Mr. Thoreau Goes To Boston 6z4z70

Table of Contents

MR. THOREAU GOES TO BOSTON | By | Ken Wasil | Published by Portable Press

Mr. Thoreau Goes to Boston

A Day in Jail and Court

Clash of Cultures

A Visit to Dr. Thornton’s Home

Mr. Thoreau Speaks at Harvard

Solving the Mystery of Mr. Thoreau

Searching for the Old Harvey Thornton Home

An Unexpected Turn of Events

The Journey to Princeton

Discoveries at the Harvey Thornton Site

Searching for Dr. Carpenter

Unexpected Complications

Mr. Thoreau Returns to the Woods

The Prisoner

Another Prisoner Makes a Deal

Mr. Thoreau Searches for Work

Mr. Thoreau Meets an irer

The Terrorist Go in Search of Harvey Thornton’s Treasure

A Visit to Concord, Massachusetts

The Hand of Fate

The Reunion

Afterwards

About the Author

About The Quick Style Guide for Writing | for the Web and English Usage

MR. THOREAU GOES TO BOSTON

By

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Ken Wasil

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Published by Portable Press

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Boston, Massachusetts 2014

This publication is copyright. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way or form without the author’s permission. Brief quotations may be used for reviews.

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Copyright 2014 by Ken Wasil

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This book is a work of fiction. Although the character Thoreau in the 21st Century expresses the philosophies, values, and beliefs of the real Henry David Thoreau, they may not be those of the author of this book. Other characters in the novel are fictitious and are not intended to represent anyone living or dead. Company and organizational names are used, but the scenes and incidents regarding them are fictitious. It is sincerely hoped that the reader will enjoy this iteration of Mr. Thoreau.

Mr. Thoreau Goes to Boston

Ah, I have penetrated to those meadows on the morning of many first spring day, jumping from hummock to hummock, from willow root to willow root, when the wild river valley and the woods were bathed in so pure and bright a light as would have waked the dead, if they had been slumbering in their graves as some suppose. There needs no stronger proof of immortality. Walden, A Life in the Woods Henry David Thoreau It was early spring in the New England woods and snow lay on the ground in the shadows of the pine, maple, and cedar. In the mornings, the brown thrasher, red mavis, and whippoorwill went about their work of gathering seeds and building nests and a red tail hawk could be seen circling overhead riding the air currents with nary the movement of a wing. The mornings were brisk, but if one sat in the sun under the blue sky, a warmth would spread through the body like a fresh cooked meal settling comfortably in the stomach. In a copse of pines on the edge of a small bog bordered with hedgehog, wormwood, and millet grass, a woodchuck pause on the ground, and then in a flash, scurried away. The ground began to move and undulate. An object, like a sprouting plant caught on time lapse photography, pushed up through the soil and emerged on the surface. But it was not the sprout of a cattail, meadow grass, or even a sapling pine, but the boot covered foot of a man. First one foot emerged and then a second one. Then a buckskin covered arm and then another. Seconds later, a head emerged topped with a coon skinned cap and adorned with long brown locks, a straggly beard, and mud stained face. It shook itself while making a gurgling sound . . . “bubblbblebbble” like an incipient being. It pushed itself up, brushed itself off, and slowly rose up onto its feet. The fellow began to speak—but having a difficult time getting words out, cleared his throat . . . “umohurrrrroh” . . . . He then spoke to the trees as much as to himself, “I must have fallen asleep. . . I’ve been out for a long, long time”.

