Time Travel Visit to Schenectady by Mario V. Farina
Gordon," he said. "Do you believe you are the person on this card and that you are also related to another person who originally used the card?" I said yes I thought so.
Detective Nelson opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out a Schenectady Directory.
"Do you know the address of the person for whom this card was made?” he asked. I said, "Yes, his home is at 1329 Sixth Avenue in Mount Pleasant. He lives there with his parents. He is an only child. You can probably find the father's listing by the name, Frederick Gordon. I don't know whether they might be home at this time or not but it might be a good idea to see if they are." The detective agreed and said that he would send a car to find out if anyone was home. He took me to a plainly-furnished waiting room and asked me to wait until they had further news. While waiting, I browsed through the Poppy Ott book that I had brought with me.
About half an hour later I was escorted back to the interrogation room. There were two people there, one that I recognized as my mother at an age of a long-ago time. There was also a young lad and I felt this must be me as I looked in 1937. Both individuals seemed puzzled. I didn’t know how to deal with the visitors since I believed they would not recognize me. I wanted to exclaim, "Mother," and rush to her with arms outstretched, but resisted the urge, not wanting to cause any complication to the already befuddling situation. The detective asked my mother if she recognized me. She said no. He asked the boy whether he recognized me and the youngster also said no. Then he asked me if I recognized them. I nodded yes. My mother and the boy seemed not to comprehend.
Detective Nelson asked me, "Tell me more. What's this about your coming from a time in the future?" I responded, "I believe that I live in another age. I was born in 1923. I don't know what year it is here but it seems to be 1937. I don't know how I got here." He confirmed that it was 1937. I asked what was the date and time were. He told me that it was June 11, and the time was 4:15. The date was consistent with the date during which I had been having dinner such a short time before. The time did not exactly match.
The door opened and the officer in charge walked in escorting a burly person whom I recognized as the one who had accosted me when I was having dinner and then later had nearly bumped into me on State Street. The officer faced me and said, "This man states he is your attorney and wants to help you. Do you know him?" I said that I did recognize him. The husky man announced loudly, "Huckleberries are in season." Within an eye-blink I found myself back in 2016 having dinner at the same diner that I had left some hours earlier.
I saw a man walking out the door of the diner. Otherwise the scene was exactly the same as it had been when my dinner had been interrupted. The server came to my table and asked if everything was all right. I said yes and asked who it was that I had seen exiting the diner. She said the man was Professor Collins who worked at RPI. She did not know anything more about him than that. She said the professor had been with me for about twenty minutes and that, during that time, I had been completely immobile. She had wondered whether I was all right and was happy to see that everything was OK. I agreed that there was nothing wrong and I finished my sausage and eggs though much of the food had become cold.
The following day I went to RPI and asked to speak to someone who knew Professor Collins. There was nothing wrong, I said. I simply wanted to learn more about him. I added that he might be able to help me with a problem. Someone did assist me and told me that Collins was a professor of Psychology and Philosophy and that he had been doing experiments dealing with intelligence, human behavior, and virtual reality.
I thanked the individual and left determined to speak to Professor Collins. I did reach him the following day and made an appointment to go see him. He said that he would be able to see me at two on the following afternoon.
When we met, the first words Professor Collins spoke to me constituted an apology for having troubled me with an experiment. He thought that my age was such that I would not be aware of what he was doing and he would not need to give me a lengthy explanation, then ask for permission. He had been surprised with the intelligence I had displayed in coping with the sudden events. He hoped I would not make an issue of his actions since they had been intended for the good of humanity. I told him I probably not go forward with anything.
Though I did not remember having met him, he gave me information that I had had an initial contact with him in an evening of entertainment hosted by General Electric a year earlier whereby the professor had presented an experiment in hypnotism. He had claimed he could hypnotize an entire room at the same time. To those hypnotized he had left a post hypnotic suggestion involving the word huckleberries. I remembered the occasion but felt I had not been hypnotized. It came as a disappointment and a source of pique to learn that I had unwittingly surrendered my mind to this man. He had selected me from the audience because of my age. This had been the epitome of effrontery toward me by this man. I felt I should sue for something but didn’t know exactly for what.
