A000-M000P000--1963_08_23-CPS-MASTER-COMBO--Treasure_Hunting-Part_010-220823-A

220624-B The Chestnut Point Stories As told by the storyteller Jack Chapman And written down word for word by Curt Kaltsukis ___ Introduction In this narrated story series, the jocund storyteller, Jack Chapman, takes us on a rambling journey through the curious history of the Patuxent River Mann Family from colonial times to the twentieth century. His peregrinations are full of anecdotes, vignettes, narratives, and the occasional canard, best described as “real whoppers.” The stories are concoctions of history and fiction blended with cupfuls of comedy, ample amounts of adventure, a measure of mystery, and a pinch of the paranormal, all topped with a relish of romance. They feature a hodgepodge of characters plucked, kicking, and screaming, out of the historical and cultural mixing pot of the Mid-Atlantic region of America. You will note that Jack often makes personal comments and observations during his narrations. And in his exuberance for the characters and settings, he sometimes wanders off the storyline for a while. However, we trust you will find the added detail and changing points of view he presents are well worth the indulgence. While in his company, expect to experience many intersections of the past with the present and the present with the future. And be forewarned; ghosts and past lives are very real in The Chestnut Point Stories. So, don’t be surprised to encounter, from time to time, a spirit or two or someone, including himself, who makes repeated appearances many generations or even centuries apart. Occasionally, the storyteller is confronted by a person who actually lived in the period in which one of his stories takes place and insists on setting the factual record straight. 1

220713-A The Time When Pop-Pop and Travis went treasure hunting – Prologue ___ Prologue In the autumn of 1958, Travis’s mother, Melanie Peters-Mann, who had been struggling with bouts of severe depression, landed a good- paying 9-to-5 job, found a comfortable, rent-controlled Greenwich Village apartment, and enrolled her two boys in the nearby elementary school. Even though eleven-year-old Travis and his eight-year-old half- brother, Gerald, had to share the extra bedroom in the small apartment, he had dibs on the bottom of their bunk bed and could get a good night’s sleep for a change. Sharing a single bed had been problematic because Gerald was a fitful sleeper who always stole the covers. And best of all, although Travis struggled in school from constantly being moved from place to place and school to school, he now had a fun new friend with whom he liked to hang out. His new friend was an effervescent ‘four-eyed’ kid named Phillip Myerson. Phillip had horrible-looking scars from getting his right arm stuck in the rollers of one of those old-fashioned washing machine tubs when he was four. And because of his poor eyesight, Phillip wore thick tortoise-shell coke-bottle-lensed eyeglasses. But after a while, Travis didn’t even see Phillip’s scars or his glasses. He was too busy trying to keep up with him. We say ‘four-eyes’ because Philip was repeatedly derided with that taunt by a playground bully before Travis got mad about it and stepped between them. The nasty-mouthed kid made the mistake of poking his finger obnoxiously into Travis’s face. Travis grabbed that index finger, 2

twisted it so that the palm pointed skyward, and ‘as easy as pie,’ brought that big brat to his knees, whimpering and pleading, “Please stop …let me go!” Travis learned that trick from one of his mother’s ex-boyfriends, who was a martial artist. After that, Travis and Phillip, now best friends, even went so far as to become blood brothers, making a cut into their thumbs with a pocket knife and pressing them together with a vow of allegiance. To top off the good turn of events, the hip beatnik owner of the bookshop below their apartment hired Travis to run errands and do odd jobs on the weekends. So Travis had some money jingling around in his pockets. But just when things were finally going in the right direction, Travis Mann’s life veered way off course. On the afternoon of Wednesday, December 3rd, 1958, Travis came home from school to find his mother lying unconscious on the kitchen floor with a needle in her arm! Travis’s younger half-brother, Gerald, was lounging without a care in the world on the living room sofa, watching cartoons and eating cereal. When Travis came into the room, Gerald remarked flatly, “I think she’s dead.” Travis was both stunned and angered by the realization that Gerald had stepped right over their mother while getting his bowl of cereal. Travis always felt that something was very wrong with Gerald, but that incident said it all to him and stuck in his craw for the rest of his life. Of course, the traumatic memory of what Gerald did to him twenty-six months later always took front and center, no matter what. But we’ll get to that. Thankfully, the medics who responded to Travis’s urgent phone call to the operator were able to resuscitate his mother and transport her by ambulance to the emergency room. The 9-1-1 call number wasn’t in use then. Travis’s mother, Melanie, survived the overdose. But, Travis learned from the policewoman sitting with them in the hospital waiting room that she had been instructed to notify Child Services ‘to take them 3

away.’ That was the last thing Travis wanted. So, he sweet-talked the female cop into delaying the call to Child Services by reassuring her, “My grandfather is coming to get us.” Travis then made a collect telephone call to his Pop-Pop at Chestnut Point in Maryland, explained the situation, and had him speak to the policewoman. Pretty impressive fast-thinking for an eleven-year- old, don’t you think? Without stopping to change out of his soiled denim barn clothes, Travis’s Pop-Pop, Charlie Mann hopped into his Austin Healey Sprite sports car and sped away on the three-and-a-half-hour, non-stop drive to the New York hospital. But just two hours after that, the supervising Sargent lost patience with the delay in notifying Child Services and ordered the policewoman to make the call. It was a nail-biter for Travis, but luckily Pop-Pop arrived in the nick of time to whisk them away before the caseworker could get there. Thank God But it was in no way a comfortable ride to Maryland because Charlie’s small sports car didn’t have a back seat, so Gerald had to sit on Travis’s lap the whole way to Chestnut Point. Travis and his half-brother Gerald lived with Pop-Pop and Aunt Jennie at Chestnut Point for just over two years. That was the happiest time of his life. Travis had his own bedroom for the first time ever. Pop-Pop and Aunt Jennie treated him, for the most part, like he was a real person capable of thinking for himself and making intelligent decisions. Not that this was always the case. And Travis was free to explore and play anywhere on the estate as long as he kept them in the loop about what he was doing. They were still boarding horses at Chestnut Point in the late ’50s and early ’60s. At first, Travis was fearful of the big, powerful animals. Jeb Greely, the manager of the stable, who lived in the old Hostler’s Cottage across the gravel lane, noted Travis’s trepidation. He patiently coaxed Travis up into the saddle and, in no time, flat, had him 4

galloping around the upper pasture and going on trail rides through the woods around Chestnut Point. And as it turned out, those early experiences learning to ride when he was eleven and twelve years old were formative to his love and ownership of horses later in Travis’s life. But living at Chestnut Point wasn’t all fun and games. Travis did have a ton of chores to do each day. And every morning during the school year, he and Gerald had to trek a half-mile up and down the long hilly, winding, gravel lane to Georgia Avenue to catch the bus, even when the weather was terrible. And Travis was still having trouble sleeping. He was beginning to think, Maybe it wasn’t Gerald keeping me up after all. Travis would lie awake in the middle of the night worrying about his mother or wondering what kind of fun Phillip was having without him. Worse yet, he suffered from earworms. Some silly TV commercial slogan, wacky line of cartoon dialogue, punchline from one of Pop-Pop’s jokes, or a song lyric he heard on the radio, would re-play over, and over, and over again in his brain, and he couldn’t make it stop. It didn’t help either that Travis kept hearing strange noises emanating from different parts of the Chestnut Point Manor House, but especially from the old farmhouse wing where Aunt Jennie's bedroom was. And there didn’t seem to be a logical explanation for the odd sounds, like wind blowing through gaps in the window frames, or the clinking & clunking & ssshh-ing of the antiquated hot water radiators, or Aunt Jennie’s Egyptian Mau cat, which was often active at night hunting mice. We ask for your indulgence to tell you about the cat. Jenny named that slim female feline ‘Bastet,’ after the Egyptian goddess. Bastet had spots like a leopard, could leap higher than Travis was tall, and outrun a horse. But she was very affectionate around humans, which belied her wild appearance. The cat was especially fond of Charlie and would always plop down right in the middle of whatever he was doing, whether it was repairing a broken piece of pottery, piecing together a 5

jigsaw puzzle, or working on his taxes. Charlie called her ‘Mousie.’ Get it … Mau—sie, which, to his delight, annoyed the heck out of Aunt Jennie, especially since everyone else at Chestnut Point adopted the use of that nickname as well. But we digress from our digression. As we mentioned, Aunt Jennie’s bedroom was on the second floor of the oldest wing of the Chestnut Point Manor House. That section was the original fieldstone farmhouse that Estella Chastaign had built onto Anders Hensen’s small chestnut-log trader’s cabin when she made Chestnut Point her permanent home in 1766. And that was the area in the Manor House where Travis and Gerald were not allowed. As explained to them, “The fragile and valuable belongings should remain as your many-times-great-grandmother left them.” But, when the opportunity presented itself, ‘just once,’ well, maybe a time or two more, Travis snuck in to poke around out of sheer curiosity. The wide-plank oak floors were hand-sawn and dowel pegged. The ten-foot-high walls of the first floor were lined with pewter candle sconces interspersed between framed oil paintings of pastoral scenes and family portraits. The staircase had ornate hand-turned balusters, treads that creaked with every step, and a handrail, which, because it had no newel knob at the base, was worn to bare wood from decades of children’s bottoms joyfully sliding down it. Each of the four bedrooms upstairs under the roofline had sloped ceilings with a pair of walk-in window dormers along the long exterior wall. An identical Quaker-made wardrobe stood next to the doorway in each of them, and between the dormers sat a dressing table with an adjustable mirror and porcelain washbasin. Dominating the brick end-wall of each bedroom was a large colonial fireplace, remodeled in the early 1800s to accommodate a more energy-efficient Rittenhouse metal insert. Adjacent to each fireplace was a private water closet, with a nook built into the side brick, holding a small copper tank and spigot to supply warm water for bathing. 6