The man walked slowly at first . . . and then picked up a normal pace. After a while, he recognized land marks in the woods: a towering elm, a clump of boulders. He was now on a familiar path. He thought to himself, “I’ll be glad to get home—a soft bed, a warm room, a good meal”. It seems like it’s been ages. He walked and walked through the forest, but when he was near what he thought was his cabin, it was not there. So he continued walking through the night and into the morning. The man known as Mr. Thoreau came out of the woods and entered an area of short mixed grasses of similar height as if they were shaved close to the ground like a man’s beard or the coat of a short-haired dog. There were trees sparsely scattered throughout, a concrete path that was easy to walk on, and a small pond in its midst. The man looked up at the sky line, but instead of seeing trees and the gables of a village, he spotted what at first looked like shear granite cliffs. There was a wide paved pathway in front of the cliffs with dark ominous objects rushing by on it. They belched an unpleasant odor and made a strident roaring sound as they went by. He said to himself, “Iron horses . . . but each is separate from the other and they run on no track but on a road. And they are powered from within”. As he neared the road he realized that the granite cliffs had windows and doors and were man made. They were buildings like none he had seen before. When he stepped onto the road, there was a loud honking and then a screeching sound as a car skidded to a stop a few feet in front of him. The driver shouted, “Watch where you’re going, Buddy.” Mr. Thoreau ambled over to the Duck Pond in the Public Gardens of Boston Commons. He took off his boots and socks and let his feet rest gently in the water. There were people sitting on the lawn reading newspapers, books, and chatting with friends and eating lunch. Occasionally, a shopper or corporate employee rushed along a path. Mr. Thoreau laid back on the grass and rested for some time and finally fell asleep. When he woke, he sat up, looked at his hands, and then his reflection in the pond. He immediately jumped up, went behind a bush, took off his clothes, and slipped into the water. A group of twenty women with cameras and video cameras were attending a business conference in Boston and were strolling along the far shore of the pond. Several of them pointed towards Thoreau and whispered to one another. The cameras made sharp turns in his direction.

Using his reflection in the pond, Thoreau scrubbed his face, hands, and body with the water, and shaved using his hunting knife. When he got out of the pond and dried himself off, there were loud plaudits from the entourage across the pond. Behind Thoreau, there was the chirp of a cell phone when a man called 911 and reported the incident to the police. Mr. Thoreau began to feel the pangs of hunger which were accentuated by the smell of cooking meat. It had indeed been a long time since he’d eaten. The redolent odor seemed to come from a bright, shiny, red, metal cart with a crimson umbrella on the path across the pond. Thoreau walked over to it. There was a sign that said, “Hot Dogs . . . $3.00, Hamburgers . . . $4.00, Cokes . . . $1.00.” Thoreau asked the man, “What’s a Coke?” The man said, “All right, smart ass, get out of here!” Thoreau said, “Let’s see,” he dug into his pocket and pulled out a coin, “I’ve got a half-dime, will you take that . . . and I’m a vegetarian, do you have anything without meat?” The man picked up the coin, looked at it, read the date of 1854, and said, "What are you an immigrant or something? You dress funny and I’ve never seen a coin like this. Are you from Switzerland or another foreign country?” Thoreau took his coin and walked back to the pond. His mouth watered while the geese and ducks swarmed around several pieces of bread. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long hemp cord. He then walked over to the bread, picked up a slice, and walked back to the pond. He broke the bread into several small pieces and rolled them into balls. He then put one of the balls on a hook on the end of the hemp twine. He tied a small stone onto the line near the hook and threw it into the water. He sat down and waited. He watched the people strolling by and the children playing on an unfamiliar metal and wooden structure. Everyone seemed to be carrying small black objects in their hands and staring at the luminescent faces. He occasionally heard a beep or a melodious chime. He began to realize that something had changed. He felt a familiar tug on the end of his line and slowly pulled in the hemp cord.

There was a fourteen inch trout on the end. He used his knife to cut the trout from head to tail; he spread it open and eviscerated the entrails and as much of the skeleton as he could. He walked to a wooded area, collected an armful of branches and twigs, and then returned to the shore where he sat down next to a large flat stone which looked like a table. He found two heavy branches that had “forks” at one end and trimmed them to an equal length with his knife and then trimmed the opposite ends to points. He pushed the pointed ends into the ground eighteen inches apart. He took a thinner branch of hard wood, cut off the shoots, and whittled one end to a point. He skewered the fish through the mouth from head to tail, moved it to the center of the skewer, and then set each end of the branch on one of the vertical forks. Thoreau generously piled twigs under the fish. He took another stick, removed the branches and bark, cut it to a 12” length, and carved a point at one end. He cut shavings from other branches and made a pile of them on the stone slab. He then sat on the slab, placed the point of the stick firmly against the rock surface and near the pile of shavings, and twisted the stick rapidly between his hands. After a few minutes, the point of the stick began to smoke. He gently fed shavings and dry leaves around the smoking tip of the stick. The shavings began to smoke and then burst into flames. He fed more shavings and twigs onto the fire. He transferred several burning sticks to the pile of twigs under the fish. The twigs caught fire and the fish began to cook. Several cell phones chirped near the pond and five minutes later, sirens were heard and grew rapidly louder. A police car, a fire engine, and a rescue vehicle screeched down Boylston Street. Thoreau placed his hand over his ears as if he were in great pain. He looked up into the sky for the sound as if it were coming from a giant bird descending on the park. The police and fire vehicles bounced over the park curb, on to the grass, and skidded to a stop near the fire and Thoreau. The policeman said, “OK, Mr.? “Thoreau.” “You’re under arrest . . . building a fire without a permit, catching a fish without a license, using a Boston Commons tree for firewood, not to mention

