Sunday, December 23, 2012

The Road North



THE ROAD NORTH
or
THE WRONG TURN


“It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door. You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no telling where you might be swept off too.”
                                                                                      --  Bilbo Baggins 


It was the afternoon of December 23, and I had most of my shopping done. Ann called.  “Can I ask an enormous favor?”

This was early in our friendship, and I hadn’t yet realized that a phone call like this could turn into an adventure.  I might wind up being a hero (see Chapter Six: Heroics);  or saving the Indians (see the forthcoming Chapter Six: Saving the Indians); or even carrying an air conditioner (see the forthcoming Chapter Six: By the Way, the Elevator is Broken).  

“Can I ask an enormous favor?  I hate to  bother you, but could you give me a lift to the Port Authority Bus Terminal later today? I could take the subway, but I’ve been wrapping presents for my family, and I realize how many there are ...”

“Of course. You’re not taking the train?”

“I’m mad at Amtrak.”

“Greyhound?”

“Adirondack Trailways. I’m mad at Greyhound.”

So, that evening I went over to her apartment. She was just finishing wrapping, taking endless pains with ribbons and bows.  She could charm the most bitter cynic with her enthusiasm for Christmas.

I had thought I realized how many “how many” would be, but when I saw them, I couldn’t imagine how she’d get them upstate on the bus. We loaded the gifts and her suitcase in the car, and set off. At the end of the block I made a snap decision and turned right rather than left.  Ann didn’t notice till she saw the sign for the Thruway.

She was shocked. “You don’t have to ....”

“I must have made a wrong turn.”

We debated the issue through Yonkers, and she finally agreed to be driven to Schenectady.

And so off to the north, the “long talk on the dark road” as we came to call it.


After about an hour, we stopped to get something to eat.  The TV was on in the restaurant, and we watched the fall of Communism in Romania.  She was horrified by the violence.  I was too, but my strongest reaction was amazement at what I was seeing.  It hadn’t been that long ago that the conventional wisdom among many of the people I knew was that the Cold War was all over but the shooting, and that the West had lost.

I couldn’t understand how Ann could not be as amazed as I was.  She couldn’t understand how I could think of anything but the immediate human toll.

Eventually, off into the darkness again. It was colder now, and the stars much brighter. 

Suddenly, a faint thumping sound, slowly getting louder.  I said “I’m going to pull over and ...”  ... and the left rear tire disintegrated.  I don’t know how I got from the center lane to the shoulder in what Ann said was a very smooth and calm motion, so I can’t claim credit for it.

It was colder still, and I felt clumsy with the jack and wrench.  Even though I had pulled as far to the right on the shoulder as possible, I felt that traffic was passing inches behind me as I struggled with tire.  Ann alternated using the flashlight to light what I was doing, and to motion oncoming traffic to move left.  All the while she served as a cheering section, saying “think about Disney World, think how warm it will be”.  We were  going there just after New Year’s.


Northward again.  The Long Talk, getting to know each other better. Hopeful things, Sad things. Funny things.  The lights of Albany before us, and then receding.  Finally, what I was told was a rare privilege: I saw the big “G E” on the General Electric “Works” lit up in red and green, instead of white as it was most of the year.

And then her parent’s house. I hadn’t been there before, and I was very impressed: there was a snowmobile outside the garage.  Ann punctured my sense of being in the remote Far North.  “That thing didn’t run when my brother bought it, and it’s never run.”

The car windows seemed to have fogged up, but when I tried wiping them I realized it was ice.  As I got out of the car the first breath told me the air was bitterly cold.   Ann’s mother came out to greet us.  “It’s gone up to two below” she said.

Several trips to get all the packages inside.  Great joy from the dog to see Ann, and mild interest from the cats.  Great joy on my part to see that her mother had just taken Christmas cookies out of the oven.

Coffee and cookies and the story of the Great TIre Adventure for her parents and brothers.  Then I said “Merry Christmas” to her family, and “I’ll see you next week” to her.

Ann and her family made it clear to me that even I wasn’t crazy enough to drive back to New York that night, so I slept in the living room, close to the Christmas tree, enjoying its scent, and dreaming about the long talk on the dark road.


Then, the best Belgian waffle I ever had, and on the road again early on the 24th.  I got back in time to finish my shopping, and to do my best to imitate Ann’s careful wrapping.



Thursday, December 20, 2012

Home for Christmas


Home for Christmas


or


How Can Something That Moves So Fast Take So Long?



Chicago, the third week of December.  Visiting Marie and Greg. Seeing some good shows.  Eating some good meals. Helping them pick out a Christmas tree.  Well, standing around while they picked out a tree.  Standing around some more while they picked out two trees (one for the living room, one for the dining room) since they couldn’t agree on one.  Helping them do last minute shopping.  Well, standing around while they did last minute shopping. 

Then, time to go back to New York.  I had, on a whim, arranged to fly out and return on Amtrak’s Lake Shore. I had told my family, as a joke, “I’ll be home for Christmas.”

A late lunch at Ann Sather’s Swedish restaurant.  A last show – an adaptation of Thomas Heywood’s The Fair Maid of the West  – at the theater that Marie manages.  The last bit of dueling, swinging from ropes, and swashbuckling, and it was really time to go. 

One more cup of coffee. Then it was finally really time to go.

In Marie’s car, heading downtown. Off Lake Shore Drive, with her usual remark, “well, we survived.” Under the L in the loop, and up to the entrance of Union Station.  “Have a good trip.”  “Take care of yourself. I can’t stand the thought of you waiting on windy L platforms.”  “I’ll be fine.”  “Love you.”  “Love you.”

Into the station with my suitcase and the shopping bag (with my last minute shopping from, Marshall Field’s). Onto the platform, and onto my car. A “sleeper coach”, one of the few remaining examples of the mid-20th-century design that promised something sort of like Pullman comfort at something closer to coach prices.  About 40 passengers, where a Pullman might have 26.  How much smaller could the compartments be?

I found myself thinking of the old puzzle about the fox, the rabbit, and the lettuce, in a rowboat that would only hold two at a time.  I could stand in the corridor while my suitcase and shopping bag enjoyed the comfort of the compartment; or I could share the compartment with one of them, while the other was in corridor. Eventually I was able to squeeze all of us into the space.  How much legroom would I really need for an 18 hour trip?

Time for the Lake Shore to depart.  The first indication that it would live up to its reputation of “Late for Sure” was the late arrival of a connecting train from the west. But we eventually departed.  Rail yards. Abandoned factories glimpsed in the darkness. Christmas lights on the South Side.

