CT – 227                                 CORNERSTONE TRAVELER                               JAN.  7 ‘13

 

A BIG HAPPY NEW YEAR to all my readers of this bi-weekly newsletter, The CORNERSTONE TRAVELER both in print and online at www.cornerstonetraveler.com.

mid-Hudson Valley news:  I hope everyone had a happy and safe NEW YEARS.  I know the police were out in force looking to pull over and ticket the hardy partyers.

I myself was here at P&G’s with my son, Justin.  I drove and therefore was the designated driver.  All I drank that night was hot chocolate, but still got pulled over by a State Trooper on the pretense that I didn’t come to a full stop at the white line on the Platekill ave and Rte. 32 intersection.  He claimed I eased past the white line to look for traffic coming on my left.  My son and I knew he pulled me over for an alcohol check.  He didn’t believe me when I told him that I drank hot chocolate and had me do a half assed field sobriety check.  He just gave me a warning to stop at the white line before I eased past to check for traffic.

I say again, it has been a strange several weeks, weather wise, here in the Hudson Valley  and even throughout the tristate region.  It started with Thanksgiving where we had a bitter cold then on the first day of winter we had almost tropical weather with temperatures reaching the mid 60’s.  Then a few days before New Years the temperature dropped to below normal and becoming bitter again with a snow storm the Thursday after New Years day.  It is still bitterly cold even though we had temps in th 40’s this past weekend.  I feel bad for the homeless, especially the 58,000 to 63,000 homeless vets.

observations:

Every time I think of the American medical system, I think back to those heathen Native Americans, Indians, and how they treated their people.  They cared for everyone from cradle to grave (or for those early peoples, papoose to grave.)  Everyone contributed to the health of their society.  (Tribe) Even in regards to land ownership.  Individual people did not own their own land.  The tribe owned the land.  Individual people owning land was unheard of by these people.  Even Chief Tecumseh when he learned of the homesteaders occupying and owning land asked: What’s next?  People will own water and air?”  He was right!  Just look at the sales of bottled water which I refuse to buy.

It appears to me that the western industrialization of our civilization brought about the increased cost of medical care.

Don’t get me wrong.  The industrialization of society was great because it made living that much more easier.  The industrialization made those everyday chores that much easier.  But this industrialization also brought about inflation and therefore the increase in health care costs.  Even church donations became more expensive because it cost that much more to heat and light those churches, And if it cost more to those churches it cost more for medical care.

The problem as I see it: is that the wealthy are more reluctant to pay more for medical care for the poor.  It’s not as if the poor do not strive to try and better their financial position, it’s just that there is only so much money to go around.  So they, the poor, are stuck with getting whatever medical care they can afford.

sports: I have to tell the truth, I just can’t just get excited by the football playoffs because neither the Jets or Giants are involved.  Though this weekend the Pats will be playing the Colts at Foxboro.

other: As with all previous issues of this newsletter, everything written here is either copyright protected or copyright pending.

The history of P&G’s follows this newsletter from the year 1900 when the building was first constructed to about the mid 1930’s

And following this history is a multi part short story I wrote called: IMMORTALS, VAMPIRES AND WEREWOLVES.  You may ask why such a name for a short story?  Which you should.  It is because it is a story about immortals, vampires and werewolves and a person like me, Conor, who studied these peoples.  I hope you like it.

                        The History of P&G’s from the Beginning

 

Travel back more than a century to the spring of 1900 as builder John H. Hasbrouck and his men construct a 50′ by 28′ building on the site of the current P&G’s Restaurant.  Look around and begin to imagine.

The first floor features a fountain with water softly falling into a cobblestone basin.  The exotic effect is enhanced with darting goldfish and blooming water lilies.  Palms set liberally throughout the room, provide an air of privacy for those seated at the groups of small tables.  Patrons, dressed in their finest, sit chatting, sometimes courting and enjoying the establishments fine refreshments.

The upper story is a promenade, opened to a full view of sunset over the Shawangunk Mountains.  Live music gently eases you from afternoon into evening.  Welcome to the ambiance and hospitality of the Casino.

