May I try to whet your appetite for my work by offering samples from my newspaper column?
My column is called This 'N That. Think of it as Essays on Our Times and Other Times.
Copyright 2002 Bernard Ryan, Jr.
This winter, more than the usual big snow has blown into the stretch of western New York state between Buffalo and Rochester. That's more than 15 miles on the Erie Canal. It's the land of my boyhood, so I perk up when it's in the news.
Did you know they're spending money along the Erie Canal? Big money. Some $400 million in loans and grants from the federal Canal Corridor Initiative to build shops and restaurants, marinas and condominiums and recreational trails along the 524-mile system from Albany to Buffalo. All to attract tourist business along the famous waterway, whose heavy barge traffic has dwindled to almost nothing.
$2.2 million of the total is being spent in Albion, the canal town where I grew up. In this village of 6,200, the "downtown" section of four blocks of business buildings developed right beside the canal some 150 years ago. Now engineers and architects are busy renovating the long-abandoned Citizen's Bank building, on Main Street a few doors from the canal's edge, to make it a canal museum and Chamber of Commerce headquarters. Other efforts include building a gazebo, fixing up a waterfront park, adding tie-ups for pleasure-boat traffic, and rejuvenating the facades of downtown's business blocks.
But it's not museums or gazebos I think of when I hear the words "Erie Canal." Rather, those words spin my mind rapidly backward in time. I find myself in my brown corduroy knickers riding my bike up Main Street on the way to school, and I hear the three shrill toots of a tugboat. It is asking the Main Street bridge, at the center of Albion, to rise.
If the toots are from the right, the tug is coming toward town from the west. And if it is pulling a long string of barges, I'm going to have three choices. I can stand beside the raised bridge while the tug and its barges take about ten minutes to go through--and I'll be late for school, which is four blocks away on the other side of the bridge. Or I can hop onto my bike, race back down the slope, turn right and pump like mad two blocks east, turn another right up the slope of the Ingersoll Street bridge--and maybe get across before that bridge goes up. Or--third choice--I can get off my bike and carry it up the long flight of steps to the raised Main Street bridge, ride across, and carry the bike down the long flight at the other end, for the bridge is a "lift bridge." It rises horizontally, pushed up by underground gears at each end, so it stays level and you can walk across while it is in the raised position.
If I pump hard when I hear a tug's toot, I can sometimes ride up the slope and across the Main Street bridge before it starts to rise. But if the bridge operator answers quickly with his three replying blasts, I know the tug is too near and I won't make it. Even so, I ride up to the top of the slope. There, if I find the bridge already rising in front of me, I can look west, to the right, along the canal beyond Kleindienst's Ford Garage.
Today I see an especially long string of barges, bending into the distance with the curve of the canal out past the Highway Department's garages and gravel piles on the south side. I look closely. The tugboat is ahead of the first barge by about 40 or 50 feet, with two taut heavy ropes stretched between. The entire rig is moving more slowly than usual. That fact makes me look carefully at the flat roof of the tug's pilot-house.
Yes--there he is. Just clambering up the short ladder attached to the pilot-house. Now he's on the roof--standing erect. The tug has almost reached the bridge. As it glides under, the pilot-house clears the underbelly of the bridge by three or four feet. The man on the pilot-house raises his arms, grabs the girder below the bridge's guard-rail, lets the bridge sweep him off the pilot-house, pulls himself up so he can get one leg onto the edge of the girder, hoists himself over the railing, and is out of sight overhead. I peer under the raised bridge and across the canal. Now I see him leaping down the far stairway, two steps at a time. Dodging pedestrians, he goes loping off past Wilson's Hardware and The Citizen's Bank. I know where he's headed. Of the three A & P stores downtown, the one on Bank Street is the most convenient. Bank parallels the canal, between Main and Ingersoll, and the A & P is half way toward Ingersoll.
I jump on my bike, roll back down the slope from the bridge, turn right and race along Caroline Street--it's parallel to the canal, on the north side. Standing so I can pump harder on the pedals, I zoom up the slope to the Ingersoll Street bridge in time to hear the tugboat toot for that bridge to rise. Legs churning and heart pounding, I make it onto that bridge just as the watchman steps into the center of the roadway with his STOP sign to halt the traffic. Up we rise.