Dinner in the diner.  I was seated with a young couple and their daughter, who was maybe eight. He worked for Kodak, and they were returning to Rochester from a combined business/holiday trip.  I amazed the daughter by showing her a trick I had learned from a New Haven Railroad waiter long, long ago: if you hold the glass in one hand and the can in the other, you can pour soda on a moving train without spilling it.  When we had eaten, the daughter politely told me it had been a pleasure to meet me.

Then, a visit to another survivor of mid-20th-century railroad car design: a dome car.  Sitting up in the darkness, seeing the countryside slide past, watching the signals turn red as the engine passed them.  The dome was almost empty, except for a young woman sitting opposite me.  We chatted for a while. She was a December graduate of a very small college in the Southwest, heading east for her new job.  She was very concerned about how she would adapt to life in a big city. Utica.

I sat in the dome for hours, till I was nearly asleep.  Back to my compartment. The porter converted the seat into a bed, squashing my shopping bag in the process.  I discovered the heater control, with its two unmarked settings, which turned out to be “frigid” and “oppressively hot”. Fitful sleep.  I awoke to the almost inaudibly high squeal of brakes, and the sensation of the train slowing.  I looked out, and we were coming into Elyria, Ohio.  As the train slowed to a stop, the doors opened on a car in the parking lot, and a man and woman got out, followed by an older woman, and a young boy and girl.  The kids were very proudly carrying bags and suitcases for the older woman.  Seeing Grandma off on her Christmas trip east? 

Fitful sleep.  Awoke somewhere in upstate New York.  Breakfast in the diner.  I thought of my Rochester dinner companions, who would have been off the train by then.  Back to the dome, more crowded now, to see our entrance into Syracuse, with snow blowing against the glass of the dome.  A woman with an English accent, looking at the outskirts of Syracuse:  “Oo! It reminds me of Birmingham.”  Somewhere off in snowy Syracuse were my second cousins.

More Upstate New York. Coffee in the lounge. Very late arrival at Rensselaer. The dome car and others uncoupled to form the Boston section, so the rest of my sightseeing would be through a compartment window. I moved my bags to a compartment on the right side, to have a view of the Hudson.

Departure, even later, from Rensselaer.  Repeated announcements that there would be only one call for lunch in the diner; and then finally the predicted “first and only call.”  I ate lunch. As I headed back to my car, the “second and final call” for lunch was made.

At long last, onto Metro-North, where we actually made up some of the lost time.  Then onto Amtrak trackage on the west side of Manhattan, where the recovered time and more was lost, sitting outside the entrance to Penn Station.

Then Penn Station.  Against all odds, I was home for Christmas.
 
=====================
Please Support Our Sponsors
 
Brought to you by:
 
The
Manhattan, Mount Vernon, White Plains & Wassaic
Railroad
 
The Other Way to Go

 

Monday, December 3, 2012

December Third

(December third, long, long ago)
He was drunk, of course; they’re always drunk,
down by the railroad station at night,
and cold in the early December gloom,
with the buttons gone off his coat.

“Excuse me”, he said, his hand on my shoulder,
“I lost my carfare, I want to go home”.
He pointed across to the bus at its stop,
and beyond it the neon sign “BAR”.

I gave him some money to buy him a drink
(the night was very cold). As he took it,
his hand shook, but he tried to stand straight.
“Thank you, God bless you” the ritual ended.

He crossed the street to the bus and the bar;
and got on the bus to go home.
=======================================
Please Support Our Sponsors
Brought to You by:
The Complete Guide to Poetic Composition
by Professor Martinus van Ruysbroeck
"It doesn't have to rhyme, but at the very least it should scan"
Available at fine bookstores everywhere

Descent into the Dark

No, not the blackout, although I’ll mention that too. This should have been posted a few weeks ago, on November 5th, but one thing and another (the other one being the blackout) delayed it.

“Descent into the Dark Day” is the Monday after standard time resumes; the day that those who work a 9 to 5 schedule come out of work and find daylight almost gone. I’m not going into the arguments for and against saving daylight;  just remarking on the feeling of the darkness coming upon us sooner than we’re used to, and the hint of winter coming upon us sooner than we’d like.

A while ago, I quoted Archibald MacLeish’s “You, Andrew Marvell”, and since I like it so much I’ll quote it again:
To feel how swift how secretly
            “To feel how swift how secretly
            The shadow of the night comes on...”

The clock goes back on Saturday night/Sunday morning; and on Sunday I did notice every time I came out of my sage’s Study, through the Great Hall and into the Orangery, to look out over the Middle Yard, that the light looked different for the time of day.  But it’s on Monday, as every year, that it’s most striking.  The shadow of the night has gained a whole hour.  The cold is coming.  And even though decorations seem to appear earlier each year (not to my taste: see “Bringing in the Tree”), the lights of the holidays and the warmth of celebration seem far in the future.

Let no one think that sages are afraid of the dark.  But there’s always a sense of uneasiness about darkness where we’re used to seeing light. The dark school building, with the one red light on an upper floor seeming to make the darkness greater; the empty parking structure with a handful of dim bulbs. The building glimpsed from a moving car, somewhere between South Orange and Woodlawn.  It used to have candles on tables by the windows when I first saw it, years ago. A restaurant or bar?  But now the windows are dark.  Whatever conversation or conviviality used to be behind those windows is gone now.

And this November in particular, with most of Woodlawn in the dark, the early dusk is striking. Standing in the dark Orangery, across the darkness, with headlights and flashlights here and there, towards the distant lights of Norwood and Wakefield.  Walking the streets, which seem to be emptier of people and cars each night. 

            “And evening vanish and no more
            The low pale light across that land.”
 
 
 
 
 
(I had originally also mentioned that as we moved from October to November, we went from apple to pumpkin pie; but now we've moved on to mince, so I cut the pie section entirely)
 
 
 
======================================
 
Please Support Our Sponsors
 
Brought to You by:
 
 
Vivian K's Book of Pie Etiquette
 
wherever fine pie etiquette books are sold
 


Sunday, October 28, 2012

The Seventh Case


Introductory note, by the Sage of Woodlawn:


My readers can always be assured that whatever they read here is fact
(unless clearly marked as fiction, poetry, or speculation). Even an
article posted here last April 1st -- which seems somehow to have
vanished since -- was, if read with attention, demonstrably true.

