Get on the Go-go

Get on the Go-go

“Stockard? I say, Stockard!” I bellowed those words out of my mouth so many times over the past five years, it seemed almost a reflex. “Stockard, where are you?”
 
While we ran one of the top repair shops in London, it seemed harder having to pop in every day to make sure my protégé kept at work! I knew when I found him, it would be; "I'm almost at a revelation, boss. I just have to bring all loose ends to a point which will allow my motor to keep functioning." Who ever heard of such an atrocity?

We had our motors well over one-hundred years. Nothing else had shown up to replace these inventions, and I did not know what could make Stockard believe he had found the answer?

It would be a relief just to catch him doing something normal, like cutting copper pipes to length for the ten boilers that Mr. Hobsin ordered a month ago.

The wooden walkway gave a bit more than usual under my feet due to the copious rain and fog we had most of the week.

“Stockard!" I called, pushing open the slightly damp, film-covered door with the end of my cane.

“Yes, Jules, I'm in here. Come on in," he finally answered.

“I will come in anywhere I like. The last I knew, I still happen to be the chap who owns this un-taut ship of an enterprise," I commented, apparently to deaf ears.

He never stopped tinkering with the unusual engine he had cobbled together over the past year. I felt the need to admit that at least it was an interesting looking contraption.

“When will this blasted project be put to rest, Stockard?” I asked. “When can I expect this to be out of your mind for good?"

He set his tools down and picked up a rag to wipe his hands. He leaned confidently on the work-station I allowed him to bring in several months ago for his fantasy project. “Oh, I hope never,” he smiled. “This is going to revolutionize our industry!"

This he said often to me and others. Perhaps we were missing something, but despite discussions among we informed few, we just couldn’t firmly grasp his reality.

"Jules Lortimus," he said, wiping his oil-stained hands on a rag, "I'll be happy to see you choke down all your unwelcome words about my project. One of these days you’ll see, Jules. You just wait!"

**

On my visits, I casually strolled around his place of work and the pungent smell of some strange odor played havoc on my sinuses. Whatever he had boiling seemed to cause my stomach to churn.

“What, might I ask, is that god-awful smell?"

Stockard turned from watching the steamships come and go in the harbor down below, apparently getting a breather from the fumes himself. “That's the key I've been trying to figure out for months now," he said. "I must keep it lubricated with some sort of oil, then I can figure out a firing system. After that, it's just a matter of making things operate from the front of the spinning portion. That's the key.”

I would willingly swear that getting him to do the work I paid him for was harder than talking a monk out of a turkey leg!

We headed out the door and made our way up the rickety planks which led to the working part of our building. Sometimes I wondered how the old building stayed together, but it did and had for years.

“What do you say we cut the pipes for Mr. Hobsin’s boilers before we head out? It should be no problem assembling them on-site, if we get to that point," I told him.

I could see Stockard had his body in the building, but his mind was elsewhere.

“So, we need twenty-four foot lengths, and forty four-foot coiled lengths?" he asked.

“Yes, I think that's the count," I replied.

“Okay, boss. I’ll have them ready before we leave today, guaranteed!” He said.

I arrived early the next morning to an unexpectedly smoky workplace. I immediately thought a fire had broken out, and I swiftly made my way through the building. There was, however, no fire to find! It was, instead, the loud noise coming from Stockard’s workroom that seemed to be the cause of this smoky mess.

“Stockard!” I called. “What, in all God’s green earth, have you got going on this early in the morning?"

Stockard burst through the door, scaring the life out of me, and he as well, as we nearly collided in the hallway. He grabbed my two hands, raising them high for all the heavens to see the ridiculous, elated jig he now performed.

“Jules! Oh, Jules, I think I may have the prophecy fulfilled! Oh, sweet glory Jesus. I have dreamed of this for so long!" Stockard screamed, elated.

