Letters From My Time-Traveling Uncle

  TMB

  * * *

  Val,

  After I walked away from Teal’s car I walked through the vestibule leading to 72nd street. Several cars drove by. They were all from the 1940’s and 1950’s. It then hit me why Teal had that particular car out. I assumed there was some sort of event. Perhaps they were involved in a show of some sort. When I got out to the street I noticed there were cars from the same era parked against the curb. I looked around and thought that perhaps the street was blocked off in some way while a film was being shot. I picked up my pace and walked toward and then into Central Park so that I would not interrupt the production.

  I turned and looked around me. I could not imagine how a film crew could work so quickly to change the look of the streets, but then again, considering the amount of money they spend on films and what it must cost to shoot in Manhattan, I could see how they had 50 union guys jump off a truck with their props and set pieces and quickly put it all together to the Director’s specifications. Wow. Great job, I thought to myself.

  I was even more impressed a moment later when I saw all of the extras dressed up like it was the late 1940’s or early-mid 1950’s. I smiled. I laughed. I love stuff like that. A ha! No wonder Teal sent me outside by myself. Now I’ve got a cool story to tell. I looked around and the trees looked different. Smaller. My head was spinning a bit. I focused on my feet and walked to the nearest bench and sat down. I closed my eyes. I concentrated on my breathing. I was not sure what I should do. I did not want to ruin anyone’s shot. I don’t know how the Dakota’s doorman slipped up and let me walk by and out without warning. Then again, I don’t recall seeing the Dakota’s doorman. I opened my eyes and looked around. About 100 feet from me was a tall man in a grey suit with a grey hat. He was not moving. He was just looking at me. His suit was relatively timeless. Perhaps like me he realized he was stuck where he should not be and walked into the park until there was a sign that the coast was clear.

  I looked down at the envelope that Teal gave me. It had my name on it. There was a brass clip keeping the flap shut. I turned it back and took out the letter that was inside and began to read. Here is a copy of it.

  * * *

  Reese,

  You and I are alike in many ways. When I was your age I had no mentors to shake my hand, pat my back, or just sit with me. I did not know anyone who could give me any direction and tell me what's what in life. Sure, family and friends and neighbors did their part, but sometimes in life someone comes along with a different type of fire burning within them, and many people want to put it out before it gets out of control. They don't understand it. They don't get that a fire within can burn bright and beautiful and bring warmth to ones mind and soul, and to that of others, if only it is recognized, cultivated, fueled.

  When I was your age no one noticed me. No one made the effort to notice that I was unlike everyone else, and that perhaps I could use some guidance in order to make the best use of what I might be capable of. In my early years in life I was let down a lot. I had high hopes of finding a teacher or a friend who could understand me, believe in me, encourage me, but it was to no avail. I felt alone. I had so many things I wanted to talk about, but no one to listen. I wanted so much to hear others say things that I wanted to say or wanted to hear, but I could not find anyone. Where could I look? Where could I turn?

  I was always a strong child. I always had a lot of physical strength. It never bothered me to move heavy objects that I was capable of moving. It also never bothered me if I got hurt. I have dropped things on my feet. I have banged and scraped my knees and elbows. I have fallen on hit my head and back. I have seen my blood on far too many occasions to count. But for some reason - perhaps it came from an inner reserve of strength that I did not know I had - I have no recollections of ever crying out, whimpering, reacting with tears or sorrow. When such events happened I quickly collected myself, surveyed the extent of the damage, cleaned and cared for what needed to be attended to, and then moved on with the work at hand.

  One exception I do recall was a time when I was stung by a hornet. It was not that there was any particular and extensive pain that bothered me. It was not the swiftness of how quickly and immediately it happened that bothered me. What bothered me was not knowing what might happen. Simply put, there could have been an upsetting physical reaction that I would have had no control over. Perhaps an allergic reaction? I was not sure. Yes, that is what bothered me. There was the possibility that something could have happened that I had no control over. So I walked to the bathroom, cleaned the area, then sat on a couch and waited. I waited. I waited. I waited. Finally, I was assured that no further harm would come to me as a result of being stung. I prepared myself mentally for a turn for the worse, but it was not necessary. I was fine and ready to move on.

  Perhaps that is why I am writing to you now and will continue to do so as long as I feel that I have something relevant to share. I am not the best-educated person in the world. As mentioned, I never meet anyone when I was a child who could tell me the words that would make me feel like I was not alone, and that there were other people like me.

  I spent many years alone.

  But I am happy to say that those voices did eventually come to me. I found my mentors. They were out there waiting for me all the time. I just had to find them. My mentors were writers and artists who existed before I was born, or within my lifetime. Many were troubadours and poets from time long gone. Yes, I learned from them. I continue to learn from them. Many were the writers of books. They spoke to me through the pages.

  But the greatest mentors of all spoke to me whenever I wanted or needed them. I found them on the radio and in records.