For the present narrative, we have the assurance below by Mr Broker as
to the reliability of the materials presented.
---------------------------------------------

(How these journals, letters, and telegram have been placed in
sequence is a story for another time. For now, it is sufficient to
say that all needless matters have been omitted, so that narrative
almost beyond belief may be presented as simple fact. Throughout,
there are no statements of facts, wherein memory may err, for I all of
the records chosen are transcribed as they were originally written.
Stan Broker)

---------------------------------------------


(Extract from the journal of Dr Hans van Ruysbroeck)

Sunday
October 21
4:30 AM

We have finished a fearful night, after a dreadful day's work, so we
should all be weary; we have nearly accomplished the end of our great
project, so we should all be joyful. Instead, once done, we shook
hands quietly, and with brief words went our way. Shannon and Ward to
their homes, in search of rest; Ocker and I to remain at the
Institute, to make sure all is secure. Shannon and Ward will come
early in the day to relieve us, while we rest; then we shall all meet
in the afternoon to discuss the final steps.

We sit here, silently, Ocker reading, I writing. I can not speak yet
with him of what we have done; nor after what we have done can I talk
of other things, light or weighty. He, I am sure, feels the same. So
we sit quietly in what remains of the night.

I am glad that dear Miss Johanna has not been with us these past two
days! She is busy at her conference, and will return on Tuesday. By
then, our work will be complete, and we can share the good news of our
success with her, as she shares the news of the conference with us. I
have had another letter from her.

My dear Professor van Ruysbroeck,
I have time for just a brief note, before the next lecture. I have
been kept busy with meetings and lectures. I have not yet had the
opportunity to meet with Dr Helena Breiner, nor with Miss Cellicorni.
With what I am learning, I shall be able to take my part in the great
Project upon my return next week. I must finish now if I am to get it
in this afternoon's post!

Thank heaven, she will be spared the great labor of the project.

Ocker is up and pacing now. He has been greatly unnerved (as all of
have been), although he and I knew more than the others what to
expect. We might have failed without him and his knowledge. All
played their part: Shannon with his steady determination, Ward with
his passion to achieve our goal; and even I can say that I have
contributed to what has been achieved thus far.

This afternoon we shall arrange the final steps. Enough for now. We
shall sit silently, I suppose, until the others come to relieve our
watch. The silence of two tired men. And the unsettling silence
behind the locked door.




(Letter from Miss Johanna Cain to Professor van Ruysbroeck)

My Dear Professor,

The conference has been a great success, and we have all earned a great deal.

I have been careful not to let on that my interest in this topic is
entirely practical, lest the news of our Project be spread
prematurely, thus endangering its success.

I want to reassure you on this point, as I know you have been worried
that the disaster which occurred in Budapest twenty years ago might be
repeated.

As far as I have been able to discover, in my role of researcher into
folklore and obscure literature, there have been no recent reports of
this "plague" other than the one which afflicts our own city. If this
is indeed true, then you are right: we stand on the verge of
eliminating it forever.

I hope that when the conference meets next, in Toronto, you will be
able to receive the public acclaim for complete success, which you
have labored for so long, with such peril to yourself.

Since it seems that I shall not be able to meet with Dr. Breiner, I
shall not be able to bring you news of her interesting studies of both
the blood chemistry, and of the dental aspects, of the phenomenon.

I shall depart tomorrow. We trust that this will be the last journey
on which I must consult the almanac for the time of sunset, before
consulting the time table for the times of the trains!

Sincerely,
Johanna Cain

(From the journal of Professor van Ruysbroeck)

Monday
October 23
Noon

Johanna has returned to us. We were all glad to see her, and to hear
her good news. It is as I had hoped, and predicted: the cases here
were the last ones, the last ones, I hope, on the face of the earth.

She found no credible reports from anywhere else more recent than five
years ago. And she was subtle enough in her investigations that no
suspicion of our project was raised. Imagine the panic that would
ensue, not to mention the danger that our prey would be forewarned.

She was overjoyed to hear of the success Ocker, Shannon, Ward, and I,
have had, although I could see she also wished she had been here. I
am glad she was spared that! We have had great luck, but it was a
near thing. To think that there were seven cases of this plague, not
six. We own our success, our lives, and the lives of countless
others, to Shannon and Ward.


We were all too exhausted on Sunday to meet in the afternoon as we had
hoped. We are all to meet this afternoon at the Institute, where
Johanna will report her success to the others, and we shall decide how
to take the last step. Strange, to think how we have gone from joy at
the prospect finishing sooner than we expected, to dreadful alarm, and
now to the lethargy which we all seem to feel as we consider this
unexpected final step.

It was a very near thing; but we are now presented with an unexpected
opportunity.


(Letter from Professor Hans van Ruysbroeck to Adam van Ruysbroeck)


October 23rd

Adam,

Success! And very nearly disaster; and now doubt.

We heard from Johanna last week that it was all but certain that
there were no other cases, and I resolved to act at once, without
waiting for absolute certainty. A gamble, but could I allow even one
more victim, much less the danger that our enemies would discover our
plans and evade us?

So, as soon as it was light on Saturday, we set out. We had
discovered that there were six cases, each with at least two hiding
places. The warehouse by the river which we had explored the week
before had another four large boxes, which I was satisfied had been
shipped here to provide additional resting-places. To prevent awkward
questions afterwards, I arranged for Laszlo and Edmund to move these
crates to the Institute, while the four of us struck our blow. Ocker
and Shannon took the sites to the south and west, while I took Ward
with me to deal with those on the north and east. I thought I should
be with him, lest he act recklessly, in his passion to destroy them --
which is altogether understandable in view of his fiance’s experience.

I will say no more than that we did what we must, clearing out four
of them, and uncovering nine unoccupied spaces. Ocker and Shannon
found and destroyed two, plus four unoccupied. It was dreadful work,
which we barely finished before sunset.

Once we had done, we met at Pierre's Cafe to restore our strength.
Then, for the first time free to work at night, Ocker and I revisited
the sites, to conceal as best we could any evidence of our activities,
knowing that the authorities would not be easily convinced of the
justice, or even the sanity, of our actions!

While we broke apart and scattered the boxes we had opened earlier,
and collected any papers we could find, Ward and and Shannon went back
to the Institute to destroy the boxes which Laszlo and Edmund had
brought there.

I can scarcely imagine poor Ward's horror when one of the boxes
started to open.

