A hardy welcome to all my readers of this bi-weekly newsletter, The CORNERSTONE TRAVELER, an exciting and thought provoking newsletter.   Also available online at

www.cornerstonetraveler.com.

 

mid-Hudson Valley news:  Spring is upon us finally.  I was able to put away my winter boots.  What’s happening in the mid-Hudson Valley?  Not much I am sad to report.  The Food and Wine Festival will be at the Mohonk Mountain House on Mohonk Road in New Paltz on APRIL 22-23.

            The yearly spring and summer festival season is open in the mid-Hudson Valley.  Then there will be the local county fairs.

 

 

 

 

observations:   The political debates have changed in the United States.  Before the debates centered on the issues of the day.  Now the debates are attacking each other.  The issues of the day be damned!

The last good debate I saw was between John Kerry and George Bush.  Kind of sad when you think about it.

Now you have the Republican debate with Marco Rubio making a reference to the size of Donald Trump’s hands and Donald Trump insisting that he would make a good president because he is a successful business man.  I have to ask how successful a business man is where they or their companies had filed for bankruptcy three times.  And somehow with these bankruptcy’s by Trump and/or his businesses managed to accumulate something like 19 billion dollars in personal savings.

This just doesn’t add up to my untrained financial mind

The tone of the Republican debates transferred to the Democratic debates with Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders attacking each other.  Bernie Sanders attacked Hillary Clinton for accepting up to 225k in speaking engagements of the financial firms on Wall Street.  Instead of attacking her that she gave these speeches, he should have concentrated on what she said to the Wall Street barons.

If Donald Trump doesn’t get his way in a primary election. He is like a “mean junk yard dog.” To quote a Jim Croce song.  I think Trump and Cruz have the personality’s of a pissed off Rottweiler dog when things don’t go his way..  Yes.  He can be that dangerous.

 

sports:  MLB:  The Yankees are in last place in the Atlantic Division of the Eastern Conference with a record of 7-10 and 4 games back.

The Mets are in second place in the Atlantic Division of the Eastern Conference of the National League with a record of 10-7 and are 3 ½ games back.

NHL:  The Rangers are out of post season play after they lost to Pittsburg 4-1 in the first round of the NHL playoffs.

The Islanders won the first round of the playoffs and are against Tampa for the second round of the NHL playoffs.

 

other:  As with all previous issues of this newsletter, everything printed here is either copyright protected or copyright pending.  The history of P&G’s that follows this newsletter is P&G’s as it is today.

The short story I am including with this newsletter is a short story I wrote called The OLD RED BARN.    I hope you like it.

 

Thank-you  -  Rik McGuire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Present Day at P&G’s

 

P&G’s is the place to go for the college students, especially on Friday nights.  I figure the students, after a week of classes and studying need a good place to crash and unwind and P&G’s is the ideal place because it is so much fun.  There is always a DJ spinning records (or at P&G’s CD’s) at least on Friday nights.  Though it is packed with students it is still fun.

Other than the partying on Friday nights, you can still have a good time on any other night.  The place is that much fun.

Not only is it a bar, but also a highly rated restaurant.  The food at P&G’s is top notch.  There area always the best chefs preparing the food.  There are chefs that were trained at the CIA (Culinary Institute of America).

There are the parties , World Series and Superbowl.  At the Superbowl there is always free munchies and a grand layout for half time.

Every year on the Friday before Memorial Day is the annual P&G’s golf tournament where you can play 18 holes with a golf cart at a reasonable fee.  The fee also includes free food and drink after the tournament for all the golfers.  And naturally dozens and dozens of prizes are awarded for such things as longest drive, closest to the pin and scores of others.

It should be noted that the bartenders will not over serve people.  If you are hammered, go someplace else for booze.

That’s P&G’s as it is today.

 

The  OLD  RED  BARN

 

I had been walking for what seemed like hours, looking for a place where I could crash for the night.  I had little or no money.  I was just looking for an empty or abandoned house where I could stay the night.  I was very adept at breaking into newly constructed houses.  A technique I learned when I was younger in my early teens and regularly broke into homes that were in the last phases of construction, I never vandalized or stole from these homes.  It was just a challenge.

Unfortunately because of the mortgage meltdown there were few if any new homes being constructed.  I knew I had to find someplace quick because the clouds in the night sky had grown ominous, threatening rain.  I saw and heard the lightning bolts heralding an approaching storm.

As the storms clouds threatened to release a deluge of rain, I passed a small farmhouse with a barn and thought briefly of sneaking into the barn to avoid a cold drenching rain.  But thought better of it.  I continued to walk on that old country road with the idea I could rush back to the barn if the skies opened up.