  And that is where our story begins. Yes, I have learned quite a bit in life, and I will share my stories with you in hopes that they may help you navigate through waters you sail through in life. But I will explain to you how I learned what I learned, and what worked for me, and helped me sail through clear, calm seas and helped me traverse stormy waters. You're going to have some good days. You're going to have some tough days. You're going to experience love. You're going to deal with hate. Where there is life, there is hope, but there is also conflict. You will have friends. You will lose friends. There isn't anything you can ever earn or be given that cannot be taken from you, with the exception of your honesty, integrity, and wisdom. Honesty and integrity are within you. They have always been there. You just need to put them in motion. Wisdom on the other hand, comes from external influences. You will have many opportunities to acquire wisdom. I acquired most of mine from the songs I listened to. Friends come and go. Books come and go. Mentors come and go. But music is always around. And that is what I want to share with you.

  Look around you. You are exactly where you should be, but the times have changed. Look at people’s clothes. Listen to the way they speak. Look at the cars. Yes. It is true. You are “back then.”

  You are wondering how this happened. The answer can go on for 2,000 pages. You don’t need to understand how a radio works in order to know how to turn it on and hear voices coming through. You don’t need to know all of the technology behind how a television works in order to press the right buttons on the remote control to turn it on and change the channels. All you need to know is what you need to know to accomplish what you want. Knowing anymore will not improve or distract from the experience.

  Think, Reese. What did you do today that was different than what other people have done today? You entered a specific room and you touched a specific historic item. Yes, that sounds simple. How could such a simple act do all this? It does not seem possible. Then again, neither does the world that opens up when one opens up something called a laptop and presses a button and moments later they have access to countless documents on a hard drive. Furthermore, consider the simple act of clicking on an icon and being brought online. Where is the fairy dust? Where are the bright lights? Where are the sonic booms? Where is the gust of wind? Where is
the thunderclap? Where are the voices from the ancient gods? Seconds earlier one was petting their cat and second later they are able to type an email that is instantly sent to their friend on the other side of the earth, who will be reading it in a split second. Does anyone really need to know how it all works for one to participate? The answer is no.

  Returning is another matter that I will discuss with you at another time. I am sure you have a lot of questions right now. For starters, let me tell you that it is okay to be where you are. You do not have to be afraid of future consequences if you step on a flower. The future will survive. That is all a bunch of hokum created by Hollywood screenwriters. The past and the future already happened. You are just a visitor.

  Please put this letter in your pocket and walk away from where you are. Stroll through Central Park. Walk down to Times Square. Look around. Listen. Enjoy yourself. When you return to the Dakota the car will still be there. Look in the folder I gave you. There will be some information that will be useful to you, if you choose to stick around for a while, and find some stories to tell.

  - Teal

  * * *

  Val,

  As Teal suggested, I walked through Central Park. I was not sure what to think. I really didn’t. What would you think? What would anyone think? I actually wanted to march right back up to his apartment but I could not decide if I was angry or not. Was he making me out to be a fool? Was he looking out his window to see how I would react? I did not know. So I went for a walk. I wanted to cool down. A cool breeze was blowing through the trees. There was no way to stay angry, or even confused in a moment like that. It was impossible to do anything except enjoy the wondrous moment.

  After awhile I found myself standing in front of the Central Park Carousel. I did not know at the time what year I was in but it was such a pleasure to view the hand painted carved figures.

  I followed various paths, sometimes stopping and sitting on the grass, and taking in the sights and sounds around me. It was then that I realized that, in a way, the 1950’s were coming to me. That was it. I needed to get out of the park. I needed to hit the streets and feel the pavement beneath my feet. I needed to head south and walk toward Times Square!

  As I walked along the streets I picked up my pace. I was on the West side of the street and stopped in front of Studio 50 between West 53rd and West 54th. Fans of the Ed Sullivan Show were milling around, preparing for that night’s production.

  People looked happy, optimistic, and energetic. Looking at all of the items displayed in the windows, it was heartening to know that most, if not all of what I saw was actually manufactured in America. I wanted to walk slow but also wanted to keep pace with the movement around me. Looking around were bars, restaurants, hotels, stores, electronics, clothing, music, drama, the pulse, the beat, the energy of a city in it's prime, glowing, radiating, giving off such a bristling rhythm beneath our feet that it seemed like people were walking an inch above the ground. Within a short distance around me were the best theaters, ballet, and symphony in the world!

  The restaurants were all inviting! Where were the chains? I did not see any chains. What a joy it was to walk into a deli and see people ordering fresh bread, sandwiches, buying cold soda pop. There was a flatfoot cop, walking his beat.

  Looking up were large buildings, of course, but I was not an insect, beneath the tall towering shadows of skyscrapers that would come in the following decades. The theaters around me promoted "double features" and I smelled the scent of hot pretzels and mustard in the air.

  Everywhere around me was what Kerouac called the "fantastic hoorair." Someone asked me for .05 for the subway but I just shrugged and kept walking because what he asked me did not register in my mind until I walked about 10 paces and when I turned around the man was gone. I think I saw him descend into the bowels of the city, or it could have been any of the other countless men in grey hats swiftly walking down the steps.