indecent exposure.” In the mean time, while the officer was talking, Thoreau was distracted by the police vehicle . . . the flashing red lights and purring engine. He walked over to the car, peered into the plastic casing that contained the flashing lights, and through the windshield at a second policeman. He got down on his hands and knees and looked under the car, felt the hood, and quickly removed his hand because it was hot. The policeman continued, “You have the right to remain silent . . . Thoreau.” “What?” “Stand up and put your hands behind your back. Now turn around, I’m going to handcuff you.” “I take it you’re a representative of the city of ?” “Boston. I’m a policeman and you’ve broken the law.” “Does that mean you’re a Polish man from the Eastern European Country of Poland?” “No, I didn’t say Polish, I said police.” “So you’re the militia come to enforce the law. Well in that case, I profess that I have done nothing wrong. I was simply cleaning my body in order to be more socially acceptable and satisfying my basic need to eat.” You’ve broken several laws. And is this hunting knife yours?” “Yes it is.” “Then I’ll add to those charges: carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.” The policeman signaled to his partner who exited the car. The first officer said, “Armed and dangerous.” “I still maintain that I have done nothing wrong and shall sit here until you’ve let me go about my business.”

With that, the two officers handcuffed Thoreau and led him to the police car and closed the door. The second officer said, “Where’s your I.D?” Thoreau said, “ID . . . .? If you mean idea, I’m full of ideas. One of those ideas is on civil disobedience . . . when any government engages in activities that prevent a man from pursuing his God given rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, non-violent action must be taken to ensure those rights.” “So you’re a protester as well; maybe I’ll add that to your charges. That should keep you in prison until you’re too old to do any harm.” The other officer said, “Where’s your identification so I knows your Thoreaus who you says you is. . . .” “I was born Henry David Thoreau in Concord, Massachusetts and still reside in Concord. I was born in 1817 in the Virginia House, home of my parents. The record of my birth was recorded by the attending physician and is on file in the city.” “What are you crazy or something?” What do you think of that, Jeb . . . thinks he was born in 1817, 197 years old?” “He's a confirmed kook–maybe we should take him straight to the psyche ward.” “Let's take him to headquarters and book him. We'll let the judge decide what to do with him.”

A Day in Jail and Court

The money we spend for courts and prisons is very ill laid out. We make by distrust, the thief, burglar, and incendiary, and by our court and jail we keep him so. An acceptance of the sentiment of love throughout Christendom for a season would bring the felon and the outcast to our side in tears, with the devotion of his faculties to our service. See this wide society of laboring men and women. We allow ourselves to be served by them, we live apart from them, and meet them without a salute in the streets. We do not greet their talents, nor rejoice in their good fortune, nor foster their hopes, nor in the assembly of the people, vote for what is dear to them. Man the Reformer (Essay) Ralph Waldo Emerson (1841) Thoreau was roughly thrown into a ten by ten foot cell with twelve other prisoners. One of them said, “Who do we have here, Daniel Boone?” “No, I’m Henry David Thoreau.” There was laughter around the cell. The man shook his hand and said, “And I’m Abraham Lincoln; laughter.” Thoreau said, “So we are incarcerated . . . and you’re a man of letters.” “No Thoreau, this is jail, the pen, the coop, and I’m a criminal. We’ve all been had. What are you in for.” “I don’t rightly know. I took a swim in the pond, caught a fish, and then built a fire to cook it . . . and then these screaming red trains came across the lawn. The Polish man said I was under arrest, but I said I’d done nothing wrong. Howling laughter.” “How about you?” “I’m Jake Kablosky. I was arrested for sleeping in a city hall doorway, loitering,

