Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club Book VIII
Time Travel Adventures of The 1800 Club
BOOK VIII
Robert P. McAuley
Published by Robert P. McAuley and Smashwords
Copyright: Robert P. McAuley 2012
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which has been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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The Premise
The Time Travel Adventures Of The 1800 Club is a 21 st Century haven for people seeking to escape New York City’s frantic pace. Dressed in clothes their ancestors might have worn during the 1800s, members enjoy foods of the period and read periodicals featuring news of a particular date in 1865. However, the 1800 Club also has an astounding secret . . . Time Travel. Members travel back in time nudging famous persons and key events just enough to ensure history unfolds, as it should. Guardians-of-the-past, living in the future, send robotic probes back through the ages, discovered that, at critical time-junctures, pivotal figures stray from vital tasks and actions. These Time Watchers of the past can’t go back and fix the glitch in the timeline because the atmosphere they breathe has been cleaned up over the years and the air of the past is almost un-breathable for them. Then an 1800 Club member from the 2000s are sent back to guarantee that events get back on track. The 1800 Club’s members aid Lincoln, Roosevelt, Bat Masterson, Mark Twain and many others. Without subtle interventions by these unknown agents, the famous might have been only footnotes, rather than giants of history.
Dear reader, I once read a time travel book where the main character went back over one hundred years in the past to retrieve an object from a house. He entered the house, picked up the object and brought it back to his time. To me it was upsetting that he took us back in time and never once said anything about the house! Never described anything! He might as well have just gone back to a park where things never change. That is why I try to bring the reader along with me as I travel through time. RPM
A Peek into Chapter 1:
A LOST TICKET THAT CHANGED HISTORY
What if the Boeing Aircraft Company had never existed in the United States of America because Boeing’s father lost his ticket to America at the dock he was to leave from in Europe? One tragic outcome would be that the Boeing B-17 and B-29 would never have been built prolonging the war and the number of men and women who would never return to their homes marrying and generating Lawyers, Teachers, Artists, Engineers and many just average folks. The club realizes this and sends a club member back to get the Boeing senior’s ticket for his historic trip. However the time traveler bumps into something that he always believed to be a piece of fiction, . . . until he finds it to be as real as time travel.
A Peek into Chapter 2:
JACK THE RIPPER
When a time probes alerts the Time Watchers that ‘Jack The Ripper’ is up to his old tricks again and his next victim was an ancestor of one of the bodyguards of President Ronald Reagan when there was an assassination attempt on his life, the club voted to act and stop him. Twist after twist leads this club member in circles before he meets The Ripper face-to-face.
Books 1 through 12 are also available.
Story One
A LOST TICKET THAT CHANGES HISTORY
DATELINE: JULY 14, 1868 PLACE: LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND
Hundreds of seagulls screeched as they dove and twisted above the countless masts that lined the Liverpool, England docks in the warm July air in their never-ending search for food. High up on top of the masts, seamen waved their hands at the birds as they tried to discourage them from settling on their ship’s rigging and depositing their droppings on the decking below, which they would have to clean up. The seamen in the rigging were usually the youngest of the crew and they laughed as the chased birds soiled the hats of the group of passengers below waiting to be let onboard. The ship was the Delphi, a combination sail and steamship that promised to cross the Atlantic Ocean in fifteen days.
The cobblestone docks were slippery with the constant mist and people not familiar with them had a hard time keeping their footing and watching their wallets and luggage for fear of being robbed by the many gangs that plied their trade along the wharfs. The few policemen on duty were happy to know that, while all the people could not be protected from the thieves, most could. At 8 am a blast of the ship’s whistle sounded, and the crowd pressed forward towards the gangplank that bridged the gap between the ship and shore. It was at this time that a passenger, Wilhelm Boeing, lifted his heavy leather valise and at the same time reached into his jacket pocket and removed his boarding ticket, skidded on the wet cobblestone and watched in shock as his ticket was lifted by a gust of wind and disappeared down between the ship and dock.
“My ticket! Please, someone get my ticket.” His voice was lost in the shouts of goodbyes, carriage wheels grating on stone and the seagulls above. It didn’t help that he spoke with a thick German accent and was ignored as the crowd pushed to board the ship that would take them to a new start in America.
Three hours later he stood there as the ship’s purser shrugged his shoulders and walked up the gangplank as a seaman pulled it in behind him. The purser looked back as, would-be passenger, Boeing watched the ship slowly depart. His eyes and cheeks were glistened as he pondered his last chance of going to America and starting a new life. It had taken him so long to save for the lost ticket that he knew he was destined to stay in Europe for the rest of his life.