He dragged me into the very smoky room where the loud engine was operating, mounted on a special stand. Stockard must have created it just for this purpose.

We stood looking at the contraption for several minutes with very little conversation. I walked around to the other side, raising my voice over its din to ask about the strange engine.

"Explain to me how this is going to change our industry, again?" I loudly ask.

Stockard walked to a jug of fluid, apparently necessary to the operation of the engine, and lifted the hinged lid to peek down into it. "There’s still quite a bit left. I'm going to unhook it for a while,” he said, removing a main wire source coming out from the side of the blasted thing. Suddenly, silence was its own kind of deafening!

“Come look. Jules. I'll tell you how it all works!" He said. "It's going to work out great. Can't you just tell?"

Stockard removed and plugged the fuel can. He wound the wire up to the electrical source, and began the demonstration. I brought the only real seat over to the motor’s edge. I believed the demonstration may take a while.

Stockard began wiping the strange engine to make it be more presentable.

"So, this is our fuel source," he said, slapping the fuel can very quickly. “You know that, but it's not coal or wood. No sir! It's what people are calling the next wonder of the world. It’s a petroleum product, a step above kerosene. They are calling it gasoline.”

I was curious enough that Stockard genuinely had me eating out of his hands.

As he continued with his presentation, he didn’t seem like the usual spaced-out Stockard to me. He seemed like a man on a mission. He also seemed that this mission was one he had within his control. It was impressive to see!

“Inside is the real brilliance of it!" he said, still wiping the metal. “It operates like this; the four shafts bolt onto and around the central shafts, spacing out the firing at an even juncture. This way the engine gets constant rotation as it fires! They go up and down at different times." As he watched for my reaction, I could hardly believe those eyes belonged to the same young man I had hired.

“I got Henry to get me four sparkers that implant in a vehicle steam motor. They’re designed to seal and give it lubrication. This still has the bones of a steam motor, but this design has a lot more power. Wait until you see the surprise I have in store for you!” he proudly exclaimed. "This kind of motor can run serious machinery. My other one at home is made to drive a bicycle!"

**

I arrived at work an hour early, as I did every day. This always gave me time to ensure everything was in place and secure for the day’s work. It was another very foggy day in London, and the sound of the steamships and trolleys filled the air with homey sounds. It was that morning I heard a sound that was not a familiar one. As it grew louder, so did the pressure of my blood in my ears. For a moment I seriously searched for an escape, praying that we were not being invaded again!

It was then that I saw an apparition come out of the fog straight toward me. It was a contraption of some sort with a man apparently riding on it. It was a bicycle of some sort! The man pulled up to me and stopped. It was Stockard!

"Good morning, Boss," he said, reaching down to kill the noise-making contraption with a press of some button.

“Good morning," I answered back, relieved once the sound cut out. "So, this is the bicycle you told me about?”

“Yeah, this is her! What do you think?" he asked, as he leaned the bicycle on some sort of rod which kept it from falling.

I walked around his strange bicycle, studying it. There were two wooden wheels with a padding of a rubber-type substance around them. I assumed that was added for comfort riding on the cobblestone streets. As a whole, it looked to be a mockup of a child's bicycle, but made for an adult with a widened frame holding the motor he assembled away from work.

“This is not bad, Stockard, not bad at all," I replied. “Did you see my reaction as you came out of the fog? You nearly scared me lifeless!"

“Sorry about that, Boss!" he said. “I’m just really excited about today's first test drive, and I knew you'd be here, ready to start the day."

I picked up my briefcase and turned to enter the building. Stockard pushed the bike the last fifty feet and parked it for the day.

For once, we got in a good day’s work without talk of the motor! As we prepared to leave for the day, Stockard headed to the bike, and I walked out, about to head on my three-block path home. I stopped when he cranked up the bicycle and made the motor roar.

"Hey, no need to walk, Jules," he said. "Get on the go-go"



  Words: 1,696

 

 

 

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