I came upon this old red barn maybe one hundred yards from the road.   It was barely visible and I somehow knew it to be an abandoned barn.  It was originally painted red many years ago, but the weathering of many winters turned it to almost grey.

I was able to get in easily enough.  I saw as I scanned the interior with my flash light that it had been abandoned for many years.  There were none of the farm implements or tools you would expect to find in a barn.  In fact there wasn’t even any hay on the floors.  It looked to be completely stripped of anything that would even hint of its purpose.

There were what I assumed to be corrals for animals.  But each corral had walls that

 

 

reached to the ceiling of the barn.  This was not right.  I knew from my previous work on a dairy

farm that the separating barriers would only be shoulder high.

I found one corral with what looked like a wide bench to one side.  I thought I could sleep on this bench with my knapsack as a pillow.  So I settled down for a good night’s sleep protected from the elements.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t sleep.  It wasn’t that the bench was uncomfortable, which it was.  Or that it was cold and damp, which it wasn’t.  My brain was bursting with a new short story.  When that happens, I can’t sleep until I at least start to write.  That is usually enough to put me in the land of nod.

So I grabbed my notebook and pen from my knapsack leaned against the wall with my notebook on my bended knees and started to write my thoughts of the story I was planning to write.

As I scribbled my notes into my notebook, there came a faint buzzing in my ears.  I shook my head to chase the buzzing away, but it only continued followed by a faint whisper.

I just shook my head thinking that I was overtired from my walking those many hours.

Then the voice whispered.  I need to talk with you, Alan.

I stood up and looked around for the owner of the voice.

Sit down Alan and listen to what I have to tell you.  It whispered a little louder.

“Where are you?”  I had to ask.

I heard a chuckle as it whispered.   All around you.

 

I naturally stood up and looked all around the barn with my flashlight.  “Where?”  I asked.

I am the old red barn that is talking to you.   It whispered.

“Why?”  I had to ask.

To teach you my importance in the history of this country.

“Why me?”  I had to ask.

Because you are a writer and I expect you to write of what I teach you and get it published.  It is that simple.  It whispered thoughtfully.

I could only nod.  “Yes I am a writer, but a writer of fiction not non-fiction.”

Consider this a career change.   It whispered.

“But you are an inanimate object.  How can you exist?”  I wondered aloud.

I could almost see the barn nod.  Yes.  I am an inanimate object as you so indelicately put it.  But I have observed much in my one hundred and fifty years of existence.

“You are that old?”  I asked with wonderment.  “You have seen a lot of our history.”  I said.

Yes I have been around for a long, long time and I have seen it all or at least heard it all.

I immediately grabbed my notebook, pen and said.  “Teach me.”

I heard it whisper.  I was built to hold hay and protect cows from the elements.  But the farmer and his wife were abolitionists.  They hated slavery.  They made this barn, me, a leg in the underground railroad for freed or escaped slaves.

“Were there attempts to catch these freed and escaped slaves?  And If so, by who?”  I asked the old red barn.

 

Yes.  The barn whispered.  There was a great financial gain to be made by anyone who apprehended and caught a freed or escaped slave.  Most of these hunters came from Pennsylvania because it was so close to the state of New York.  New York had already passed a law in 1823 making it illegal to buy slaves and by 1829 every African man, woman and child was freed to get on with their lives and away from slavery.

“Who were the people who built this barn, you.”  I asked.

They were called Tim and Ellen Baker.  They kept the freed men, women and children well hidden until they could advance to their next destination on the underground railroad.  They also scrimped to feed the newly freed American citizens.  They helped hundreds if not thousands of former slaves escape to freedom.

“What happened to Tim and Ellen Baker?”  I asked.

They were murdered by those hunters of slaves and are buried behind me, the barn.

“Were the hunters that killed them ever caught?”  I asked, half knowing the answer.

No.  In fact there wasn’t  even a half hearted attempt to find them.  There was that much quiet respect for these hunters.  I do know they, the hunters, died a short time later, painfully when they slipped off the edge of a mountain cliff as they were chasing some escaped slaves in the mountains.  They died several days later in extreme pain and all alone.  It is believed it was God’s retribution against them for allowing greed to focus their thought away from the betterment of mankind.

“So what do you want of me besides writing of what you will teach me?”  I asked.

The bodies of Tim and Ellen Baker are buried behind me in shallow unmarked graves. 

They wish to be recognized in death for their pursuits for the betterment of this country.  And

there are scores of African men, women and children buried behind me also in shallow,

unmarked graves and they want people to know that they once lived..

I was scribbling notes into my notebook as fast as I could when I started to yawn.  “I think I need to sleep so I can be well rested the next time we talk.”  I explained to the old red barn.

Of course.  We  will talk more tomorrow night.