Professor Collins stated that when he uttered huckleberries, that word would trigger a post hypnotic suggestion that would immediately put me under his control. Then he would be able to send me back in time using a special adaptation of virtual reality. Apparently the experiment had worked and I had gone back to 1937. Though intended to be virtual, it had felt utterly real. What I had experienced, seemingly over several hours, had all been done within a time frame of only a few minutes. He, himself, had not been with me at any point, he asserted.
Then I remembered the book. I showed Professor Collins the Poppy Ott book. How could I have a material book in my hands though the experiment had been one of virtual reality? The sight of the book bewildered him. He reluctantly admitted that he had no answer. “Give me a moment,” he said, more to himself than to me. He closed his eyes and went silent, trance-like, for several minutes. Finally, opened his eyes and spoke.
“Mr. Gordon,” he said, “I conclude you had that book in your possession all along. You could not have gotten it in 1937. There is no other explanation.”
I was about to controvert his remark when there was a voice from the intercom. “Professor, there is a woman here with a letter and a demand for money.”
“Send her in!”
The door opened and a woman in postal uniform entered. She handed a battered envelope to Professor Collins. “Professor, she said, this envelope was mailed to you in June 1937. On behalf of the Postal Service, we apologize for its condition and the delay in its delivery. There is only a three cent stamp on it. I’ve been instructed to collect ninety-five cents postage due, but I have the authority to personally waive the fee, as a courtesy to you and the school, and I do so.” She left.
Professor Collins examined the envelope and its postmark, then opened the envelope. He pulled out a small plain-looking piece of paper with a bit of handwriting on it. He studied the paper and appeared stunned. He handed it to me. It was a receipt made out to the professor by the Acme Bonding Service. It was a receipt for one hundred dollars, bail money for the release from jail of one Roger Gordon. “Y-you were r-right, Mr. Gordon,” Professor Collins stuttered as he spoke to me. “It wasn’t virtual reality after all. You actually were in 1937 and I was there with you!”
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Detective Nelson opened a drawer of the desk and pulled out a Schenectady Directory.
"Do you know the address of the person for whom this card was made?” he asked. I said, "Yes, his home is at 1329 Sixth Avenue in Mount Pleasant. He lives there with his parents. He is an only child. You can probably find the father's listing by the name, Frederick Gordon. I don't know whether they might be home at this time or not but it might be a good idea to see if they are." The detective agreed and said that he would send a car to find out if anyone was home. He took me to a plainly-furnished waiting room and asked me to wait until they had further news. While waiting, I browsed through the Poppy Ott book that I had brought with me.
About half an hour later I was escorted back to the interrogation room. There were two people there, one that I recognized as my mother at an age of a long-ago time. There was also a young lad and I felt this must be me as I looked in 1937. Both individuals seemed puzzled. I didn’t know how to deal with the visitors since I believed they would not recognize me. I wanted to exclaim, "Mother," and rush to her with arms outstretched, but resisted the urge, not wanting to cause any complication to the already befuddling situation. The detective asked my mother if she recognized me. She said no. He asked the boy whether he recognized me and the youngster also said no. Then he asked me if I recognized them. I nodded yes. My mother and the boy seemed not to comprehend.
Detective Nelson asked me, "Tell me more. What's this about your coming from a time in the future?" I responded, "I believe that I live in another age. I was born in 1923. I don't know what year it is here but it seems to be 1937. I don't know how I got here." He confirmed that it was 1937. I asked what was the date and time were. He told me that it was June 11, and the time was 4:15. The date was consistent with the date during which I had been having dinner such a short time before. The time did not exactly match.
The door opened and the officer in charge walked in escorting a burly person whom I recognized as the one who had accosted me when I was having dinner and then later had nearly bumped into me on State Street. The officer faced me and said, "This man states he is your attorney and wants to help you. Do you know him?" I said that I did recognize him. The husky man announced loudly, "Huckleberries are in season." Within an eye-blink I found myself back in 2016 having dinner at the same diner that I had left some hours earlier.