Three of the four bedrooms were unoccupied, but the one on the southeast corner with the magnificent sunrise view over the Patuxent River Valley was where Aunt Jennie lived and slept. She was the sole occupant of the old farmhouse wing of the Chestnut Point Manor House, unless, of course, you considered the ghosts. Downstairs, off the first-floor central hallway, was an intimate music room with an ancient harpsichord and assemblage of orchestral wind and string instruments, none of which had been played since Estella died in 1801 on her one-hundred-third birthday. On those occasions when Travis snuck in to nose around, he was unaware that Estella's library was behind a hidden door in the elegantly paneled back wall of the music room with its grand mahogany writing desk and shelves lined with books. As was mentioned, that part of the Manor House was where Travis and Gerald were not allowed to venture. But, when you forbid someone to do something, it often makes them want to do it more. There is a term for that found in the Glossary of Enigmatic Phenomena rolled up and tied with a ribbon in the bottom drawer of the mahogany desk in Estella’s library. The term is Opposobedience, defined as the irresistible urge to do something which is forbidden. But we digress yet again. Where were we? Oh, yes. When Charlie Mann brought Travis and Gerald to live at Chestnut Point in early December of 1958, he was sixty-two years old, and his younger sister, Jennie, was fifty-eight. As you know, Charlie’s estranged daughter, Melanie Peters-Mann, was Travis’s mother. She felt that Charlie had abandoned her as a child. ‘My father, who claims to love me, failed to rescue me from a lonely and loveless childhood.’ In her mind, that was unforgivable. And in her mind, that was unforgivable. Sadly, whenever Charlie tried to tell Melanie the truth about what happened, his words fell on deaf ears. You see, Melanie was raised without companionship by nannies who were in the employ of her selfish, narcissistic mother, the 7

infamous silent-film actress, Lottie Peters. Lotte cared far more about her film career than her own child. And she didn't give a damn about Melanie's ‘nobody,’ father, Charlie Mann. Charlie and Lottie’s marriage had only lasted a split second, so he wasn’t around when Melanie grew up. But, honestly, the separation from his daughter was not Charlie’s fault. On his behalf, it must be said that the unfair restraining order, based on lies, that his ex-wife Lotte Peters obtained from the divorce court was the biggest betrayal and heartbreak in Charlie’s life. And though growing up without a father contributed to Melanie’s chronic depression and drug abuse, it certainly wasn’t the only cause. Jennie Mann, Charlie’s younger sister, never married, although in her youth, during the early 1920s, she had more than her share of lovers. In those hedonistic years, she was engaged in the ‘spiritualism- bohemian-free love’ movement and made a living doing hypnosis demonstrations and divinations at fairs and seaside resort amusement parks. Most folks back then didn’t realize that Jennie Mann’s gift of clairvoyance was authentic. Dabbling in spiritualism was commonplace in those days. The next-door neighbors brought out the Ouija board at holiday parties. The ‘Plain Jane’ in the office typing pool consulted tarot cards for guidance in love matters, and the ‘Average Joe’ buying flowers for her emulated celebrities like Rudolf Valentino, who famously flirted with mysticism. Plus, there were loads of charlatans and grifters exploiting people’s fascination with the occult. So at first glance, Jennie appeared just to be your cookie-cutter, petite, dark-haired, emerald-eyed beauty with lots of smarts, who would make an ideal wife for your tin-stamped, ambitious, handsome, hard- working bloke with money in the bank. But once in Jennie’s presence, those eager fellas felt like her piercing green eyes were x-raying them, exposing all of their innermost secrets. 8

Also, Jennie didn’t respond as expected to the flowers and bon-bon advances of the hopeful suitors. Instead, Jennie made them sit cross- legged with her on the floor in silent observance of the subtle sounds and movements in the surrounding environment. She called it ‘meditation,’ some kooky kind of esoteric trance practiced by so-called Swamis in India, of all places. Most of the men could not sit comfortably with their legs crossed like that for any appreciable amount of time. Therefore, they found it quite an unsatisfying, boring experience given over mainly to undressing Jennie in their minds. And heaven forbid Jennie should introduce them to Darcy Prendergast, her dear friend and self-appointed social gatekeeper. Darcy was a rebellious, short-haired lesbian hailing from Piccadilly Circus in London, who dressed in dapper men’s clothing, sported an ebony, silver-knobbed walking stick, and wore a monocle even though she had 20/20 vision. Then, pity the poor fellow because he became the subject of scrutiny so uncompromising and criticism so withering from Darcy that it could drive even the stoutest egoist into psychotherapy. Unsurprisingly, not many passed muster. However, one fellow named Robert Lightner made it through the gauntlet unscathed. Robert met Jennie Mann in 1924 when he was a senior at Georgetown University pursuing an Arts and Sciences degree. He was at the State Fair in Timonium with four fellow Georgetown University Mask and Bauble Society members.They were between productions and also taking a well-deserved weekend break from their studies. While strolling together down the crowded midway, they spotted a group of good-looking gals getting on the Spinning Teacups. So the young thespians took off running through the crowd to get tickets before the carnie closed the admission gate. But, Robert was held up behind a large family of nine who all stopped dead in their tracks after a scoop of ice cream fell from the littlest girl’s waffle cone onto the ground, and she started bawling at the top of her lungs. So, therefore, Robert became separated from his friends and missed getting on the ride with them. 9

Coincidentally, if you believe in such things, the spot where Robert was standing during the delay just happened to be directly in front of a midnight-blue, comet-patterned tent advertising divinations for 15¢. The female mystic depicted on the painted sandwich-board sign at the entrance looked eerily familiar to Robert. A shiver went up his spine. He felt that the woman was beckoning him to go inside. So, acting on impulse and forgetting all about his schoolmates, Robert Lightner entered the tent for a ‘divination’ by the spiritualist known as Madame Jenny Mann. The long version of their meeting and subsequent relationship is one we are saving for a special occasion and will be well worth the wait. But for now, suffice to say, Jennie immediately recognized the man who entered the tent, even though he didn’t look the same or have the same name. He was Jack Chapman, her close friend, lover, and eventual husband from a previous life when she lived in Annapolis during the mid-eighteenth century. Of course, in 1924, at the State Fair in Timonium, Robert Lightner knew absolutely nothing about any previous life. But he was about to find out. Well, anyway, let's get back to 1958 when Pop-Pop brought Travis and Gerald home with him from New York to Chestnut Point. You could say, ‘completely overwhelmed’ is the best description of how Charlie and Jennie quickly felt having Travis and Gerald living there in the Manor House. So they asked Clarita, their good-natured part-time Puerto Rican housekeeper, to take a full-time, live-in position at Chestnut Point as a household jack-of-all-trades responsible for the care of the two adolescent boys. Clarita gladly accepted the offer because she was living alone and feeling lonely at that time. Her husband had been a U.S. soldier, killed while fighting in the Korean War, and her last grown child had recently left home. Besides, Clarita had raised twin brothers, Ernesto and Esau, and their baby sister, Gabriella, so she knew a thing or two about kids. 10

At first, Charlie’s younger sister Jennie kept her distance from both boys as if they were an alien species from a flying saucer that should be regarded with caution. But Travis quickly wormed his way into his Aunt Jennie’s good graces, though not Gerald. Jennie never warmed up to him. In fact, she visibly recoiled when first introduced to Gerald and afterward appeared to handle the sallow-skinned, limp-postured stripling as if he were poisonous. She even voiced her disapproval of Gerald’s presence at Chestnut Point to her brother Charlie, but he would hear none of that. Charlie always looked for the good in people, and no one was irredeemable in his book. Except for one or two miserable excuses for human beings, like Martin Cooley, Jr., a narcissistic, drunken wife- beater who you will get to know, all-to-well, later in the story. You see, Charlie Mann liked and got along with almost everyone, especially kids. However, he did acknowledge that Gerald was an odd one, with his flat affect, fastidiousness, and sinister sense of humor. The Prelude preceding our story about Pop-Pop and Travis going treasure hunting is next. See you there. ♦♦♦ 11

220713-B The Time When Pop-Pop and Travis went treasure hunting – Prelude ___ Prelude Charlie Mann was getting up in years when he brought Travis and Gerald home from New York City in December of 1958 to live at Chestnut Point. It was only meant to be temporary until their mother, Charlie’s estranged daughter, Melanie Peters-Mann, got off drugs and put her life back in order. Unfortunately, the meaning of the word ‘temporary’ was constantly being revised during the months and years that followed because Melanie was good at getting clean but terrible at staying that way. It wasn’t until a decade later, when the relationship between clinical depression and drug abuse was better understood, that Melanie received the appropriate therapy, along with Methadone medication and a change of environment to the California coast, that helped her live a healthier, more normal life. But until then, it was a long, traumatic haul for herself and everyone who cared about her. Less than a month after the boys arrived, Jennie Mann, Charlie’s younger sister, turned fifty-nine -- on New Year’s at precisely one tick of the clock past midnight … or maybe not. It depended on which interpretation you accepted of exactly where the Majestic Star Luxury Liner was in proximity to the International Date Line in the Pacific Ocean at the exact moment when baby Jennie slipped out into the doctor’s hands, took her first breath, and started to cry. Would you believe the doctor who was pressed into emergency service during the New Year’s Eve celebration in the Grand Ballroom? He swore by his trusty Elgin wristwatch, which he had calibrated, then checked, and rechecked earlier that evening in anticipation of the 12