DATELINE: 2068 PLACE: TIME WATCHERS GROUP, NEW YORK CITY
Maryellen Muldey sat at the Time Watchers long conference table, her white hair reflecting off the computer’s screen making her shift slightly as she perused her assigned batch of holograms. She looked at New York’s JFK airport of July 22, 2012. It was rare to be assigned to such a late date in history, but that was the assignment the computers had given her. Her favorite time period was the early 1800s, but she did the job she loved so well without a regret.
Her oldest son Robert was a pilot and she enjoyed watching aircraft take off and land no matter what the year. Her hologram showed a very large airliner that had just landed and was rolling past dozens of other aircraft parked at loading docks along the perimeter of the immense complex. She sat closer to the hologram her eyes squinted as she took in the scene before her. Something inside her said to replay the landing and, knowing that her intuition had guided her on many successful missions, she pressed the button and watched the airliner land and roll out again.
Still not satisfied she hit the replay button again and once again the aircraft landed and rolled to a stop.
Jerry Sullivan chose
that moment to stick his head in the door. “Hey, Maryellen. I’m here early. Mind if I sit in?”
She looked from the hologram to Jerry and said with a wave, “Hi Jerry. No, please come on in and tell me what you see here.”
Jerry cleaned his glasses with the end of his shirt, pulled over a chair and sat. He looked at the large aircraft landing and shrugged his shoulders.
“See anything funny, Jerry?” Maryellen asked as she sat back and scratched her chin.
He shook his head and shrugged of his shoulders again. “No. What do you see?”
“The aircraft that landed was an Airbus A380. It was the largest aircraft of that time period. But, as it rolled past twenty plus other parked aircraft, there wasn’t one Boeing aircraft among them.”
“Could be just a coincidence. I mean maybe it’s that time of the day that all the Boeing aircraft are in flight.”
“No,” she answered. “There were all Airbus and other types of airliners parked at NorthWest Airlines, American Airlines and a host of other airlines that used Boeing equipment. I’m going to send a probe back to another time and airport and see if some Boeing aircraft show up.” She pressed a button set in the arm of his seat. The door opened and a tall, dark haired, young man, Ted, entered. It was standard procedure to have a Time Probe Operator on duty whenever the holograms were being viewed.
“Yes Miss Muldey,” he asked, “Do you need a mission?”
She nodded, “Hi Ted. Yes, I’d like to view Chicago’s O’Hare Airport in, oh, say 1972.” She turned to Jerry and said, “Back then Boeing was pretty much the only aircraft at any airport.”
“Is that all, m’am?” asked Ted as he scribbled in his notebook.
“Yes, Ted, thank you. About how long will it take?”
The Time Probe Technician was already closing the door behind him as he answered over his shoulder, “Just under an hour, m’am.”
She turned to Jerry who would have been going on duty in a few minutes but because this happened on her watch, she was automatically extended. “I’m going to take a break Jerry, do you want to come back in an hour?”
“You bet! I want to see how this plays out.”
Three hours later, the entire group sat at the table as Maryellen briefed them.
“So, gang, as I said, after three probes being sent back to various times and places, there were no Boeing aircraft to be seen.”
A tap at the door got their attention and she opened it as he said to them, “I asked Ted to do a computer analysis on a world without Boeing aircraft and this should be him now.”
It was Ted, and he handed a folder to Maryellen and left the room.
She sat to read the memo. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she read. Finally, she glanced at the group and started to read the report aloud.
“Boeing Aircraft was a groundbreaking company with many ‘firsts,’ and safety developments. Their innovative use of aircraft helped defeat the enemy during World War Two. The Boeing B-17 bomber carried the American portion of the air offense to the enemy in Europe and later their B-29 did the same in the war in the Pacific. Later, they led the world in jet aviation by converting an Air Force tanker aircraft into the Boeing 707 thus bringing commercial jet aviation into what it is today. They were very big in the aerospace industry making satellites and rockets. Another part of their business worked on secret projects that helped bring down the Berlin Wall and defeat Communism.” She shook her head and went back to the briefing.
“The following is the computers’ analysis as to what happens if the Boeing Aircraft Company never existed. First and foremost, many more lives will be lost in World War Two because of not having the B-17 bomber. These lives affect us all, right up to today because we lose the doctors, lawyers, artists, teachers and just plain average folks that won’t be born if the company ceases to exist.” She sat back down heavily and looked around the room at the solemn group of Time Watchers.
“I did the normal check and found that William Edward Boeing himself was born in Germany to Wilhelm Boeing in 1881. He lived his entire life in Berlin and never came to the States. Now, our history books tell us that his father left for the United States on July 14, 1868 from Liverpool, England. However, I had Ted send a probe back to watch him board the ship and watch what happens in this hologram.” She sat forward and activated the hologram in the center of the table.
