These ones who have moved away stand in the museum. The smells of wood polish and wool add to the sentimentality as they stare down at the stereopticon and the hand-held stereoscope, which both lay atop a well-polished brass counter-top. A ceiling fan whirls.
It is Warhaven High School Alumni Weekend, and many families are hosting family reunions this second Saturday of July. Outside Pete and Gloria Petrovich and George Ansbach sit on the stoop exchanging news.
Gregory Petrovich wants to go to college to become an archaeologist or study ancient history, so he had found himself a summer job at the museum as an intern docent. He is especially interested in the Etruscan and the Carthaginian cultures. He likes giving tours as much as he genuinely enjoys learning the skills of accessing and cataloging and dusting. He is on duty this morning, escorting Sarah Berry and her brother Tom, children of Sheila Petrovich. Also present are two of George Ansbach’s kids, Burt and Donna.
The Warhaven Museum, housed in a two-story red brick building, sits next to the Carnegie Library. It’s filled with history and curiosities from the Big and Rushing River watersheds.
Gregory nods toward the antique projector, “This was a hugely popular form of entertainment back when Warhaven was founded. As lighting technology improved, as — well — as candlepower or lumens increased, they could host larger and larger gatherings. In 1870 as Warhaven was getting incorporated Ebenezer Lyon and Andrew Chapman funded a series of five public presentations to bring more culture to the Rushing River Valley. They actually used a drying shed across the river at LCBCC and charged ten cents for the privilege of being transported to distant lands.” Gregory coughs, “Yes, these public talks were modeled on the Lyceum movement popular in the Midwest. They predate the very popular Tent Chautauquas which thrived in America through the 1940s. We’ve come a long way!”
Donna marvels at the simplicity of the technology. “If we were flying back then, I wonder how these simple optics might have made pilots safer.” Donna has a firm demeanor about her. As a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force, she oversees the supervision of 1,700 individuals. She can’t afford to let her guard down.
Tom smiles. “Donna, that question is steampunkish.”
They all chuckle. “I mean, you take any given invention and plop it down into another time period and there’s now all kind of fodder for the creative writer.”
Gregory felt like he had relinquished some scepter of authority. “Yes, so I was saying ole’ Ebenezer and Andrew fill up that drying shed over the course of five summer Saturday nights in 1870 with riveting traveling speakers. From our research here we’ve discovered the five talks were: Egypt and the Nile, South American Temples, Where Jesus Walked, the Everglades, and Waterfowl of the West. This was a summer tradition that lasted until silent movies came to town in 1897.”
“Fascinating,” praises Sarah of Gregory’s tour. When Sheila married Pete, Gregory (and Gloria) and Sarah and Tom became step-siblings. She is cognizant of that and warms to him. She senses how important this work is to the young man, dressed as a woodsman in buckskins and moccasins. Gregory fields questions from Donna and Sarah as Tom and Burt peruse the gift shop.
Becky looks Gregory in the eyes and asks, “So, those optical machines, maybe just one cog in our culture’s progress at making stuff. I want to know what those two items mean to you, Gregory.”
He sighs, and taking in breath says, “Well, I appreciate their importance historically because they do show what entertained us in the second half of the 19th century, and I like to look at the craftsmanship that went into manufactured products, really, for any period in time. But, I suppose what moves me most is to imagine a kind of supernatural quality to them, where the viewer actually takes two journeys, one through the right and one through the left side of his or her brain. Maybe those two journeys go to different places, but maybe to different times. I think we can simultaneously appreciate the past and the future. I mean, we have two eyes. It makes sense. We’re all travelers. I believe we can exist on more than one plane at once.”
Both Donna and Sarah beam. Sarah takes him by the shoulders. “Young man, I am proud to call you brother!”
Donna offers a one-armed hug, “That kind of free-range thinking will take you far. Never let that go.”
•••
The City Council is a work of fiction appearing every other week in Columbia Gorge News.
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