I had been wrong! There were seven vampires remaining! My error
could have killed Ward and Shannon, and undone all our work.
Fortunately, Shannon was close enough to throw himself on top of the
box, forcing it closed. Laszlo and Edmund came running, and they
managed to hold it closed, against the incredible strength of the
thing inside, until a very shaken Ward could secure it with ropes, and
pile garlic around it.


They all stood by, in considerable trepidation, until dawn. Ocker and
I returned soon after, and after a brief debate, we managed to get the
box up the stairs to the tower room, which has a strong, barred door,
which we strengthened with silver chains and garlic. Laszlo and Ward,
of course, wanted to destroy it at once, while it was daylight.
Edmund was (as usual) of two minds. Ocker, Shannon, and I, shaken by
the discovery of a seventh, thought it best to consider carefully
before destroying this one.

When we thought we had them all, we acted without hesitation. Now, I
am in doubt. Could there be still more? Can we learn anything from
this one? Could we trust anything it might tell us?

I am at a loss as to what to do. It was a dreadful shock to poor
Johanna, to hear that any of these foul things might have escaped us.

We are all to meet this afternoon, to decide what to do next.

Your brother
Hans

P.S. You will not be surprised to hear that, as my great work neared
completion (or so I dreamed!), I had been thinking a great deal about
matters from twenty years ago. In fact, before I set out with the
others, on what I thought would be the final stage, I left on my desk
an envelope to be forwarded to you if I did not return. It was a
letter for Marta -- in spite of all you tell me, I think you could,
if you wished, find her.

I have sacrificed everything to wipe out this plague; but the
only sacrifice that still hurts is losing her. I know what you think:
but I understand her position then, that I was unfair to ask her hand
while setting out on what she deemed a hopeless mission.

I dream of her still -- frequently and most vividly of late, as I
have closed in on my quarry. You know I keep her photograph still, in
its silver frame, near me always. Odd, how I picture her so clearly as
she was twenty years ago; I cannot imagine her otherwise.

I will say only this, and then be silent on the matter: now that I
have the end of my crusade in sight, I feel that if I could see her
once more, I could die content.



(Minutes of meeting, taken in shorthand by Johanna Cain)
1:00 PM
October 23

Present: Professor van Ruysbroeck, as chairman;
Johanna Cain, as secretary
Dr. Ocker
Josiah Shannon
Sir Merriwether Ward

Laszlo and Edmund did not attend.
Copy of minutes to be sent to Dr. Helena Breiner.

van Ruysbroeck:
Thanked all for their hard work, courage, perseverance. Each
contributed to success. Apologized profusely, especially to Ward and
Shannon, for near disaster.

Decision before us now: proceed immediately to destruction of vampire
imprisoned in tower room, or attempt to learn from it if others
survive? Shaken by turn of events, hesitates to trust own judgement,
urges all to speak freely.

Ward:
Monstrous thing must be destroyed at once; even if information could
be gotten from it, it couldn't be relied on.

Shannon:
Ward's opinion understandable, but shouldn't act in haste.

Is there any evidence of other survival? If so, is there any
possibility we could learn anything useful?

Ockerl:
Perhaps our last chance to learn about vampires, not to be thrown away
lightly. By all means learn all we can.

Cain:
Vampires have caused so much evil, can any good be brought from this
opportunity?
With precautions could we learn from this eyewitness to the history of
vampires, and to history in general?

Ward:
Shocked that those who has labored so long, in such danger, would
hesitate to end this evil forever, at once.

Ocker:
The evil is contained, and will do no more harm. We can destroy it
when we want; let us be sure before we act irrevocably.

Shannon:
Must reflect calmly; we have all accomplished so much, and all desire
the end of this curse; let us not fall out over how best to end it.

van Ruysbroeck:
Surprised that sentiment to destroy it not universal; he had sought
our opinions, not trusting his own, but still did not expect
differences.

Cain:
Let us make sure there are not still more at large! This one can do
no harm; devote energies to those that might.

Ward:
Kill this one now!

van Ruysbroeck:
(distraught) What is to be done?

Shannon:
Seconds determining if there are more; that is most urgent.

Ocker:
Call for vote of thanks for van Ruysbroeck; let no one think this
seventh vampire (and still more?) reflects on him.

Unanimous agreement

Cain:
Volunteers to check hospitals, police reports, reporters, for evidence
of continued vampirism.

Shannon:
Will assist.

Ward:
Will reluctantly agree; will help guard tower room until time to
destroy vampire.

Ocker:
Will with van Ruysbroeck attempt to determine if there is any way to
learn from captive.

van Ruysbroeck:
Let us proceed as agreed, and resolve in two days' time at latest to
put an end to vampire. Let all accept good faith of others, and not
falter now, at the end.


(Journal of Professor van Ruysbroeck)
October 25
9:00 AM

Johanna has been busy, visiting hospitals and speaking to her friends
at the newspapers. Shannon has been to the police stations and the
morgue. We begin to hope that there have been no more attacks! I
pray it will prove true that the one we hold captive is truly the
last.

Ocker spoke to it last night! Through the barred door; while Shannon
stood by with stakes and a silver knife. Ward was not told; he would
want no part of this. Although reluctant, I had planned to be there;
but my nerve, or my resolve, or something I can not name, failed me.

Although my life's work has been all but completed, a strange lethargy
seems to have overtaken me. The natural reaction to a long-protracted
task perhaps; or the after-effect of the shock of learning that there
was a seventh vampire, and with it the uncertainty of how to proceed
to its elimination.

Ocker, like me, had never encountered one awake before. We have both
seen enough of them in their repose, as we put an end to them. He came
to me, quite shaken. "Hans," he said, "I do not know what to make of
this."

He went on to say that, contrary to our expectations, the thing was
neither hostile, nor servile. It professed not to understand questions
as to others like itself; it merely asked, calmly enough, to be let
go. It declined, or evaded, without direct refusal, to give any
account of itself. Ocker started to leave my office, then turned back.
"I will swear to this, Hans," he said, "its English is very good: but
it is Dutch."

I think, with what our friends have learned, that we are safe to
assume that this is the last of them, and when we put an end to it, we
put an end to this curse forever. But Ocker wants to try speaking to
it once more; we both agree that, deprived of its dreadful sustenance,
it will weaken, and might reveal more to his questioning next time. I
have reluctantly consented. I haven't the strength to press the
matter with him.

