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ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 8, ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE
CHAPTER 8
ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE
It was the morning of the sixth day after The New York Times people left town. The article about Elmo and his invention was published in The Los Alamos Herald and was the impetus for the visit from the Times. Much to Mildred’s joy and astonishment there were no immediate repercussions from the article in The New York Times. The residents of Los Alamos had already had their feathers ruffled by the topic and there were no further reactions. Elmo and Mildred began to relax, confident that all the problems involved with the invention were behind them. That morning Mildred asked Elmo, “Could you run out and get the paper? I’ll make you a nice breakfast before you go to work.” Mildred had mellowed and Elmo’s life was back to normal, but that was about to change in seconds.
Elmo opened the front door, took a few steps and then slowly backed up and closed the door. Their usually quiet street was overflowing with cars, buses and a great mass of people milling around appearing to anticipate something. Elmo had no idea what was going on but had a very bad feeling. Mildred was not going to like this. He peered through the window, and it was then he caught sight of a placard where his name appeared being carried towards his house.
Elmo had little choice. He had to let Mildred know that something was going on. If he didn’t, it would be like trying to hide a herd of elephants taking up residence on their front yard. He gently called, “Oh Mil, there’s something I think you should see. I’m sure it won’t amount to much.”
She entered the front room and asked, “What won’t amount to much?”
As she approached the front window Elmo pushed back the curtains. Mildred stood as if paralyzed, and then shouted, “I knew it! I told you talking to The Times was a big mistake. But no, you were going to save the world.” She stormed out of the room leaving Elmo alone with his thoughts of how this would all work out.
Soon more placards appeared identifying the various organizations present. There was The Friends and Relatives of Prisoners. They were joined by The Society of Prison Guards and another group representing ex-cons. A large group of construction workers were present, their group wearing hard hats, were involved in the building of prisons. Along with their signs, they paraded with a scarecrow suspended from a pole with of picture of Elmo’s face attached to the head.
Keeping to themselves, Elmo spied another small group which stood out like a sore thumb. Outfitted in expensive suits and equally expensive shoes, they held professionally manufactured signs proclaiming them as The Society of Defense Lawyers. Their main beef was the possible elimination of endless appeals which kept them supplied with their expensive attire.
Elmo found it strange, but not disappointing, that this great milling crowd of protesters was not protesting. He also noticed that a buffer zone was carefully observed between the house and the crowd. The answer to his observation of inactivity soon became clear when the news trucks began to arrive. What was the purpose of a protest if there was no one there to record it? Elmo thought it was something like that tree falling in the forest and no one heard it. He noticed something else most disturbing. There was a secondary crowd forming in the distance away from the main body of protesters. He could not recognize individual faces, but he knew who they were. They were the residents of Los Alamos coming to witness the spectacle. This would anger Mildred even more.
Once the cameras were in place and the reporters had their makeup on and were holding microphones, the crowd began to come alive holding up signs and voicing their respective opinions.
But all was not quite finished. The icing on the protest cake was the arrival, with as many lights flashing as possible and sirens wailing, of the Los Alamos police. Four police cars came to a skidding halt on Elmo’s front yard creating deep tire tracks. The chief of the Los Alamos police, John McFurdy first went over to the press and diligently spelled his name for them. Then he went to Elmo’s front door and knocked. Elmo asked the chief in and offered him a cup of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen table, McFurdy said, “All the groups out there obtained permits to protest. There is nothing we can do but ensure that no damage happens to your property.”
Elmo recalled the deep groves he had observed in his front yard.
Chief McFurdy continued, “State police have formed a perimeter around you house to ensure that no one without a permit enters the protest zone.”
Elmo knew that the perimeter was not that great. His neighbors had already broken it. The term ‘protest zone’ made the hairs on the back of Elmo’s neck stand on end.
After McFurdy left, Elmo noticed that six officers had stationed themselves between Elmo’s house and the press. There was a hushed silence. The first camera lights came on and it was as if someone threw a switch: All hell broke loose.
The once silent crowd instantly created a roar. Each group shouted their rehearsed chants. Soon after the beginning of the protest, Elmo’s effigy burst into flames. The various groups began to hurl eggs and tomatoes at Elmo’s house and the police. The lawyer’s contingent hurled non-libelous insults and carefully recorded what they said. A few rocks were thrown, later determined to come from the area populated by the ex-cons, but no real damage was done to the house or bystanders including the police.
The protest went on for two days while the press conducted interviews. One woman came forward and held up a copy of The New York Times pointing to the before and after pictures of Elmo’s demonstration shouting, “My son is in prison. I don’t want him turned to ash.” Behind her stood a grizzled ex-con, his shaved head glistening in the sun. “Nobody is putting me in no fucking death chamber,” indicating his life of crime was not yet over.
After the media had their film and interviews they began to pack up and leave. With the media gone the protesters lost their enthusiasm and quietly slipped away leaving a mess of litter and protest signs. There were some portable toilets available, but not nearly enough to handle the large crowd, so the area around Elmo’s home was not only a mess but also a health hazard.
* * *
Once the protesters had left, Kingsley Dasher slowly made his way to Elmo’s residence not knowing what he would find. He climbed the front steps and knocked on the door. The Elmo that greeted him was one he didn’t know. The man appeared beaten, the image of a lost soul. Before he could stop himself, Kingsley asked, “How are you doing, Elmo?”
Elmo stood with slumped shoulders, and dark-rimmed eyes answered with a raspy voice, “I’ve been better.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t mind a little company right now.” Elmo led his friend into the living room and offered him a seat.
Kingsley said, “You had to endure quite a ruckus, Elmo. I feel guilty that I was the one who pointed out the obvious use of your invention. I suspected something might happen once the existence of your invention was made known, but I never imagined the level of hostility. The reality is our society is a fickle society. It professes one set of values, but it is mere lip service. The values that are actually in practice are completely different from those voiced.
“Money is the value our society holds dearest.
“Your invention would have saved millions of dollars, perhaps billions in doing away with the prison system and at the same time providing swift justice for the guilty. But at the same time, it would have deprived hundreds maybe thousands of people of their livelihood. Construction workers and prison guards would suffer and let us not forget the lawyers with their endless appeals. Society has problems with such sudden changes no matter how beneficial they are.”
Kingsley then took a moment to look around and wondered where Mildred was. “How is Mildred handling all this?”
“Not very well. The day the protests began she left for her sister’s home in Santa Fe. I call but she refuses to talk to me.”
“I’m sure she’ll come around once all this is over. It will just take some time. This whole experience was quite a blow for both of you. To say it was a life-disrupting event would be putting it mildly.”
The two men sat in silence for a while and then the phone rang. Elmo jumped up hoping it was Mildred, but he was to be extremely disappointed and further upset.
“Hello,” he said.
Kingsley watched Elmo’s face and immediately knew the news was not good. Elmo had little to say during the short call. After hanging up, he told Kingsley, “That was a representative of the American Civil Liberties Union calling to notify me that they are issuing a class-action lawsuit on behalf of prisoners, families of prisoners and ex-convicts. Apparently there are organizations of defense lawyers also preparing lawsuits. This whole thing is just getting worse and worse.
I was hoping to patent the device and make some money. Now it appears it may cost me everything I have. This is definitely not going to bring Mildred home.”
Kingsley knew that Elmo needed to be alone. He rose and said, “I would suggest you issue a statement saying that upon further consideration, you’ve decided to discontinue any further attempts in patenting or selling your machine.
“Your science was sound, Elmo. Society just wasn’t prepared for such a sudden advance.”
Kingsley left Elmo sitting on the couch, a man in love with science and defied by society.
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 6, ELMO MAKES THE NEWS
CHAPTER 6
ELMO MAKES THE NEWS
Mildred watched as the members of the Tinkerer’s Club ascended the stairs from the cellar and prepared to depart. Harold Kinter, William Dupree and James Forsyth bid her goodbye. Much to her surprise, Kingsley Dasher took her hand and said, “Elmo has a marvelous intellect, and his invention could someday garner you a great deal of money. Only time will tell.” With that he walked out the door and was gone.
Elmo was the last to depart the cellar and Mildred could immediately tell that things had not gone as well as he had anticipated. She was puzzled by Elmo’s downtrodden appearance and Kingsley’s departing comment. Wanting to question her husband, she asked, “Elmo, why don’t I pour us some coffee and we have some dessert?”
Elmo, distracted by his thoughts, after a moment, replied, “That’s fine with me, my dear. I have a great deal on my mind, and perhaps talking would help. Things did not go as I had hoped during the meeting, and I need to gather my thoughts. I am confused about the future of my invention. Nothing is going as I had planned.”
Mildred set the kitchen table with two steaming mugs and plates of Elmo’s favorite dessert, spice cake. She watched Elmo sip his coffee and then push the dessert away. Now she knew something was definitely wrong. Elmo never refused spice cake. “What happened in the cellar?” Mildred asked.
Elmo hesitated, and then began, “I demonstrated my time machine using the kitten and the results were as I expected. To everyone’s surprise, Kingsley made a comment after the experiment. As he began to speak, I expected him to give insight into why the machine was not working, but to my surprise he said that it was working. Only it was working in a manner not that I appreciated. He said that I had invented the perfect prison and that my machine had the potential to change society.”
Mildred sat deep in thought remembering what Kingsley had said before departing. Suddenly her face lit up, “He’s right. I never would have made the connection. The man’s a genius. I’m so proud of you, Elmo. Your invention will change our society.”
This did not serve to heal Elmo’s fragile ego, instead, Mildred’s comment only served to increase its fragility.
Elmo had invested a great deal of effort in planning and then building his machine. Now, not only did it not work, but someone else had discovered its use.