arrival of the New Year. Or, did you believe the Captain of the Majestic Star, who some crewmembers with him on the bridge later claimed, “fudged the time in his log by five full seconds to match up exactly with the moment that the bow of ocean liner crossed over 180th meridian from the nineteenth into the twentieth century?\" Who knows for sure, but 12:00:01, January 1, 1900, is what the doctor put on the birth record for baby Jennie Ochoa. You see, Jennie and her brother Charlie weren’t given the surname Mann until after their mother, Linda Ochoa, packed up her suitcase and beloved accordion and went off to live with Otis Freeman, a thoughtful, kind-hearted, colored streetcar conductor. And she left her children behind to be raised by Jim Mann, their famous, wealthy, self- absorbed white father, who never once said these important words to her, “I love you,” or, “Will you marry me.” Travis never forgot his first New Years’ Eve celebration at Chestnut Point. His Pop-Pop, Charlie, invited all his drinking buddies from the Millstone Bar & Grill, and their wives and kids too, some of whom he had never actually met in person. And surprisingly, they all came, including some of the partygoers’ uncles, aunts, and a grandparent or two. The kids played board games and snuck glasses of beer and wine. The grown-ups played oldies records on the Hi-Fi and danced the Jitterbug like when they were younger. Billy Blather’s wife, Fanny, the self-appointed DJ, got looped, tried to demonstrate the Lindy Hop, threw her back out, and spent the rest of the night laying on the couch loudly officiating what music should be played and numbing her pain with gin and tonics. And they told jokes, tales about each other’s antics, and war stories. Travis asked if any of them knew his father, Jake Tannenbaum, who was a fighter pilot in England during World War II, but none of them, including his Pop-Pop, Charlie, had ever met him. Jennie, whose birthday was also being celebrated that night, was much more reserved than her gregarious older brother. She insisted on not making a big fuss about it, but Clarita baked and frosted a huge 13

cake for her anyway. At the stroke of midnight, Clarita mischievously brought the cake out of the kitchen with all 59 candles lit, singing happy birthday in Puerto Rican Spanish, “Cumpleaños feliz, te deseamos a ti, cumpleaños a, cumpleaños feliz!” Which messed with the other ‘well lubricated’ reveler’s brains who were trying to sing along in English. Jennie didn’t even make an attempt to blow all the candles out. She had Travis do it instead. With everyone gathered around in anticipation of his championship try, Travis sucked in as much air as he possibly could, “FFEEWwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww--w—w—w----w-----w------ w------w-------w----------w-----------w----w---w----w--wwwew,” as long and hard as he was able but at the end just did not – have – enough--- air ---- left ----- to ------get ------- the -------- 59th -- candle out! Close but no cigar. “Sorry,” Travis sighed to his Aunt Jennie. She smiled, leaned over, and blew out that last candle with one small, effortless puff, then said, “No problem dear. That’s the only one that really counts anyway.” At that, the onlookers laughed, cheered, and roundly applauded! Then, despite the cold drizzle that night, Charlie dragged out a big wooden box filled with illegal fireworks to usher in the New Year and celebrate his baby sister’s birthday with a bang. He and his Millstone drinking buddies, acting like a bunch of foolish teenagers, spent the next hour setting them off -- cheering the good ones and groaning in unison at the duds. Remarkably, they all survived without losing a hand or an eye or setting their clothes on fire. Although Charlie was starting to feel the aches and pains of getting old, he felt rejuvenated having the youngsters around. It gave him a legitimate excuse to do all the fun stuff that kids enjoyed, like visit the Enchanted Forest Amusement Park in Ellicott City, see the Miracle on 14

34th Street Christmas lights display in the Hamden neighborhood of Baltimore, and tour the National Zoo in Washington D.C. to look at the wild and exotic animals. Gerald tagged along with Charlie and Travis for a while but quickly lost interest. He preferred staying home to clean and decorate his room or having Clarita take him shopping for new clothes and purchase fashion magazines, as unusual as that seemed for a boy. From those periodicals, Gerald cut out images of runway models to paste in scrapbooks. People assumed that he was just one of ‘those boys who liked girl stuff’ and wanted to be a clothes designer, fashion photographer, or something along those lines when he grew up. Unknown at that time, Gerald’s behavior foreshadowed a future secretive adult life in both England and the United States as a serial killer of glamourous, expensively-dressed women. But that was a long, convoluted, real-life murder mystery waiting to be solved by detectives twenty-one years into the future. Travis and his half-brother, Gerald, were nothing alike. Travis certainly had his share of problems, but Gerald’s ‘what-ever-you-call-it’ disorder was not one of them. Not only did the two siblings not look or act alike, but they also had distinctly contrasting personalities as well. Perhaps, that was because their fathers came from different countries, cultural upbringings, and were in most ways polar opposites. But right now, let’s forgo the temptation to unravel that psychological Gordian knot so that we can get back to our story. Nevertheless, Pop-Pop and Travis were having a blast. They branched out from visiting the regular touristy destinations to go see the Baltimore Orioles play at Memorial Stadium. They especially liked it when the Yankees were the visitors. Pop-Pop would root for the Orioles and Travis for the Yankees, and if their team won, they got bragging and ribbing rights until the next home series between the two teams. Or they would take in a new horror film like “The Fly,” “The Blob,” “Horror of Dracula,” “The Tingler,” and “House on Haunted 15

Hill.” You couldn’t tell who liked the chills and thrills more, Pop-Pop or Travis. And they never passed up an ice cream parlor or miniature golf course. Pop-Pop was especially keen on playing miniature golf to replenish his stash of those ‘great little pencils’ that fit perfectly into his shirt pocket along with his handicapping notepad. You see, Charlie Mann made his living as a racehorse handicapper at the track. And he was one of the best. That was because Charlie grew up around thoroughbred horses, was studiously intrigued by their individual personalities and behavior, and therefore developed an innate and intuitive understanding of the animals as athletes. Not only that, growing up, Charlie was a mathematics whiz kid, fascinated by statistics. At five years old, already, he would race to beat his father to the daily newspaper on the doorstep of their magnificently ornate Queen Anne mansion in the garden suburb of Roland Park in North Baltimore. Charlie would then hurry to the cavernous paneled dining room to pour over the stock market reports, that-day-in-history weather comparisons, the baseball box scores, and especially the daily horse racing forms. It was amusing to see little jam-faced Charlie kneeling on the cushion of an Eastlake carved walnut dining chair in a whimsically printed children’s knee-length Victorian nightshirt, sipping coffee, beside his business-attired father, Jim Mann, with the morning news spread out on the table in front of them. Yes, Travis’s deceased great-grandad, Jim Mann, let little Charlie drink coffee, watered-down beer, and wine and place an occasional bet at the track. And his younger sister, Jennie as well, if she wanted. ‘Big you-know-what deal!’ That’s what Jim Mann did as a kid, and he turned out to be a millionaire. Well, anyway, after a while, Charlie started taking Travis to the horse races at Laurel Park, Bowie Racetrack, and Pimlico in Baltimore. Travis sat in the stands alongside Pop-Pop, drinking sodas, munching on snacks, and discussing the horses and the odds for each race. Occasionally, if Travis had a strong feeling about a particular horse, 16

Pop-Pop would place the bet for him – but not before carefully explaining the pros and cons and his chance of winning. Pop-Pop always made Travis use his own money and never interfered with his decision, no matter how foolish. When one of the long-shot picks paid out, despite his Pop-Pop’s cautionary advice, Travis would always do an ‘I-told-you-so’ happy dance and hand Pop-Pop a dollar from his winnings to buy a celebratory beer and Coca-Cola, saying, “This round’s on me!” In 1961, Clarita marked Thursday, February 2nd, on the calendar to observe Candlemas, which was on a school day. So, Clarita requested that Travis be excused from school to help build a shrine and attend church with her afterward. That was fine by Charlie because, technically speaking, he too was a Catholic. We say technically because he only went to church for weddings and funerals or to confess really, really big sins. On the other hand, Charlie did regularly attend penny poker night at the rectory and prayed for good cards. But on the morning of Candlemas, Clarita went back to bed with a high fever, chills, and a croupy-sounding cough. So Travis, who was left at home with a free day off school, went with Charlie to the races instead. Because Charlie’s Austin Healey Sprite was running rough again -- surprise, surprise – he parked it in the lot at the Bowie Racetrack and they took the race day circuit bus from there to Pimlico in Baltimore. Then later that afternoon, Charlie and Travis caught the Race Train back to Bowie for the big payout ‘Groundhog Day Stakes Race,’ to conclude that day’s program. But while pulling off onto the spur towards the small Bowie racecourse station, the train jumped the tracks and rolled onto its side! The sound of shattering windows and groaning of twisting metal was deafening. Most of the passengers, including Pop-Pop and Travis, were thrown violently from their seats. Some passengers were killed and many more 17

suffered broken bones and deep lacerations. Both Pop-Pop and Travis were severely bruised and sustained multiple cuts and scratches. Yet, they were able to come to the aid of those in dire need of assistance. They didn’t realize the extent of their own injuries until the adrenalin surge subsided. To their total disbelief, some of the wounded racetrack junkies pulled themselves from the smoking wreckage and stumbled like zombies to the track clubhouse to get their bets in before the start of the race. One of them had a broken collarbone. Travis’s other grandfather, Werner Tannenbaum, in West Reading, Pennsylvania, whom we are just now introducing to you, went ballistic after recognizing Travis and Charlie in a photo that accompanied the train derailment story in the newspaper. Werner was already threatening to go to court to get custody of his grandson away from ‘that Reprobate’ Charlie Mann when ‘the straw that broke the camel’s back' happened just two weeks later. Thirteen days after the train wreck at the Bowie Racetrack, Gerald found a loaded .38-caliber pistol in Charlie’s bed stand. Both Charlie and Aunt Jennie were away from Chestnut Point that day. What was Gerald doing going through the things in Pop-Pop’s room? That’s an excellent question. Gripping the gun in his right hand, Gerald walked down the hall to Travis’s bedroom. When Gerald reached the open doorway, Travis was sitting on the side of his bed beside the Dansette record player Pop-Pop gave him for Christmas. He was focused on gently lowering the tonearm to set the stylus onto one of his rock n’ roll singles so as not to scratch it. Gerald’s sudden appearance startled Travis so badly that the tonearm almost slipped from his fingers. He exclaimed, “Oh God, Gerald! You scared the hell out of me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Gerald raised the pistol and said, “Look what I found.” Travis stood up and started to respond, “What the heck, Ger …” Before Travis could finish his sentence, a cold, vacant look came into Gerald’s eyes, and he pulled the trigger, BANG! 18