I saw a man walking out the door of the diner. Otherwise the scene was exactly the same as it had been when my dinner had been interrupted. The server came to my table and asked if everything was all right. I said yes and asked who it was that I had seen exiting the diner. She said the man was Professor Collins who worked at RPI. She did not know anything more about him than that. She said the professor had been with me for about twenty minutes and that, during that time, I had been completely immobile. She had wondered whether I was all right and was happy to see that everything was OK. I agreed that there was nothing wrong and I finished my sausage and eggs though much of the food had become cold.
The following day I went to RPI and asked to speak to someone who knew Professor Collins. There was nothing wrong, I said. I simply wanted to learn more about him. I added that he might be able to help me with a problem. Someone did assist me and told me that Collins was a professor of Psychology and Philosophy and that he had been doing experiments dealing with intelligence, human behavior, and virtual reality.
I thanked the individual and left determined to speak to Professor Collins. I did reach him the following day and made an appointment to go see him. He said that he would be able to see me at two on the following afternoon.
When we met, the first words Professor Collins spoke to me constituted an apology for having troubled me with an experiment. He thought that my age was such that I would not be aware of what he was doing and he would not need to give me a lengthy explanation, then ask for permission. He had been surprised with the intelligence I had displayed in coping with the sudden events. He hoped I would not make an issue of his actions since they had been intended for the good of humanity. I told him I probably not go forward with anything.
Though I did not remember having met him, he gave me information that I had had an initial contact with him in an evening of entertainment hosted by General Electric a year earlier whereby the professor had presented an experiment in hypnotism. He had claimed he could hypnotize an entire room at the same time. To those hypnotized he had left a post hypnotic suggestion involving the word huckleberries. I remembered the occasion but felt I had not been hypnotized. It came as a disappointment and a source of pique to learn that I had unwittingly surrendered my mind to this man. He had selected me from the audience because of my age. This had been the epitome of effrontery toward me by this man. I felt I should sue for something but didn’t know exactly for what.
Professor Collins stated that when he uttered huckleberries, that word would trigger a post hypnotic suggestion that would immediately put me under his control. Then he would be able to send me back in time using a special adaptation of virtual reality. Apparently the experiment had worked and I had gone back to 1937. Though intended to be virtual, it had felt utterly real. What I had experienced, seemingly over several hours, had all been done within a time frame of only a few minutes. He, himself, had not been with me at any point, he asserted.
Then I remembered the book. I showed Professor Collins the Poppy Ott book. How could I have a material book in my hands though the experiment had been one of virtual reality? The sight of the book bewildered him. He reluctantly admitted that he had no answer. “Give me a moment,” he said, more to himself than to me. He closed his eyes and went silent, trance-like, for several minutes. Finally, opened his eyes and spoke.
“Mr. Gordon,” he said, “I conclude you had that book in your possession all along. You could not have gotten it in 1937. There is no other explanation.”
I was about to controvert his remark when there was a voice from the intercom. “Professor, there is a woman here with a letter and a demand for money.”
“Send her in!”
The door opened and a woman in postal uniform entered. She handed a battered envelope to Professor Collins. “Professor, she said, this envelope was mailed to you in June 1937. On behalf of the Postal Service, we apologize for its condition and the delay in its delivery. There is only a three cent stamp on it. I’ve been instructed to collect ninety-five cents postage due, but I have the authority to personally waive the fee, as a courtesy to you and the school, and I do so.” She left.
Professor Collins examined the envelope and its postmark, then opened the envelope. He pulled out a small plain-looking piece of paper with a bit of handwriting on it. He studied the paper and appeared stunned. He handed it to me. It was a receipt made out to the professor by the Acme Bonding Service. It was a receipt for one hundred dollars, bail money for the release from jail of one Roger Gordon. “Y-you were r-right, Mr. Gordon,” Professor Collins stuttered as he spoke to me. “It wasn’t virtual reality after all. You actually were in 1937 and I was there with you!”