Mildred could see that her husband was deeply upset. She extended her hand across the table and said, “Come to bed, my dear. Perhaps there is something I can do to improve your mood.” Mildred was successful, but it wasn’t long before matters took a drastic turn. Once again it was something that Kingsley had hinted might happen, but even he could not predict the extent of the turmoil Elmo’s machine would cause.
* * *
To this day Elmo doesn’t know how it happened or who was the one to break the secrecy surrounding the meeting of the Tinkerer’s Club. For a moment he thought maybe Mildred, but no, she would never break his confidence. He was sure it wasn’t Kingsley. Kingsley had trouble communicating with the members of the club. Elmo could not picture him going to the press or even breaking the club’s confidence with a friend. Elmo doubted he had few friends outside the club. That left James Forsyth, William Dupree and Harold Kinter as the culprit. He questioned them all and everyone denied that they talked about the machine. Elmo knew one of them was lying. His money was on either James Forsyth or William Dupree.
James was a people person and loved being the center of attention. He also enjoyed talking about his work and Elmo could just picture him letting slip the nature of the Tinkerer’s meeting. James’ tongue was often ahead of his brain when he really got going in a conversation.
William was also a suspect. Being short, and as most short people, he feared being ignored, feared being lost in a crowd – literally. So how better to avoid being lost than becoming its center. Elmo could picture him trying to impress people. Telling them of a great new device that would do away with prisons and save society billions of dollars. And after explaining all this, whispering, “Now promise that you won’t tell a soul.”
The more he thought about who the culprit might be, the more Elmo became sure that William was the guilty party, but William, as well as the rest of the members present that night, emphatically denied speaking about the machine to anyone.
The manner in which Elmo discovered that the secrecy of the Tinkerer’s Club meeting had been broken was a phone call he received from a local newspaper. Published only once a week, The Los Alamos Herald was primarily concerned with community events, births, weddings and funerals. Most of what was news in the town of Los Alamos was Top Secret so there really wasn’t much to report. When word of Elmo’s invention began to spread through the tight-knit community, the paper was all over it.
One evening, while Elmo and Mildred were enjoying their supper, the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Elmo as he rose to answer. This was long before the age of telemarketers, and for that matter, answering machines. When the phone rang you knew it was something important. Elmo answered, “Hello.”
A voice on the other end said, “Hello, this is Nate Bush calling from The Los Alamos Herald. I’d like to speak to Dr. Elmo Baker.”
Mildred watched Elmo and saw his expression range between puzzlement and fear.
Elmo said, “Elmo here. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been told you’ve invented a rather unique machine, a machine that may do away with prisons. Could you comment on this device?”
Elmo did not know how he should answer. He thought the events of the meeting would remain confidential. He now felt anger and frustration and did not know where to direct it. He had to respond. He couldn’t lie for he would soon be filing a patent for his machine. “I have built a device that can age the occupant to a predetermined age.”
“How long does this process take?”
Elmo responded, “Oh, just a matter of minutes.”
“How exactly does it work?”
Elmo was not about to admit that he really didn’t know that it was intended to be a time machine and that something went wrong, so he answered, “I’d rather wait until I patent the device before I divulge its workings. Also, I’d appreciate it if you would postpone writing any article until I receive the patent.”
Nate was disappointed at this request but felt he had to respect Elmo’s wishes. He responded, “I’ll write-up the article and wait until I hear that your patent has been granted.”
Elmo, somewhat relieved, said, “I would appreciate that a great deal. I’ll give you a call when the patent is approved.”
After hanging up the phone, Elmo said to Mildred, “Someone broke their word. That was The Los Alamos Herald, and they want to know about my invention. I can’t believe all this is happening about something I truly do not understand.”
* * *
Later that day George Holkum walked over to Nate’s desk. The paper was losing money and George, the managing editor, needed to turn that around.
He asked Nate, “How did that prison thing interview go? Are we dealing with a nutcase or what?”
Nate began to perspire. He knew that the paper was in trouble and needed sales. He also knew he had a fantastic story, but he had given his word. Nate said, “I think it’s the real thing. The man is a scientist, and he wants to keep things quiet until he gets a patent.”
George said, “Publish the story. Maybe it will increase our circulation. We’re not in a position to not publish something important. We have a responsibility to the stockholders.”
Nate responded, “But boss, I gave my word.”
“Your word won’t sell papers. Publish your story!”
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 5, ELMO’S PRISON
But first, a message from my poet friend, Steve.
Local poet Steve Kupferschmid has published a poetry chapbook with Kelsay Books entitled “Weight of Water.” The thirty-one poems in the collection reflect upon the joys and sorrows of youth and age, of love and loss. Compact in form yet rich in imagery, this collection offers an enjoyable, memorable read. Available from Amazon or any bookstore.
I have heard my friend, Steve, read his poems and they call to mind the poems of Billy Collins. Poems which tell a story, but at the same time, have a deeper meaning.
CHAPTER 5
ELMO’S PRISON
When Kingsley rose, everyone looked in his direction. It was not unprecedented that he would speak at a meeting, but it was a rare occurrence. What Kingsley said to the group would usually solve the problem at hand. Elmo prepared to hear great things from Kingsley and gain insight on how to fix his machine.
After once again clearing his throat, whether to gain everyone’s attention or because he found talking to be an effort, no one was sure, he began to speak. “Elmo, you must be rewarded for your effort. Although you have not accomplished what you set out to accomplish, and perhaps never will, your invention could possibly change the course of society. I have no doubt that mankind will greatly benefit from your invention, if they choose to embrace its benefits is a different matter. Only time will tell.”
Elmo, along with the rest of the group, was both puzzled and full of anticipation.
Kingsley continued, “However, I am a mathematician and not an ethicist and cannot predict the consequences of your discovery.”
Elmo said, “I am totally lost. You say I have made a great discovery, yet at the same time say that its use will produce ethical problems.”
“That’s correct, Elmo. Your invention, in my mind, would be the perfect prison.”
Elmo, along with William and James, stared at Kingsley in total disbelief, and then slowly began to understand what he was saying.
After a few moments of deep thought, Harold Kinter voiced his thoughts to the gathering, “Of course, I can see it now. Elmo, your invention, though unintended, could do away with prisons as we know them. Year-long sentences could be served in a matter of minutes. It would save society millions of dollars and save prisoners from the dangers inherent in incarceration.
“Think of it! No matter what the length of a prisoner’s sentence, the punishment could be delivered in a matter of minutes. Your invention could funnel money into projects that benefit society and save prisoners from harm.”
They all looked at Elmo. His visage was one of disappointment and disbelief. “I meant my invention to be a time machine; instead, you say I invented the perfect prison. I failed.”
Kingsley stepped totally out of character and attempted to comfort his colleague. “Elmo, some of the greatest discoveries in the world were made by accident. Look at all the lives that were saved by the discovery of penicillin. If Fleming had not noticed that petri dish with mold and dying bacteria, who knows how long it would have taken for someone else to discover that life-saving antibiotic.
“Think of the value of your discovery, and someday I am sure that you will determine the principle behind the device. With your invention, no matter the length of a prisoner’s sentence it could be served in minutes with virtually no expense to society. And when it comes to a death sentence, your machine can accomplish that too, but a death sentence is a death sentence no matter how it is accomplished.
Then James Forsyth began to speak, “I can think of another question which requires an answer. After a prisoner serves his term in your machine, what is his mental state? Is his mind the same as it was before the prison term? Or does his mind age along with his body? Although I cannot imagine how the mind ages with the lack of experience.”
Elmo said, “I can think of no answer to the question of mind aging. I feel this can only be determined with the test of a human subject. But I must add I owe a great deal of gratitude for introducing important questions I had not considered.”
“Your device could save society millions, perhaps billions of dollars and funnel the revenue into efforts that would better society. Education, medical research, providing for the elderly and that is only the tip of the iceberg of what could be affected by this machine. But I fear there will be obstacles to this scenario which I cannot anticipate.
“You see, our society is inconsistent. It professes one set of values yet lives by another. We say how important education is, but we do not support it the way we should, not to mention that the key to education is parental input. We pay lip service to medical advancement, but do not fund the conjecture that could become reality. And when a discovery is made, many times it is beyond the reach of those who would benefit. We say we value the elderly yet turn away when we could make their final years more comfortable.
“I fear there will be great objection to your discovery but cannot anticipate the form it will take. Good luck, Elmo. You have a difficult path ahead of you.”
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 4, THE TINKERER’S CLUB
CHAPTER 4
THE TINKERER’S CLUB
With the experiments completed and his understanding of what he had observed, there was only one thing to do: Call a meeting of the Tinkerer’s Club.
Elmo moved in a circle of physicists, mathematicians and theoretical scientists at Los Alamos. They referred to themselves as the Tinkerers, one member or another constantly came up with ideas to explore and devices to construct. There were approximately ten members, the numbers would vary with interest and transfers to other parts of the country. Gatherings of the members would take place with as little as two or as many as all current members. It all depended on what the members’ specialty was or were too busy involved in their own ideas. They would ponder on their own time; ideas no one would pay them to ponder. The opportunity to contribute to the knowledge of man was their driving force, also if successful, develop a second income. They referred to their efforts as ‘cellar science’, although they did not all have cellars, but the original members all did. What they all had in common was the joy in letting their imaginations run wild without restrictions. They didn’t all work in cellars, some worked in garages and some in rented space, but they all shared a scientific curiosity.
Elmo was the youngest member. Age was not a factor for being accepted into the group, only a passion for science and a high level of intelligence. Most of the members had projects in progress, or theories they wanted to explore. When a member felt his work had come to a milestone he would call a meeting to be held in his laboratory. Those who would attend would study the results and give advice, if they could, but there was almost always encouragement to press on with the project.
Elmo took a week to prepare his presentation. It would usually involve the members’ theory, applications of the project and any problems which needed to be solved
On the night of the meeting four members arrived to analyze the conjecture Elmo would present.