I hurry to the railing facing west. Here comes the tugboat, slow and steady, lines taut, engine throbbing softly, wake reduced to a quiet bubbling, barges barely rippling the water. In its bow, forward of the pilot-house, where there's a good-sized triangle of deck, a crewman is standing. He puts one foot up on the big capstan that's wound with rope, and leans forward, his elbow on his raised knee as he peers toward the corner of Bank and Ingersoll streets, a few yards from the bridge.
I look down to Bank from my perch at the railing. Here he comes. More than a jog, but maybe not quite a hard run. How could he go any faster, I wonder, with each arm wrapped around a huge brown paper bag of groceries?
He's around the corner, headed for the stair. He's up the steps, two at a time, coming right toward me. I back off, judging where the bow of the tug will pass under. He's there. Almost beside me. A big guy. Faded blue jeans. A maroon sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off almost at his shoulders. He could use a shave.
He drops the first bag of groceries into the arms of the waiting crewman, who sets it down, steps backward on the deck in one long stride, and catches the second bag just as it comes down. As he disappears beneath us, I'm blasted by the hot air from the tug's stumpy smokestack.
My man is darting across the bridge to the other railing. I drop my bike and follow. He swings himself over the railing in a single motion, steps down onto the girder below, grabs the lowest part of the rail, and hangs a moment with his legs dangling below the girder. Now the pilot-house comes out from under the bridge. He drops.
I stand at the railing as the tug moves away. My man is starting down the ladder on the pilot-house. He glances back at the bridge. He sees me. He grins. A big grin. He waves a big wave. I wave back.
My hand comes to my forehead, shielding the morning sun from my eyes. It takes many minutes for the tug to pull away to the east, its long ropes pulling the string of tightly-bound barges. One after another glides beneath my place at the bridge rail, each bearing me to villages and lands far away. At last the bridge operator clangs his bell, breaking my dream. The bridge vibrates with the power of its gears as it moves downward. I hurry back to my bike. The moment the bridge touches the ground, I'm off, pumping hard.
I'm late for school. But Miss Duggan understands about long strings of barges easing slowly through our town. It will be many decades before her successors introduce condominiums, canal-town recreational trails, or the Canal Corridor Initiative to the fifth-grade vocabulary.
And how can a canal museum show visitors how a tugboat crew got its victuals? Or how a boy on a bike could belong to a canal?
Copyright 2002 Bernard Ryan, Jr.
On June 2, a flotilla of more than 1,000 boats converged on Governors Island in New York harbor. Their purpose? Press releases said it was "to celebrate both the proud history and the future of Governors Island."
The island was given to the U.S. Army in 1800 by New York State. A seven-minute ferry-boat ride from lower Manhattan, it is a beautiful stand of landscaped grounds surrounding empty 19th-century buildings and fortifications. President Bill Clinton offered to sell it back to New York for $1 in 1995, but nobody did anything about the offer.
Television executives hope to build a broadcast tower on the island, to replace the antenna that topped the World Trade Center, but no plans or ideas are yet definite.
One memorable event in the island's proud history began on September 20, 1909, when Wilbur Wright set to work in a hanger built for him on the island. While his brother Orville was in Germany making demonstration flights for Kaiser Wilhelm II and taking Crown Prince Frederick Wilhelm for a spin, Wilbur was busy uncrating and assembling one of his Wright Flyers, for he had accepted an offer of $15,000 from the Hudson-Fulton Celebration Aeronautics Committee. Those working under that unwieldy title wanted Wilbur and his flying machine to appear during two weeks of hoopla starting September 25, to celebrate the centennial of the first voyage of Robert Fulton's North River Steamboat as well as the 300th anniversary of Henry Hudson's first sailing into New York harbor.
The money was big. To put it in perspective, consider the fact that Chief Wright mechanic Charlie Taylor, working full-time, was earning some $1,300 a year. But expenses were high, too, what with shipping crated airplanes by rail between the cities where they appeared. For the $15,000, Wilbur was to fly at least 10 miles or stay aloft for at least one hour, and he was to make whatever other flights he could during the two weeks. He had competition, for the committee also offered Wilbur's rival, Glenn Curtiss, a contract for $5,000 for a round-trip flight from Governors Island to Grant's Tomb.