“SShhiitt!!!” Travis yowled as Gerald put a .38-caliber slug through his pectoralis muscle where it connected to his left shoulder and blew him backward onto the bed. Then, as Travis lay there bleeding profusely and going into shock, Gerald calmly walked downstairs to tell Clarita that he ‘accidentally’ shot Travis with a gun he found in Charlie’s room. Clarita, who, in her early twenties as a nursing student and an anti- fascist member of the Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, had gone to Spain during the civil war and served as a medic during the siege of Madrid. Don’t ask, it’s a long story. But we promise to tell it to you some other time. During that conflict, Clarita saw and treated many horrific gunshot wounds. So, even though it had been a good twenty years since the Spanish Civil War, Clarita’s early medical training and battlefield experience kicked in out of reflex. First of all, she did not elevate Travis’s legs to treat his shock because she knew doing that made gunshot wounds to the chest bleed faster and breathing more difficult. And because she was having trouble slowing the bleeding just by applying pressure with the wadded-up sheet using her hands, Clarita got up on the bed and pressed her knee upon the wound. The gunshot was a through-and- through with an entry right at that slight hollow where the breast muscles connected to the shoulder and an exit through the left scapula in the back. Fortunately, the bullet missed Travis’s heart by a good inch but did shatter his shoulder blade and a rib on the way out. Travis experienced chronic pain from that trauma to his chest, shoulder blade, and rib for the rest of his life. But something good did come of it. One physical therapist encouraged Travis to take up the guitar to rehabilitate the strength and dexterity of his left arm and fingers. And we all know where that led. When Gerald pulled the trigger, Jeb Greely was outside at the stable, within earshot of the Manor House, unloading sacks of feed from the bed of his pickup truck. Jeb knew a gunshot when he heard one and came running to the house. The only person he encountered 19

on the first floor upon entering was Gerald, who didn’t say a word but instead pointed nonchalantly up the stairs. Clarita and Jeb, working together, managed to slow the bleeding, load Travis onto the back of the pickup truck, and race to the nearby health clinic in Sunshine, run by Miriam Bosley, M.D, a notable local black physician. There, Dr. Bosley was able to get Travis stabilized and onto an ambulance to Holy Cross Hospital in Germantown, about ten miles away. The police were summoned to Chestnut Point, but there wasn’t much they could do besides file a report. Charlie had a permit for the pistol, and the incident by a minor without any record did, in fact, appear to be an accident. So they referred the case to Child Services for a follow-up investigation and left it at that. Travis was a patient at Holy Cross for fifty-eight days while recovering from the gunshot wound and multiple surgeries. Ironically, it was sepsis contracted while in the hospital that almost killed him. That’s when the attending physician told Charlie that “his odds of survival are not good, and it would be a long shot for Travis to make it.” Well, you can be sure that Charlie Mann spent more time on his knees in church praying during those fifty-eight days than the rest of his life combined. Charlie’s prayers must have helped because Travis pulled out of it with his sense of humor intact. One day toward the end, when he felt well enough to go for a short walk around the hospital grounds with Pop-Pop, Travis did his ‘I told you so’ happy dance, handed him a dollar from one of his get-well cards to buy a celebratory beer and said, “This round’s on me.” Later that evening at the Millstone Bar & Grill, Charlie took that special dollar bill from his wallet, asked the bartender for a bottle of Natty Boh, and thought while drinking it, This is by far the best beer I’ve ever had. That would have made for a happy ending, except during the time 20

Travis was in the hospital, Werner, his other grandfather in Pennsylvania, went to court and was granted custody. So, almost two months to the day after being shot by Gerald with a .38-caliber handgun and finally well enough to travel, Child Services came to the hospital to get Travis. And they took him against his will and with tears in his eyes away from Chestnut Point and his Pop-Pop to live with his grandparents, Werner and Elsie Tannenbaum, on Pavilion Park Drive in West Reading. Another two months later, Gerald was diagnosed at the Kennedy Krieger Institute in Baltimore as having a ‘sadistic personality disorder.’ Gerald had just started weekly therapy sessions with a pediatric psychiatrist when his skeptical father flew in from England to take Gerald back to live there under the care of his family physician. (You can guess what came of that. Part 1 to begin our story is next. See you there. ♦♦♦ 21

MSTR-220823-A 1963-When Pop-Pop and Travis went treasure hunting – Part 1 ___ Part 1 Travis Mann’s sixteenth birthday in late August of 1963 was a real humdinger. And it all revolved around the 1954 Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible with a “For Sale” sign taped on the windshield parked in the driveway next door to his grandparents’ house in West Reading, Pennsylvania. The snazzy, yellow convertible belonged to the neighbor Earnest Hamel before he died of a heart attack while proudly marching with the American flag in the lead of his Boy Scout troop during the Reading Fourth of July parade. Travis liked Earnest and his wife, Dorothy. Unlike many grown-ups, they weren’t condescending or impatient with kids, even if they got into trouble or came from broken homes. Mrs. Hamel always greeted Travis warmly and showed genuine interest in what he had to say. And whenever Mr. Hamel fixed, tuned up, or washed his Buick Skylark, he asked Travis to help and paid him like it was a real job. That was why Travis became interested in working on cars in the first place and got into the high school Automotive Vo Tech Program. Travis often wished he could live with Mr. and Mrs. Hamel instead of his Tannenbaum grandparents. Actually, he would have been fine if it was just with his Oma, Elsie. But, he hated being under the thumb of his grandfather, Werner. The Hamels were one of those lovely married couples who wanted to have children of their own, but unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. So instead, they took it upon themselves to mentor boys and girls in whatever capacity they could. Earnest was an aircraft maintenance supervisor at the Reading Airport who served as a troop leader for the 22

Boy Scouts in his spare time. Dorothy was a housewife with a degree in Behavioral Psychology who volunteered at the local social services agency. Dorothy and Earnest took the gregarious but troubled teenager living next door to them under their wing. And they privately expressed concerns about the stern and uncompromising disciplinary methods used by Werner, Travis’s grandfather and court-appointed custodian. From the disparaging way that Werner spoke to and about his grandson, it was apparent that he was neither interested nor capable of being a supportive father figure to the boy. Subsequently, it came to their attention that Travis’s mother in New York City, Melanie Peters- Mann, was a recovering drug addict. They also learned that his grandfather in Maryland, Charlie Mann, whose company Travis greatly missed, had been restricted by the court from spending time with him without supervision. So, to the Hamels, it was a no-brainer why Travis appeared so sad underneath his joking ‘devil may care’ façade. Soon after Travis was brought by Child Services to live with the Tannenbaums next door, Earnest noted that Travis, who didn’t have a father and was desperate for a male role model, showed an interest in cars, particularly in his Roadmaster. Then Earnest had an epiphany. An easy way to establish a bond with the unhappy adolescent would be to ask Travis to assist with the maintenance and repair of the car. Earnest ran the idea past his wife, Dorothy. Her immediate reaction was, “Honey, I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Dorothy had also observed that, like many teenage boys, Travis was crazy about cars. Under Earnest’s mentorship, Travis would be doing something he thought was ‘cool’ and give him a sense that he had something valuable to offer, which would help with his self-esteem. Over the next two years, Earnest and Travis developed an easy- going, male working relationship and friendship by maintaining the automobile together. And in the process, Travis learned quite a bit about repairing and caring for cars. In fact, the experience inspired Travis to specialize in automotive repair in Vo Tech. Instead of feeling 23

embarrassed at being one of the quote-unquote ‘dumb kids’ sent to trade school, Travis looked forward to the half-days spent there. Then, as Travis approached the age of sixteen and got his learner’s permit, Earnest offered to teach him how to drive. Werner and Elsie were thankful and relieved because they had been dreading that eventuality. Earnest purchased some orange traffic cones and went to the State Police station to get a current driver’s manual. Afterward, he took Travis out in the Buick to an empty parking lot for driving and parallel parking practice on weekends. He also quizzed Travis on the manual to prepare him for the driving test. On July 4th, Travis went with his pals, Debbie and Mike, to the big Reading city parade instead of the smaller one given by the borough of West Reading. So coincidentally, they were right there among the onlookers cheering from the sidewalk when Mr. Hamel suddenly collapsed at the head of his Boy Scout troop. His thick-lensed eyeglasses fell to the pavement and were accidentally kicked away. Seeing that, Travis dashed out to save them from being crushed under the wheels of the Reading Fairgrounds Speedway pageant float, coming up right behind. He stepped in front of it, frantically waving his arms. Fortunately, it was already slowing to a halt. That year’s Miss Reading, the vivacious twenty-year-old Megan Myers, was riding atop the hood of a stock car fashioned out of paper mache and flowers. Adorning her Jackie Kennedy flipped bob hairdo was her glittering first-place tiara, and draped across the front of her elegant low-cut gown was her Miss Reading 1963 satin sash. She stopped waving to the crowd and stood to see what the delay was. Travis’s eyes met hers for a split second, just long enough for him to fall in love. If that is what you call a teenage boy’s crush on an older woman. We will have much more to tell you about Travis and Megan Myers later. Travis grabbed the glasses and ran back to Mr. Hamel, who was lying in the middle of the street with his scout troop gathered around 24

