, “No guys, it’s my mission.”
“Well,” said Bill, “I’m relieved. I saw you in action today and I really think you are qualified to go back to the 1700s.”
Rocky sat back and smiled. “The mission can be planned by me, correct?”
“Yep,” said Bill, “And I’ll supply you with all you need. Back at the club I have all sorts of books you can use for research.”
Rocky shook his head. “Thanks, Bill, but I don’t need any more books. I have all of them, and over the years I read them all. I’m starting to see the problems I might have, so I’ll have to rely on you to get me certain items.”
“No problem. Anything you need I’ll get for you.”
The three men finished their dessert and had coffee. They finished with a thin, hand-rolled cigar and glass of liqueur.
Rocky looked around and smiled. “Guys, this was great. But now, I think we should go back. I’m itching to get started and I have some heavy planning to do.”
Bill and John agreed and all three stretched when they got up. It was getting dark when they paid the bill, which came to three dollars and fifteen cents. Rocky was amazed, “My lord, a person can live like a king here.”
Bill laughed, “Better have a good job though. The prices reflect the wages.”
The owner of the restaurant held the door open as they left. She smiled at the tip they left and told them to hurry back when she would make them a special dish.
They stepped out into the warm evening air and started to slowly walk toward Broadway. Although the street was fairly busy, Rocky stopped them as he spotted six young men walking towards them. The men all seemed to have a limp as they walked.
“Trouble, guys,” Rocky said in a low voice.
“Where?” asked Bill as both he and John looked around.
“Those six guys headed this way,” Rocky said.
“Those guys?” said Bill. “They all seem to have a limp.”
“Bats, you know, sticks,” answered Rocky, “They all have bats or sticks down their pant’s legs. They’ll hit us as soon as we pass by them.”
“Go back the other way?” asked Bill.
“No,” answered Rocky, “they’ll have some guys back that way too. No, we pass them and turn around fast and grab them as they are taking the sticks out of their pant’s leg. They don’t know we know, and they’ll be at a disadvantage while they fumble trying to get the sticks out. We have to hit them real fast though. Up to it guys?”
Both Bill and John nodded as they continued on as though nothing was amiss.
The three walked naturally toward the thugs, eyeing them uneasily as they closed the gap. As soon as they passed them, Rocky spun around and grabbed one, threw him to the ground and kicked a second as he tried to get over the shock of not being the attacker. Bill and John each threw their man to the ground and stood over them as they stopped trying to remove the sticks. The other two ran off.
Rocky shouted in Italian, “Hey stupido! Conoscete chi siamo? La vostra sporgenza fa ed ancora ce li trasmette. Vada di nuovo lui con un messaggio, esca della vicinanza. Alzisi e faccia funzionare, stupido. Ora!” (“Hey stupid! Do you know who we are? Your boss does, and still he sends you after us. Go back to him with a message, ‘get out of the neighborhood.’ Get up and run, stupid. Now!”)
“Okay, Rocky, translate that for us,” said Bill as they watched the men run off.
Rocky grinned and said through clenched teeth, “I just told them we were the new guys in town.”
The three men took a small horse-drawn carriage back to the club. They wanted to talk in private but Bill noticed that Rocky constantly looked out the window and had a faraway gaze in his dark eyes. Bill knew he was planning the mission. He also knew he had selected the right man for the job.
They arrived at the garden gate, Bill paid the driver and they went up to the club, and 2011.
DATELINE: 2011 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY
Matt greeted them with hot coffee and brandy. He noticed a tear in John’s pants and a scrape on Bill’s knuckle. He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have that fixed, sir. How are the adversaries?”
Bill laughed. “Can’t put anything past Matt.” He looked at his right-hand man and said, “They’re in a world of hurt, Matt, a world of hurt.”
Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club. Book III Page 11