The Casino’s owner, Mr Steen, had correctly envisioned the areas many tourists, summer boarders and trolley passengers stopping to enjoy the unique features of his establishment.  The terminal station for the trolley line from Highland is located just across Main Street.  It is said that Steen patterned the Casino after the famous Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs.

On June 1, 1900 the Casino was officially opened.  That evening “a large number of people enjoyed the ice cream, music and the lovely mountains views.”  according to the New Paltz Independent newspaper.  Music was provided by a band which included a piano and several other instruments.  The Casino soon became famous for Saturday night dances held on the second floor of the open pavilion.  It was decorated with flowers and vines suspended from the rafters.  The crowds were so large that special late trolley cars were run to accommodate the guests and take the orchestra back to Poughkeepsie.

The electric power shut down at midnight. According to Independent writer Delia Shaw “…the time of closing and the departure of the last trolley (run by electricity) had to be reckoned with, but as was often the case, several folks ‘Missed the Last Trolley’… seems between intermissions the  fellows would walk their girls down the street where numerous straw thatched summer houses were located on the banks of the Wallkill River and they were so preoccupied with making love by the light of the silvery moon that they forgot everything.”  Shaw continued.  “Saturday Nights In New Paltz Became A Legend!  There was not a single hitching post available, nor an inch of space under any of the sheds of the five local hotels.  The Casino drew people from surrounding towns and they came via hay loads and 4 seated carriages, while some men even walked and carried their dancing shoes.  ‘Little Larry,’ the shoeshine fellow, did a landslide business on Sat. Nights!  As did all the merchants and the stores open ‘til 9 p.m.”

By 1921 the Casino had changed hands and names, becoming the Blue Crane Inn.  Ads of the era read.

The big Night at the Blue Crane Inn

Dancing Every Wednesday and Saturday Evening

In the Chinese Hall-Good Jazzy Music.

The cornerstone of nightlife in New Paltz continued to thrive.

In 1925, after 28 Years of service, the Highland to New Paltz trolley company folded.  The demise of the trolley business and the affordability of the automobile meant peoples outings were no longer confined to the trolley’s narrow corridor.  They could drive to any village hotel, restaurant, or scenic spot that caught their fancy.  Indeed, New Paltz and the Blue Crane Inn lost their captive audience.  The Inn, however, continued to accommodate people well into the 1930’s.  Other establishments came and went until 1947 when it became Pat and Georges and ultimately was nicknamed the P&G’s that welcomes everybody.

 

                     IMMORTALS, VAMPIRES and WEREWOLVES

 

Immortals?

As he drove the Jeep Wrangler with the canvas top down into the native village called the Peoples Village, incorporated in the state of Maine, he saw that the streets and lawns were so well kept that there was not one piece of litter or even a crushed cigarette butt anywhere.

Connor Thomas drove up the Main Street, found a café that offered coffee.  He hoped they had iced coffee because it was so hot.  An unusual occurrence in northern Maine, especially near the coast.

He found a place to park his Jeep and climbed out.  He was certain that the bags that held his clothes for at least a three day stay were safe from wanna be thieves.  He somehow knew that was not a problem in the village.  He just took his notebook with a few pens and carried them inside the café.

He walked into the café and saw a beautiful, young woman behind the counter with long black hair, smile at him.  He naturally had to smile back.

As he sat on a stool by the counter, he laid his notebook and pens on the counter.  The beautiful woman behind the counter came to him and asked.  “Can I help you?”

“Yes.”  Connor said.  “Do you have iced coffee?”

She smiled.  “Only the best.”

“Great.”  Connor said.  “I’ll have a large iced coffee.”

She smiled again.  “Do you want cream or milk?”

Connor shook his head.  “No.  Just black, Thank you.”

She filled a large glass with ice then poured coffee into it from a coffee pot.  “Would you

like sugar?”

Connor shook his head.  “No.  I’m sweet enough.”