not to mention for seven outstanding warrants for jay walking.” There were two women in the cell. Thoreau stared at one of them, with a longing look in his eyes. He smelled the effusive perfume and slowly walked over to her. She was a business woman and wearing bright red lipstick, heavy makeup, and eye shadow. She wore a dark, blue pinstriped pants suit and spiked black high heels. Thoreau stood very close to her and examined her makeup and lipstick. He reached out his hand and ran his pointer finger over her cheek, rubbed his finger and thumb together, and then put the finger to his mouth and tasted the makeup. Several seconds later he said, “A lanolin and glycol based compound.” He then bent down, put his head to the ground, and looked at her shoes from several angles. He stood up and said, “Those shoes are an engineering marvel, but I don’t understand their purpose. Why do you wear them, Miss.?” “To catch a husband, why else?” “Are they comfortable?” “They hurt like hell. They hurt my low back, legs, feet, and if I walk on an uneven surface, the heals get caught and I trip and fall.” “I thought so. It’s amazing what women and men will do to conform to the dictates of “Paris fashion.” Through living a simple life . . . with no more entrapments of clothing or possessions than are absolutely necessary, our spiritual nature and inner beauty emerge.” Jake said, “What you in for honey?” “Call me Catherine Riswald, “white collar crime”. My boss was arrested for a ten-billion dollar bonds scam. I’ve been accused of being an accessory.” She turned to Thoreau and said, “And Buddy, don’t you get fresh with me.” Her back was at an angle to Thoreau. She threw a lightning-fast karate elbow punch to his jaw. Thoreau fell back against the wall, unconscious; his head rested against the Latino man sitting beside him. When Thoreau woke, he listened to Jake introduce a black man to the group.

“Who are you, bloke?” “I’m Civi Sastovitch. They arrested me for sleeping in the bushes in Boston Commons. I’m an out of work history professor. I was laid off during the recession.” “You should talk to this man; he says he’s the author Henry David Thoreau.” Thoreau listened to Jake introduce the other prisoners, “And this is Miguel; he’s an illegal immigrant from Mexico, and Catherine, she’s in for corporate fraud, and Bridget, well, you can tell what she’s in for by the way she’s dressed.” Bridget, who wore a tight loose woven black wool dress that started just above her breasts and ended mid-thigh, did a quick pirouette to show off her body. She said, “It’s called prostitution, sweetie. I was picked up downtown for soliciting a john.” “Richard, Stuart, and Salazar are in for petty theft, Arthur for fighting and disturbing the peace in a homeless shelter.” Civi sat down on the other side of Thoreau as Thoreau rubbed his jaw. “Civi.” “Thoreau.” They shook hands. “Well, Thoreau, you do look the part . . . your outfit is authentic, mid-nineteenth century.” “Of course. They are my own clothes. Taylor Brown made most of them. And I bought the moccasins off an Indian.” “Where are you from?” “I was living in Concord but had been staying at my cabin for several days at Walden Pond. I must have fallen asleep in the woods . . . when I woke I walked to my cabin, but it wasn’t there. So I walked for most of the night and ended up in Boston. That’s how I was arrested in the “park” as the Polish man called it.” “I taught American History at North Eastern University. I was laid off just before getting tenure. They said it was the recession and cutbacks, but I know otherwise . . . department politics. Racism in no-uncertain .”

