3.
HOUDINI’S HOUSE
We were pretty beat after the game, but for some reason, Jonathan wanted to see Houdini’s house in Harlem. It was only a few blocks from the Interborough Subway stop at 116th Street, so I figured why not?
We endured another rush hour crowd, changing lines at 149th Street like before, getting out at 116th Street. Harlem looked much more prosperous than it would in later years, solid old brownstones alongside modest apartment houses.
We soon arrived at the narrow, three-story brownstone sandwiched between two other buildings. Strange that Houdini would cling to that relatively small house where he had his workshop for so many years.
Impulsively, we rang the bell and a middle-aged lady answered the door.
“Yes, can I help you?”
Before I could speak up, Lauren mischievously chimed in: “Can we see Mr. Houdini’s workshop? We have his lost magic wand!” She was giggling.
“Madon!!” the lady cried. “Houdini’s family don’t live here no more…”
“I’m sorry… Lauren, please!!” I admonished her. “Really sorry Miss?”
“Mrs. Bonnano.”
“Nice to meet you. Really sorry about that… kids, you know?”
Mrs. Bonanno smiled indulgently. “That’s OK. But people been driving me crazy wanting to see his house. They sold it to us back in March, moved everything, and it was a lot! Nice workshop he had. You got one of his magic wands?”
“Yeah, bought it at auction…” I couldn’t resist telling her.
“Y’know, that’s funny, been a German guy, said he was one of his assistants. He was wantin’ to search the house, said Houdini promised him a wand but it’s been missing since before he died. I let him search, but he don’t find nothing, but he show me all the secret hiding spots. Houdini he was something! OK, I let you in but there ain’t really nothing to see.”
“That’s OK, we’re kinda tired.”
“No, come on in, I already makin some coffee. Gotta ice cream for the kiddies.”
“No, really, that’s OK…”
“Come on, I insist!” Mrs. Bonanno said smiling.
“Well, OK, just for a short time. Don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble, justa sit for a bit, I getta you the coffee… just a minute.”
“OK, thanks!”
The kids smiled.
We sat down in the somewhat stuffy living room. Mrs. Bonanno went into the kitchen. What I didn’t know was she made a phone call.
She served us coffee and ice cream. The kids dug in with relish, the ice cream very creamy. She showed us the basement. Of course, nothing was left from Houdini’s shop. Still, it was interesting to see how much space the narrow building actually had.
We thanked her and said we had to be going. She suggested we stay, but I told her it was getting late, and we were beat.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “Not far I hope?”
“Just the Algonquin, but we’re leaving town tomorrow.”
“The Algonquin, say, that’s mighty fine. You ain’t from here, I can tell!”
“You can say that again! Minnesota actually,” I said.
“Farther than that!” Jonathan said grinning. “We’re time travelers from the Future!”
“Jonathan!!! Stop fooling around! This kid, he reads too many fantasy stories…”
“Hey, he got a pretty good imagination!” Mrs. Bonanno said smiling indulgently.
We said out goodbyes and thanked her again. We started walking back to the subway.
JONATHAN SPILLS THE BEANS
Next morning after packing, taking a chance, I knocked on Dottie’s door. She lived on the second floor of the hotel. She opened the door dressed in a lovely robe and silk kimono.
“Could I possibly… ?” She instantly grasped that I would like somebody to look after the kids for a while. “I have to take care of some financial business on Wall Street, be back in two hours?”
I explained that they weren’t keen on going in the subway again in rush hour since we were leaving today, catching the ‘Century’ at 2:45 pm. Giving me a crooked smile, she said she had writer’s block anyway and would love to, but could she trouble me to replace her typewriter (ink) ribbon?
She gave me a sly grin. She was famous for having difficulty with them. I fumbled with the inky black and red ribbon, finally succeeding.
Jonathan looked on in wonder at the typewriter. “What’s that? Is that what you call a typewriter?” he asked.
“Yep!” I said glaring at him. “Come on, stop fooling! It’s sort of an instant printer… prints while you write,” I explained.
Dottie looked at me strangely. “Don’t tell me…..you’re from Minnesota and they don’t have typewriters where you come from?”
“Aw, he’s just fooling around, trying to be funny…”
“Uh huh…” Dottie replied looking skeptical.
Woodrow Wilson, her little Boston Terrier bounded up to the kids and they made instant friends. They told her about their dog Oreo. I had already warned them about talking about the future.
I stopped at the new General Post Office by Penn Station and got a safe deposit box account. I had the strangest feeling that someone was following me, but I couldn’t be certain, with all the crowds in the busy city.
At the brokerage my stock sale had gone through and had netted me close to a $900 profit. With that, and my $16,500 original investment, (there were now 33 1921-issue $500 bills I brought back in time sharing the same serial numbers - in two places at once - but that shouldn’t cause any harm) I had them buy as many shares of Boeing Aircraft stock as it would buy at $84. I then made up an order to sell it all on September 30, 1929 and that the proceeds should remain in the account until March 22, 1933. At that time, I placed an order to re-buy as many shares of Boeing as they could, and that these shares and subsequent earnings would be redeemable not before 2012 in both the kids’ names. The looks I got were interesting but they said I was the customer and so on.
The broker grinned and asked if I had some kind of crystal ball, and would I let him in on it since I was so positive?
“I’m just a little bit crazy, that’s all.”