Harold Kinter promised to attend the meeting. He was forever the first to a meeting for he had only one thing in his life, and that was his science. Physics was his field, and he had occasion to work with Elmo. A few years older than Elmo, Harold was portly and a bachelor and would likely remain so all his life. He spent his workdays and after work hours contemplating esoteric theories to occupy his mind. In another life, he could well have been a model for Sherlock Holmes. Although his habits did not readily welcome others into his world, he was not a loner. He chose to surround himself only with those who could stimulate and impact his thoughts.
Another member, James Forsyth, also agreed to come. Forsyth was also a physicist but the direct opposite of Harold. James was so gregarious that when someone met him, they immediately thought he was a salesman. He had the life of an average guy, married with two children. In his mid-forties, his chestnut hair had begun to gray at the temples. It was only when someone asked him what he did for a living that the impression of James Forsyth changed. He would begin talking about physics and couldn’t stop. Only when he opened his mouth about work did those around him realize he was far from the average guy.
Also due to arrive was William Dupree. He was a mathematician who also craved human contact. Now in his mid-fifties, and a bachelor, he was exceedingly short. At just over five feet tall, he found himself often ignored. Desperately wanting his voice to be heard, he found the Tinkerer’s Club an avenue to have a more intimate relationship with his colleagues.
Elmo was surprised when Kingsley Dasher also agreed to attend. Kingsley rarely attended meetings. When in attendance, he would make Harold Kinter appear to be the life of the party. Kingsley defined the term ‘loner’. Tall and thin, with a shaved head, he was at least sixty but no one knew for sure, well, no one also knew if he was married, had children, or anything of his background and education. Although he rarely attended meetings, when he appeared he was more than welcome by the presenter for Kingsley was considered ‘the brain’.
He would sit alone and listen to the presentation and arguments. Often during the course of a meeting, he would not say a word. When the presentation and discussions were completed, at times he would merely rise and leave, never saying anything. However, when he did speak there was total silence to grasp every word he uttered.
Two days before the meeting was scheduled to occur, Elmo informed Mildred that the Tinkerer’s Club would arrive to discuss his time machine. She responded, “I’ll have a pot of coffee and dessert ready for them.” She knew the coffee would be consumed, along with perhaps a second pot, but the dessert hardly touched, except for Harold Kinter. He definitely would enjoy a dessert.
The day of the meeting, Elmo made a decision on his way home. Mildred made him get rid of the rats and he agreed to. In reality, they were beginning to smell up the entire house, so he had no problem in agreeing. Also, it was work to maintain them. However, now he needed a subject to demonstrate his machine. Elmo recalled that his wife had, for some time now, been aching for a pet cat. She loved cats and often told Elmo, “If I had a cat it would keep me company while you’re at work.”
With this in mind, he stopped at an animal shelter on his way home and selected a six week – old orange and white tabby kitten. When he arrived home and walked into the kitchen carrying a cardboard box, the kitten inside began to meow. Mildred ran to Elmo and took the box he was carrying and peered inside.
“Oh, Elmo, you brought me a kitten.” She lifted the kitten out of the box, and hugging it to her breast, and was rewarded with instant purring. “Elmo, she’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
Elmo asked, “What will you name her?”
“I’ll have to think about that for a while. I just hope you can tolerate the damage she’ll do until she’s old enough to be declawed.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem, Mil. You’ll be able to have her declawed tomorrow.”
“I can’t do that tomorrow. She’s much too young. She must be at least … Oh no, Elmo, you’re not putting her into your chamber, are you?”
“Dear, you made me get rid of the rats.”
“They were stinking up the cellar and I could smell them in the house every time you opened up the cellar door.”
“Mil, I need to demonstrate the time machine tonight to the Tinkerer’s Club. Look on the bright side; she won’t have a chance to cause damage with her claws.”
“Elmo, if anything happens to my kitten there will be hell to pay.” Mildred looked down at the little ball of fur and scratched her ears which intensified the purring, saying, “I’ll miss your kittenhood, but in all honesty, not the damage you might cause with those front claws.” With a final squeeze she gave the kitten to Elmo who put her back in the box and took her down to the cellar.
After dinner the Tinkerers began to arrive. The first was Harold Kinter, as was the custom. He accepted a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of cake and then descended into the cellar. In rapid order, James Forsyth and William Dupree appeared at the front door, accepted mugs of coffee, and then joined Harold in the cellar.
The last to appear, as also was the custom, was Kingsley Dasher dressed in a suit and tie. All the rest of the members were dressed casually. Kingsley had never been a casual person. Mildred was ready for him. “A cup of Earl Grey, Kingsley?” She knew he preferred tea.
“Why, that would be much appreciated,” he answered. After obtaining his beverage, he joined the rest of the group in the cellar to witness tonight’s presentation. He took his usual location of choice away from the rest of the group. He would appear to be indifferent to the entire event, but all the members knew he would be listening intently and would only comment when he thought his input would be of value or steer the meeting in the direction which was required. Stationed in an old recliner in a corner of the cellar, Kingsley tented his fingers and closed his eyes.
In the meantime, Harold, James and William gathered around Elmo’s machine with great anticipation. Elmo was identified as a valued member for his curiosity and intelligence.
Elmo began, “What you see before you, my friends, is my attempt to produce a time machine. I chose to construct it around an iron lung so that a person, a time-traveler, could comfortably recline inside. The intention was to have the time-traveler travel forward in time and return after a preset interval, however, the machine would remain here.”
Elmo went on to explain his theory for time travel and his calculations. The group was amazed as he discussed the basis of his theory for time travel. Kingsley listened through half-closed eyes. Elmo continued, “However, there is a problem and that is the reason I called this meeting. I have tested my device on a variety of animal subjects, including fertilized eggs. It was with the eggs that I determined the flaw in my machine. You see, the subject does travel forward in time but does not leave the machine. Rather, they age, and after the preset interval of the journey, they do not return to their original state but remain at their future age. Fertilized eggs become chicks. Chicks become chickens. Given the required length of time, rats become skeletons. I would now like to demonstrate this phenomenon.”
“Before you demonstrate your device,” Kingsley asked, “How does it create mass? As you describe your results, mass was created with your egg experiments and where did mass go when you produced a rat skeleton?”
Elmo’s face showed puzzlement. He had not thought of this question before.
The mass question produced total silence in the group. They all knew of the balance between mass and energy. That the formation of mass should result in a tremendous drain of energy from somewhere. By the same token, the loss of mass should result in a dramatic increase in energy. Enough energy to obliterate the area surrounding the experiment. The question of the production and loss of mass stymied the Tinkerers.
Suddenly Harold Kinter began to smile. He thought he had a possible answer to the mass question. He began, “There is only one possible explanation. Somehow, and I’m sure no can answer how, Elmo’s machine has been able to tap into the realm of dark matter and dark energy. I feel that can be the only explanation.
“The existence of this strange form of matter and energy is postulated and may someday be proven as fact. And can be the only explanation for the creation and deletion of mass which I can think of.”
The entire group pondered this explanation and were unanimous in their agreement.
Elmo then went to the cardboard box and picked up the kitten which immediately began to purr and lick Elmo’s hand. “This kitten, six weeks old, is tonight’s subject. I will set the journey into the future to six months. The length of the experiment will be five minutes.”
He deposited the kitten into the chamber, and after adjusting a few dials, initiated the process. As usual, the chamber lit up and filled with mist. After the haze cleared there stood a nearly full-grown cat with the identical markings of the kitten. Elmo lifted the feline out of the chamber and went upstairs to deliver the nearly mature cat to Mildred.
When he returned, Harold, James and William were excited and at the same time puzzled. Harold began, “This is truly amazing, Elmo. I’m sure you are not far from inventing a true time machine.”
William and James concurred with Harold’s observation. James added, “When the problem is worked out, this could be an invention of unimaginable proportions.”
Much to everyone’s surprise, Kingsley cleared his throat and began to speak.
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 3, NEW TEST SUBJECTS
CHAPTER 3
NEW TEST SUBJECTS
The next day Elmo drove to Brooker’s Egg Farm. He pulled into the small, graveled parking lot. He liked old-man Brooker. He was a no-nonsense kind of fellow. Getting out of his car, Elmo surveyed the property. Row upon row of low-slung chicken sheds took up most of the land, and the air was full of the constant clucking of the residents.
Nate Brooker, owner of the farm, left his office and walked toward Elmo. Nate was ancient, grizzled and walked with a limp. He was a ‘take no shit’ kind of guy. If you tried to feed him a line or make small talk, he would shake his head and say, “For Christ’s sake, get to the god damned point, will you. I ain’t got all day.” And if you didn’t, he would leave you standing there, alone. Elmo was not talkative, and that suited Brooker just fine.
Extending his hand, Brooker asked, “How you doing, son? Come for a dozen of my fine eggs?”
Brooker was surprised when Elmo said, “Not today. Today I need six fertilized eggs.”
“Fertilized eggs! Are you gonna be raising your own chickens and stop buying from me? Maybe selling eggs yerself. You must be shittin’ me. Get your ass back in your damn car and get the hell off my damn property.”
To say that Elmo was taken aback would have been putting it mildly. “No, sir,” Elmo said. “I need the eggs for an experiment. I have no intention of raising chickens.”
Elmo knew about Brooker’s reputation, but this was a side of the old man he had never personally been exposed to.
“Well, young fella, I guess that’s okay. But if I find out that you’re shittin’ me, they’ll be hell to pay.”
“I assure you; the eggs will just be for an experiment.”
“I’ll hold you to your word, son.”
As they walked to one of the chicken sheds, Brooker asked, “How many you need?”
“I should think about six,” Elmo answered.
They entered the low-slung building, and Brooker pointed out, “This is where we keep the hens for mating.”
