vel Visit
To Schenectady
By
Mario V. Farina
Copyright 2016 Mario V. Farina
All Rights Reserved
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Mario V. Farina
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[email protected] I don't know exactly how to begin this tale. In a sense it’s not a story but a recitation of something that actually happened. (At least, I think it happened.)
I'm ninety-three, a widower, and live alone. I was having dinner at a local diner, the Daily Sunrise, in Troy, New York. I ate there virtually every day, and, in a way, it was the only period of recreation that I allowed myself. I was retired and didn't do a great deal during the day except attend to finances and, at times, write a story. Some days my writings went well, at others, it didn't, but I did the best I could. I was having sausage and eggs though it was not breakfast time. This was a meal I enjoyed very much, and that I would order frequently without regard to the time of day.
A man approached the booth where I was sitting. I merely glanced at him since I didn't think he was coming to see me. He was a large person, middle-aged, rough face, very little gray hair, wearing a blue suit and nondescript tie. He looked vaguely familiar. Without any introductory remarks he said to me, "Pardon me, sir, are you having any huckleberries with that meal?" The conversation ended at that instant; also the meal; also my presence at the Daily Sunrise. Instantly, I found myself in Schenectady.
Schenectady, New York was a place that I knew well since I had been born there in 1923. I recognized it at once and noted that the street I was on was State Street in the business area. I was on the south side where Proctor's Theater was, and is still located. Looking west toward Scotia, I could see the railroad bridge that crossed the street. I didn't know what time it was but felt it was well within the time when businesses and organizations providing services were open. I think it was sometime in the afternoon.
To say that I was amazed and surprised would be enormously understating the way I felt. What was it that had happened? Was I dreaming or hallucinating? Had I suddenly become insane? Nothing of how I found myself made sense! For several seconds, I stood motionless, allowing my brain to catch up to the event that had just transpired. It was like I had just stubbed my toe and awaited the pain I know would arrive in a second or two.
The autos on the street were old. I guessed that many of them were thirty-sixes and thirty-sevens. It began creeping into my psyche that I had suddenly been cast into a time period that approximated 1937. My mind was unable to adequately process this information. What should I do? Should I seek the aid of the police? Should I go to a hospital and ask to be mentally evaluated? A muddle of questions were overloading my brain with no understandable answers.
I knew where the public library had been in 1937. I decided to go there to see if I could glean anything helpful. Walking west on State Street, I suddenly realized that I was headed in the wrong direction, so made a sudden 180 degree turn. A man walking in the same direction as mine almost ran into me. I recognized him as the man who had come to see me while I was having dinner. He was startled at my sudden turn and immediately spun his attention to a store's show window. On the inside there were on display several items of women’s lacy underwear.
I was surprised to see this person. How was it possible for someone belonging to 2016 be here in 1937? I should have said something to him but didn't and kept walking in the direction that would take me to the library. As I walked, I’d glance behind me from time to time to see if I would catch sight of the burly man again. What was his part, if any, in what was happening to me? So many questions there were without answers. If my brain had been a thermometer, the mercury in the little red ball at the top would have burst.
The public library was on Seward Street. It took about ten minutes to get there. I went through the large mahogany door as I had done many times in my childhood. Inside, the place looked exactly the same as I remembered it. This convinced me that I was, indeed, in another age, in another time.
The book checkout counter was on the left of the hallway as it had always been. I glanced toward the shelves and the racks. There were no difference from my recollections. I looked for the children's section, which was the section that I gravitated to as a child, and went there. I began looking at some of the books. I saw a book that I remembered from my childhood. It was a bright red book entitled Poppy Ott and the Tittering Totem by Leo Edwards. This had been one of my favorites. After a few minutes, I left the section inadvertently carrying the book with me. Then I climbed the stairs to the second level where there were books dealing with general non-fiction topics. I was hoping to see something that would explain the sudden events that had occurred. There was nothing and I decided to discontinue my futile search. I thought it might be time to take a different course of action like visiting Ellis Hospital. If my brain was playing a game with me, I should find out what the rules were!
I was walking toward the exit when a young dark-haired young woman from the checkout desk signaled me that I needed to stop there first. Oh yes, Poppy Ott! I stopped and told her that I wanted to check out the book. She asked for my library card. I told her that I knew I had a card but didn't have it with me. She said she'd look up my record.
The young woman asked for my name and looked through a card file until she found a card. She said, "I have a card here with the name Roger Gordon, but it says this card was made out to a student two years ago. Are you the person that applied for this card." I said I was. She asked, "Are you a student, sir?" I told her no but that this was definitely my card!
I knew I had puzzled her greatly when I added that I had made out the card many years ago when I was a student. Her face took on the appearance of a person being asked a question in an unknown language.
"This card was made in 1935,” she said. “It states that it was made out to a student. Forgive me, sir, but you look like as if you haven't been a student for a long time.” Her own age couldn’t have been more than eighteen, but she spoke with the logic of a judge. “Do you have any identification?”
I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and handed her my driver's license and a Discover card. She stared at the documents then, with no explanation, went into another room leaving the door open. I could see that she was using the telephone. I knew that she was calling someone about me but I didn't mind. I knew that if someone came, it might be a person that could help me understand what was happening in my life. She came back and said, "It'll be a few minutes sir before we can serve you. Do you mind waiting?" I said no.
I stepped back and waited while the young woman attended to other persons. After about ten minutes, a police officer arrived. He was middle-aged and kindly-looking. There was no weapon visible. He spoke to the woman for a few seconds, took my driver's license and credit card from her, looked at them for a minute, then approached me and said, "I’m Officer Jenkins. Are you Mr. Gordon?" I responded that I was.
He spoke politely, " You want to check out the book that you have in your hand and want to use a card that does not appear to be your card. The ID items you gave Miss Adams look strange. Can you explain any of this."
"Officer," I responded, "the library card was made to me many years ago. Though that was done in 1935, I’ve lived a long time since then. I’m ninety-three and live in the y
ear 2016. Today, about two hours ago, I was brought back to 1937 by some power that I don't understand. I know this is hard to believe. I don’t believe it myself. I need a lot of help in trying to find out what has happened to me. Can you help me?"
The officer asked, "Do you mind coming to the station where we can talk about this?” I responded that I didn't. We walked to the officer’s police car parked on the street half a block away. He drove to the police station on Jay Street. Interestingly, he had invited me to sit next to him on the front seat. At the police station, Officer Jenkins spoke to the officer in charge who escorted me to a nearby room. The room was barren except for an old wooden desk and three plain chairs. He told me to sit and wait. Then he left.
This room seemed to be a place where the police interrogated people. A young man, dressed in a business suit came in and told me his name was Detective Nelson. He had the library card and my ID documents with him. He asked me to sign my name on a sheet of paper, which I did. He compared what I had written with the documents he had. "I'm convinced you're Mr. Roger