I fell asleep shortly thereafter thinking and wondering of what I had learned and been taught.

I woke by 6:00 the following morning feeling quite refreshed and ready to tackle the new day.  I couldn’t understand why because I had only gotten four maybe five hours of sleep.

I had a sandwich in my knapsack for my breakfast, but I really wanted a coffee.  So I walked the five miles back to town to get a cup of coffee.  As I mentioned earlier, I had very little money on me, maybe fifty dollars and I forced myself to scrimp on everything.  My intent that warm summer day, the rain had passed in the night, to go to a stream and wash my clothes as well as myself.  I changed into my extra set of clothes from the knapsack then walked to town.

I took just over an hour and a half.  I went to the closest diner and bought a cup of coffee that was refilled three times and walked back to the old red barn.

As I started to enter the old barn, a grey haired, grizzled old man approached.  At first I was concerned that he might of been the owner of the barn.  But he smiled as he approached closer and held out his hand.

“Hi.”  He said as he shook my hand.  “My name is Tom Wilkins and I saw how you set

 

up housekeeping in this old barn.”

I could only nod, saying.  “I had tried to escape the storm from last night.”

“I know.”  He said.  “And what did you learn while you slept?”

“Learn?”  I asked.  “What do you mean?”

“The old red barn talks does it not?”  He smiled.

I could only nod sheepishly.  “What am I to do?”  I asked.

The old man smiled.  “Listen and try to follow its teaching and advise.”

“You know its essence, the old red barn?”  I had to ask.

“Of course.”  The old man said.  “My wife and I have owned this land for over thirty years.  And we know of the essence of the old barn.  It is on our land, so how could we not know of it?”

“You own the land?”  I asked.  “Then you must own…”

The old man nodded.  “Yes.  The farmhouse and barn you saw a half mile up the road.”

I was confused and almost lost.  “Then you must know the old barn spoke to me.” I said.

The old man nodded.  “Yes.  The barn told us.”

I could only shake my head.  “I’m getting very confused.”

The old man could only smile.  “Don’t be because my wife and I have known of the spiritual being of the barn since we first bought this land those many years ago.  And the barn stood then.  It explained to us that someone should discover it and explain  to the country and what it had seen and heard.  It is obvious to Jean, my wife, and myself that you have been chosen.”

 

“But I am a poor, struggling barely able to survive writer.  What can I accomplish?”  I

was forced to admit and ask.”

Tom nodded.  “Yes.  You are struggling with your writing, but it was thought you are

better to explain the historical significance of the barn to the American people.”

I was invited by Tom to have lunch with him and his wife and I immediately agreed.  What  could I do?  I was down to just forty dollars because at the diner I had not only coffee, but had them cook a cheeseburger and fries for takeout.  I knew I could heat the cheeseburger and fries on a pan in my knapsack.  I made sure I had some cooking utensils with a pan, a cup and a glass when I was forced out of my apartment because I lost my job as a finish carpenter this was due to the down turn in the housing market.  And I hadn’t been able to sell a story for over a year.  So naturally I had little money, forty dollars to be exact.

Tom told me to be at his house by noon and I naturally agreed.  I had three hours to kill after Tom had left and I explored the grounds around the barn.  I looked for anything that would give me just a hint of where Tim and Ellen Baker were buried and where all those freed slaves were buried.

I went behind the barn as the barn had suggested.  I saw nothing except for some beautiful flowers growing on two plots as if they had been planted there.  I knew immediately that these flower plots marked the last resting place of Tim and Ellen Baker.  I clasped my hands together and prayed to those that I would get their graves recognized.  By who, I had no clue, but I knew I would.

As I bowed to leave I felt a voice in my head.  Listen to what we have to say.  Came the

 

voice.

I could only wonder aloud.  “Where?”

Tonight.  In the barn, we will talk to you then.

I naturally agreed.  What else could I have done?

I continued to search behind the barn looking for any hint of the shallow graves of the freed and escaped slaves.  As much as I searched I found nothing, not even a hint of those buried slaves.  I thought I would go to the local university and try and convince the archeological department to use their ground penetrating radar to locate the bodies of these freed slaves and American citizens.

I finally looked at my watch and saw I had fifteen minutes to get to the Wilkins home.  I got there almost at noon precisely.

Tom Wilkins opened the door and exclaimed I was five minutes late.  Then he laughed not to worry, my lunch was still at the table.  I couldn’t believe the feast for lunch that Mrs. Wilkins, Mary, made.  It was a terrific Southern chicken with scallop potatoes and creamed corn.  I hadn’t realized how hungry I was because I devoured the lunch in less than thirty minutes.

As Mary started to clean the dishes away, I offered to help. She only smiled and said to talk to Tom about the old barn.