him. When Travis gently placed the glasses back on his nose, Mr. Hamel opened his eyes long enough to say, “Travis? Travis, thank you.” And his last words before passing were, “Promise to take good care of the Roadmaster.” During the memorial service for Earnest, held the following week, his wife Dorothy eulogized, “My Earnest was a very patriotic man who often said how disappointed he was at being denied enlistment into the military during the War. But I was relieved because Earnest was so gung-ho that I was sure he would get himself killed.” The family and friends sitting in the front pews nodded in sympathetic agreement. Dorothy continued, “He did die in support of his country, as it turned out. It just took twenty-four years longer than I thought.” Mrs. Hamel’s words prompted Travis to reflect on his father, Jake Tannenbaum, whom he never knew. He had been a decorated fighter pilot who survived being shot down twice during World War II. Ironically, he was taken out by pancreatic cancer two years later, stateside. Jake died in the same Reading hospital two days after Travis was born. He hung on stubbornly, just long enough to see and hold his newborn son once before succumbing to the disease. Travis’s sixteenth birthday was on August 23rd, one month, two weeks, and three days after Mr. Hamel died of a heart attack. He must have been working on the problem in his sleep because when Travis’s eyes popped open at 7:06 a.m., the solution was fully formulated in his head. He knew exactly how to get the $1,000 to buy the 1954 Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible for sale in Hamel’s driveway next door. That was the bargain price Dorothy Hamel was offering exclusively to him for the mint condition, special edition sports car. He was going to cash in the savings bonds his West Reading grandparents had given him every year for Christmas since he was five. With that plan of action in mind, Travis excitedly jumped out of bed, hurriedly dressed, and went downstairs. Before Werner left for work, he was going to request a very, very special sixteenth birthday 25

present, to cash in his savings bonds to buy Mr. Hamel’s Buick Skylark. Well, actually, Travis wasn’t going to ask for permission. He was going to insist on it! After all, he thought, it is my own money. Those savings bonds were given to me as a gift. They belong to me, and I should be able to spend that money however I want. Like any typical sixteen-year-old boy with a learner’s permit, Travis was eager to have his own car. However, that particular automobile held great significance to him. In fact, Travis felt that he had a solemn obligation and responsibility to buy the Buick and take good care of it because of the promise he made to Mr. Hamel in the moments before he died. And Travis was determined to make good on that promise. However, there was one big hitch in Travis’s plan. Werner had stipulated that those savings were reserved specifically for his only grandson to get a higher education. But Travis, struggling academically and in the automotive Vo Tech program in high school, didn’t see the point of going to college. Instead, his dream job after high school was to work on race cars at the Reading Fairgrounds Speedway. Those familiar with Werner Tannenbaum would know that he was the straight-laced money manager for the Charitable Ministries of Berks County, with pragmatic, conservative values. He listened to Travis’s emphatic plea to cash in the savings bonds to buy the Buick and then firmly put his foot down. “Absolutely not, that money is for college.” He then lectured Travis, “How you spend your money determines what sort of person you become.” and “Thrift is a virtue in God’s eyes.” Travis looked to his Oma for support, knowing that she was also an unhappy victim of Werner’s stern dominance. She was sympathetic to Travis but afraid to express it in her husband’s presence, so she looked down to avoid his gaze then fled into the other room. At that, Travis boiled over in anger, using colorful language laced with expletives, which translated to something like this: “I hate your guts. I can’t stand living here! I am not going to college. So you can shove it.” 26

Werner took the brunt of the diatribe, unflinching with his arms crossed, then announced, “You’re on restriction. Go up to your room until you can mind your mouth and get your head on straight. You are not allowed to come downstairs until I return home this afternoon. And then I expect an apology.” As Werner was leaving for work, Travis heard his Oma downstairs in the front doorway through the open bedroom window, saying, “For heaven’s sake, Werner, it’s the boy’s sixteenth birthday.” About an hour later, after Werner had left for work, Travis snuck quietly down the stairs from his room to the telephone in the hall to call his Pop-Pop, Charlie, at Chestnut Point. As you know, Charlie Mann lost custody of Travis and was ordered by the family court not to have any contact with him without court- approved supervision. That ruling from the judge came as a result of the train derailment at the Bowie Racetrack on February 2nd, 1961, and an incident just two weeks later at the Chestnut Point Manor House, when Travis was shot … um, accidentally, by his younger half-brother Gerald, with a gun found in Pop-Pop’s bed stand. Then when Travis went to call Chestnut Point that morning, a truly bizarre thing happened. After lifting the telephone handset to his ear, Travis was amazed to hear his Aunt Jennie already on the line greeting him before he even dialed the number. “Travis.” “Yes, Aunt Jennie, this is me,” he whispered, cupping his hand around the voice end of the handset. “Hello, Dear. I wanted to say happy birthday and tell you that we love you.” “Thank you, Aunt Jennie. I love you too. Is Pop-Pop there?” “Oh, you are too late, dear,” she said, “he left in the taxi a few minutes ago.” “Taxi? Where to?” Travis asked. 27

“To West Reading...” she replied, puzzled that Travis wasn’t aware of something so obvious. “Where you are, dear.” “Aunt Jennie, that’s crazy. Why is Pop-Pop taking a taxi all the way here to West Reading?” “If you don’t already know, I can’t tell you. It’s supposed to be a surprise, dear,” Aunt Jennie told him. “But listen, I sent along a gift for you,” adding cryptically, “to keep your Pop-Pop’s memories of the time spent with you alive. Goodbye, dear, happy birthday, hanging up now.” Travis heard the receiver click, then the dial tone. How weird, he thought. Aunt Jennie was already on the line before I even dialed. How is that possible? And what did she mean by ‘keep the memories alive,’ and what kind of gift could she mean? Unknown to Travis, about an hour before he made that phone call to Chestnut Point, his Oma, Elsie, had beat him to the punch with the same idea. She was beyond fed up with Werner’s overbearing treatment of their grandson. And she knew that only one person in the world could put things right with Travis. So, after Werner disappeared around the corner of Pavilion Park Drive on his way to work, Elsie immediately telephoned Travis’s Maryland grandfather, Charlie Mann. Elsie wanted to make her grandson happy, not just on the surface but deep down where it mattered. So she asked Charlie to please come to West Reading to purchase the Buick Skylark for Travis as a birthday present. It didn’t take convincing for Charlie to drop everything and set off on an impromptu mission from Chestnut Point to West Reading, Pennsylvania, to surprise his Amigo. That was the nickname he had given Travis after Clarita, the live-in household manager at the Chestnut Point Manor House, started calling the two of them ‘Charlie and his little amigo.’ “How much do they want for the car?” Charlie asked. 28

Elsie responded, “Dorothy, our next-door neighbor, said a thousand dollars. She’s the one selling it. Her husband, Earnest, died last month, and it was his car. He liked Travis, and so did she, I mean, does … she likes Travis too. She told me $1,000 is way less than what it’s worth.” Charlie had no idea what a ’54 Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible went for, but the asking price was no problem for him. He had loads of money and plenty of time on his hands. And he would jump at any chance to do something extra special for his grandson, Travis. Charlie also recognized that this was an unexpected opportunity to tie up some loose ends in his own life. Charlie was still full of vim and vigor at sixty-seven years old, but his younger sister, the clairvoyant, Madame Jennie Mann, had given him an ominous glimpse into his future. And it didn’t look too bright. So, Charlie figured this might be his last chance to find the lost Spanish silver, which, as family legend had it, was buried somewhere near the Patuxent River, close to the town of Benedict in southern Maryland. Plus, he could also take care of that unfinished business in Havre de Grace, which just happened to be on the way. As for Elsie, she was afraid that, because of Werner, Travis would never come back to visit her or even stay in touch when he grew up and left home for good. And it made her cry inside. So, by arranging this birthday surprise for Travis, she could prove to him how much she loved and supported him before it was too late. So conversely, it didn’t take much persuasion on Charlie’s part to enlist Elsie’s assistance in a deception that would allow him and Travis to spend a few precious unsupervised days having fun together like they used to do. You see, Werner was Travis’s legal custodian. He would never allow his grandson to go on a road trip alone with ‘That Reprobate,’ as he called Charlie Mann, to God knows where, for three whole days in an 29

expensive, albeit used, sports car that he had expressly forbidden Travis to buy. Therefore, Elsie proposed telling an outright lie to her husband. She would say that she had purchased two round-trip Greyhound tickets for Travis to visit his mother at the Daytop Village in Staten Island, where she was recovering from depression and drug addiction. She would also tell Werner that Luke Desilva, Travis’s court-approved chaperone, had accompanied him. And that they had left for New York City on the bus that afternoon. But those shenanigans had to be kept secret from ‘Das Fuhrer,’ as Charlie derisively referred to Werner. Charlie enthusiastically responded to Elsie’s request without hesitation. “I’ll be there by noon.” Part 2 of our story is next. See you there. ♦♦♦ 30

220713-B The When Pop-Pop and Travis went treasure hunting – Part 2* ___ Part 2* After hanging up the telephone, Charlie immediately called a taxi because his Austin Healy Sprite was in the repair shop, waiting for parts for the umpteenth time. And there was no way the ancient Ford pickup truck he used for working around the Chestnut Point property would make it all the way up to West Reading, Pennsylvania. “Come again?” the surprised cab company dispatcher asked upon hearing his destination. Quickly looking it up, she noted that West Reading was 120 miles away from Sunshine, Maryland. She warned, “I might not be able to find a driver willing to make the trip. But if I do, you will have to pay the full round-trip fare in advance, plus gas. Give me your number. I will call you back if I have any luck.” Charlie was dead set on getting to West Reading by noon that day, one way or the other. If the taxi ride didn’t pan out, he would figure out another way to get there. Charlie even considered borrowing the souped-up 1933 Ford Coupe hotrod with flames painted along the sides that Billy Blathers kept in an outbuilding behind the Millstone Bar & Grill. Officially, Billy only took the hotrod out for car shows and the occasional Sunday morning drive to keep the battery charged. However, now and then, Billy was known to burn rubber on some remote country roads, usually with Charlie Mann in the passenger seat, hanging onto his beer for dear life. While waiting for the return phone call from the dispatcher, Charlie hurried to his bedroom on the second floor of the Manor House. He finished packing his tan leather Louis Vuitton suitcase and toted it to the front entrance foyer on the first floor down the grand staircase and the length of the central hallway. 31