“Have you read my books, Walden and Civil Disobedience?” “Yea, right. I’ve read them both. They are brilliant, far ahead of their time, and outstanding philosophical and social commentaries. I’m going to give you the telephone number of a friend of mine, Thoreau.” Thoreau said, “T-e-l-e-p-h-o-n-e number”, in a simple uncomprehending voice. “You know, the phone, so you can talk to him. He’s a professor of early American history at Harvard University. Call him when you get out of here. He’d enjoy talking to you and will help you. Here’s his number and mine.” “Thank you, it is a true philanthropic act when someone gives of him or herself.” “Now tell me, you were friends with Emerson and a select group of Transcendentalists in Concord, weren’t you?” “Yes, Emerson, Hawthorne, Bronson Alcott, Elizabeth Peabody, Ellery Channing, and Margaret Fuller were all neighbors at one time. Emerson helped me publish my books.” “Yes Thoreau, it was a unique time in history . . . a growing country with a “carte blanche” continent . . . freedom in the truest sense. Freedom of the spirit and soul could be pursued. A man could move thousands of miles away and liberate himself from government and the constraints of society and carve his own life and livelihood out of the environment. But that is all gone today.” “My experiment at Walden Pond was a defining moment, a statement of what so many men and women followed who traveled West. Unfortunately, most of them also followed the “herd” so to speak. They brought with them the society they so much wanted to escape and left their inner spirits behind.” The guard unlocked the outer gate and walked up to the cell. “Bridget Williamson, Miguel Lopez, come with me.” He unlocked the cell, handcuffed them, and led them away. “Let’s see, I’ve visited Walden Pond and today there’s a “state reservation” there with a sign marking the ruins of your cabin. Refresh my memory, where were you located with regards to the pond?”

“I was about six rods from the lake and not too far from Bare Peak. I often watched the sun set over the pond . . . and when it did, there were two suns, the one in the sky and the one in the lake . . . and that reflection was my window onto life.” “Today, in 2014, over 150 years after your descriptions in Walden, I regret to inform you that the world has not followed in your footsteps.” “Did you say it is 2014?” “Yes I did”. “No wonder it felt like I was asleep for a long, long time.? “I knew it would not do what I was trying to teach . . . only a few are willing to take the inward journey and have the courage to listen to the small quiet voice inside.” “Yes, the world has changed drastically . . . the proliferation of cities, cars, cell phones, computers, the web.“ “C-a-a-r-r-r-s-s-s?” “Yes, the motorized monsters that run on our streets and are everywhere around our country and the world.” “Ah, the iron horses. I have seen them . . . so smelly and noisy.” “You have a lot to see, Mr. Thoreau.” There was a ringing sound and Civi answered his cell phone. “Hello, Attorney Spelling, thank you for returning my call . . . I’m afraid I need your help.” He spoke for several minutes, describing his situation and that he was in jail. When he finished, Thoreau said, “C-e-l-l-p-h-o-n-e?” “Yes, this little device here. Most of us carry one of these. It allows us to communicate with each other, send text messages, and access the web.” “The w-e-b?”

“Ah, that’s another story . . . computers, which are a form of man made machine or brain and the web . . . well, it’s best that Dr. Thornton explain those to you. Yes, Thoreau, our society and most of those around the world did not take your advice of simplicity. Today we value what's bigger, better, faster, and wealthier. We’ve reached the point where our environment and the very planet we live on are threatened and may be destroyed by man’s pollution and consumption. No Mr. Thoreau, society did not follow your example . . . but your message is needed today more than ever.” “These men here, are they hardened criminals?” “Hardly, they are caught and imprisoned for peccadilloes, minor crimes. Our government and police have locked up over one million people over the last eight years. They feel that the country is safer when the poor, homeless, handicapped, and minorities, who potentially could commit serious crimes, are put behind bars.” “The excesses of government that I wrote about in Civil Disobedience.” “Now, Thoreau, whatever you do, don't talk to the police without a lawyer present. Do you have a lawyer? A lawyer may be able to reduce your penalty and get you out of prison.” “No, I have never hired a lawyer. I believe that a man can be many things and that each occasion is a learning experience if he acts on his own behalf.” “Well, that may have been the case in 1845, but today, these prosecutors will eat you alive. They’ll have you in prison for the rest of your life for minor offenses. Whatever you do, don’t accept a “plea deal”. They get you to it to one of your offenses in exchange for a shorter time in prison. Then they find a way to keep you there forever. I’ll call Professor Thornton now; he may be willing to help you.”