Tom and I retreated to the outside deck to talk.  We sat on opposite swinging benches.

“So my writer friend, what have you learned so far from our mutual friend, the old barn?”

I could only smile.  “I think I found the graves of Tim and Ellen Baker.”

“Where?”  He asked.

 

“Behind the barn, just as the barn had told me last night.”

“How do you know?”  Tom asked.

I pointed in the direction of the old barn and said.  “The old barn told me that Tim and Ellen were buried in shallow graves behind the old barn.  And when I explored the area, I found

two plots with beautiful flowers on each.  I can only assume is that the flowers are markers of where they were buried.

“What else did you learn?”  Tom asked.

“Not much.”  I admitted.  “I did try and find the graves of the murdered slaves and I found nothing.  I am thinking of going to the local university and ask the Archeology department to use their ground penetrating radar to try to locate their graves.”

“Will they?”

I shook my head saying.  “I only know a few graduate students there and I don’t know if they have the influence to convince the archeological study group to study the area.”

“You will try?”

“Only my best and hardest.”  I replied.

Later on, Tom and Mary said I was welcome to stay in their home for as long as I needed to solve the mystery behind the old red barn.

I declined because I thought the only way to discover the true beings of Tim and Ellen was to spend the night in the old red barn.

When I left four hours later I was told I was welcome to stay the night any time I needed.

I could only smile and wave.

 

That night as I sat back against the wall on the bench of the corral, I had my notebook and

pen ready to take notes.  Just as I did in college, studying literature.  Although at college I was seated at a comfortable desk, in a well lighted and comfortable classroom.  I could even see the lecturer.

The old barn asked.  Wait have you learned?  It asked.

I explained how I thought I had discovered the unmarked and shallow graves of Tim and Ellen Baker.  I also explained that I couldn’t find the graves of the murdered escaped slaves and I asked.  “Can you help me in this regard?”

The old barn said.  No, It would be far better if you discover these graves with help from the university.  It will make your final written piece that much more believable.

I could only nod.  “I know if I mentioned you I would be laughed off by the editors of archeological magazines I have already thought about submitting my final write up.”

The old red barn and I talked for about an hour with me explaining my next step in discovering the unmarked graves of the murdered free Americans behind the barn.  Then came the whispers of spirits I didn’t recognize at first.  Then I knew they were the whispers of Tim and Ellen Baker.  They wanted to know how I would get their lives and deaths recognized by the general public.

I explained that I intended to go to the local library and town hall to find the records of the town’s history and maybe even dig up copies of the newspapers of their day that reported their deaths.

I believe they were satisfied with my plans because their whispers faded into the night.

 

The old red barns final response was.  I will leave you, so you can think over what you

are to do and maybe even sleep.

Did I sleep that night?  Yes.  But only barely.  I couldn’t get out of my mind the direction of my research for the next few days.  I had at least a half dozen stops to make in the town.  The first was to the local library.  Then to the town hall then to the local historical society and finally to the university to try and convince the chairman of the archeology department to use their ground penetrating radar to locate the bodies of people buried behind the old red barn.

The next day was very tiring because I had to walk to all the places that I had intended to investigate.  I scraped enough money to have coffee and a quick lunch at the local McDonalds of Mcnuggets because it was the cheapest on their menu and would fill me up for the afternoon

At the library, I found the microfiche of the old newspapers and I found the obituaries of Tim and Ellen’s deaths.  But the newspaper provided no details on how they died and why.

At the town hall I learned that the Bakers had owned the land where the old red barn is located.  But other than that I could find nothing else.  The local historical society had nothing more to add to my investigation.

I finally went to the local university and to the chairman of the archeology department and I tried to force him to accept that there are bodies buried behind the old red barn and that I needed the archeology department to use their ground penetrating radar to maybe locate more bodies of escaped slaves.

When I said escaped slaves, the chairman of the department, Dr. Brandon, immediately looked up from his desk and asked how I knew.  I could only shake my head and say I had met

 

the current owners of the land and they had learned from the previous owners.

The department chairman relented and said he would send his archeological team to check out my claims.

A week later the archeological crew showed up and were astounded by their finds of dozens of bodies buried in shallow graves.  They asked me how I knew and I could only shrug with the statement that I had researched the area thoroughly and learned that Rim and Ellen Baker were strict abolitionists and they died mysteriously. They could only accept my explanation.

We finally were able to bury the remains of Rim and Ellen Baker in a televised service of New York city stations and they were recognized as being instrumental in the underground railroad of the mid 1800’s

The last I saw of Tim. and Ellen Baker, I saw their spirits rise to another level of the afterlife.  Before they rose, they explained that the hunters who killed them had been condemned to the land of the damned.  God only knows when they will be released from the land of the damned and only God can release them.