Could it be the presence of this dread thing under this roof that
oppresses my spirit and saps my vigor so? Or am I merely weary after
a long hard task, a twenty-year pursuit? In this hour my thoughts turn
less to my success, than to my many sorrows, the loss of a home, and
above all my parting, long ago, from dear Marta.

Well, soon this will be done with, and I can rest easy.


(Minutes of meeting, taken in shorthand by Johanna Cain)
October 28
3:00 PM
Present: Professor van Ruysbroeck, as chairman;
Johanna Cain, as secretary
Dr. Ocker
Josiah Shannon
Sir Merriwether Ward

Laszlo and Edmund did not attend.
Copy of minutes to be sent to Dr. Helena Breiner.

van Ruysbroeck:
Hopes that all have thought about what we must do, and will all agree
to rid the world of the last vampire. We have come so far; one last
step. Feels the influence of this thing in the building is making us
all uneasy, and hesitant to act.

Ward:
Should proceed at once, this afternoon.

Ocker:
We are rational people, some of us scientists, not jury or
inquisition. As long as a group of vampires at large posed a threat,
he did his best to destroy it, as we all should remember. This one,
imprisoned and helpless, is a different case. Implores all to stand by
him, as he stood by them, in not needlessly destroying this last
remaining, and now unthreatening, survivor of its kind.


Cain:
As Dr. Ocker says, no longer a threat to the public or to us. This
creature was once human; could it not be restored again to humanity?
Are we not obligated to try? We have won the war, and should turn to
peace, not further destruction.

van Ruysbroeck:
There has never been a case of restoration or rescue of a vampire.

Cain:
Objection. Stories from Toronto.

van Ruysbroeck:
Unsubstantiated, folklore, fiction, or outright lies.

Ward:
Incredulous that anyone would hesitate to destroy it.

Ocker:
There is too much to be learned, and this the last chance to learn it.

Could it not be kept, with absolute safety, and maintained by
transfusions? Or by the blood of voluntary donors, or prisoners? Is
this different from volunteers in medical experiments?

van Ruysbroeck:
Unthinkable.

Ward:
If we could put an end to smallpox, or typhus, would we hesitate?
Would we claim smallpox deserves mercy, or peace, or a chance to
reform? If, God forbid, Dr Ocker had his way, what of the future?
Would he bequeath a poison to posterity, that would in time be
forgotten, and allowed to escape?

Shannon:
Whatever the decision, it should be made now. The thing is weakening,
Either kill it, or feed it. If it slips into the trance, or coma, of
which we have heard, what then? Of no use to science, no chance of
reform, but very dangerous. It could well outlive us in that state, to
rise again when all knowledge of vampires and how to defeat them is
forgotten.

Kill it, or try to keep it, or try to cure it: but decide now.

van Ruysbroeck:
Agrees. Do we not all see the wisdom of this?

Ward:
The only wise course is to kill it, today.

Cain:
Is there no hope of curing it?

Ocker:
Will the Professor at least speak to it, as I have? Is that too much to ask?

van Ruysbroeck:
To what end? I have seen enough of vampires.

Ocker:
As the stake went in. But at least once, the last opportunity to
witness and try to understand this phenomenon?

van Ruysbroeck
Perhaps I should.

Ward:
Unwise, and dangerous.

Shannon:
Never doubt the Professor's wisdom. And if this will hasten the
decision, by all means do it.

van Ruysbroeck:
Reluctantly agrees.

Ocker:
"Then you will speak to her?"

van Ruysbroeck:
"Her? This thing is a woman?"

Cain:
"Didn't you know?"



(Journal of Professor van Ruysbroeck)
Wednesday, October 31
10:00 PM

In spite of the urging of several of the others, I have not seen or
spoken to our prisoner. I cannot say whether my better judgment,
weakness, or some other influence prevents me from going to the door
of the tower room.

In any event, we are all agreed, at last. We will put an end to it as
soon as it is light tomorrow.

Ocker came around to this point of view after his experience this
evening. He has continued to speak to it, hoping to learn its
history. It is growing progressively weaker.

Just an hour ago, I was startled by Ocker, pounding on my door. He was
very shaken. “You are right, Hans,” he said, “it is too dangerous.”
He came into the room and sat down. "I went to speak to her again,
through the bars, of course, as always. Her voice grew very soft,
which I though was due to weakness, and I strained to hear her. It
seemed to me that I must not miss a word. And then, whether due to
influence of the vampire, or madness of my own, it seemed the most
natural thing to go into the room! I actually had my hand on the key
when I came to my senses."

(Journal of Professor van Ruysbroeck)
Wednesday
11:30 PM

I cannot sleep; I cannot concentrate on reading. I must at last do
what all the others have urged me: I shall go up to the tower room,
and look at this thing which we are to destroy tomorrow.

All of the others have seen it; some have spoken to it. Strange that I
never imagined before our last meeting that it had been a woman. A
young Dutch woman, by Ocker's description.

So, let me see this dreadful thing, this pitiful thing, which we are
about to put to rest. Then perhaps I can sleep.



(Telegram, Johanna Cain to Dr. Breiner)
Thursday, November 1
8:00 AM


Disaster. Professor van Ruysbroeck found lifeless, bloodless, in empty

Thursday, October 4, 2012

The Millionth Chance


They had all the time in the world.

And in the end, they ran out of time.

The story of the airship R101 has haunted me, almost literally all my life. I was about 12 when I first read of it in John Toland’s Ships in the Sky. It is to me what the Titanic is to some people. And although I don’t have the time (tonight) nor the skill (ever) to do justice to the story, I  can’t let the 82nd anniversary of the disaster pass without a mention.

Rigid airships -- not blimps, which are still with us, but the immense ships which were in their maturity as much as 800 feet long and 130 in diameter -- may seem quaint, or ill-conceived, or preposterous.  But, like such vehicles as the cable car and the steam automobile, they were in their day an advanced technology, which for a brief time served their purpose until electricity or gasoline or improved airplanes displaced them.


The dream was for an Imperial Airship Service, to link Britain with Canada, India, and Australia with a fleet of airships which would be more than twice as fast as surface ships, and more practical than airplanes with their limited payload and frequent stops to refuel.

The dream began in 1924, with all the time in the world to research, design, build, and test two airships, more than 700 feet long, and capable of carrying 100 passengers and tons of cargo to India and Canada. Reliable, comfortable, and “as safe as a house, except for the millionth chance.”

