had a Colt pistol and he became quite good at drawing it. I wanted to be just like him, so I started to practice with it and after a while, I was faster than he was. He was so proud that he entered me in tournaments. Soon we were on the circuit competing with cowboys and want-to-be cowboys, and I was beating them all.”
“I’d truly love to see you perform, Miss Walters.”
“Perhaps someday you will, President Scott.” The clock chimed ten thirty and she looked at it. “I must be off, sir. It’s been a long day.”
“Will you be back soon?” Bill asked her. “The club is closed tomorrow for some painting, but on the following evening, the menu is fresh trout.”
She smiled. “Well, fresh trout! Then I simply must be here.”
“Good. Good then. Maybe you’ll show me your quick-draw?”
“That sounds fair. Fresh trout for a quick-draw exhibition.”
Bill took her hand and did a small bow, “Until then,” he said.
She smiled, “Good night, President Scott.”
She walked out as many heads turned to watch her leave.
Later that night, she sat in her living room cleaning a six-shot, Colt 1844 revolver by the light of the television. She smiled at a funny line by David Letterman. He is tall, just like President Scott, she thought. She looked at the pistol, which really didn’t need cleaning, but she realized she wanted it to be in the best shape possible to show President Scott. She put the pistol in a red, felt-lined case next to its twin and closed and locked it. Got to get some sleep, she thought. Dad always said, ‘never handle a weapon when you’re tired.’ She shut the TV off, and the room went dark.
Early the next morning, Bill sat at his computer munching on toast spread with peanut butter and sipping the coffee Matt had delivered. A biography of Theodore Roosevelt was on the screen and Bill was carefully entering notes into a book he kept on his desk.
He learned that Theodore Roosevelt became Governor of New York State in 1899 and often worked in City Hall in downtown New York City. The following year he became President McKinley’s Vice President and assumed the Presidency after McKinley was assassinated in September 1901.
Roosevelt had lots of friends including the cowboy, Bat Masterson, whom he named U.S. Deputy Marshal of New York City. A little-known fact was that Roosevelt and Masterson often discussed military strategy.
Intrigued, Bill thought, Well, I think I’m going to visit Governor Roosevelt. It’ll be nice to stroll in New York in June of 1899. He patted his stomach, besides I need the exercise.
He finished his breakfast and went to his dressing room. The time traveler selected a typical outfit of the 1890s: a brown, three-piece suit, a white shirt with a stiff collar and matching cravat with an inexpensive stickpin. Knowing that he planned to do some walking, he put on a pair of soft leather, high-buttoned shoes and topped it all off with a brown derby and walking stick. The new president of the 1800 Club looked at himself in the full-length mirror of his dressing room. “Enjoy your walk, Mr. Scott,” he said to himself.
He picked up a period writing tablet and two pencils and put them in a small leather folding case. Quite dapper for a periodical writer, he thought. He walked over to an intercom and pressed the button.
Immediately, Matt’s voice answered, “Yes, sir?”
Bill folded some writing paper as he said, “Matt, I have to make a trip out the private door.”
“I understand sir. Can I be of any assistance?”
“Yes, can you bring me one hundred U.S. dollars, for an 1899 trip? Tens, singles and some coins should do it.”
“Yes, sir, straightaway.”
Bill put the small leather carrying case in his inside breast pocket and patted it flat. He went to his desk drawer and took out a brown leather billfold with matching identification folder. It held a grainy black and white photograph of himself dressed in period clothes and identified him as William Scott, freelance writer. A tap at the door brought Bill to his feet. “C’mon in, Matt.”
Matt entered, carrying a white envelope. He emptied the contents on Bill’s desk and said, “One hundred dollars in U.S. currency of the 1890s, sir. Will you be gone long?”
Bill scooped up the bills and put them in the billfold and the change in his pants pocket. “I don’t think so, Matt. It’s in 1899 in New York City, so it’s just a matter of exiting the garden and going downtown to City Hall. According to the old newspapers, Theodore Roosevelt will be working out of there for two weeks, and I’m going to try to have a chat with him. I’ll be back by tonight.”
“Very well, sir. As you know, the club is closed this evening and you’ll be dining alone,” Matt pointed out.