  At one point I reached deep into my pocket to pull out my cell phone to take a photo but then thought better of it. Too crowded. What would I look like? Perhaps a Russian spy. And then there were pigeons. Lots of pigeons. I walked over the subway grates and felt a gust of warm air blow up. I moved to my left, closer to the stores, further from the street. I stopped at a newsstand and picked up a newspaper and noticed the date. I looked at the others. For the first time in many years I trusted what I read in a newspaper! The date. The date. The date. I was back in time. There I was. The 1950's! New York City! I put the newspaper down and wondered how I looked. What did people think when they looked at me? Did they know? Did I standout? I was suddenly very self-conscious. I stopped looking up and around like Crocodile Dundee and looked down at the ground, at people's shoes.

  After a few paces I looked up again and I saw a man in dark grey pants and a charcoal colored jacket chomping on a cigar, standing in front of a display cases of costume jewelry. His display cases were balanced atop two large cardboard boxes. Business was good. During that minute anyway. He had 3 women as customers, one of whom had her purse up as she opened it up and took out a dollar.

  On my left was a counter pressed against the glass from the inside with people seated, drinking coffee, reading the paper. I saw a sign on the wall offering soup and crackers for .20 cents. 3 men working in the streets. Boots. One in coveralls. Manhole cover beside them as they worked between metal stands holding flags. Steam rose up a few feet from them, rising slow and steady, filling in the air, and I could almost smell the heat as it dissipated into the street air.

  Hats. Hats. Hats. Men. Women. Even children! I saw little boys in checkered caps! There was one sleeping against his father's shoulder. I can still see him now. The father had a white handkerchief in his left breast pocket. So many hats! And women wearing pearls!

  I walked past a beauty shop, then past a dance hall, there was a man on a ladder hand painting a sign on a brick wall, a theater promoting films show in CINEMASCOPE. Color by DELUXE! A bus passed by. People got off. People got on. Ticket lady sat in a protruding round glass booth. Admission .50 cents. Children. 35 cents. Mirrors lined the wall leading to the entrance doors. Small light bulbs lined the roof and reflected off the mirrors, like they extended on for infinity. Beside the booth was a glass display case with actual studio photographs of the actors in the film's scenes.

  It was the city I knew. So much was the same. The street beneath my feet. People, people, people. Cars. Buses. Street light.

  Listen to me, Val, listen, listen, listen. The past is not another planet. It is the same. But it's decorated differently, and the attitudes about America, about the city, about the time, about the place, about what they did and didn’t do, about the past, the present, and the future were all different. Maybe they were more positive. Maybe some people were more positive. Maybe some people were more negative. But there was a vibrant energy in the air. A sense of being part of something and being proud of it, being proud of being an American; especially as the blush of Victory from WWII had yet to fade from people’s cheeks.

  A bakery! A man placed fresh bread and pastries into the window display as people walked by. Some stopped and walked right in, suddenly filled with a pang of hunger that was not there moments earlier, and they were eager to buy to satisfy themselves.

  Souvenir stands. Hats. Postcards. Even a Davy Crocket cap! The only ones in New York were in the souvenir shops! How does one go back to England and say, "Look what I bought in New York." A ha! It was more about getting a souvenir from “America” - that is where the value was. I got it. I get it.

  I continued to walk south until I passed a store that was selling televisions sets. They were brand new. People stood in the street in fascination. There were two dozens sets all playing the same station. They were so fascinated that they were watching anything. The TV commercials entranced them. I stood with them and watched a commercial for Dorothy Gray Salon Cold Cream. They put radioactive dirt on a woman's face to show that it registered on a Geiger counte
r. When that commercial ended there was a Band-Aid commercial. Someone dragged a band-aid across an egg and picked it up and then slowly descended it into boiling water. I have to admit that I was impressed. Next came a commercial for Gillette Blue Blades. It was an animated show of some sort of critter playing a stand up bass while a voice over sang, "Look sharp! Feel sharp! Be sharp and listen mister, how you fixed for blades?" A few men were laughing. Some sang along. They must have seen the commercial many times before. Immediately after I saw a commercial for the Remington electric blade. It was being used in ways to show what a great product it was. After a little while they were using it to show it brushing the fuzz off of a peach and then it was used to shave the bristles off of a brush. One commercial I remember vividly was very intriguing. It was shot like a scene out of Casablanca. There was a sexy woman in a black hat and black coat with turtleneck in a mysterious cafe. Across the room was a Bogie-style man in a hat and raincoat, watching her every move. She got up and walked near him and dropped a note on the floor. He picked it up and read it. "NEW MUM HAS A SECRET WEAPON." She walked to a pay phone and called someone. The voice on the other line instructed her to deliver the next message. "MUM DOCTOR'S DEODORANT DISCOVERY NOW CONTAINS M-3 TO STOP ODOR 24 HOURS A DAY."

  I watched some more commercials and then walked away, singing, “You'll wonder where the yellow went / when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent!”

  After a minute or so a man called at me from a narrow door. “Hey, buddy. Come here. You like TV? You like movies?”