Instantly, the scene showed the busy, dock jammed with jostling, pushing people. The probe zeroed in on one of the many passengers: Wilhelm Boeing. He picked up his valise while at the same time, removed his boarding pass from his pocket. A slight slip on the damp under-footing and the man let go of his ticket. The sea breeze lifted it up and over the crowd and deposited it into the dark waters between the ship and wharf, thus ending the Boeing Aircraft Company from ever emerging in the U.S.
The hologram ended and all was quiet for a few moments until a chair scraped the plastic floor as it was pushed away from the conference table. The group looked at a standing Alexis Shuntly as she shrugged her small shoulders.
“It’s fairly simple, I believe. We must send someone back to catch that ticket before it goes into the water. Correct?”
Maryellen nodded, “That’s the way I see it too, Alexis.” She addressed everyone, “I’m ready to contact Bill Scott of The 1800 Club. All in favor?”
The raised hands showed that all agreed.
“Very well then.” She pressed the button and Ted reappeared again.
“Ted, will you contact our liaison with Mister Bill Scott, of The 1800 Club back in 2013?”
Ted slid a finger down the page of his ever-present notebook and stopped at a notation then said, “The liaison between us and Bill Scott is Mister Edmund Scott, who as you may recall is a direct descendant of Bill Scott. In fact, Bill Scott of 2013 is Edmund Scott’s grandfather.”
“Good,” answered Maryellen. “In about an hour I’ll have a hologram ready for him to deliver to his grandfather.”
The meeting broke up and she went to have a hologram created for Bill Scott.
DATELINE: AUGUST 5, 1942 PLACE: APOLLO THEATER, NEW YORK CITY
Bill Scott sat in the fifth row, in an aisle seat. He could have easily purchased a center seat, but he never knew when he might have to leave early and didn’t want to disturb anyone as he left his seat. The theater was warm even with the extra fans trained on the audience and Bill was glad he chose to wear a lightweight suit. He loved these little jaunts back in time to catch acts that were just a footnote in history to everyone else, and he smiled as he thought, Thank you, 1800 Club. Waiting for the curtain to go up, he perused the mimeographed sheet of paper he received at the ticket booth when he paid the admission fee of $1.50.
Wow! He thought, $1.50 to see Fats Waller perform. This is one of the best things about being the president of The 1800 Club: time travel and seeing and hearing the legends.
The time traveler started to read the list of songs just as the lights went out and the curtain went up. He joined the audience in wild applause as the spotlight highlighted the short, dark hefty figure of Fats Waller as he started to play his piano. Arranged to his right was his group of five musicians, The Rythms, who joined him as he played his intro of Rag Time Jazz. Fats’ big face had a perpetual grin from ear-to-ear accentuated by his trim mustache.
The legend singer stopped long enough to say to the audience, “Hallo New York! Are ya set ta hear some good music?”
The audience was on its feet and shouted back in unison, “Yessss!”
Fats sat back on his small seat and started singing, Ain’t Misbehaven, and at this, some couples started to dance the Jitterbug in the aisles. He went right into This Joint Is Jumpin, and more couples joined in the dance fest.
It was just as Fats started playing, Honeysuckle Rose, that Bill felt the vibration from the communicator in his inside jacket pocket alerting him of an incoming message.
Darn! Glad I didn’t get the middle seat, he thought as he started up the aisle t
owards the rear of the theater. Once in the back he sought a telephone booth, entered and pulled the folding door closed. He pretended he was making a phone call and removed the communicator from his pocket and pressed ‘Play.’ Instantly the message popped up. It was from Matt, his butler and right hand man. It read: Sir. Sorry I interrupted your concert. I know how much you had looked forward to seeing Mister Waller in the flesh, but felt you should know that your grandson, Edmund, is coming down to visit you. He is bringing a hologram for you to see. Hot chocolate will be ready for you. Matt
Bill closed the communicator and thought with a grin, Just like Matt to worry about me having to leave a trip back early. I’ll just come back after I see Edmund.
He left the theater and stood on the sidewalk. Boy, he thought looking around. New York in 1942! This is something else. He walked over to the first taxicab parked alongside the sidewalk and opened the door, happy to see that it was a “SkyView Taxi.” He sat back and said to the driver, “520 East Ninth Street, please, driver.” He then reached up and slid back the glass roof, which mimicked the taxi’s name, SkyView, and breathed deep as the cool night air flowed in. I wonder why they stopped making this type of taxicab in my time. Oh well. It was a fifteen-minute drive from West 125th street in Harlem to the club and Bill used the time reflecting on his good luck over the past few years. He was just a normal member of a club that liked to dress up in 1800s garb and playact that they lived in that time period. It was simple because the one rule the club strictly enforced was: No speaking out of club time during a get-together. The club printed up newspapers for each meeting, and the news of that issue was the same as what had really transpired on that date over one hundred years before. The rule stated that no club member spoke of something that had happened after the date on the newspaper.