“Yes.  I can tell.”  She laughed as she brought the glass of iced coffee to him.

Connor sipped the iced coffee as he scribbled notes into his notebook.  His right hand scribbled almost constantly as he absently sipped the iced coffee with his left hand.

The hostess became curious and wondered what the man at the counter was writing into his notebook.  So she walked over.  “Are you a writer?”

Connor stopped scribbling, looked up and smiled.  “Hardly.  I’m an anthropologist – archeologist and I am preparing a paper for a review magazine about the natives in this area and more specifically this village, you call the Peoples Village.

She smiled.  “If you want to learn more of this village, you should talk to my grandfather.  He is the wisest person in our village because of his age, over ninety. He is so old and learned, he is called the Wise Old Man.”

“Sounds fascinating.”  Connor said.  “Can you give me his telephone number and address, so I can maybe pick his brains?”

“I’ll give you his number and address, but you won’t be able to talk to him until Monday afternoon.  He is right now in Canada visiting family.”   She said as she wrote the telephone number and address on a paper napkin.  She handed it to Connor, who looked it over and carefully folded it to slip into his shirt pocket.  “By the way, what is your name?”  He asked.

“Melody.”  She replied.

“Thanks.”  He said.  “Now perhaps you can tell me of that fortress like enclave about a

mile from the city limits of the Peoples Village?”

Melody had to look away.  “My grandfather calls them the Ancient Ones and claims they have been here before the European white man got here in the mid 1600’s.  He believes that they may have come here on the Viking boats of Lief Erickson or Eric the Red.  Or maybe even that unknown Viking, Eric Red Hair.  But either way they are very secretive and try to keep to themselves, isolated from the outside world.  You very seldom see any of them leave their compound.  They are that secretive.”

“They sound intriguing and being an anthropologist, I must try and get into their enclave to study them up close and personal.  If you get my meaning?”

Melody only smiled.  “You could try, but they snub any outsiders from entering their compound.  They are not violent in any way.  At least not so according to my grandfather.  But they will shun you and make it known that you are not welcome.”

Connor sipped the last of his iced coffee and asked.  “Is there a hotel or motel I could spend a few nights in your village?  Or do I have to travel twenty-five miles back to the Holiday Inn I passed when I drove here?”

Melody smiled. “There is a fine B&B right up the street on the right.  Their rates are reasonable.  The husband and wife serve good breakfasts and even lunches if the mood catches them. Their rates are eighty dollars per night.”

“Sounds great!”  Connor said as he rose from his stool, reached into his pocket.  “How much do I owe?”

“One seventy-five.”

“Here’s three dollars.”  Connor said.  “Keep the change.”

“Why thank-you.”  Melody smiled.

“I’ll probably be seeing you everyday to enjoy your very fine iced coffee.”  Connor said as he left the café.

Connor drove up the Main Street until he found the B&B, he parked his Jeep, entered the front door with bag in hand.  He was met by an aging native woman he thought to be at least sixty.”

“Can I help you?”  She asked.

“Yes.  I need a room for three maybe four nights.”  Connor said.

“Of course.”  She said.  “We have rooms available on the first and third floor.  What would you desire?”

“Third floor.”  Connor said immediately.  “I want to look down upon this fine village of yours.”

“I have a room with a balcony.  So you should be able to see far and wide.”

“I’ll take it.”  Connor said without thought.

The woman, who called herself Dawn, brought Connor to the third floor.  There was no elevator, of course.

After the woman left, Connor bought a Coke from the machine in the hall to his room, sat on a bench of the balcony to his room and just stared at the town below him.  The Peoples

Village intrigued him for some still unknown reason.  He just had to know the village before he

asked questions of the residents.  He sipped the Coke as he thought and closed his eyes as he

turned his attention to the mysterious enclave he had passed.  He knew he had to find a way to

make his presence welcome there, but was at a loss to know how.

It was near six when he thought he had to get some dinner.  He found a local diner on the outskirts of the village.  He entered, sat at the counter and took the offered menu.  He perused it until he found something that he thought he could finish without too much trouble.