The rude awakening came with delays, planned innovations that didn’t work, an airship heavier than planned, with less useful lift, and time and patience with the project running out.  In desperation, the ship was lengthened, and lightened, and hastily readied for a flight to India that was postponed, and postponed, and could be postponed no longer.

After a short and not entirely successful final trial flight, the R101 set out from Cardington, near Bedford, England, on the evening of October 4th, 1930. The weather was deteriorating, but with further delay likely to end the whole project, the officer in charge crumpled up the weather report and said “Let’s press on.”

The nightmare came in the early hours of October 5th, near Beauvais, France, in a storm, sudden dive, crash, and hydrogen fire.  Forty-eight of the fifty-four aboard died; and with them the airship program.

The final irony was the clear weather after dawn on the 5th, “perfect airship weather.”


The Millionth Chance by James Leasor, and To Ride the Storm by Peter G. Masefield, are good, and very different, treatments of the story.  


And some day I’ll revisit this post, to try at least to do it justice.   Having had all the time in the world to write this, I’ve made a desperate effort to lengthen it. But in the end, I ran out of time.

Saturday, September 29, 2012

The Corner Scone


It doesn’t really feel like Fall yet; but there was an edge to the breeze coming in my windows this morning that said Fall is upon us.  And the edges of leaves are starting to turn color.

It was a day to have soup for lunch. By the time I had been to the bank and the post office and the chemists (not an affectation -- Woodlawners will know what I mean), I decided it was a day to have soup and a sandwich.

There are at least a dozen places in Woodlawn or along McLean Avenue where I could have gone.  But I knew where I wanted to go: the Corner Scone.  For countless Saturdays and Sundays I’ve had lunch, or a scone and coffee there.  I’ve read, or emailed or texted, or browsed their selection of used books.  “Not that I need more books”, I’d say, but more often than not come away with one or a half dozen.

I’ve chatted with the staff, fallen into conversation with strangers, heard about local events and musicians and even deer sightings in the area.

And on countless mornings I’ve grabbed a coffee on the run for the 8:36.

Today, on the edge of Autumn, I could have had soup and a sandwich, and finished my current book, Ruth Rendell’s Portobello.  I started it there last Sunday.

But Monday, there was a sign on the door: Closed.

It was only open for six years, nothing in Woodlawn’s long history.  But I want it back.

In the end, I decided I wasn’t hungry for lunch today after all.


Thanks for the coffee and the scones, 
for the conversations and books, 
and for the place to go.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Chapter Six: Heroics


I’ve never worn shining armor and ridden a white horse.


As I child, I did have a plastic sword and a metal shield. The shield had a picture of Prince Valiant, with sword and shield.  But his shield had a picture of a horse, not an infinitely regressive picture of himself holding a shield with a picture of himself ....

One day I was walking on Briggs Avenue with my shield and sword, and saw the Hardy Twins, Timmy and Tommy, who were about my age.  One had a Prince Valiant shield, and the other one a sword. I thought how sad is was to be twins, and only have half the outfit.

(Someone -- maybe it was me --  started a rumor that the twins’ names were Thimas and Tomothy.  Then again, maybe it wasn’t a rumor. There are identical twins where I work, much more identical than any other adult twins I’ve seen.  One of them, when asked “which one are you?” replies “the other one.”  Or maybe they both say that; how would anyone know?) But, the point is, I had toy armor, but never shining armor.

I did own a horse briefly, although I never rode her, or even saw her.  Her name was Rosie, I think. See “Chapter Six: Lesley’s Horse”. My friend Marty Lesley wanted a horse in the worst way. The worst way to want something is if you can’t afford it.  So I  ... but that’s a story for another time.  In any event, I was repaid in full, and Marty’s broken leg healed.  I don’t think Rosie was white, but it’s no less likely than the Hardy Twins being Thimas and Tomothy.

But I keep getting off the subject, which is supposed to be heroics.  My lack of shining armor, a white horse, and the courage to use them properly occurred to me a few weeks ago.  I was in a local restaurant and bar, talking to a waitress of whom I’ve grown quite fond. She mentioned getting off work early for a change.  Afterwards, I wondered how late she worked ordinarily.  The place is open till four in the morning, and has a reputation for being quite rowdy around closing time, long after the respectable customers like sages and wizards and librarians have gone.

I thought, if she works till closing, maybe I should start showing up a little before four, to protect her.  I could picture the scene: words would be exchanged, a fight would break out, glasses, bottles, and finally chairs would be thrown.  I’d be beaten bloody, and my friend the waitress would have to rescue me.

I mentioned this to her the next time I was there. She gave me her most thoughtful look. “I could do that”, she said.

And since then, an opportunity arose for me to protect her. I was passing the place. She was by the outside tables, with another waitress. One of the waiters came by, and hit her in the back with a bunch of menus. The other waitress laughed.  My friend saw me coming, and said “they’re all picking on me.”

“Good”, I said, “you must have done something to deserve it.”

“No, I’m innocent!”

“A likely story”, I told her. I said to the waiter “Keep up the good work.”

(I did say that an opportunity had arisen, not that I’d taken it.)


I was a hero once, though.  Cora -- see “Chapter Six: Saving the Indians” -- was feeding a friend’s cat, Vito, while the friend was on vacation.  She decided that rather than detouring to her friend’s apartment every day on her way from work, she would bring Vito to her place, where she already had five cats, so that Vito would have company and she would avoid the detour.

My phone rang.  It was Cora.  “Can you come over?  Please?  I thought I’d take Vito here. I thought he’d have fun, and my cats would have fun, and I’d have fun.  Well, nobody’s having fun.”

When I got there, in spite of the hot day, Cora was wearing her roommate’s leather jacket. There was blood tricking down her wrist.  Her cats were nowhere to be seen.

In the middle of the living room, next to an open cat carrier, sat Vito, a very large tuxedo cat. His tail was thumping against the floor, and I think I only imagined that the floor was shaking.

Cora said “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t get him back in the carrier.”

If I had thought about it, I wouldn’t have known what to do either, but fools don’t stop to think. I walked over to him, and said “What’s the matter, Vito?  Aren’t you having any fun?” and picked him up and put him in the carrier before he had time to think.   That was the high point of my image in Cora’s eyes.  Shining armor and a white horse would have been a nice touch, but putting Vito in his carrier was good enough.

We drove Vito home, with him making pathetic, kitten-like sounds all the way.  As soon as we got him back in his familiar apartment and let him out, he started walking around very importantly, as if nothing had happened.  But he didn’t walk near me.