Elmo noted the roosters screeching at the top of their lungs.
Brooker began gathering eggs, about a dozen, and then motioned for Elmo to follow him to a small room. “This is where we candle the eggs to see if they’ve been fertilized.” He held the eggs up to the light, and after testing nine, had six fertile ones. “Here you are, son.” He handed Elmo a six-egg carton.
“How much?” asked Elmo.
The price surprised him. He was charged three times as much as he usually paid for a dozen eggs.
Brooker walked Elmo to his car and remade his point, “You sure you will use these eggs for an experiment and not hatch them. And what kind of experiment are we talking anyway?”
Elmo hesitated before answering, “Nate, the experiment is kind of complicated.”
“Well, what the hell isn’t nowadays,” Brooker asked.
“And, Nate, if my experiment works, some of the eggs will hatch.”
“Shit, I knew it.” Brooker was developing a slow burn, so Elmo rapidly said.
“Tell you what,” said Elmo, “if any of the eggs do hatch, I’ll bring the chickens back to you along with the empty shells. Also, I’ll return any fertilized eggs I don’t use.” Elmo thought this would assure Brooker that there was nothing but an experiment going on.
“No, son,” Brooker said. “For some stupid reason I guess I can trust you. I’m sure you won’t start a chicken farm. You’re not the type.”
Elmo could see a slight change in Brooker’s demeanor, the man appeared to relax, somewhat, and said, “Okay, son, I’ll hold you to your word.” With that Brooker walked back to his office and Elmo had his subjects for his next experiment.
Elmo was relieved to observe this vote of confidence. He walked to his car and was about to drive away when he realized he forgot to ask some very important questions. He got out of his car and went to the office, opened the door, and saw Brooker at work sitting at his desk.
“Mr. Brooker,” Elmo asked, “how long will it take the eggs to hatch, and what is the lifespan of a chicken?”
Brooker said, “Fella, you sure do ask a lot of questions for someone who does not intend to raise chickens.”
Elmo could see doubt replacing the relaxed expression Brooker had had before. Elmo quickly said, “This is just information I need to conduct my experiment.” And said once more, “ I am willing to return the chickens, if you want.”
With some trepidation, Brooker said, “That’s okay, son. If you screw me, I’ll find out about it and there will be hell to pay.” Brooker answered the questions and returned to his work.
Elmo was worried that he had asked too many questions. I could have looked that information up in a library,” he muttered.
The day Elmo purchased the eggs was a Friday. The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, and then lingering over coffee, Elmo said to his wife, “Mil, I think I have some grip on the question of what is happening in my time machine, but I need to perform three more experiments. Please, dear, come into the cellar with me. I want a witness to what I am about to attempt. You may be witnessing history.”
Mildred had been through this scenario so many times before. She loved Elmo, but knew how he would react when the experiment did not work, and she was sure that it wouldn’t although the fact that Elmo thought it kind of worked still baffled her. She did not understand his excitement after the rat experiment. With the prospect of something going wrong she knew he would sulk for days and remain to himself, and this was the beginning of the weekend, the only time they spent extended time together. Trying to inject some enthusiasm in her voice, she said, “Okay, Elmo, but don’t get too disappointed if you don’t achieve the results you expect.” She saw the usual glazed eyes before Elmo performed an experiment. He turned and went down the cellar stairs. She followed him not knowing what to expect.
After arriving at the bottom of the stairs, Mildred immediately noticed, sitting near the ‘Time Machine’, a half carton of eggs and said, “Elmo, these eggs should be in the fridge.”
“No, my dear, these are very special eggs, historic eggs, and putting them in the cold might kill them.”
“Oh, Elmo, how can you kill an egg?”
“Mil, these are special eggs. They have been fertilized.”
Elmo looked at his wife and from the expression on her face knew an explanation was required. “You see, Mil, I think I can explain the results of my rat experiments. I’m about to attempt the definitive experiments that will confirm my theory.”
Mildred smiled and prepared herself for the worst. She was beginning to plan what she would do for the next two days without her husband. That’s at least as long as it would take, she thought, him to get over a failure.
Elmo, not catching the doubt on Mildred’s face, placed two eggs into the chamber and began adjusting dials, and then started the process. Once again the interior of the chamber produced great flashes and filled with mist. When it cleared, there stood two baby chicks.
Mildred looked with wonder at the results, and said, “Oh, Elmo, they’re so cute. Now your machine can kill rats and hatch eggs.” She was quite afraid to ask the next question but couldn’t help herself. “Elmo, are you happy with the results?”
“Extremely, my dear. There are two more experiments to perform which will completely verify what the machine is doing.” With that he selected two more eggs, was about to remove the chicks, but decided to leave them in the chamber. Once again he adjusted the dials, and began the experiment, once again the chamber filled with sparks and mist. When it cleared, there stood four chickens clucking their heads off.
Mildred saw the manic gleam in Elmo’s eyes. She saw the same look when her mother’s china teacup disappeared. “Maybe that’s enough,” she said to Elmo. What she was really saying was maybe he should quit while he was ahead, if he was ahead. She actually couldn’t tell. But she also knew nothing she could do or say would stop him now.
She could see the joy in Elmo’s face, and he began doing his little dance, as he shouted, “It worked! It worked!”
Mildred did not understand the reason for Elmo’s excitement. “Elmo, I thought the subject of the experiment was supposed to travel into the future, or perhaps the past. Something definitely happened, but they stayed in the chamber.”
“I know, Mil. There still remain some details to be worked out, but don’t you see, time changed within the chamber. Granted, the subject was supposed to leave the chamber and travel through time, but for now, the time change is occurring in situ.
Mildred was confused, she asked, “In whatto?”
“In situ into the future, and then reappear after the end of the experiment, at the end of the, my dear, it means in place. The subject in the chamber was supposed to disappear preset length of the trial, exactly as he was before he left.”
Mildred said, “Okay, Elmo, but that didn’t happen. The eggs didn’t go anywhere. They just hatched in the chamber.”
“Thanks for noticing that little detail,” Elmo responded. “Granted, this experiment is not free of problems, but I feel I am on the right path to creating a time machine. You see, the subject ages in accordance with the time set for the subject’s journey. That is why, in my first series of experiments, when I sent the rat twenty years into the future a rat’s skeleton was the result.
Leaving the four chickens in the chamber, Elmo reset the dials and then stood back with great anticipation. He began the experiment and when the mist cleared all that was left were four chicken skeletons.
Mildred began to hate this infernal machine, whatever entered it would eventually die, rats, chickens, what was next? She believed in her husband, and something was definitely happening, but whatever it was it wasn’t good. She was amazed when Elmo began jumping up and down and dancing around the cellar. He shouted, “It works! It works! He then grabbed Mildred continuing to dance and shout.
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 2, THE TIME MACHINE
CHAPTER 2
THE TIME MACHINE
When Elmo did arrive home that night, Mildred was full of vinegar. As he walked through the door, she shouted, “In God’s name, Elmo, what on earth are you going to do with an iron lung?”
Elmo’s eyes brightened, “It came! I can’t wait to begin my next project.”
Mildred repeated, with added anger, “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH AN IRON LUNG, AND HOW MUCH DID THIS THING COST?” She could see Elmo’s eyes glaze over when he first heard of its delivery. In the past, this had never been a good sign of things to come.
“Mildred, I’m going to build a time machine.”
Mildred stared at Elmo with the heat of hostility in her eyes, and said, “You are forbidden to use any of my mother’s China,”
Elmo, trying to look contrite, said, “Mil, that will never happen again. I promise you. Anyway, this experiment requires live subjects.
Mildred shouted at the top of her lungs, “I AM NOT GOING INTO THAT THING!”
“My dear, I will never use a person until my theory is proven. But there will come a time when I need a volunteer.”
“Not me.”
“I can assure you, my beloved, it will not be you.”
Mildred gazed into Elmo’s eyes and felt no comfort. He had been known, in the heat of a scientific effort, to go back on his oath.
* * *
Many months passed during which Mildred was not allowed to venture into the cellar. Elmo forbad her entry until the equipment for his experiment was completed. If she needed anything from below, he would gladly get it for her. Just to ensure his secrecy, he attached a sturdy padlock on the outside of the cellar door and he had the only key. All this security did not do much to increase Mildred’s comfort level.
Then one sunny Saturday morning Elmo announced, “Mil, my time machine is finished. I can’t wait to show it to you.”
With a great deal of trepidation, Mildred followed Elmo down the cellar stairs where a large shape was concealed under a canvass shroud. Mildred could tell that Elmo wanted to build mystery while he presented his invention.
“Now, my dear, I present to you Elmo’s Time Machine.”
He pulled at the canvass, and there beneath was the iron lung, but greatly altered. If it had been decades later, Mildred would have said, “The tanning bed has already been invented,” for that is what Elmo’s invention resembled.
Elmo beamed as his wife beheld his creation. The top of the iron lung had been altered. It was now hinged to allow someone to climb in and lie down. The base held a complex array of dials and meters, the controls of the device.
Mildred looked in wonder at the device, and she couldn’t help it. Her curiosity got the best of her. She had seen the results of Elmo’s past experiments, but in spite of herself, she had to ask, “Elmo, what does it do?”
“I told you, Mil, it’s my Time Machine.”
Then she noticed, for the first time, cages of rats and asked, “What are the rats for? And if any escape you are going to be in so much trouble.”
Elmo forced a smile, for he knew Mildred had a temper. He had already pushed the limits of her anger more than once and did not care to explore that territory again. He explained, “They are the test subjects. You didn’t expect me to get in there for the first test.”
Mildred recalled the experiment with her china teacup, and said, “I would hope not.” Yet Elmo could not miss the brief smile that appeared on her face.