Before his dinner arrived, he started a conversation with a husband and wife who were residents of the Peoples Village.  From them he learned a lot of the history of the people in the Peoples Village.  And as always, he scribbled notes into his ever present notebook.

Finally as he was prepared to leave, he asked.  “What can you tell me of that enclave a mile outside of the village?”

The husband and wife looked at each other, whispered then lowered their heads before they spoke.

The husband spoke first.  “I don’t know what you have heard of them from others outside our village, but I can assure you they are not blood drinkers or vampires.”

Connor shook his head.  “I never heard any such thing and why would anyone else think that?  I know they seldom leave their compound.  Why would anyone think they are blood drinkers or vampires?”  He asked.

This time the wife spoke.  “Because they never age.  There are a few who look exactly the same as they did one hundred and fifty years ago when cameras were first able to capture

their images.”

Connor shook his head in disbelief.  “It could be their genetic traits and their children

look the same as the parents.”

“For that many generations?”  The husband asked.

They talked for another few minutes until Connor begged to leave so he could rest for his attempt to maybe gain entrance to the mysterious compound. He drove back to the B&B and immediately climbed to his room sat on a chair on the balcony to view the Peoples Village at night.

Connor dozed for a few minutes thinking of how he could gain entrance into the compound.  His head had dropped to his chest when it suddenly snapped up with his eyes open.  He thought he found a way to maybe gain entrance into the compound.  He thought to use his archeological training as a cover as he explored the grounds on the highway, looking for archaeological artifacts and he would mistakenly wander into the compound and hope he wasn’t forcibly ejected.  He decided he would do it first thing in the morning at about seven or earlier.

He rose from his seat on the balcony, walked down the stairs to the front door, explaining to Dawn he was just going for a walk, saying he might not be back for three, maybe four hours.  He hoped this long walk would tire him enough that he would sleep well that night. He wandered throughout the Peoples Village, striking up conversation whenever he could with the village residents, hoping to learn more of the village and the enclave and writing his observations or thoughts into his ever present notebook

When he finally got back to his room at the B&B at 11:00, he was so tired he knew he

would sleep the entire night without waking until about six that morning.

By six, Connor had awaken, completely refreshed for a brand new day.  He went to the

bathroom for his regular morning absolutions with a hot shower.  He dressed, went down stairs

to find that Dawn and Hank, her husband, already had breakfast ready for himself and the few guests of their B&B.

Connor had a couple of fried eggs with delicious sausage and toast with two cups of coffee.  He usually didn’t have breakfast, but thought he needed the breakfast for the long day he had planned.

He started his subterfuge of being an investigative archeologist a half mile before the compound by searching for something and anything on the ground by the side of the big highway and even on occasion walking into the woods that bordered the highway.

He deliberately made a show of looking under every rock or stone and even turning over old fallen tree limbs.  It was a long and arduous task, but he knew if he was to carry through with his deception, he had to carry on.

Finally as he neared the compound, he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the ground before him and only occasionally looking up.  As he searched the ground he would lift his gaze to the woods and to the compound.  When he was within one hundred yards of the compound that held seven maybe ten homes, he looked into the woods and saw a slab of stone, about three feet wide and two feet high with stones that formed a semi-circle around the front of the slab of stone.  To Connor it looked like an ancient fire pit used by the early peoples of the area to cook their meals and maybe share stories around a campfire.

He walked to the slab of stones, pulled his backpack from his shoulders, pulled out some string and four wooden stakes to mark the area where he wanted to dig into the past.

He carefully placed the stakes six inches outside the slab and stone circle on three sides.

He removed the stones and placed them in approximate position outside of his string markings

like they were before he disturbed them.

Then he took a flat masons trowel from his backpack with a screen that he could screen dirt from the detritus he scraped away to learn what lay below the ground, left perhaps centuries earlier by the natives of the area.