My hero’s reward was a meal at a nearby Chinese restaurant.  We both accepted the waiter’s suggestion of “Phoenix Nest Surprise.”   Cora was very surprised indeed when she bit into a small dark thing, some evil relative of peppers.  Her face turned red.  It turned purple.  It turned green. Finally, it turned a deathly white.  It was all she could do to gasp “don’t eat the black things.” 

I looked at the black things on my plate, and wondered what they could be like.

But I’m not that brave.

=====================================================================
Please support our sponsors




STUMBLING HOME
Restaurant & Bar
WOODLAWN NEW YORK

Open Noon to Four AM

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Green Star



Not one person in a thousand, I suspect, traveling on the Bronx River Parkway, would suspect that they were driving on the right of way of an abandoned railroad.  But here is the incredible story, just as it was published more than ten years ago in an obscure periodical.  Details of how I came to post this follow the article.


 

 

 

 

RAILWAY HISTORICAL JOURNAL

AERONAUTICAL DIGEST

&

STEAMSHIP HISTORICAL REVIEW

 

Special Issue

April 1, 2002

 

Forgotten Railways, number 3


 

 


GREEN STAR LINES


 

A Brief History of the

 

N.Y. SUBURBAN TRANS’N CO.


 

by Martin Ricebrook III

 

Less than half a century after its demise, there is little trace to remind us of this interesting system, which played such a role in the development of Westchester County in the first half of the twentieth century.  None of the several types of interesting and innovative cars remain; the right-of-way is largely built over, and the stations and other structures are almost all gone.

 

I. The New York and Northern


 

The story began with plans, not for a railway, but a waterway: the Port Morris and Yonkers Canal.  The canal age was long past when, in 1874, Major Duncan Ferguson, a recent immigrant from Aberdeen, arrived in New York, with a string of successful industrial ventures behind him.  For reasons that are not now clear, he conceived of a canal, “on modern principles” which would link the southern portion of what is now The Bronx with Yonkers.

 

This project, which would have involved several flights of locks, and major engineering works, was doomed from the start, but the Metropolitan, Port Morris, and Yonkers Canal Company was formed in 1877, with a capital of two million dollars, and a staff which included Martinus van Ruysbroeck, the eccentric civil engineer, piano-maker, amateur chemist, and enthusiast of Theosophy.

 

For a period of 22 months, starting in 1879, much of the right-of-way was surveyed, and grading carried out for two miles along the Bronx River, just north of what is now the New York Botanical Garden.

 

The company’s resources were exhausted by early 1881, and after a bitter exchange of letters in the press, van Ruysbroeck and Ferguson parted company, the former to go on to triumph in Edmonton, Alberta, and the latter to brood on the failure of his dream.  By 1887, he had returned to Scotland, leaving the bankrupt company in the hands of son-in-law and former chief assistant, Thomas Hannigan.

 

Hannigan quietly bought up the outstanding stock of the MPM & YCCo, which was seen as worthless, and in 1892 secured a franchise to extend the project to White Plains, with a branch to Eastview.  This highly-implausible scheme was passed by the legislature, with the backing of Hannigan’s friends, as an amendment to a bill dealing with bicycle regulations.

 

Unlike Ferguson, Hannigan had a realistic view of the direction transportation was taking.  The company might have been bankrupt, but it still possessed a charter and a right-of-way.  Seeing the success of the elevated railroads in New York and Brooklyn, he foresaw a role for a steam railroad connecting the northern terminal of the Suburban Rapid Transit Company with the cities and towns of Westchester.  In 1894, he incorporated the New York and Northern Rapid Railway, to which he leased the property and rights of the canal company.

 

As soon as it became known what Hannigan had done, capital began to flow into the company.  After delays associated with the Panic of 1897, work began in earnest on the line, extending from the Bronx Park terminal of the elevated (then under construction) to a terminal near Main Street in White Plains, with intermediate stops which averaged one half mile apart.

 

(There is a persistent, although unconfirmed, rumor that Alexander van der Zander, known colloquially as “the Commander” for his early maritime interests dreamed of developing the railway into a regional, and ultimately national, trunk line.   In any event, nothing came of whatever larger hopes were entertained).

 

Although conceived as a steam line, by 1900 plans were changed to electric traction.  It was at this point that the fateful decision was made to build the line to the unusual gauge of 4’ 4 ¾”, and to employ a side-contact third rail.   These factors, especially the unusual gauge, doomed the line to being a feeder to the elevated, and prevented through running into Manhattan.

 

The White Plains line opened on June 7th, 1905.   Ten large coaches, two passenger-baggage combines, and two mail and express cars were acquired from the Jewett Car Company.  One- or two-car trains ran hourly throughout the day, with more frequent service during the morning and evening peaks.

 

In 1912, the ill-conceived Eastview branch opened.  This ran through sparsely-settled areas, and the chief justification for the line was the connection at its northern end with the Hudson Valley Transit line, which was also built to the 4’ 4 ¾” gauge.  From 1913 until the end of the Hudson Valley in 1932, the famous Sleepy Hollow Specials ran over the line.

 

Five steel cars, built by Laclede, were acquired in July for the Eastview branch.  They were experimentally fitted with the Brennan Patent Brake. In September the two surviving cars were rebuilt with conventional brakes.  The resultant lawsuits led to bankruptcy in 1915.

 

II. The New York and Westchester


 

The second component of the Green Star Lines had a much more conventional origin.  Incorporated in 1892, the first of the four lines, from Fordham Square to Getty Square, opened on September 1st, 1895, followed by the line to Fleetwood, on September 17th.  Both of these were conventional street railways.  The Ardsley line opened on March 23rd, 1899.  All three were street-running, with considerable sections of single track, and were operated by a fleet of double-truck cars, 12 built by Brill in 1894, and 10 by St Louis in 1899.

 

The most ambitious line, which had been planned first, opened last, on August 3rd, 1902.  The Mamaroneck line, commonly called the “Westchester Line”, was a combination of street, side-of-road, and private-right-of-way.  Eight double-truck, four-motor cars built by Brill in 1901 provided amenities such as leather upholstery and smoking sections, not found on the earlier cars.

 

Coincident with the opening of the New York and Northern in June 1905, the NY & W opened a new terminal adjacent to the NY & N’s new station at the Bronx Park elevated terminal, and abandoned the line from Fordham Square to Bedford Park Boulevard via Webster Avenue.