Elmo hurried to interject, “I need live subjects for this device,” as he pointed to the rats. “Let me explain my theory to you. It is quite …” He was thinking of saying simple, but instead said, “Complicated,” for he knew Mildred would require the simplest of explanations.
Mildred sat down and prepared herself for an explanation that she was sure would be long and one she would not understand.
Elmo began, “I’ve been thinking, for quite some time now, about the universe and Albert Einstein’s famous equation, E = mc². We consider space to be infinite. I reasoned that if the speed of light was constant, then the relationship between mass and energy must also be constant. Therefore, in the infinity of space, matter and energy do have a limit.
“My thinking settled on the constant of the speed of light, c². What if the speed of light could be changed; then, to keep everything in equilibrium, time would also have to change, if c² was to remain a constant. It’s pretty simple really, to change time you merely have to change the speed of light.
“As we know from Einstein, everything is relative. So, I toyed with the idea of changing the speed of light to change time. If c² was truly a constant, I could go forward or backward in time depending on how I changed the speed of light. If this held to be true, if I could increase the speed of light, time would slow. If I were able to slow the speed of light, time would increase.”
Mildred stared at Elmo and said, “My head hurts.”
Elmo, of course, disregarded this comment and pressed on. “I then designed a chamber with a series of magnets and mirrors to manipulate the speed of light. If the concept of relativity held, then time in the chamber would adjust to the varying speeds of light. The result is my Time Machine. I know that time machines are something out of science fiction. Fictional time machines would transport the subject into the past or future. Always, transporting into the past, as most stories go, had the risk of changing the future. I reasoned that going into the future had the same risks. Because, that future would be someone’s past. Therefore, to make as little impact as possible, my machine stays here, only the subject travels. You can’t imagine how difficult this thought process was to ensure absolute safety.
“I’m sure I can’t,” mumbled Mildred.
“However, there were important precautions that needed to be considered. Namely, viruses, fungi and bacteria that might travel along, in either direction, with the time traveler. You see, my dear, all clothing worn by the time traveler must be thoroughly sanitized along with the traveler and the machine. We wouldn’t carry any unknowns into the time being explored. By the same token, everything the time traveler wore would, along with the machine and the traveler, also need to be sanitized when he returned. I plan to work out any other details which may arise.”
“I’m sure you will,” Mildred said while rolling her eyes.
Once his lecture was completed, Elmo smiled. He was filled with his own brilliance.
Mildred loved her husband, loved his eccentricities, but this was too much to swallow. “Elmo, remember my teacup. You had that all figured out too.”
Elmo could see he was losing ground with Mildred, but he held firm. “Mildred, my dear, this invention is much different. With my earlier machine, granted, I had not worked out all the details. My matter transference machine had a few quirks that just needed to be worked out. Granted, I may have used it prematurely. However, my time machine has been through extensive planning and calculations, and, of course, it will need to be tested. I’m sure that it will work. The difference with this invention is that it will need a living subject.
“This sounds very familiar, Elmo. You assured me that my teacup would be safe, and now it is gone.”
Elmo rapidly interjected, “This machine is fool proof.” He noticed Mildred’s eyebrows rise when he said the word ‘fool’. He continued, “I have gone over my calculations again and again. I’m sure it will work.”
Mildred sat looking at Elmo and he could read the doubt on her face. He knew he had to talk fast. Also, he needed someone to witness the test of his invention, to witness history being made.”
Finally, Mildred said, “As long as none of my china is involved, I guess I can watch.”
Elmo beamed, “Watch this, Mil. This test of my Time Machine will be recorded in history books.”
Elmo went to a cage, selected a rat, and settled the animal into his machine’s chamber and closed the lid. He set the time advance device for one year and the length of the journey for ten minutes. If all went right, and he was sure it would, the rat should disappear, and after ten minutes, reappear from its trip into the future. Through a small porthole at the top of the chamber he observed the rat, expecting the animal to disappear.
Once the machine was started, a series of blinding flashes filled the chamber, along with heavy mist. In seconds the mist cleared, and Elmo looked down on the rat. Nothing happened to the rat.
Once the supposed ten-minute trip was over, Elmo raised the lid of the chamber, and the rat calmly stared into his face. The experiment was a failure.
Elmo was sure of his calculations. He looked at Mildred, who was shaking her head, not saying anything. “Dear, it didn’t work.
“I’m sure it was a valiant attempt, Elmo, but not everything goes the way you expect.”
Gazing at the rat, Elmo decided to give it another try. “My dear,” he said, “maybe there is an unforeseen limitation in the apparatus. Perhaps it does not function correctly for such a short time span as one year.
“I shall attempt to send my subject twenty years into the future.” He adjusted the dials and initiated the machine’s process. Once again the interior of the chamber began to flash, and a heavy blanket of mist obscured the interior. After the mist cleared, Elmo gazed at the skeleton of the rat.
Mildred observed the same result, and with a hint of sarcasm in her voice, said, “Elmo, you have apparently invented a process to kill rats, but first you have to catch them.” As she looked at her husband, she immediately regretted her comment. He was devastated by the results. She went to him and gave him a hug, and said, “I’m sure it just needs a little fine-tuning.” Knowing Elmo wanted to be alone, she went upstairs and left him in the cellar with his machine and thoughts.
Elmo spent the next few hours going over all his diagrams and compared them to the device he constructed. No fault became readily apparent. “Maybe there was some kind of power fluctuation that caused some sort of anomaly. That’s it. That has to be it.”
With new invigoration, Elmo went to the cages and selected another rat which he deposited in the chamber. He first set all the controls to zero and then duplicated the conditions of the last experiment. Once again flashes, and then a dense mist filled the chamber. When the mist cleared, he hurried to observe the results only to see another rat skeleton.
“It’s a failure. I’m a failure,” he shouted.”
After climbing the stairs Mildred heard Elmo’s muffled shouts. She knew he was feeling down and went out of her way not to antagonize him. She had learned when to be playful and when to be serious with her husband.
Elmo came up the stairs and sat in the living room, in the dark, until dinner was ready. He pondered the results of his experiment. There was no doubt that something had happened, but what? Why should a rat survive when the machine was set for one year, yet not survive when the time was set for 20 years? He racked his brain but could not come up with the answer. He had gone over the wiring diagram and compared it to the machine; everything was fine. Perhaps there was a problem with the basic science. Blocking out the world around him, he let his mind wander for an answer. After a short time, a smile grew on his face and, he shouted, “That’s it! That’s it!” and began dancing around the living room.
Mildred sometimes thought that he suffered from manic depression. Elmo’s actions now only strengthened that opinion. She mentally prepared herself and called, “Elmo, dinner.”
Her husband lightly danced into the dining room, held her in his arms and danced to his own inner music. He whirled Mildred around and there was joy in his eyes. Mildred tried to catch her breath, and then asked, “Why are you so happy, Elmo? Your experiment failed. At first nothing happened, you tried again and killed the rat. I wouldn’t call that a reason to be happy.”
Elmo giggled and replied, “You missed it. I tried again and killed yet a second rat.”
Mildred questioned, “And you call that a success, something to celebrate?”
“Well, in the strictest sense of the word, it was not a success, but something happened within that chamber. I’m considering my experiment a partial, tentative success. Better yet, I think I know what happened.”
“Then what did happen, Elmo?”
“I’m not going to say just yet. I need to run a few more experiments. Tomorrow, after work, I’m going to Brooker’s farm.”
“You mean the farm where we buy our eggs?”
“That’s right, Mil. I need some very special eggs, historical eggs.”
Mildred stared at Elmo and now was sure he was manic.
ELMO’S INVENTION: CHAPTER 1, ELMO’S WORKSHOP, THE BEGINNING OF THE TIME MACHINE
ELMO’S INVENTION
CHAPTER 1
ELMO’S WORKSHOP
“Mildred,” Elmo Baker shouted, “Come down here. I have something important to show you.” Standing at the base of the cellar stairs, Elmo was in his usual excited state when a project was completed. Of medium build, with a broad face and a mass of curly black hair, Elmo’s passion was science, physics in particular. Mildred, with great trepidation, began walking down the stairs to the cellar. At the base of the stairs stood Elmo, beaming, not a good sign, and Mildred could tell by the twinkle in his eye as she approached her husband, that a demonstration or explanation of an invention was about to take place. And that twinkle would slowly if the experiment failed, which was often the case.
The year was 1966, and Mildred loved Elmo so, but shortly after their marriage three years ago, it became clear how intense Elmo’s love for science was and that love would follow them all of their lives. Mildred loved Elmo’s sense of curiosity but not the prospect of cleaning up the destruction, the mess of a failed experiment.
“Come here, Mil, I’ve got something to show you.” Elmo held out his hand to Mildred and said, “You have got to see this. I’m ready to make the first test.”
Mildred was not looking forward to what Elmo might present to her. Her husband was one of the first ‘dumpster divers’. Los Alamos was the government facility known for its research of the atom, and it was where Elmo worked. And he knew that when an experiment failed, some of the materials that went into the effort were tossed, deemed trash. Lab bosses also discarded equipment they considered ‘obsolete’ to be replaced by the latest version. But Elmo thought of this trash as treasure. This was much to Elmo’s benefit and was the source that supplied his cellar laboratory. At the end of his workday at his Los Alamos lab, Elmo would back his car up to the dumpster area and go to work. On many days, he would come home with the backseat of his Chevy filled with scientific odds and ends. To Elmo, Los Alamos’ trash was the building blocks of his inventions.
Elmo led Mildred to the corner of the cellar where he had his workbench and lab of the cellar. The remainder of the room was occupied by the usual accumulation of life which now had no use but never thrown away. Below a bare overhead bulb was his invention. Which looked to Mildred like and iron lung, one she had seen delivered. Elmo could see the confusion on his wife’s face, and proudly said, “Doll, I have invented a time machine.”