“Good. If I’m late, no one will miss me.”
“Have a safe trip, sir.”
“Thanks, Matt, see you later.”
With Matt gone and the door locked, Bill took the key from around his neck and opened the large mahogany door at the back of his office. He took the Time Frequency Modulator from his inside breast pocket and used the keypad to type in June 6, 1899, 10:00 am.
Bill opened the door and walked down the cool, brick-enclosed stairway. At the bottom, he once again unlocked and opened the heavy, steel door. He stepped out into a sunny morning in 1899 and heard the clop of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones.
DATELINE: JUNE 6, 1899 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK
Bill locked the door behind him and walked through the lush garden surrounded by eight-foot-high stonewalls, toward the wrought iron gate. He took out a cigar and lit it as he peered out into the quiet world of the New York of 1899.
A woman pushed a baby carriage and held the hand of a little boy who wanted to pet a horse pulling a wagon full of vegetables. She scolded him as they approached Bill’s gate.
He tipped his hat and smiled. “Good day, ma’am.”
She smiled back and looked embarrassed at the boy, who was determined to pet the horse. “George! Stop pulling this instant. You’ll be trampled by that horse and wagon if you don’t stop.” She looked at Bill again. “Lord, the children of today. I don’t know how this generation is going to take our place. All they want to do is play.”
Bill nodded and smiled in agreement. “Oh, I suspect they’ll do just fine.”
He watched them as they went down the tree-lined street. What a great time to be alive, Bill thought, as he puffed on his cigar, Quiet, easygoing times. He took a deep breath but wrinkled his nose immediately as he got a whiff of horse waste. Oh well, one must take the good with the bad, he thought.
He set off in a leisurely stroll toward New York’s City Hall and Theodore Roosevelt. Along the way, he bought an apple from a street vendor for two cents and a soda pop for a penny. A guy could live real well here, he thought taking a bite of the juicy fruit.
Bill had been back to the 1800s at least a dozen times, yet he never really got over the feeling that people were staring at him. He had to keep reminding himself that he was one of them even though he was from their future. They were living and breathing just as he was. They were not the poor-quality, black and white, grainy photos that he had seen in history books; they were live people with hopes and plans for their own futures.
I have to snap out of this! I need to enjoy the present, or the past as it may be, and get on with the mission, he thought, as he sipped his soda pop.
Bill walked further down Broadway than he had to, just to see the low buildings that would be replaced with one of the most beautiful buildings of its time, the AT&T building at 95 Broadway. He recalled working there for a short time in 1998.
An elderly woman stood on the corner, wiping bird droppings from her wide-brimmed hat. Bill looked up and noticed the wires were still above ground and a favorite perch for thousands of city birds. He also noticed that people tried to avoid walking under the wires whenever they could. He spotted a trolley car with the destination sign on the front noting its final stop was City Hall. Maybe I’ll take it back uptown for the return
trip, he thought.
His walk took him to City Hall Park where he saw a pristine building in the middle of the small, lush park. Although low compared with the rising buildings of New York City, it looked majestic in the center of the green area. He entered the park stepping on the octagon-shaped pavement stones, which led to City Hall. As he went up the granite steps of the building, he was surprised there was only one policeman pulling guard duty.
This is one of the reasons I’m drawn to this era, he thought, the easygoing atmosphere it has. The policeman eyed him and tipped his hat. Bill smiled and stopped.
“Good morning, officer, beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“’Tis indeed, ‘tis indeed. And what might your business be, sir?”
Bill removed his hat and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. “I’m hoping that I might get an interview with Governor Roosevelt.”
The affable policeman answered, “Not my job to say so, sir. ‘Tis Mr. Sean O’Hara you’d have to be asking. Mister Roosevelt’s assistant, whose office is up the stairs, first door on the right.”
“Thank you, officer,” Bill responded. “Do you happen to know if the Governor is in today?”
“Aye, that he is. A very prompt man. Always at his desk by eight o’clock, any day he’s in town.” The policeman smiled and pointed to a group of boys running across the lawn. “Got to do me duty, sir.”
The policeman headed off toward the boys, and Bill took in