 

In 1912, eight new steel center-entrance cars were acquired from Cincinnati Car Co.  They were equipped for multiple unit operation, in the expectation of substantial traffic growth, and additional car orders.  As it turned out, they ran in multiple only in heavy snow, where the heavy two-car trains were useful in getting through drifts.

 

In 1917, six former Eighth and Ninth Avenue Railway cars, built in 1888, were assigned to the Yonkers and Fleetwood lines by the War Production Board, to transport defense workers.  They were commonly known as the “Hell’s Kitchen cars”.

 


III. Consolidation.

 

In 1916, the New York and Westchester purchased the bankrupt NY & N.  The combined company was renamed the New York Suburban Transportation Company, which was always oddly abbreviated “N.Y. Suburban Trans’n Co.” on the cars.  All of the NY & W cars, and the 14 original wooden and two surviving steel interurban cars, were repainted into a new green and cream livery.  The combined operation was branded as the Green Star Lines.

 

In 1919, an ambitious re-equipment program was begun.  Ten new Cincinnati curve-sided cars were bought for the standard gauge trolley lines, and eight lightweight interurban cars for the third-rail lines.  These replaced a like-number of wood cars on both divisions.

 

It was hoped that the curve-siders, on expedited schedules, would reverse the declining patronage on the “Westchester” line to Mamaroneck, but the growing popularity of automobiles, and the convenience of New Haven and New York, Westchester & Boston commuter services, led to the abandonment of the line as of December 31, 1922.

 

Traffic remained high on the White Plains line, but the Eastview line never paid its way.  The Hudson Valley Railway Sleepy Hollow Specials were discontinued in November 1932, and the company considered abandoning the branch.  Instead, there was a second re-equipment program, which resulted in the revolutionary and legendary “Cincinnati Comets”. 

 

Dr Howard Connors, who had successfully modernized several Midwestern lines with lightweight cars, was employed as a consultant.  In only six months’ time, he had evaluated a number of designs, tested models in a wind tunnel, and developed the distinctive, streamlined Comets.  The Cincinnati Car Co., eager for business in the depth of the Depression, and hoping the Comet would be the new standard electric railway design, completed ten cars in only five months, delivering the first one in June 1934.  The sleek, duralumin-bodied cars cut running times on expresses by more than 20%, and drew an increase in patronage of nearly 25%.  The remaining wood cars were retired, and the older steel cars extensively refurbished.

 

Although the cars proved popular, and successful, to the disappointment of Dr Connors and the builders, only six more were ever built.   Five smaller versions, with doors arranged for low rather than high level loading, were built for the Schenectady, Scotia and Skaneateles Railway in 1935. (These cars eventually went to the Humdinger Railroad in Nevada after the end of the S.S. & S).  After one of the Comets was struck by lightning and destroyed by fire at Scarsdale in 1937, Cincinnati built a replacement to the original design.

 

Having successful modernized the third-rail lines, the company turned its attention to the trolley routes, and in mid-1937 introduced 10 modern cars built by Clark Equipment Co.  Similar in appearance to the new PCC cars being brought into service in Brooklyn, Pittsburgh, and Boston, they were double-ended and somewhat more angular than the St Louis and Pullman PCCs.

 

 

IV. End of the Line


 

The new cars stabilized, and for a while reversed the decline in patronage, and World War Two brought increases in ridership on all but the Eastview line.  In October 1943, service was discontinued, and the rails and other salvageable materials went to the war effort. By 1947 patronage on the other lines was in steep decline.

 

In a final attempt to attract new business, two streamlined interurban trains, Almond City and Camp Heartbreak, were purchased from the recently-abandoned Missouri Terminal interurban line.  The two new trains were introduced with elaborate ceremonies on November 28, 1948.  The company had hoped for a great deal of publicity, but unfortunately a subway extension in Queens opened the same day, and no reporters (and few potential passengers) appeared for the inaugural runs of the second-hand streamliners.

 

The White Plains line had always been slower than the New York Central’s Harlem line service, which ran parallel for its entire length, but lower fares on the Green Star route attracted passengers.  In 1950, air-conditioned cars were introduced on the Central, which induced some riders to switch.

 

In 1951, the final blow fell.  The New York City Board of Transportation eliminated the Fordham Road-Bronx Park segment of the Third Avenue elevated, so that Green Star passengers had a long walk from the terminal to the 200th Street station of the el’s Webster Avenue route.  The inconvenience and longer travel time, combined with the attraction of the new air-conditioned cars on the Central, eroded ridership to such a degree that service was abandoned as of June 30, 1952.

 

The streetcar routes struggled on for a few more months, but increasing auto competition, and the loss of the economies of shared power generation with the White Plains line, led to the end of service as of September 30, 1952.

 

There are few reminders of the line now.  Almost the entire rights-of-way of the White Plains and Eastview lines were quickly reincarnated as the Bronx River and Spain Parkways, respectively.  The White Plains terminal and offices were substantially rebuilt, and now serve as the Westchester County Center.   Until the mid-1980s, the remains of the Bronx Park terminal and powerhouse could be seen on the site of what are now the Rose Hill Apartments.

 

……………………………………………………………………………………….

 

RAILWAY HISTORICAL JOURNAL, AERONAUTICAL DIGEST

& STEAMSHIP HISTORICAL REVIEW

 

Forgotten Railways special issues:

 

No. 1.  (April 2000)       The Hudson Subway.  

A pioneering tunnel line that ultimately fell victim to the lower level of the 8th Avenue Subway.  (Out of print)

 

No.  2. (April  2001)      The West Side Elevated High Speed Line.

The famous “Miller Elevated”.  (Out of print)

 
No. 3.  (April 2002)       The Green Star Lines. 

The N. York Suburban Trans’n story.

 

 

 

 

 

You  never knew what surprises you might find, browsing in the second-hand books that were sometimes available in the late, lamented Corner Scone on Webster Avenue.  When I came upon this old issue of the “Railway Historical Journal … etc.” I conferred with a blogger I follow, who has an exhaustive knowledge of railroad matters.  As it happened, he knew the original author, who was happy to see a scan of  his article posted. Unfortunately, he held the copyright to the text only, so the page of photographs representing Major Ferguson, van Ruysbroeck, and the later streamlined cars could not be scanned.


 

 

Please support our sponsors!

 

 

 

Brought to you by:

 

Joanie’s Kettle

Bed & Breakfast

 

CafĂ©                                               Bookstore

 

On the Rubesburgh Pike, at Hix Road

Pratt Falls, NY