Michael Mayer - Time Trippers The Nights of the Round Table

“Well, it turns out that the magic wand really works! No magic words are needed but you have to focus on where you want to go, or, rather, when.”

They stared at me, looking excited.

“Like Harry Potter?” Jonathan asked.

“Well, not exactly,” I said. “You have to hypnotize yourself and make yourself really believe that you ARE in the time you wish to travel to, making yourself forget everything that links you to the present. But most important, you need to find a time portal, someplace that exists in both time periods, unchanged - like Independence Hall,” I said smiling.

“Really?!” Jonathan said.

“Really Lito?” Lauren echoed.

“Really!” I said.

“Are we going to go back in time?” Jonathan asked.

“Yes we are!” I said. “I’ve already done it and it’s safe. I went back to 1950 in Minneapolis for a day staying out of everybody’s way among the old book stacks, using the basement of a University Library.”

“It’s VERY important not to interfere with past events because that could change the present. I went back to before I was born, just in case. How can you be in two places at once? Houdini did it, but I don’t want to take any chances.” I said smiling. “The interesting thing is that a day in the past takes only a few minutes in the present, I don’t understand why. So a week in the past shouldn’t take more than half a day,” I said with a big grin.

They laughed.

“Sorry, folks, we are closing for the night,” the park ranger announced. We left the building and walked up Market Street. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll get our suitcases tonight and go back to the park in front of Independence Hall, find a spot by one of its walls on the south side of the building where I’ll hypnotize us and send us back.”

“Where…when are we going to?” Jonathan asked with a slight laugh and big wide grin.

“You’ll see,” I said. “We are going to try to visit the time when modern America, the America you know, was born…and see a baseball game, of course. It is kind of a long shot trying to go that far back, but I think we can make it. It is also a very safe time as far as history is concerned. I can’t think of any events we could interfere with that could affect it. It’s considered a kind of Golden Age and lots of fun.”

“The Sixties?” Jonathan asked. “Hippies?”

“No I’m not telling. You’ll just have to wait and see.” I said smiling.

That night, we changed back into our ‘costumes’ and checked out of our room, the concerned clerk sorry that we couldn’t stay. It was after 9 pm as we took a taxi to Independence Hall park.

“We’re going to a costume party nearby,” I told the taxi driver who winked at the kids and wished us a good time as he drove away.

We walked under the lights and trees clutching our small suitcases in the darkened park and went to a shady area by the wall.

“I’m afraid,” Lauren said.

“We’re safe,” I said “The park is small and well-lit, besides we won’t be here long. OK, Let’s sit together in a circle, hold hands, keep your suitcases in your laps.”

I took out the magic wand and I told them to count backwards from 100 as I waved the wand back and forth in front of our faces like a windshield wiper.

They began to count backwards: “100, 99, 98, 97, 96…” and started to fall asleep. They didn’t have to imagine the time; they could just ‘hitch a ride’ with me. Since we were holding hands, it was just enough to fall asleep. I began to imagine that it was Sunday night, September 25, 1927.

I knew so much about the Roaring Twenties – the music, the cars, the look, the people – that I easily pictured being there in my mind as I continued to wave the wand back and forth feeling its vibration as the magic began to work, practicing self-hypnosis, letting it happen again as it did once before. I knew it would happen again.

Totally relaxed, hoping the patrolling policeman walking his beat wouldn’t see us, I continued to wave the wand until I began to get sleepy, carefully folding the wand back into my jacket. I fell asleep for an instant.

I woke up and oddly enough, it was getting light. The kids were sound asleep, leaning on my shoulders on either side of me. They began to wake up and it was suddenly daylight. The kids rubbed their eyes and yawned, and we all felt a little disoriented.

“Where are we?” Jonathan asked sleepily.

“The question is not where,” I answered as I got my bearings, “but when?”

A policeman came towards us. “Up kinda early, aren’t you?” he said not unfriendly. “You OK, mister?”

Thinking quickly, I started to wake up the kids.

“We’re just passing through, got in late last night and wanted to show them a bit of Philadelphia before we have to catch our train,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. “They got kinda tired and wanted to sit down…you know how it is.”

“Well, it’s only 6:30 in the morning,” he chuckled. “Kinda early to drag your kiddies out of bed…what time is your train, buddy?”

“Catching the 8 o’clock Clocker for New York,” I said.

“What hotel were you staying at?” he asked.

“The Marr…” I suddenly understood, the policeman looked different, the park looked different. “The Bellevue-Stratford, of course,” I said with mounting confidence as the kids woke up.

“OK,” he said, “just remember, you’re not supposed to be sitting on the ground – looks like you might have been sleeping in the park, so, enjoy your trip and good morning to you.”

“Good morning to you, officer,” I said very cool. “Come along, kids,” I said loud enough for him to hear, as they started to get up, stretching and rubbing their eyes.

“What time is it Lito?” Jonathan said yawning.

I quickly set my new pocket watch to 6:30, glancing at the clock on Independence Hall. “It’s about six thirty, and if my calculations are correct, about six-thirty in the morning, Monday, September 26, 1927.”

“Really, Lito? Let’s see!” they said excitedly.

“Come on then, let’s get some breakfast,” I said. We strolled out of the park onto Market Street, the kids now fully awake.

“Lito…I thought everything in the old days was in black and white like the old movies…it’s in COLOR!” Lauren said quietly pleased. I could only smile.

There was nobody on the street. A horse clip-clopped along the cobble stoned street drawing a milk wagon. A taxi careened around the corner headed for Reading Terminal home of the Reading Railroad of Monopoly fame (“Take a ride on the Reading…”) and an active railroad terminal once again. To my delight the Hard Rock Café’s horrid big guitar sign was missing, and no Hard Rock Café, either, of course.

“Hey! Look at the funny cars!” Jonathan said. Most of the automobiles were black, square and tall and frail-looking. The kids looked around in amazement at those strange-looking cars parked along the street, their separate headlights like bug’s eyes, as Jonathan remarked.

It was certainly sometime in the late 1920’s. I could tell by the automobiles on the street, besides some old ‘Flivers’ the irreverent nickname for the spindly but tough old Ford Model ‘T,’ there was a 1925 Marmon, a 1926 Packard, and an unmistakable Ford Model A, which came out in 1927. An electric streetcar went clang, clang, clanging up the street. We had really done it! The Jazz Age, the Roaring Twenties, that time of peace, prosperity and optimism was here, ready for exploration. I was as happy as a child at Christmas.

I congratulated myself in stocking up on old money - we’d need it. No credit cards here. It smelled different too. The kids noticed it as well. The pungent aroma of coal smoke faintly wafted on the air and the strong smell of horse manure mingled with automobile fumes.