For Wilbur, the challenge was irresistible, for anyone who read a newspaper knew that the Wright Brothers were suing Curtiss for infringing their patents. The competition, with the flying machines taking off from the U.S. First Army's expansive drill grounds on the sand flats of Governors Island, would give the Wright Flyer a chance to show its stuff.
Curtiss had just set speed records in a week-long air show at Reims, France. There his 50-horsepower Reims Racer had barreled along at an average speed of 47.10 miles per hour over a two-lap course, making Curtiss the world's fastest man in the air (he was already fastest on the ground, having ridden his motorcycle at 137 miles per hour on the sand at Ormond Beach, Florida, in 1907).
But Curtiss had a problem. For $5,000, he had already put the Reims Racer on display in Wanamaker's Fifth Avenue department store. Now, on wind-swept Governors Island in New York harbor, he had to use a plane with only 24 horsepower, and a quick test flight on September 29 told him it couldn't cope with the strong gusts.
Wilbur was ready for flights over water. In a New York store, he had bought a bright red canoe. He sealed it, gunwale to gunwale, with a canvas cover, then mounted it between the Wright Flyer's skids (the brothers' flying machines did not yet have wheels, but were launched along a single track using bicycle-wheel hubs--yes, bicycle-wheel hubs--as rollers). If worst came to worst, the red canoe would keep the Wright Flyer afloat.
With the Curtiss plane sitting in its hangar on September 29th, Wilbur took off on his first public flight in New York. As hundreds of ships moored in the harbor blasted their horns and whistles, he flew across the tip of Manhattan and straight to the Statue of Liberty, circling the French lady's waist before heading back to Governors Island. Along the way, he passed the Lusitania, outward bound for Europe, its decks thronged with cheering passengers who waved hats, scarves, and handkerchiefs at their first sight of the famed inventor and his incredible machine.
Strong winds persisted, keeping flights grounded for two more days. A determined Curtiss took off again on Saturday, October 2, headed for Grant's Tomb, and turned right back to Governors Island when the gusty winds took charge. Under contract to fly in St. Louis only four days later, he revoked his Hudson-Fulton contract and departed.
The winds died down. On Monday, October 4, Wilbur was ready for his one-hour or 10-mile flight. In fact, he said, he would make the round trip to Grant's Tomb that Curtiss had promised. As he and his helpers set up the Flyer on its starting rail, some 300 photographers and reporters, soldiers and sailors crowded behind restraining ropes.
How did people on Manhattan know he was coming? Among the vast fleet of U.S. and foreign ships at anchor in the harbor for the celebration were many that had the new-fangled Marconi wireless transmitters--radio's forerunner. Dot-and-dash messages from Governors Island spread the word that Wilbur Wright was ready to take off. At the same time, Army Signal Corps troops on Governors Island hoisted flags that could be seen by observers atop three Manhattan skyscrapers who, in turn, ran up their own signal flags. Alerted, throngs hurried to the Hudson waterfront. By the time Wilbur and the Wright Flyer came throbbing up the Hudson at 36 miles per hour, a million thrilled New Yorkers--hardly any one of whom had ever before watched a flying machine fly--could boast that they had seen some section of his 20-mile round trip.
What they saw was the great white wings, the silver skids, and the bright red canoe of a flying machine with two American flags fluttering from its out-front elevator. They could not see the life jacket strapped at Wilbur's feet. All during the 33 minutes and 33 seconds of the flight, the air above the river roared not only with the unmuffled clattering of the Wright Brothers' engine but with a riot of ships' bells a-clanging, whistles screeching, foghorns belching, and the steady, clamorous cheers of astonished spectators.
When all was done and the Wright Flyer was again packed in its crates, members of the Hudson-Fulton Celebration Aeronautics Committee spoke to Wilbur Wright, who had given New York not only the $15,000 spectacle he had promised but the $5,000 exhibition for which Glenn Curtiss had been hired but not paid. They were sorry, they said, but they could not afford to pay him more than $12,500.