He carefully cut the ground cover from the earth, knowing he had only cut away twenty-five maybe fifty years of archeological history.  He then, on his knees scraped the earth with the masons trowel.  What he scraped, he would sift through the screen that would not allow anything larger than an eighth of an inch to pass through.  What ever detritus the screen held, he examined carefully.  Only tossing those pebbles and scrap that he knew could be tossed.

He had kept this up for close to three hours, sipping at his canteen of water when he needed to quench his thirst.

He scraped down two or three inches and he knew he had scraped down maybe five hundred years.  As he scraped he found the peoples ate small game with some clams or mussels and even lobster with the shells he found.

He drained the last of the water from his canteen and knew if he was to walk back to the Peoples Village, he needed more water.  He thought he could use this pretense of asking for water at one of the homes in the compound to maybe meet the residents.

He carefully packed his trowel and screen into his backpack and shouldered it. He also returned the stones he had moved to their approximate positions in front of the stone slab.   He

walked to the nearest structure and knocked on the door.

He was totally unprepared for who would greet him when the door opened.  The man who answered was a man, not more than thirty years old, who smiled.  “Can I help you?”

The man had a bronze almost native sheen, but brighter with piercing green eyes.

“Yes.”  Connor said.  “I am hoping if you would be so kind as to let me fill my canteen so I can walk back to the Peoples Village without collapsing from dehydration.”

“Of course.”  The man said.  “Come right in.”  He pointed to the kitchen where Connor could fill his canteen.

When Connor entered the kitchen, he saw that it was almost immaculate without scraps of food anywhere or even the hastily discarded napkin.  He knew that if he peeked into the cupboards or refrigerator he would find everything perfectly ordered and nothing that would attract the otherwise hungry rodent or even cockroach.  It was that clean and orderly in the kitchen.

He filled the canteen and left the kitchen to find the man sitting on a chair beside the front door.  As if a sentry to monitor the comings and goings of all visitors.

Connor saw that three walls of the front parlor were lined with book shelves that held scores and scores of books and he knew the man had read each one.  There was one shelf that attracted him because the book bindings looked almost ancient and he naturally had to check the titles of those books.  He studied the titles, but he couldn’t even identify one that he recognized.

The man in the chair saw his confusion, rose and stood next to Connor.  “You don’t know these books?  Do you?”  He asked.

“Not even one and I thought I was well read of many of the old and ancient tomes of the

past.  I am an archeologist – anthropologist by training and had to read the ancient texts of years

gone by.  But I don’t have a clue about these texts.”

The man nodded.  “No.  I would not think you could know of these books or texts

because they were written by my people.  And they are just translations of what was written thousands of years ago.”

“I’m not sure I understand. You are telling me these books are translations from texts written thousands of years ago?”  Connor repeated.

“Yes.”  The man said.

“What language were they translated from?”  Connor asked.

“An ancient language.  Too ancient for even a trained anthropologist such as yourself to ever understand.”  The man said.

“What are the roots of this language?”  Connor had to ask.  “Latin?  Greek?  Asian?”

“None of the above.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”  Connor said.

“No.  I don’t expect you would.”  The man said.  “My people are that old.”

Connor shook his head.  “Your people?  What do you mean by your people?”

The man smiled.  “We are what you may have seen on T.V., immortals.  We have been existing for thousands of years.”

Connor gasped.  “You mean like the movie with Sean Connery and later, a T.V. series called the Highlander and another T.V. series called the Raven?”

The man smiled.  “Yes.  But we see those shows as sit-coms and not reality in our lives.”

Connor stood back, confused, unsure what to say, so he asked the most logical question.  “How old are you?”

The man smiled.  “I am over two thousand years old.”

Connor looked the man up and down and had to say .  “You were there when Jesus walked and taught?”

The man nodded.  “Yes.  I became the immortal that I am about the time of Jesus. And I had lived in what you call the mid-East at the time.”

“How did you become immortal?”  Connor asked.

The man only smiled.  “Before my  first death I was a warrior, though I never killed anyone.  I tried to protect Jesus from the Romans and the Zealots who did not ascribe to the teaching of Jesus, who taught non-violence.