That designer suitcase was purchased for Charlie by Lotte Peters, the infamous silent film siren, along with a white tie & tails Eddie Schmidt tuxedo, to attend the 1937 Academy Awards Ceremony in Los Angeles. The tuxedo was long gone three decades later. Charlie sold it to a movie studio prop rental company after he and Lotte were divorced. However, Charlie still used the suitcase whenever he traveled. Next, Charlie went into his office to open the wall safe hidden behind a framed oil painting of his father, Jim Mann, on a Pope Columbia high-wheel bicycle. In the picture, painted in 1881, he was crossing the finish line in first place at the St. Louis Fairgrounds Racetrack. From the safe, Charlie retrieved fifteen hundred dollars in cash to buy the car for Travis and a burgundy velvet ring box encasing an exquisite diamond engagement ring he had put there for safekeeping twenty-nine years before. Before placing the ring box into an alligator skin valise, Charlie couldn’t resist opening it to examine the brilliance of the Asscher 58-facet diamond set into an inlaid platinum mounting adorned with eight mine-cut diamonds. Lifting the ring to the light, he experienced the same reaction of delight he’d had when he first saw it in the jewelry store in Havre Grace. You see, the presentation of an expensive engagement ring was often fraught with nervous anticipation, no matter the age of the love- struck suitor, and overshadowed by the looming question, What if she says no? However, this time around, Charlie was not hoping for a ‘yes,’ nor was he dreading a ‘no’ from the love of his life, Jackie Jean Osterman. Rather, Charlie wanted to show Jackie Jean that he had never stopped loving her despite all the years spent apart. Giving her the ring was at the top of Charlie’s list of things ‘to-do’ while he still could. Lastly, down the stairs, Charlie lugged an equipment case approximately the size of a viola. It held a newly-invented, mail-order Hunter metal detector he had seen in a treasure hunting magazine bought on a whim from a newsstand. Oddly, he thought he heard someone with a low, raspy voice whispering in his ear, “Get it now, 32

before it’s too late.” Charlie turned to see who spoke, but no one was there. The handheld electronic device had been delivered by Parcel Post just the day before. The metal detector’s seemingly prescient arrival had coincided with Charlie’s unplanned trip to West Reading, giving him the perfect excuse to check off another item from his list. And Charlie was as eager as a kid at Christmas to give it a try in his quest, put off far too long, to find the lost Spanish silver of Benedict Town. Thinking he was alone in the entrance hallway of the Chestnut Point Manor House, Charlie was unaware of the ghostly presence of Julius Teller, standing beside him in gleeful self-congratulation. It had been a long, frustrating task, but Julius finally motivated Charlie to renew the search for the treasure stolen in 1723. Recovering his stolen silver was the unfinished business keeping Julius hanging about on the earthly plane for all those years. It was never easy for a ghost to communicate their wishes to the living, but if they refused even to acknowledge the existence of the spirit world, it was almost impossible. Yet, Julius had finally succeeded through sheer stubborn persistence and by recruiting the help of Charlie’s sister, Jennie. We’ll refrain from sharing all the particular details of that Chestnut Point ghost story right now because they are best elucidated by firelight in the dead of night when unseen creatures are scurrying about in the surrounding darkness. While Charlie waited impatiently for a return call from the taxi dispatcher, his sister Jennie left her second-floor room in the colonial stone farmhouse wing of the Manor House carrying a six-inch cubical gift-wrapped box. She stepped carefully down the old creaky wooden stairs and through the propped-open double doors into the main central hallway. Handing the box to her brother, Jennie quietly but firmly demanded, “Make sure Travis knows this birthday gift is from me.” 33

Seeing Charlie’s nod of agreement, Jennie abruptly turned and strode back through the open double doors into the old farmhouse. Unnoticed by her brother, she paused momentarily with her hand on the carved wooden scroll at the end of the staircase banister and looked back for Julius before stepping onto the first tread. Realizing that the ghost wished to stay behind, Jenny continued alone to the second floor. After forty long minutes, just when Charlie was ready to give up on the taxi the telephone rang. Answering it, he was informed by the dispatcher that a driver was on the way and would be there soon. Glancing out the foyer window, Charlie spotted the taxi, already arriving, kicking up gravel and dust as it came over the crest of the hill and around the bend past the stable towards the Manor House. Pulling up to the front door, the tremendously obese driver, ‘Big Benjamin,’ as he was known to the locals, leaned over to look out the open passenger side window and asked, “West Reading?” “That’s me,” Charlie answered. He recognized Big Benjamin, having seen him around from time to time, but didn’t know him personally. Big Benjamin was so large his body took up almost half of the front car seat, and his belly barely cleared the steering wheel. The thought came into Charlie’s head. How in the heck did he get into the taxi in the first place? He must have been placed there fully deflated, then pumped up like a balloon so he could fit. But then Charlie chastised himself because he disliked when people made fun of others. Charlie moved his suitcase, alligator-skin valise, and metal detector case around to the back of the taxi and then asked the driver to open up the trunk. “The trunk lock is broken. You’ll have to use the back seat,” Big Benjamin informed him. Skeptical, Charlie suspected the real reason was that Big Benjamin found it difficult to get in and out of the car and didn’t want to admit it. It meant that Charlie would have to share the front seat with the 34

enormous driver the whole way to West Reading. Then, for a second time, Charlie chastised himself for being insensitive. Still, he joked to himself, Or, maybe there is a dead body in there! Soon after getting on the highway, Charlie realized that Big Benjamin was depressed about something. He wasn’t talking much and let out an occasional deep sigh. So, Charlie, who wasn’t big on silence, filled the void by ‘shooting the breeze’ and telling jokes. Big Benjamin appeared to welcome the distraction and lightened up considerably. But he kept looking in the rearview mirror at the back seat of the taxi. He had the weird sensation that somebody was sitting there riding along with them. About halfway to West Reading, after getting onto Route 222 from York, Pennsylvania, Big Benjamin gestured toward the backseat and inquired, “What’s in the big case?” “It’s a handheld metal detector,” Charlie told him. “Kind of like military mine-sweepers, except smaller and easier to handle and a lot more sensitive for finding metal objects like coins.” Impressed, Benjamin commented, “I didn’t know they made ’em like that.” “Yeah,” Charlie said, “they were invented recently, and only twenty- five were available – by mail order. When I saw the ad in the treasure hunting magazine, I snatched one up right away.” “So you’re looking for buried treasure … in Pennsylvania?” the cab driver inquired skeptically. “No, no,” Charlie answered, “First, I’m going to West Reading to buy my grandson a car for his sixteenth birthday, and then we will drive the car down to southern Maryland.” After a long pause, Big Benjamin asked, “How do you know about the treasure?” Then, almost as if someone was prompting him from the backseat in a low, raspy, conspiratorial whisper, Charlie repeated these words, 35

“Now, I am about to share a secret, but you have to swear to never, ever tell another soul.” At that, Charlie had the cab driver’s full attention. Looking very much like a wide-eyed overgrown child, Big Benjamin raised his right hand off the wheel for just a moment to swear, “I do.” Finding that overly serious response to be comical, Charlie chuckled. He then proceeded to tell Big Benjamin the Mann family story about the lost Spanish silver of Benedict Town. Finally, in conclusion, Charlie lamented, “Unfortunately, members of my family have made many attempts to recover the trove of silver eight throughout the years … but none have succeeded.” Big Benjamin bemoaned, “I wish I could go with you.” Then he inquired, “How do you know where to look?” Charlie gave him a wry smile, “That, my good man is a secret.” Big Benjamin nodded in resigned understanding. Just then, he spotted the highway exit sign toward the city of Reading and turned his full attention back to his driving. At least for a while, the sad, large taxi driver had been distracted from thinking about what was bothering him. Arriving in the borough of West Reading, Big Benjamin pulled his cab over to the curb in front of the Hamel residence next door to the Tannenbaums on Pavilion Park Drive. Charlie unloaded his suitcase, valise, and metal detector from the backseat of the taxi. He and Big Benjamin parted ways with a promise to go out for a beer sometime, which they never got around to doing. Expecting Charlie’s arrival, Dorothy Hamel, who was selling her recently deceased husband’s Buick sports car, came out of the house to greet him. Having never met Travis’s Maryland grandfather before, she introduced herself. While helping to carry the bags to the Buick parked in the driveway, Dorothy handed Charlie the title. “I’ve already signed the car over to Travis.” she told him, “All the title needs is his signature. Please tell 36

Travis that he can keep the car parked in our -- I mean, my driveway, as long as he wants because I doubt Werner will let him keep it over there. Besides, they don’t really have space for it anyway.” After handing Dorothy the cash, Charlie circled the automobile admiringly with the ignition key in his hand. The special edition Buick Skylark Road Master convertible was in mint condition. It looked brand new. You couldn’t even tell that it was nine years old. Charlie thought, Wow! One helluva car for a thousand bucks. And he suspected that Mrs. Hamel was giving him such a good deal because she had a real soft spot for Travis, the kid next door, as did her husband Earnest while he was still alive. And he was right about that. Charlie asked for the key to the trunk. He knew quite a bit about older automobiles but didn’t realize that the 1954 Road Master was one of the first automobiles with identical keys that operated all the locks. Dorothy, who was not knowledgeable about cars, assumed that Charlie knew what he was talking about. She apologized. “Sorry, things have been such a blur since my husband died,” then promised, “I’ll look for the trunk key and give it to Travis as soon as I find it.” Charlie shrugged amicably. “That’s fine.” So, for the second time that day, Charlie’s Louis Vuitton suitcase, alligator-skin valise, and the prized mail-order Hunter metal detector were consigned to the backseat. If you called that a mere coincidence, Charlie would scoff. Being as mathematically and statistically minded as he was, Charlie didn’t believe in coincidences. But instead of engaging you in a lengthy discussion about probability and the overlap of really big patterns, he would simply say, “Oh, it was ‘The Theme of the Day.’” However, if you pressed him for an explanation, Charlie would introduce you to the Glossary of Enigmatic Phenomena found rolled and tied with a ribbon in the bottom drawer of the mahogany desk in Estella’s library at Chestnut Point. Scrawled in blue fountain pen on a scrap of onion skin paper, attached by paper clip to the original 37

parchment document, was the term ‘Theme of the Day’ – defined as “two or more of the same highly improbable occurrences or objects witnessed in one twenty-four hour period.” Here are some examples. It’s like finding three heads-up pennies on the ground in different locations, getting wrong-number telephone calls from two women named Betty, going to a baseball doubleheader where both games end 4 to 3 in the tenth inning, seeing more than one man wearing mismatched socks, or in Charlie’s case, being unable to stow his bags in two different automobile trunks for reasons that were not true. Our story continues in Part 3. See you there. ♦♦♦ 38