You're invited to send for copies of a wide variety of these interesting and informative essays. Each is about the length of the two you have just read here--except The Roosevelts at Our House, which is much longer. All are priced the same--except the Roosevelt piece, which is priced higher because of its length. The prices include postage.
Following are brief synopses of essays that are currently available. For ordering information, please scroll down to the very end of the synopses.
THE ROOSEVELTS AT OUR HOUSE. Starting when Franklin D. Roosevelt was Governor of New York State, this memoir recalls visits of FDR and Mrs. Roosevelt to the author's boyhood home, then traces a friendship that lasted until Eleanor Roosevelt's death. It vividly and delightfully evokes the time and the small-town atmosphere. Especially appealing to Roosevelt buffs. $11.95.
THE BIKE STUFF
Those Wright brothers! Everybody knows what they did at Kitty Hawk, but few know what else they invented or how successful--and profitable--their bicycle business was. This essay gives you the specifics on their part in the bicycle craze that captured America just before the automobile and the airplane. $5.95.
THE BABE THAT LOOKS LIKE A DUCK AND SQUEAKS LIKE A DUCK
One look at the Babe Ruth Celebriduck and you want one. A Yankee Stadium souvenir, it's a floatable toy duck with Babe Ruth's head--and it's a wildly popular sports-promotion gimmick. Discovering it takes you back, in this detailed essay, to the Curse of the Bambino that has long hung over the Boston Red Sox and to the piano that pitcher Ruth may have (or may not have) "tossed" into a pond in a Boston suburb. $5.95.
THE WORLD'S MOST WIDELY UNDERSTOOD WORD
Quick! Name the word! It's a word everybody knows and almost everybody loves, a word seen and known worldwide for almost a century. Here are the details on how the word "Coca-Cola" got that universal recognition and how it almost lost it back in 1985. $5.95.
WHAT HAVE YOU INVENTED LATELY?
You've heard about Thomas Edison. Now read about Jerome Murray, whose 75 patented inventions include helping you board airplanes and survive open-heart surgery . . . and Victor Mills, who put diaper trucks and laundries out of business and taught Pringles to cozy up in tubes . . . and "Ecstasy" film star Hedy Lamarr, whose "frequency hopping" ideas--and patents--in radio transmission are key elements in our defense communication satellite system today. $5.95.
HAVE YOU FLOWN WITH DEBORAH MCCOY?
Here's your chance to find out about the woman pilot who is in charge of 5,200 pilots and 8,700 flight attendants at one major airline. You'll also learn about long-forgotten women pilots from aviation's earliest days. And you'll join the first American woman to earn her pilot's license as--wearing a plum-colored flying suit--she is the first woman to fly across the English Channel. $5.95.
A TOMCAT TO REMEMBER. How did the Grumman F-14 Tomcat, the last of the "cat" planes built by that skilled outfit, get its name? And what's the secret that makes it so valuable these days, 30 years after it took off from the drawing board? You'll get the answers plus the Tomcat's remarkable biography. $5.95.
A SILENT MAN FROM A BRAVE LITTLE STATE. You think our 30th President, Calvin Coolidge, had nothing to say? Reading this piece may change your mind about calling him "Silent Cal." And you'll find out how the press gave long life to a Coolidge quote by taking it out of context. $5.95.
HOW TO THROW A CURVE IN THE LIVING ROOM. You can do just that with only one ball: the Wiffle Ball. This essay tells you who invented this ball--one of the world's most popular toys--and why, plus the secret of its unusual behavior. $5.95.
GONE WEST. Here's to the Lafayette Escadrille! This This 'N That will tell you why a rather elite squadron of American pilots in World War I's French Army Air Corps grew from the original 38 to some 4,000 who "claimed" membership after the war. $5.95.
REMEMBER TEAPOT DOME? If you relish stories of political scandals, don't miss this roundup on the shenanigans of ex-Senator Albert Fall, who was President Warren G. Harding's Secretary of the Interior. You'll find out what happened when the cigar-chomping, pistol-packing Fall put his cronies in charge of vast reserves of U.S. Navy oil. $5.95.
TO GRANT'S TOMB AND BACK. The year: 1909. The place: Governors Island in New York harbor. The man: Wilbur Wright. The event: One million New Yorkers' first chance to see a flying machine fly. You are there in this detailed description of history being made. $5.95.