* * *
Mildred kept her love for Elmo strong, although that could be difficult at times.
Elmo was two years older than Mildred. He was handsome, but that was not what had attracted Mildred to him. It was his passion for a new curiosity he discovered, usually scientific. He found the world of science fascinating, with the wonder of a child enthralled by a rattle. At times he could sit for hours just thinking and occasionally smiling. However, the toys that mystified him were sometimes slightly more dangerous than a toy.
Mildred could not recall how many times Elmo called from the cellar, “Call the fire department!” Shortly thereafter, dense smoke would issue from the open cellar door and begin to fill the kitchen. This was long before 911 existed. Mildred knew the phone number of the local fire department by heart.
She recalled the time Elmo constructed two small chambers attached by wires to an intricate control device with a host of dials and flashing lights. The device was meant to transfer objects through space. He wanted to test the machine before building the full-scale model.
Unfortunately for Mildred, she had been busy in the cellar doing some unpacking. She wanted to display in her hutch the beautiful delicate six china teacups and saucers her mother had left her. She knew exactly where they were packed and couldn’t wait to see them again.
The search did not take long, and while admiring one of the cups, she heard Elmo mutter, “I need something small.” He happened to glance at Mildred and exclaimed, “Perfect.”
Before she realized what her husband was up to, he grabbed a cup and put it in one of the chambers.
“Elmo, what are you doing? That was my mother’s cup!” shouted Mildred. “It’s precious to me.”
Elmo was only half listening as he began turning dials and focusing his attention on the chamber containing the cup. “Don’t worry, Mildred. Your cup is perfectly safe. I’m just going to send it to the chamber at the other end of my workbench.”
Much to Mildred’s surprise, her vision of the cup appeared to waver, and then disappears.
Much to Elmo’s surprise, it did not reappear in the other chamber.
“Don’t worry, Mildred. Let’s just give it some time.”
An hour later Mildred went storming up the stairs with five cups and six saucers, angry and sad at her loss.
Elmo continued to stare at the second chamber scratching his head and repeating over and over again, “I wonder where it went.” He was happy that his wife wasn’t there when suddenly he began laughing hysterically, thinking of the cup suddenly appearing someplace quite by surprise and mystifying some unsuspecting person. He was sure the cup went somewhere as matter. For if it had been converted to energy, all that would be left of his house and most of the surrounding area would be cinders.
THE BEGINNING OF THE TIME MACHINE
One day after visiting the supermarket, although in those days they weren’t very super, Mildred was pulling her two-wheeled shopping cart down the street and was amazed to see a pickup parked in her driveway. It was three in the afternoon, and four burly men stood behind the truck. They looked relieved when they saw her approach. In the bed of the truck was a huge piece of equipment. Mildred recognized it immediately. It was an iron lung.
Just recently, the newly developed polio vaccine began distribution on sugar cubes. Gradually iron lungs were no longer needed. However, Mildred had lived with the fear of polio, knew people who had contracted the disease. Some still depended on the device for their lives to continue. “Where do you want this, lady?” asked the man obviously in charge.
“I don’t want it anywhere,” answered Mildred. She had no idea why they had brought this to her home. Then her mind had a flash, Elmo.
“Does an Elmo Baker live here?” the man asked.
There it was. Her husband had bought an iron lung. Shaking her head, Mildred said, “I’m sure it belongs in the cellar. I’ll show you the way.”
After many grunts and groans, the machine rested on its wheels in the cellar.
“What could Elmo want with this thing?” pondered Mildred out loud.
Hearing Mildred one of the men said, “I don’t know nothing, lady. We just deliver.”
The crew went back upstairs and climbed into their truck and left. And Elmo had some explaining to do when he came home from work.
BOOK REVIEW: THE DELUGE BY STEPHEN MARKLEY
BOOK REVIEW: THE DELUGE BY STEPHEN MARKLEY
The Deluge is an excellently written book where the author takes a surprisingly accurate glimpse into the future.
The book deals with the future of climate change and global warming. Surprisingly the author also has a massive fire which destroys Los Angeles. Among critical events the Capital is also taken over, but this time by an environmentalists’ group. After camping on the Capital grounds, they are thwarted in their mission in a disastrous meeting with the authorities.
There are other conditions in this book which make for a compelling story. Conditions which I hope never comes to pass. States become entities unto themselves regulating entry and establishing a host of frightening conditions for their citizens.
This is an extremely well-written book peopled by interesting characters and weaving an exciting story. The book describes a possible future, part of which has already occurred and also a disastrous future for our country.
CATS EYES: A NEW LOOK FOR A HORROR WRITER
CATS EYES
Joe Flannelly sat with his good friend, Howard Long, at their standard table in their favorite pub. The first few rounds of beer went down easy and fast. When Joe lifted his glass and said, “Here’s looking at you, Howard.” But Joe offered his toast without his usual cheerfulness. In reality, he had offered the toast out of habit putting little thought into it.
Howard shook his head and mumbled, “Shit, Joe, can’t you come up with another toast? You say the same damn thing every time we get together for some beers. Okay for shit’s sake, I’m an ophthalmologist. I got it the first time you said it years ago.”
Joe’s expression suddenly grew serious, and he yelled, “Fuck you!” This was unlike Joe who had always appeared mellow, happy.
Taken by surprise, Howard asked, “Are you okay, buddy?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not. I thought I might need glasses, so I had my eyes checked the other day. I have the wet form of macular degeneration, the worst type. I’ll lose the central part of my vision to the disease. I’m a writer, damn it. How the hell can I write like that? I’m only fifty-five, and my career is just beginning to come together. How do I finish the work I want to do? I might as well be dead.”
You could cut the silence with a knife.
Finally, Howard said, “Shit, man, I can’t imagine a tougher break.”
“I know, Howard, I guess my career will soon come to an end.”
Howard asked, “Can’t you dictate to the computer? I hear the programs have improved.”
Joe answered, “I guess I could, but that’s not my style. I need to see my words on a sheet of paper and think about where the story is going.”
Howard looked intently at his friend. Joe sipped his beer. He could tell Howard was struggling with a thought. Joe asked, “What’s on your mind?”
Howard took a long drag on his beer.
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone this.” His tone became hushed. “I have a friend, went to school with him. He’s an eye surgeon. He’s been experimenting with eye transplants and told me he just recently had a breakthrough.”
Excited, Joe said, “That’s great, Howard. That means there’s hope for me.”
“Not so fast, Joe. So far my friend has only experimented on animals. And the breakthrough has a major drawback. The donor eyes, to be useful, must be harvested functioning not just functional before the time of death. And the recipient must still possess some vision so that the sensory apparatus is intact. It’s not like any other transplant. The donor and recipient must be in the same room for a rapid transplant to ensure a chance of success. If the method was ever used, it would raise a host of moral questions. Taking the eyes of a living subject would leave the patient blind. That is if that had anymore life to live. I can’t imagine anyone volunteering offering their eyesight unless death is certain. Just around the corner like conditions such as euthanasia.
* * *
Joe thought constantly about what his friend had told him about the chance for a transplant and of his condition. Macular degeneration was a slow process, for some not so slow, but the endpoint was certain.
Joe was writing in his study, when in walked his cat, Sammy. Sammy was short for Samantha, and she was hell on wheels, or rather, paws. His older cat, Sally’s life was drastically disrupted by this new member of the family. When Sammy wasn’t running around like a maniac or sleeping; she was stalking Sally. Poor meek Sally was leading a tormented life. As Sammy entered the study, she was her usual hyperactive self. She paused to be petted, then ran about madly bouncing off the piles of books scattered around the house. In the middle of her insane race, she did something that Joe had seen both Sammy and Sally do. She stopped in her tracks, sat down, and gazed at the ceiling. She was watching something, something that Joe could not see, yet it took up her full attention. Sammy turned her head from side to side as if following a vision. After a few moments she returned to her manic activity.
What is she seeing? Joe thought. His writer’s mind began to work in overdrive. Among other genres, he wrote horror. Maybe she’s seeing ghosts, he thought. Imagine if I could see what she is seeing. Joe anticipated his next drinking session with Howard.
* * *
Joe met Howard at their usual spot and shared small talk through the first few rounds. Howard noticed that Joe suddenly became quiet and stared at him. Finally, Howard asked, “What’s on your mind, buddy?”
“Howard, I’ve been thinking about the eye transplant procedure you told me about.”
“Stop thinking about it, Joe. You have to take the person’s eyes out while they’re still alive. Except for some kidney and liver transplants, most transplants are not done until the donor is declared dead. Even for someone brain-dead, they do not begin harvesting until they pull the plug, and by then it’s too late for an eye transplant. I can’t imagine a family consenting to a transplant of a loved one’s eyes while the patient is still alive.”
Joe hesitated, and then said, “I don’t want human eyes.”
Howard cried, “What the hell, are you nuts?”
His raised voice brought stares from the other patrons who then rapidly returned to their drinks.
Joe continued, “Listen, Howard. I’ve been doing some research on my own, along with something I’ve observed in cats.”
Howard laughed, “This has got to be good,” but his body language indicated a total lack of ease.
Joe said, “I was looking up research involving cats and ran across an article published in The Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences concerning the cat’s central nervous system: how it easily repairs itself. Maybe this is true of other nerves, like the optic nerve. Maybe the optic nerve could join with that of another species and restore sight.”
Howard began to feel uncomfortable. “Where the hell are you going with this, Joe?”
“I’m going blind. That’s where I’m going. I know I won’t be totally blind, but in my profession; I might as well be.”
“Now listen, Joe. There are plenty of options you can use to continue writing. Look into them.”
“Howard, I want to continue writing as I do now, just me, a pencil and a piece of paper. I don’t want a life where I can’t sit down anywhere I want and write. I’ve also become acquainted with what is known about how cats see. There’s something else, and you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Joe, I’ve passed that milestone some time ago.”