220713-B The Time When Pop-Pop and Travis Went Treasure Hunting - Part 3* ___ Part 3* A few minutes before noon Travis Mann was still upstairs alone in his bedroom, seething with resentment. Earlier that morning, even though it was his sixteenth birthday, his grandfather, Werner, had flat out denied his birthday request to cash in his own savings bonds to buy the used Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible for sale in the Hamel’s driveway next door. That made Travis really mad! And he didn’t hold anything back when expressing his anger toward Werner, either. Consequently, his unsympathetic grandfather put him on restriction. You see, in the moments before Mr. Hamel died of a heart attack at the Reading 4th of July parade, Travis had promised him that he would take good care of the Roadmaster. And Travis was determined to make good on that promise. Plus, Mr. Hamel’s widow, Dorothy, was now offering the special- edition mint condition sports car exclusively to him for only $1,000, saying, “I know that is what Earnest would have wanted. I wish I could give it to you for free, Travis, but money is tight for me right now.” Therefore, Travis was positively heartsick over not being able to buy the Roadmaster and keep his word to Mr. Hamel. And he felt the anger directed towards Werner was justified. Even though the disconsolate teenager had talked to his Aunt Jenny on the telephone earlier and she had told him that Pop-Pop was on his way West Reading, he didn’t know anything about the birthday present. So Travis was surprised, to say the least, when he heard the sound of a familiar car horn outside at the curb honk twice and again, honk - honk. Travis went to his bedroom window to look. There idling at the curb, ragtop and windows down, was the 1954 39

Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible. And standing on the driver’s side with the car door open and hand on the horn was his Pop-Pop, Charlie. Charlie beckoned up to Travis. “Come on, come on! Let’s go!” Travis ran downstairs, out the front door, exclaiming, “What the heck, Pop-Pop?” and jumped into the passenger seat. He noticed that his Oma was watching from behind the screen of the open living room window. She threw her hands up abruptly, as if she remembered something important, turned around, and disappeared. Elsie hurried up the stairs to Travis’s room on the second floor. She thought aloud, “Thank God for small favors.” Travis had rushed out so quickly that he hadn’t taken the time to close and lock the door behind him. You see, the teenager kept his bedroom door locked to keep prying adults out, and she didn’t want to go through the whole rigmarole of getting her extra hidden key. Elsie snatched the Motor Vehicle envelope with Travis's learner's permit propped against the dresser mirror. With that in hand, she then searched the room in desperation for Travis’s old travel bag, that same, small, sad travel bag her teary-eyed grandson brought with him from Chestnut Point almost three years before. Unfortunately, the expensive new suitcase Elsie had purchased for Travis to visit his mother had been stolen at the New York bus station the last time he went there. And she hadn’t yet gotten around to replacing it. She got down on her hands and knees to look under the bed but only found a shoebox full of baseball cards, his collection of buffalo nickels rattling around in a Christmas fruitcake tin, and a stiff, unwashed gym sock covered with dust bunnies. Ewww! Becoming exasperated, Elsie dug through the haphazard this-&-that jumble of clothes, shoes, sports equipment, discarded outgrown toys, and, “Whoops, he didn’t want me to find those,” stuffed into the bottom of his clothes closet. She finally located it, flattened and misshapen, underneath everything else at the very back of the closet. 40

When she yanked the travel bag out, it looked even older, smaller, and sadder than she remembered. Setting it on the bed to pack, she cursed, “Damn it!” The zipper was broken. But she didn’t have time to go down to the storage room at the rear of the garage to find another one to replace it. It’ll just have to do, Elsie decided as she rifled through the dresser drawers to find a clean change of clothes for Travis, then ran into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush & toothpaste, deodorant, comb, and a couple of other items that only a mother or grandmother would think of to include: a green collapsible plastic drinking cup from the Five ‘n’ Dime and a whole roll of toilet tissue. Because you never know, right? Meanwhile, outside at the curb, Pop-Pop tossed Travis the keys and said, “Wrong seat, Amigo. I want to be chauffeured around in your birthday present.” “Ho-lee Coww!” Travis enunciated, overwhelmed with surprise at the unexpected turn of events, and slid over to the driver’s side. “How did you know about the car?” Pop-Pop raised his palms skyward and shrugged. “You’ll figure it out.” Travis adjusted the rearview mirror and noticed a large case in the back seat. “What’s in the case, Pop-Pop?” “A Garrett dual search-coil Hunter metal detector. First time on the market,” Pop-Pop boasted proudly. “Only one of twenty-five, available by mail order only.” So that’s what he’s up to, Travis thought, then asked quizzically, “Pop- Pop, are we going to look for the lost Spanish silver?” “Yes, we are, and we don’t have a moment to waste. The treasure’s not going to find itself, you know. I’m not a spring chicken like you anymore.” Then, setting a new world record, Oma Tannenbaum sprinted out of the house carrying, in one hand, the travel bag stuffed with Travis’s 41

clothes and toiletries and frantically waving the Motor Vehicles envelope in the other. “Wait, wait, wait!” Halfway down the sloped walkway, the roll of toilet tissue tumbled out of the un-zipped travel bag and unrolled. Next, out came a pair of Travis’s white Fruit Of The Loom underwear. Both Travis and Charlie watched with amusement as Elsie, red-faced and out-of-breath, stopped to retrieve them. Upon reaching the Buick, she handed Travis the envelope. Returning the underwear to the travel bag and while attempting to rewind the toilet paper neatly back onto the roll, she emphasized, “You must have your learner’s permit with you.” Then grimacing in frustration, she impatiently tore off the tail end of the tissue, balled it up in her hand, shoved the uncooperative roll back into the bag, and insisted, “And you must shower and brush your teeth every day.” “Oma, are you mad? I know you baked a cake for me.” “No, no, it is your sweet sixteen. Go spend some time with your Pop-Pop. The cake will keep until you get back. We’ll celebrate then.” “What are you going to tell Werner?” “I am going to tell him that I gave you money to take the bus to visit your mother,” she answered, giving Charlie a knowing wink. Charlie returned her wink with a nod of appreciation, thinking, So far, so good with the plan. What we are specifically talking about here is the plan allowing Charlie to spend three precious, unsupervised days having fun with his grandson like they used to, without Werner finding out about it. “That might work,” Travis said, because he was allowed to visit his mother at the Daytop Village in Staten Island, provided he had a chaperone. “Who am I supposed to be going with? Luke is at the beach, you know.” Oops! Elsie had forgotten all about that not-so-little detail. It could be a big problem, she worried. But so as not to alarm her grandson, she fibbed, “It’s fine, Travis. I have it all figured out.” Just so you know, Luke was Lucas Desilva, the college student who 42

the Tannenbaums hired to tutor Travis when he first arrived in West Reading. He was so far behind academically that the Junior High School administrator held him back a year, in seventh grade instead of eighth. Very recently, when Travis received permission from the Family Court to visit his mother, who was at long last making real measurable progress in her recovery from long-term depression and drug addiction, at the Daytop Village in Staten Island, Luke was appointed to be his legal chaperone to accompany him there. Luke was positively ecstatic in his own low-key, egg-headed way over this unexpected opportunity to put away some extra cash for his upcoming honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Although having graduated summa cum laude from Susquehanna State University, Werner’s alma mater, he was still in the process of applying to other more prestigious Ivy League Colleges for a position as an associate professor and needed the money. The scheme, of course, was predicated on whether Elsie could convince Luke to come back from the beach in time. As an inducement, she calculated it might take a sizeable portion from her secret savings stashed in jumbo-sized pork & beans can that she had salvaged with its lid from a church picnic and set innocuously on the back shelf of the kitchen pantry, where Werner never, ever ventured. Elsie thought of it as ‘merely a generous contribution’ toward Luke and Amy’s Niagara Falls honeymoon. Who could find fault with that? If Werner’s name comes to mind, you’re probably right.) Seeing the somewhat confused look on Travis’s face, Elsie said, “Travis, this is the plan. When you come back, I will ride with Luke in his car to the station to pick you up, so it will look like you were both together on the bus the whole time.” Still unconvinced, Travis asked, “What about this car, Oma? Are we going to leave it at the bus station? And, what about Pop-Pop? How is he going to get back home to Chestnut Point?” 43