COME BACK TO THE FIVE AND DIME. Not many "ten-cent stores" are left, but this essay will tell you how F. W. Woolworth got the idea in the first place, how many times he failed before he succeeded, where you could have visited the world's largest five-and-ten, how humongous it was, and what happened when malls and shopping plazas pushed Woolworth and the scent and flavor of the five-and-ten into history. $5.95.
THE CATCHER IN THE SPY. What? A major-league baseball player was also a major U.S. spy before and during World War II? You'll get the who, what, when, where, and why in this intriguing piece about catcher Moe Berg, who should be in the new International Spy Museum. $5.95.
THE SKIN GAME. Very few men can make a lifetime career out of shaving, but here's the story of one who did. It will tell you what it's like to have razor-blade companies paying you to do what you have to do anyway. And you'll find out how much this man learned from this professional experience. $5.95.
THE GRUMMAN ON THE MOORE FARM. What happened when Navy Captain Fred Boone landed his carrier-based Grumman F3F fighter on a farmer's field in western New York state? You'll be right there to savor the sight and the sound when you read this memory piece by one who was also there. $5.95.
SAY IT AIN'T SO, JOE. When Shoeless Joe Jackson's Black Betsy bat sold for more than half a million dollars some 80 years after the Black Sox Scandal, it was time to review the legend of the strangest World Series in baseball history. Details here, including names and game-by-game summary. $5.95.
NO NEED TO STOP AND TIE UP. What happens when a long string of barges on the Erie Canal makes a boy late for school? You'll get the answer in descriptive detail when you read this touching piece. $5.95.
WHAT IS IT ABOUT SHORTSTOPS? Derek Jeter's incredible acrobatics in the field put him right up there with Cal Ripken, Pee Wee Reese, and Phil Rizzuto, but the shortstop you should have seen in his heyday was the now-all-but-forgotten Luke Appling of the Chicago White Sox. This one gives you the unusual reason why pitchers were seldom pleased to see Appling in the batter's box. $5.95.
WHEN DAD WENT TO GET HIS MAIL. If you relish small-town life, you'll enjoy reading what happened when one town's police chief, its fire chief, and a lawyer converged at the Post Office on a quiet summer afternoon to solve a small boy's problem. $5.95.
A LONG LIFE IN THE LAND OF OZ. Here's a close-up of L. Frank Baum. It reveals unknown or long-forgotten facts of the life and work of the creator of that wonderful land where we have all lived. It will tell you why the author was forced to pay all expenses of publishing the original Wizard of Oz book and what happened when he first put his story on the stage. And you'll find out why Baum wrote so industriously that no one is sure how many books he turned out after his 70th. $5.95.
WHEN THE OL' REDHEAD SPOKE BASEBALL AND BEER. Meet Brooklyn Dodgers play-by-play announcer Red Barber and discover what went on in the broadcast booth back when TV commercials were mostly "live," every inning of every game had the same sponsor, and even the wives of "the boys of summer" got into the act. $5.95.
GO SEE GENERAL PUTNAM. Introducing a sculptor whose work you can find from New York's Central Park to Seville, Spain -- Anna Hyatt Huntington. Taking you to her studio and to statues she created at age 91, this visit reveals why she wouldn't take payment for her art and how she conceived such dramatic results as her depiction of General Putnam riding his horse down steps. $5.95.
ON THE WINCH AT HARRIS HILL. For many decades, this hill near Elmira, New York, has hosted the annual meet of engineless soaring planes. Warning: Reading this, you may lose your heart to a young would-be pilot whose destiny waited high above the Mediterranean. $5.95.
WHY IRON? WHY CURTAIN? If you've ever wondered where Winston Churchill got his famous phrase, you'll get the answer when you read this piece. You'll also find out why Churchill apparently never thought it necessary to explain the term, and you'll discover just how long ago the expression was in use. $5.95.
To order any of these, please e-mail me your request and I will reply with an address to which to send your check. To e-mail, scroll down right-hand column.
Check My Essays now and then for updates on other Essays on Our Times and Other Times as they become available.
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