En route to Menlo Park, New Jersey
April 1915
Do you read by electric light? Oh, I’m sure for years, squinting at your copy of Great Expectations by the spark of a candle on your Davenport, was a familiar experience. But here in the twentieth century, we can now rely on the light bulb.
Doubtless you think Mr. Edison is responsible for that. You are mistaken.
Were I to speak the name Sir Hiram Stevens Maxim, would it mean anything to you? It might if you fought in the Boer War, or perhaps the Boxer Rebellion. If so, you would’ve used a Maxim, the world’s first automatic machine gun. I understand at this moment, our boys are using them in the Great War.
Anyway, Sir Hiram, a former Yank, as a matter of fact, is known for such creations — and here, in this portfolio, I have, at last, irrefutable proof he filed the patent for the invention of the light bulb before Mr. Edison. In Menlo Park, I will present my evidence in a court of law.
Ah ah — I must insist you do not touch it. Since disembarking from the ship in New York and boarding this train, I have had reason to believe I am being… followed. You’ll forgive me if I take precautions with its safety.
I have been in Sir Hiram’s employ for thirty years, ever since moving to London from Blackpool in my youth. Perhaps I flatter myself by stating I helped him create items like the Maxim gun, or hair-curling irons or steam pumps. When it comes to assembling the necessary materials according to his specifications, however, or noting the results of his experiments, my role in these endeavors is indisputable. I admit to a degree of self-interest in setting the record straight on the matter of the light bulb patent. Why not? I dare say it has the potential to change the world.
Without going too deeply into the circumstances that led to Sir Hiram’s dispute with Mr. Edison, let me say an employee of Sir Hiram’s violated his trust with regard to patent law, and Mr. Edison took advantage of the situation.
Sir Hiram would’ve voyaged to America himself to settle the matter, but he suffers from bronchitis; indeed, I regret to say he has lived with the ailment most of his life. Hence I get to see the States while acting on his behalf. Excuse me a moment…
Forgive me. As I said, I am certain a pair of unknown men have followed me since arriving in New York. I think they’re on this train as we speak. My suspicion is they are in Mr. Edison’s employ and may do me harm. Alas, I cannot prove it. It could be paranoia, but one hears stories, even from the other side of the Atlantic…
Enough. I shall put it out of my mind.
***
New York City
May 1915
At the bank of the Hudson River, cargo trucks come and go from the grand, arched entrance to Pier 54. I slump within its shadow, watching cars with white-walled tires and passengers in derbies and dark trenchcoats swarm all about.
I sigh. The portfolio containing my documents is gone and it’s my fault.
When I left the train and checked into the hotel, hunger overwhelmed me. The bellman took my luggage, including my portfolio, upstairs and I entered the dining room on the ground level. “Dine” is an insufficient verb to describe my four hours there. Five courses, plus cognac and pipe smoking at the bar. I discussed the Great War with an architect with business interests in Europe, concerned whether or not America would be drawn into the conflict. Pleasant chap.
Upstairs in my room, my portfolio had vanished. The bellman swore there was none and no one from the front desk could prove I had it. In looks, it was indistinguishable from my other luggage.
I believe the bellman conspired with Edison’s men. They bribed or blackmailed him. The last time I glimpsed them was when I disembarked from the train. They could have followed me to the hotel. They would have had the opportunity to intercept the bellman. But this is conjecture.
Did they even work for Edison? I’m unsure, but the timing of the disappearance raises questions in my mind.
I moved to another hotel. Days later, I kept my appointment at Menlo Park’s City Hall, but without my portfolio, my case for Sir Hiram as the original light bulb patent holder could not be made.
My despondent state caused me to miss my scheduled train back to New York. Before I caught another, I stopped at the original hotel, determined to recover my property. My ship would depart soon, but I needed to settle this. Another search of the premises by the staff revealed nothing. The desk man offered remuneration, but what value could mere cash offer?
When I arrived at Pier 54, the ship had sailed.
My only option now is to wire Sir Hiram for more money. He will understand.
I can re-board the Lusitania when it returns from England.
***
En route to London
two months later
Imagine. A missing portfolio meant the difference between life and death for me. These past weeks have been spent dwelling on the very subject.
Now, I am grateful to Almighty God to be going home, alive — but wait. Have those two men on the starboard side of the ship been watching me?
No. All this traveling has addled my senses. I no longer have my portfolio; I pose no threat to Edison anymore!
But I still have the knowledge of Sir Hiram’s light bulb plans. If they don’t have the portfolio, they can settle for me… and where on this ship could I run if they make their move?
They are mere fellow passengers. They have nothing to do with Edison. I’ll go talk to them. Perhaps they’ll invite me to dinner.
Perhaps…
This will be a long voyage home.
Since 2021, Rich Watson has been writing about twentieth-century pop culture biweekly, plus original fiction, and is working on a novella. He enjoys baseball, cooking and hiking. He lives in New York City.
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