“I think cats can see something I can’t, that humans can’t. I want my eyes replaced with that of a cat.”
“Shit, Joe, you are nuts.”
“No, listen, Howard. A baboon heart was once implanted into a child when there was no hope of the child surviving. Pig valves are routinely used in heart surgery. Why not transplant cat’s eyes?”
They drank another beer in silence. Joe was talked out and Howard was pondering about what Joe had said. Howard broke the silence. “Damn it, Joe. I’ll talk to my friend. I also want to find out more about cat vision. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what I can do. And Joe.”
“Yes?”
“I still think you’re nuts.”
Joe’s mood lifted, “Thanks buddy. You’ve given me some hope.”
After the two friends parted, Joe went home to write. Howard went home to research cat’s eyes and how their vision differed from that of humans.
* * *
Joe was in the middle of writing a story. His phone rang, which he never answered, waiting for his machine to take care of the chore. The voice coming through the phone said, “Joe, it’s Howard. Pick up.”
Running to the phone, Joe answered and said, “Howard, what’s the news?”
“Let’s meet at the bar, Joe. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
“I’ll see you there in an hour.”
When Joe walked in, he immediately saw Howard sitting at their usual table nursing a beer. Joe went to the bar, placed his order, and then went to sit with his friend, waiting for him to speak.
Howard looked into his beer for a while, and then looked at Joe. Without saying a word, Howard reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper which he pushed toward Joe.
“What’s this?” Joe asked, although he could see it was a prescription script.
Howard answered, “It’s a script for a heavy-duty anti-rejection drug.”
Joe’s face lit up.
“Listen, my friend, there may be some as yet unknown side effects associated with taking this. To say nothing of the tons of legal requirements which have to be met making sure you won’t sue if things go south after the surgery.” Howard then ran through a list of things that ranged from mere annoyances to life threatening.
Joe listened intently as he pocketed the script. “Howard, I’m having periods of wavy and blurred vision, bad enough at times to stop me from writing. I’ll do anything to be able to see perfectly again.
“Hold on, Joe. I’ve done some research too. You won’t be able to see as a human. You will have the vision of a cat.
“First of all, you will be nearsighted. Nearsightedness enables cats to catch their prey. That can be easily corrected. You will also be able to see extremely well in the dark, but with the absence of color. The big difference is what you see in the light. The only colors you will see are purple, blue and green. It will take some time for you to adapt to having the vision of a cat.
“My friend has agreed to do the surgery. He even got permission from the N.I.H. to do it as an experimental procedure. Of course, you’ll have to sign a ton of forms as I already mentioned.”
Joe was ecstatic. “This is great news. When can we do the surgery?”
“In a few weeks. You must take the course of anti-rejection drugs, and my friend has to find a cat totally free of disease.”
* * *
The weeks went by slowly for Joe as his vision continued to deteriorate. He experienced a few side effects from the drug, but nothing serious. Finally, the day for his pre-op and conference with the surgeon arrived. He drove to the hospital to meet Dr. Greg Glassy.
After his pre-op exam, he found Glassy’s office and was soon led in. The man who rose from behind the large, cluttered desk was much younger than Joe expected. Joe doubted he was thirty-five.
Greg Glassy was tall and thin. He looked more like he belonged on a basketball court than in a surgical suite. The two men shook hands and Glassy motioned for Joe to sit down. Glassy said, “Joe, you’re about to make a great contribution to science by taking the first step in helping blind people to regain their vision. I must say that I would feel more comfortable to replace your eyes with those of a primate, but in all honesty, primates carry a host of diseases that are easily transferred to humans.”
“I appreciate your concern and help, Dr. Glassy. You’re well aware of my condition. I chose to have cat’s eyes to help me with my writing. I can’t explain it because I don’t fully understand what I will see, but I feel it will help my work.”
“Joe, you must understand that there is a huge risk of total blindness. The only reason I’ve agreed to use feline eyes is because of the article you brought to Howard’s attention. There is a good chance your optic nerves will fuse with the feline nerves.” After more discussion, Dr. Glassy rose, extended his hand, and said, “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”
* * *
When Joe was wheeled into the operating room, the first thing he noticed was a cat lying on a small table. It was being ventilated and sound asleep. Joe thought, When this is over, I’ll be seeing through your eyes, seeing what my cats find so interesting. And maybe, instead of going blind, a whole new universe will open for me to explore in my writing.
* * *
When Joe awoke he instantly felt for his eyes. They were covered in thick bandages. The nurse keeping watch over him quickly went to get Dr. Glassy.
“Joe, the surgery went fine. Better than I had expected. Your eyes will be bandaged for a few months to give the optic nerves time to heal and for your eye muscles to firmly attach to your new eyes.”
Joe reached out and Dr. Glassy took his hand. “Thanks, doctor. Thank you so much.”
Dr. Glassy answered, “When your bandages are removed we’ll determine how well your new eyes’ function, but I’m very hopeful.
* * *
The time came for the bandages to be removed. Joe was full of anticipation. After the long period of having his eyes bandaged, he came to realize what being blind would be like. How going from seeing to not seeing changes your life. Dr. Glassy said, “We’ll be removing your bandages now. Do not open your eyes until I tell you to. After we remove the bandages, I want you to look down and remain looking down. I want to make sure the muscles are firmly attached. The room will be in total darkness. I don’t want to expose your new eyes to harsh light.”
“I understand,” responded Joe, anxious to experience how his new eyes would function.
He could feel the bandages being unwound from his head, and then thick gauze being removed from his eyes.
“All right, Joe. Slowly open your eyes.”
Joe did as he was told, keeping his eyes down. “I thought you said the room would be dark,” his voice full of anticipation.
“Joe,” Dr. Glassy said in a rush of excitement, “This room is pitch black. I cannot see you!”
With a quivering voice, Joe said, “But doctor, I can clearly see the floor, my legs. The light is dim, but I can see.”
Dr. Glassy, almost shouting, said, “Joe, I think the surgery was a success. Keep looking down, and slowly move your eyes from side to side.”
Joe did as he was told. “I have no trouble moving my eyes,” he said. It felt no different than when he still had his eyes, his human eyes.
“Is there any pain?”
“None.”
“Okay, Joe, we’re going to slowly increase the light. Tell me if you feel any discomfort.”
The light level was slowly raised to that of normal.
Joe said, “I have no problem. I see clearly. Especially objects which are close.”
“Great, Joe. Keep your eyes down. I’m going to show you a series of colored dots. Tell me what colors you see.” As expected, Joe could see only purple, blue and green. With that test concluded, Dr. Glassy said, “Now, Joe, look up at me.”
Joe slowly raised his eyes to Dr. Glassy’s face. He saw the doctor smiling. But movement toward the ceiling caught his attention. At first he had trouble comprehending what he was seeing. Then, in horror, he realized he was privy to a host of worlds, one atop another. Realms and dimensions overlapping into what seemed infinity, inhabited by beasts never before seen by man. Joe’s brain was taken on a wild ride. In an instant he knew that cats could see what humans couldn’t. A series of other worlds, which a cat’s brain could not process so with what they were observing, they showed no fear. However, his brain revealed the terror his eyes observed.
Revealed was a multitude of dimensions never imagined by man. Occupied by beings of unspeakable character. The closest dimension was inhabited by beings with human form, but any other resemblance to man stopped there for their arms were replaced by tentacles. Others had arms issuing from their chests, ending in horrible appendages for unknown purposes. A multitude of creatures with horrible appearances were revealed to Joe’s now cat’s eyes. Misshapen heads and misaligned features dominated their features. On occasion some of these creatures, detecting Joe’s observance would venture into Joe’s dimension. But when they crossed the film between dimensions they became ghostly white with no mass. Accompanying the grotesque creatures already observed were winged insects covered with chitin-like armor bristling with deadly spikes. One of these beasts realized it was being watched and turned its many-faceted eyes toward Joe then the ghostly image flew at a dazzling pace to the unwelcomed observer.
With his mind finally able to absorb the horror his cat’s eyes revealed Joe screamed as a man possessed.
He went to tear at his eyes, then stopped. Joe’s thoughts shifted from terror to the realization that this was the outcome he was hoping for after acquiring the cat’s eyes. He also became aware that no matter how horrible the creatures in these other dimensions were, once crossing into his, they were powerless. Right before his eyes was an untold number of potential stories.
Now that he had his emotions under control he turned to Dr. Glassy and asked, “Could I have a pencil and paper?”
The End
REUNION: A STORY FOR MEMORIAL DAY
This is my first published story. Published by Enigma in 2003, a Philadelphia small publisher no longer is existence.
REUNION
The June morning was brilliant and clear with just enough of a breeze to keep you cool despite the predicted eighty-degree day. At the age of eighty-two, for Christopher Johnson, getting up in the morning was not an easy chore and had lately not seemed worth the effort. He turned his head and looked at the pillow beside him. “I miss you so much honey,” he said quietly. His wife Peggy had died less than a year ago. One night they went to bed as usual. The last words he had said to her were the words he always said to her before falling asleep, “I love you.” When Chris awoke, Peggy was dead of a heart attack. A few days later he was looking into her grave knowing a large part of his life was now buried in the cold earth. After almost sixty years of marriage, the pain of her loss was intense, almost as intense as the love they had shared all those years.
With Peggy still on his mind, he sat up and began to stretch his arthritic limbs knowing the pain that would follow. Next, he stood up and took a few steps; those first steps were the worst of the day. He winced with every movement, but soon his joints and muscles settled down to the constant pain that accompanied him these days.