* * *

Several hours later, the guard returned to the gate, “Catherine Riswald and Henry

David Thoreau, step forward.” They walked to the cell gate where they were handcuffed and led away. The judge said, “The court shall now hold a preliminary hearing for Catherine Riswald. Ms. Riswald, do you have an attorney representing you or would you like a court appointed public defender?” “I have my own attorney.” “How do you plea?” “Not guilty, your honor.” “Bail is posted at $100,000 . . . your trial will be held within six-months of today, dismissed.” Catherine ed Thoreau who was sitting in an aisle seat next to a sheriff. She squeezed his elbow as she walked by and said, “Good luck, settler.” The judge said, “Henry David Thoreau, do you choose to have your own lawyer represent you, or would you prefer a court appointed defender?” “Neither, sir. I choose to represent myself.” “OK, Thoreau, you have been accused of indecent exposure, fishing without a license, building a fire in Boston Commons, and possession of a deadly weapon without a permit. How do you plead?” “Not guilty, your honor.” “Bail is set at $25,000. The defendant may also be released if he pays fines of $1010.00 for these offenses and at the recognizance of a responsible citizen. Otherwise, he will remain in prison until the trial date if bail is not posted. The trial will be held within six-months.” “Your honor, as I told the hot dog and Coke vendor in the park when he solicited my business, I have but one-half dime to my name,” Loud laughter from the court gallery. The judge smiled and said, “Unless there is someone present who will pay the

fines or the bail, you will remain in prison.” A tall, thin, graying, fiftyish man stood up and said, “Your honor, I am Marbury Thornton, Professor of early American history at Harvard University. It comes to me by word of a friend that Mr. Thoreau is an interesting, good, and honest man. I will pay his fines and vouch for his behavior.” “Professor Thornton, please show your I.D. to the court bailiff,” which he did. “Mr. Thoreau, I advise you to stay out of Boston Commons Park . . . no more swimming in the nude, roasting of fish, or carrying of hunting knives.”

Clash of Cultures

Men say they know many things; But lo! They have taken wings, The arts and sciences, And a thousand appliances; The wind that blows, Is all that any body knows. Men Say They Know Many Things Henry David Thoreau “Come with me, Thoreau. I’ve got classes to teach this evening, but you can stop by my house tomorrow morning about 10:00 am. We’ll spend the day together and chat . . . and oh, here’s some money that will keep you going until tomorrow. I suggest you buy some 21st Century clothes; they’ll help you blend in with others in our city. And I’d like to keep the outfit you’re wearing; would that be agreeable to you? ” Thoreau said, “Yes, and thank you Professor Thornton.” When they exited the court house, they met Catherine Riswald and Jake Kablosky (Jake’s charges were drop with the help of his lawyer). Jake said, “Thoreau, I didn’t expect to see you again. I thought they’d have you rotting away in a cell until your last days.” “Civi’s friend Professor Thornton paid my fines and vouched for my good behavior. He also gave me money to buy new clothes. Perhaps you could tell me where I could find them.”

“Professor Thornton, I'm Catherine,” they nodded to each other. “Thoreau and Jake, why don’t you come a long with me to my condo . . . I believe you both need a place to stay. And Thoreau, I’ve got a closet loaded with my “ex’s” things. He was about your size. And to be honest with you two, I’m not ready to face an empty home alone after what I’ve been through this week.” Jake said, “I’d be delighted, Miss.” Thoreau nodded. Professor Thornton said, “Thoreau, I’ll see you tomorrow at 10:00 am. Here's my address.” Catherine said, “I’ve got my Mercedes parked across the street.” Thoreau sat in the enger seat and Jake in the back. Catherine turned on the air conditioning and put a Brahms CD in the player and they sped away towards Cambridge. Thoreau said, “Absolutely amazing . . . and what’s this cool draft I feel?” Jake said, “That’s air conditioning. When it’s hot and humid, like it is today, it’s put on “cold” and when it’s cold and snowing, it’s put on “warm” so you’re always comfortable.” “Like a house on wheels . . . and music . . . I take it you have a miniature symphony hidden in here somewhere?” Catherine and Jake laughed. “That’s right, in 1845 there weren’t any radios, phonographs, CDs, or portable music devices. Modern man has come a long way since then. He has been capable of recording musical events and playing them for over 100 years. The mechanisms have gotten more and more compact and sophisticated. He showed Thoreau his “Euphonia” and put the headphones to his ears. Most of us carry a devise like this around with us to entertain ourselves as we go through the day. It happened to be playing “Let It Be” by the Beatles. Catherine said, “I just ed . . . the “fridge” is empty. I’ll stop for Chinese, is that OK?” Jake said, “Sure,” and Thoreau nodded.