At this juncture, Charlie interrupted, “Listen, Amigo, your Oma and I have it all worked out. She will drive the Buick back here to park it in the driveway next door….” Elsie jumped back in. “Dorothy said you could keep it there. For as long as you like.” Charlie concluded, “And I plan to catch the next bus back to Maryland.” Ah-ha! Like a bulb lighting up above the head of one of his favorite cartoon characters, the ingenious plan suddenly made complete sense to Travis. And imitating that same diabolical character, he, s-l-o-w-l-y, th- ought-full-y, stroked his chin, saying, “Sooo, by coming back home with Luke in his car like I always do. Werner will be left in the dark about Pop-Pop and me going away together. That’s-pretty-darn-groovy if I do say so myself.” Both Elsie and Charlie nodded their heads in unison and simultaneously agreed. “Yes!” But then another troublesome question popped into Travis’s brain. “Wait, what about the money to pay for the car?” Elsie let him in on the last piece of the puzzle, “Dorothy is going to say that she gave you the car for free. Because that is what Earnest would have wanted.” Actually, it was Dorothy, party to the whole subterfuge from the start, who came up with that finishing touch to put the cherry on top of the entire multi-layered concoction. Travis was amazed, impressed, and quite frankly, mystified by everything he had just heard. He chuckled inwardly and thought, ‘Who is this person? And what have they done with my Oma? -- I wish Debbie and Mike were here to see this because they would pretend to bop each other on the head and ‘nyuk nyuk nyuk,’ it up. You see, the pals loved watching the Saturday morning TV shows together. They called themselves “The Three Stooges” and enjoyed goofing around like they were the actual slap-dash comic trio. We’ll get into who was which one of the Stooges another time. 44

But, getting back on track -- Oma wrapped up the conversation by firmly instructing Travis, “Call me Thursday morning when you are headed back home while Werner is at work. I’ll fill you in on the final arrangements with Luke then.” Then, poking a finger in Pop-Pop’s face, she admonished him, “You better have him back at the Greyhound station Monday afternoon at three-forty-five, when the New York bus is scheduled to arrive. And you better not be late!” “Cross my heart and hope to die,” Pop-Pop swore, then, on second thought, retracted it. “No, not hope to die. Alright, I promise...,” Impatient to get going, Travis shifted the Roadmaster into drive and sped off as Pop-Pop finished his sentence, “on my mother’s graaaaaaaave.” Years later, as an adult, Travis found out that his grandmother, Elsie, had always kept in touch with Pop-Pop on the q.t. and all hush- hush after Child Services took him away from Chestnut Point and brought him to West Reading. And, Travis realized how broken Oma’s heart was to see how much he missed his Pop-Pop and how so obviously unhappy he was at being forced to live in West Reading with her and Werner. It explained perfectly why, that morning, after Werner disappeared around the corner of Pavilion Park Drive on his way to work in his Pontiac station wagon, Oma telephoned Chestnut Point to ask Pop-Pop to come to West Reading to buy the used Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible for Travis’s sixteenth birthday. And also why the two of them concocted the whole visiting Travis’s mother in New York ruse so Pop-Pop could spend a few unsupervised days alone with his Amigo. Travis always thought of his sixteenth birthday as the happiest of his life and the saddest too. The happiest because of his present, the 1954 Buick Skylark Roadmaster, and how much fun he and Pop-Pop had on that trip to find the lost Spanish silver, and the saddest because not 45

long afterward, Travis shed the last vestiges of childhood, and Pop-Pop was thrust into a long heroic battle against Alzheimer’s. And as it turned out, that was the last time ever the two amigos would go on one of their escapades together. … Oh yes, and there was that tiny, little matter about Werner coming home from work and figuring out that his wife, Elsie, was not telling the truth about where Travis had gone, and most importantly, with whom. Our Story continues in Part 4. See you there. ♦♦♦ 46

220626-A The Time When Pop-Pop and Travis went treasure hunting - Part 4* ___ Part 4* Following his Pop-Pop’s directions, Travis headed down Route 10 into the Dutch Country farmlands. The rural two-lane road was practically empty that day, and they were cruising along in his very own 1954 Buick Skylark Roadmaster convertible with the ragtop down, windows open, and the radio turned way up. It was as delightful as a day could be. The summer sky, that rich shade of azure perfectly balanced between blue and cyan, was flocked from horizon to horizon with a diaspora of puffy clouds, each of which resembled, upon speculation, some fantastic creature. Scanning through the AM stations on the nifty Selectronic dashboard radio, Travis found a broadcast called ‘Top of the Charts,’ out of Philadelphia. It took some tweaking of the dial back and forth and adjusting the antenna using a swivel knob above the windshield, but he finally tuned it in. He then set the station by pressing the pushbutton down for two full seconds. When “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles came on, Charlie gave a thumb down and jokingly covered his ears. But Travis heartily sang along anyway. Next, when “Everybody Loves Somebody” by Dean Martin started playing, Charlie harmonized with deliberate enthusiasm. Travis laughed at his Pop-Pop’s antics and gave a playful thumb down. It felt like old times, and the birthday boy was having a blast. Feeling way too confident for a beginner driver, Travis sat back with one hand on the wheel and acquainted himself with the power and speed of the Buick. He stuck his left arm out the window, his hand shaped like an airplane wing, to experiment with the effect of the air 47

flowing over it. His hand was whipped up, down, and around in fascinating ways with each tilt. Charlie started to get nervous, warning, “Hey, Mario Andretti, yellow flag, yellow flag!” Travis slowed down obediently but, without realizing it, gradually picked up speed again, as it was easy to do in a car with a lot of get-up- and-go like the Roadmaster. Then, coming over the crest of a small hill, into the glare of the bright sunlight, approaching the little town of Honey Brook, they suddenly came upon an Amish horse-drawn buggy. Travis jammed on the brakes jerking the wheel to the left, crossed the oncoming lane past the shoulder and came to a skidding stop. The front bumper was just a few inches shy of plowing into a cornfield. Charlie sat momentarily frozen in the passenger seat, his right leg extended, foot planted on an imaginary brake pedal. He puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, \"Fffww, that was close,\" then pinched the almost empty cigarette pack from his shirt pocket, gently removed the last misshapen Lucky, and lit it. Charlie could see that Travis was very disappointed with himself. He gave his grandson a little punch on the arm, \"Don't sweat it, Amigo. It could happen to anybody, no matter how long you’ve been driving. You did real good, avoiding a collision like that. But let's take it nice and easy from here on out. What do you say we stop up here to get you a pair of sunglasses? I need some more cigarettes anyway. And how does a soda sound?” Pursing his lips, Travis put both hands on the wheel, backed up onto the shoulder, checked both mirrors, maneuvered cautiously back onto Route 10, and, heeding the speed limit this time, drove into the little town of Honey Brook. On the main street, Charlie spotted a nineteenth-century storefront with a faded hand-lettered sign that simply read, ‘Drugs.’ But judging by the mixed bag of items displayed in the windows, the business appeared to be more of a country store than a pharmacy. He pointed it 48

out to Travis as they approached. “That looks like a good place to stop.” After parking, as they walked across the porch on their way into the store, they fished two bottles of Coca-Cola from the half-melted ice in the bright red cooler sitting next to the entrance. Opening them using the attached bottle opener produced a satisfying syzz followed by a distinctive clink when the caps fell into the metal catch below. Inside, a chubby middle-aged Mennonite woman sitting behind the counter welcomed them with a broad congenial smile. She was wearing a plain grey-blue blouse and matching long skirt, and her hair was pulled back in a bun covered with a small veil of white linen. Two ceiling fans hanging from the high stamped-tin ceiling rocked slightly in out-of-synch oscillation as their wooden blades slowly rotated in half-hearted competition. Travis headed straight back to the sunglasses display while Charlie set the sodas down on the countertop and asked for a pack of Luckies. While waiting for Travis to make his selection, Charlie made small talk with the clerk, who proved to be quite jovial. Knowing, generally speaking, that Mennonites liked jokes, he ventured, \"You're riding a horse, and there is a giraffe beside you and a tiger chasing you from behind. What do you do?\" Without hesitation, the woman answered, \"Get off the carousel and sober up.\" Charlie followed with this one. \"Why do Mennonite women always wear long sleeve dresses?\" \"Because we refuse to bear arms,\" she responded. \"I think you need to get some new material.\" \"Okay, have you heard this one?\" Charlie asked mischievously. \"An Amish mother and her daughter were riding in a buggy on an icy cold day, and the daughter said, 'My hands are freezing. What should I do?' And the mother said, ‘Put them between your legs, and they will get warm.’ The daughter did and her hands warmed up. -- The next day the daughter was riding with her boyfriend who said, ‘My hands are 49

freezing cold.’ The girl replied, ‘Put them between my legs, and they will ...’” The clerk put her hands on her hips in mock outrage and interrupted, “Alright, mister, you stop right there!” Charlie chuckled, then turned about to see how Travis was getting along. He had no intention of telling the entire dirty joke anyway. He was just teasing her. Travis was disappointed there were not any Ray-Bans like his Pop- Pop’s on the rotating sunglasses display. But he did find a pair of Wayfarer knock-offs that looked very much like the ones Bob Dylan wore. He took a look at himself, tag dangling down beside his nose in the mirror. “Let’s have a look,” Charlie said. Travis spun around and struck a pose as if he were on a concert stage playing a guitar. “Good choice,” Charlie commented, looking at his 1926 Rolex Oyster wristwatch. “Time for us to rock ‘n’ roll out of here.” On the way back outdoors, with a goodbye wave to the woman behind the counter, Charlie said, “Let me take over for a while.” And as Travis handed him the keys, he added, “Don’t worry, you’ll be driving as good as me by the time we get back to Reading.” Travis poked fun back at his Pop-Pop. “What, like an old man?” Charlie responded with a good-natured “harrumph.” Sportin’ his new super-cool shades, Travis got back into the Roadmaster -- on the passenger side this time. He was okay with riding shotgun for a while. Unlike Werner, his grandfather in West Reading, Pop-Pop wasn’t the type of person to punish or demean him for almost getting into an accident. Charlie started the car and headed out of Honey Brook, turning immediately onto Horseshoe Pike, Route 322 South, towards Havre de Grace, Maryland, the first stop on his road trip itinerary. Havre de Grace was where the love of his life, Jackie Jean Osterman, lived. After all those years apart, and before it was too late, Charlie was determined 50