He had gotten up earlier than usual, for today, unlike most of his days, he had an appointment, something to do. He opened his closet door and, in the back, he found what he was looking for: his U.S. Army ranger dress uniform, the one he had worn on his return home after being wounded during World War II. With persistent pain, he maneuvered his body into the uniform that, after sixty years, still fit his slender frame. He looked in the mirror, and the toll of those sixty years stared back at him. The hair on his head and his mustache had gone gray years ago. His eyes, once admired by his fellow soldiers for their ability to spot enemy aircraft or fortifications before anyone else, now watered behind heavy bifocals. He inspected his image, looking over the uniform for signs of moth damage. The area of his uniform he examined first was his chest; there hung the Purple Heart and the Congressional Medal of Honor. He was proud to have served his country, proud of his awards but knew that in combat, a split second could mean the difference between a dead soldier and a hero. Satisfied that his uniform had survived another year, he returned it to the closet and dressed in his usual summer shirt and khakis.
While Chris hung up his uniform, his mind still held the Medal of Honor and the events that led to its award.
The day was D Day, early in the morning of June 6th. Chris was among a group of Army Rangers that would be the first to hit the beach. Their objective was to climb and secure the cliffs overlooking the landing sites. These cliffs held guns that could hazard the ships and soldiers, and the hazard needed to be removed. German soldiers were stationed on the cliffs, ready to rain death on unprotected soldiers landing on the beach below. Chris and his three buddies, Frank Grimes, Larry Schwartz and Duck Dupont were together in the landing craft, along with twenty other rangers heading toward the beach.
Chris had begun basic training knowing no one. Soon he gravitated to three other guys who seemed to be as lost and alone as he was. The four of them gradually became friends and survived the ordeal together. Of the three, he was closest to Duck Dupont. Duck’s real name was Willard; he gained his nickname Duck during a basic training class. The class was walking past the artillery area when a practice round went off. Most of the class flinched, but Duck was on the ground with his head covered by his hands. From then on he was known as Duck.
His thoughts returned to June 6th.
It was still dark and they landed unopposed. The men quickly and quietly disembarked and headed for the base of the two-hundred-foot cliff – it would be quite a climb. When everyone was in position, they fired ropes up the side of the cliff. This brought the response they expected; Germans began firing down the cliff and rangers began to collapse on the beach. Chris and his friends were to stay together and climb along with most of the rangers while the rest provided cover fire. Soon the German fire lessened then ceased as the rangers continued their climb.
The four friends were the first to reach the top of the cliff. What they saw sent a shiver through them all. Before them, set back about fifty yards from the edge of the cliff, stood a series of three bunkers. The first light of dawn streamed through the trees beyond the enemy, and all seemed quiet and peaceful except for the machine guns projecting from behind sandbags. They knew they had to act fast, for if they didn’t, the rangers coming up the cliff would be cut down as soon as they reached the top. They split up into two groups; Chris and Duck went to the left – Frank and Larry to the right. The two flanking bunkers had to be eliminated before the middle position could be attacked. Each group approached the nearest bunker and tossed a grenade inside. The simultaneous explosions sent German soldiers into action. The rangers had missed one. Along with fire from the third remaining bunker, a fourth bunker opened up along with mortar fire from behind the bunker. The fourth bunker surprised the rangers and had a clear shot at them. Duck was literally cut in half by machine gun fire. Larry was attacking the third of the bunkers they had seen, having just pulled the pin from a grenade when he was shot. They never did find Frank. Chris entered the first bunker they had taken out, pushed aside the mangled German bodies and manned the machine gun. He quickly took out the bunker they had overlooked before, creeping up to the last remaining bunker; he destroyed it with grenades. The actions of the four men had saved the lives of the rangers now reaching the summit of the cliff and helped secure the landing site for the invasion.
In the early morning silence, after the heat of battle, Chris collapsed on the ground part from fatigue, part from pain, but mostly from grief – his friends were gone. Chris had shrapnel wounds in his left arm and hip. At some point his helmet had taken a hit and deflected the bullet but the impact gave him a nasty scalp wound. Blood now streamed down the side of his face and soaked his collar.
These are the memories that flooded into Chris’s mind as he put away his uniform and prepared to spend a weekend at the Mid Atlantic Air Museum as a guest of honor, something he had done for the last five years. This would be his first year without Peggy at his side. He knew it would not be the same without her, but he still looked forward to the event.
The museum had organized a weekend devoted to the history of World War II for the last ten years. It was a living history lesson with vintage aircraft flown in from all over the country, and encampments set up with hundreds of reenactors dressed in the World War II uniforms of the United States, England, France and Germany. The museum also invited veterans from the war who would give firsthand accounts of combat. But none of them told what the war was really like for their memories were selective, cleansed by time, and they all carried within them that area of memory they would never enter again.
World War II weekend started Friday morning and, although he wasn’t scheduled to give his presentation until Saturday, Chris always went Friday to wander the hanger and apron crammed with vintage World War II fighters, bombers, trainers and transports. He could remember when the skies were filled with their kind. Now there remained only a few of each. On those warm Friday afternoons, he enjoyed walking through the encampments. At one point he saw three men in ranger combat uniforms. He smiled to himself, glad to see his branch of the army represented. Chris loved strolling through the tents. In his mind, there was nothing like the smell of a real canvas tent; the open flaps were your windows, and the grass was your floor. He had seen the tents his grandchildren used when they camped, it was like camping in a nylon bag, no smell, no character. In one of those old canvass tents, he could stand, close his eyes, and the memories of his days in the army would flood into his brain.
Another reason he enjoyed Fridays was the veterans whose attendance was heavy. The old men and women enjoyed the smaller crowds and slower pace that Fridays afforded. He enjoyed conversations with his contemporaries, reliving the past and recalling the days they were once young and involved in the great adventure they shared.
Saturday morning arrived, the sky again clear and blue. He went through his morning routine, slowly struggling into his uniform and waited for his nine o’clock ride to the museum. Chris looked forward to the day. Although he had never made a big deal about his award, one day bathed in the admiration of people who appreciated the sacrifices made during World War II did not hurt him, not at all.
With his first lecture scheduled for 10:30, he was anxious to get to the museum. He found the tent for his lecture. There were about fifty folding chairs set up. He took a moment and stood there alone, letting his mind recall memories that he usually avoided, memories that he would touch slightly, just slightly today.
As he waited at the speaker’s platform, the tent began to fill up. At the back of the tent, he spied the three young men in ranger uniforms he had seen the day before, standing together apart from the crowd. Maybe today they would learn something about the uniforms they wore.
The chairs were full and people were standing in the back as Chris went into his presentation. He shared with them the events of that early morning on the French coast, sanitized, but with enough action to keep the crowd’s attention. After thirty minutes he was done and ready for questions. Halfway through the questions one of the men dressed as a ranger raised his hand and said, “Sir, I just want you to know we appreciate what you did for your country.”
That brought a smile to Chris’ face, “I appreciate that son,” he answered.
The presentation over, the tent was cleared, and it was time for a little lunch and a chance to watch the vintage aircraft flying. This was the part he most enjoyed. The drone of the B-17 accompanied the whine of the Merlin powered P-51s. He knew the planes were the big draw, not old men wearing old uniforms, but he was happy to be part of the show.
First to fly were the trainers, SNJs and T-28s. Then the observation aircraft would fly, the L-19s, followed by the transports, the C-47s and a C-54. Before the fighters and bombers took off, the reenactors took the field in front of the crowd. To the left were the men in German uniforms, to the right the U.S. Army.
The uniformed men fired blanks and mock mortars at each other. There were also smoke grenades thrown by both sides. All this action took place in a grassy area between the runway and aircraft taxiway. As usual, the fire department stood ready for the grass fires the smoke grenades always started, and this year was no exception. The grass fires were more of a nuisance than a danger, and they were always rapidly dealt with. In fact, the dense plumes were greater than any of the regular attendees of the show could remember, and the fire company quickly prepared to hose down the grass. Chris stood there with the rest of the crowd as the shroud of smoke drifted over them.
Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was one of the rangers, “Sir, we need your help.”
“Sure son, what can I do for you?” came Chris’ reply.
“Could you join us sir?” the ranger questioned. The ranger started walking towards the smoke set off by the mock battle, flanked by the two other rangers Chris had noticed before, and bewildered, Chris followed.
Soon smoke enveloped the four men. The crowd, watching the firemen putting out the grass fire saw the three reenactors on the field but could not imagine why an old man in uniform was traipsing in after them. They saw the four enter the clouds of smoke and lost sight of them.
Chris walked, not knowing where the three young men were taking him. His arthritis bothered him as he entered the smoke, but a few steps into the haze his pain was reduced and then gone. He noticed something else; he no longer wore his dress uniform but wore the ranger combat uniform, same as the reenactors. All at once he was puzzled and amazed and had no idea what their destination could be.
The three reenactors slowed down and Chris easily caught up with them. “How in the hell are you, Chris?” asked Duck. Frank and Larry were slapping his back and pounding his shoulders, his young shoulders.
“We’re on a mission and need your help,” said Frank. “We need the squad together,” he continued.
“I’m your man,” said Chris taking off his helmet and running his hand through his thick dark hair. His mind still could not wrap itself around what was happening.
Some of the crowd there to watch the flying saw four figures begin to emerge from the smoke, the figures of four young men. The men entered another cloud of smoke before them and were gone.
Chris and his three buddies came out of the haze. They were on a dirt road surrounded by a forest. They were all holding rifles, but Chris could sense no danger. They were on patrol and Chris felt better than he had ever felt in his life. He was with his best friends, men he had missed all these years and men he loved. The sky was so blue it almost hurt his eyes. The trees and grass were the greenest green he had ever seen. He set out with his three friends, easily matching their stride.
Suddenly, Chris’ eyes filled with tears. He did not know how, did not understand what was happening, but somehow, he knew his young and pretty Peggy was waiting.
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