“How did you become immortal?”  Connor asked again.

“I guess it was the choice of God.  I think, as do many of our kind, believe that God created us to protect mortal humans from what you may know as vampires.”

“Vampires?  They exist?”

The man nodded.  “Yes.  It has been a see-saw battle between good and evil.  Neither side can claim victory over the other.  It is that tenuous.”

Connor was confused because he knew of the secret peoples of the enclave and

wondered why this man, immortal, was revealing all this supposedly secretive history to him.  So he had to ask.  “Why are you telling me this?”

The man smiled.  “Because I saw that you will not reveal our true selves for personal

gain or profit.”

“You are psychic along with being an immortal?”

The man laughed.  “Hardly.  I just can see a persons mental being by their actions.  I have

had over two thousand years to learn and I believe I have become quite adept at it.”

It was Connor’s turn to laugh.  “Yes.  I can see how.  I treat archeology and anthropology as a hobby and pastime that pays me for something I really enjoy.  I really enjoy learning, especially of peoples of the past.  It is that simple.”

The man nodded.  “Yes.  I can see and sense your passion in learning and it is the reason that I am going to ask you to become a Watcher of immortals like myself.”

“Watcher?”  Connor asked.  “There was a man called a Watcher on the first T.V. series of immortals called The Highlander.  You want me to be a person like that?”

The man smiled.  “Yes the writer of that show at least got that right.  We need Watchers to chronicle our actions and history.  And I think you would be ideal for that position.  Especially so, considering we have been without a Watcher for over a year.”

“What happened to that Watcher?”  Connor asked.

The man frowned.  “He was murdered by a vampire lair when he came close to revealing their existence to the world.  They couldn’t allow that to happen.  They caught him and took turns draining his blood until he died.

Connor shuddered at the image and asked.  “You know of this vampire lair and where they exist?”

The man shook his head.  “No.  This lair of vampires constantly move so they cannot

be located easily.”

“Can you at least tell me your name so I don’t just refer to you as the man?”

The man smiled.  “My original mortal name is difficult to pronounce.  So just call me Trizackle.

“Okay, Trizackle, if I agree to be the Watcher, where would I keep the chronicles I write, so that they would be safe?”

Trizackle smiled.  “We have a special library in Jerusalem.  It is a non-descript building from all who live there, but known because it is an interesting building.  That is where you will store your chronicles of beings such as myself and the vampires we have to control.”

“And as a Watcher, I can store what I have written?”

“Of course.  You will be known as a Watcher by all immortals and even by those vampires who fear of what you write.  Just be careful.”

“Are all vampires like that lair who kill mortals wantonly?”

Trizackle shook his head.  “No.  Most vampires only feed on the beasts of the wild.  There are those who feed on the beasts of the wild and only occasionally feed on mortals, but those vamps will not drain a mortal of so much blood that the mortal dies.  They are that respectful of mortals.  Then there are the group of vamps who will only feed on mortals and take pleasure in hearing and feeling the hearts last beat before the mortal dies.  It is those vamps that immortals such as myself are most concerned about.  And we try to eliminate them when they can be found.  Unfortunately the last Watcher found them and he was murdered because he had found them.  Knowing that, do you still want to be a Watcher?”

Connor stood back and said.  “As much as I consider myself to be fearless against

almost anything, I do have to think long and hard about this.”

“I understand.”  Trizackle said.

“When do you need my decision?”  Connor asked.

“As soon as you can decide.  It is that important for us.”

Connor nodded.  “Give me sometime, maybe a few weeks.”   Connor knew he had to complete his review of the Peoples Village because he had gotten a twenty-five thousand dollar grant for this research and the federal government expected a good and well researched paper.  He knew it would take at least two weeks before he could finish the research paper and told Trizackle.  “It could well be two weeks maybe three weeks before I would be able to start because of the research paper I am obligated to finish.”

Trizackle smiled.  “I understand.  Do what you must then return with your decision.