Catherine wove her way through traffic and then turned down a small tree lined street off Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge. She pushed her garage door opener, turned into the driveway, and pulled into the garage. Thoreau said, “I take it that device you held in your hand opened the door?” “Yes.” “Astounding.” “Jake, will you carry the Chinese up the stairs?” The kitchen, dining room, and living room are on the second floor. Make yourselves at home. And Jake, hun, could I get you to perk some coffee? You’ll find Einstein’s Original in the cupboard over the sink. I’m going to take a long hot bath. You guys are welcome to use the shower . . . it’s in the bathroom next to the kitchen. And Thoreau, help yourself to any of the clothes in the closet next to the bath.” “Thank you.” After they walked into the kitchen Jake said, “Thoreau, I read Walden when I was fifteen and I your discourses on solitude and communing with nature. I’m going to turn on the TV to give you a picture of what the world is like today.” “T-V?” “You know, television. This will give you a taste of what most men and women spend up to 60 hours a week watching. This button turns it on. You can use the remote control to change channels or the volume. Do you prefer your coffee black or with cream and sugar?” “Neither, I prefer water, thank you.” The news came on right in the middle of a movie. When Jake returned with the water, Thoreau asked, There’s a man in the “T-V” box. Does he spend the whole day there?” Jake laughed. “This is television. Our society has been able to record live action news, which you are watching, fiction, stories, drama, sports events, soaps, and animation and then broadcast it throughout a city or even around the

world. You may have seen early daguerreotypes or photographs in your time. TV is a series of pictures that are strung together to create the appearance of motion.” Thoreau watched the shows in amazement, flipping the channels every few minutes. Jake looked through the TV guide and said, “Now turn to Channel 54. You might recognize this: it’s a recorded stage performance of Shakespeare’s King Lear.” “Ah, I’ve read the play . . . a comedy, I believe.” Jake showered and then led Thoreau to the clothes closet and bathroom. “Here are the clothes Catherine offered . . . nice duds. Now here’s the bathroom. This is the sink—you turn it on and off like this . . . to wash your hands and face. Here’s the shower.” Jake turned it on and off. “This is the toilet.” Thoreau cupped his hand and reached down into the bowl as if to get a drink of water from a stream, but Jake grabbed his arm. “No Thoreau, this is where you relieve yourself. You stand here or sit there and go. When you’re done, you press this lever and it’s gone. Now here’s a towel.” Jake returned to the living room and watched a modern version of the movie Ivanhoe. Thoreau took his time selecting his clothes. He chose dark brown slacks, a sorrel pullover sweater, dark socks, and dark brown hush puppies. He then went into the bathroom. About an hour later Catherine came down the stairs. “I feel better already. That coffee and the bath did me good. Let’s eat. Where’s our woodsman?” “Still in the bathroom . . . I’ll get him.” Jake stood at the bathroom door and could hear the water being turned on and off and the toilet being flushed again and again. He knocked and Thoreau opened the door as he was bent over staring into the toilet tank as it emptied. He said, “What an incredible invention. Where does the water come from, a well?” “Pipes, the city of Cambridge stores water in lakes and reservoirs and send it to each house in the city.”

Catherine was sitting at the dining room table when Thoreau walked in. She looked at him for a moment and overcome with emotion said, “You’re a handsome hunk. That sweater . . . it was my favorite when my “ex” wore it.” They ate in silence. “My lawyer thinks he can get the judge to dismiss my case . . . the evidence was obtained illegally.” “Jake said, “Good.” “Well, yes and no. My life has fallen apart. I don’t have a job and will have to survive on savings until I can find work. And who will hire me after they find out I’ve worked for Ratsoff . . . it’s been in all the papers. And I’ll go crazy sitting here all day staring at the walls. And this place costs me $3000 a month; I’ll need to find something cheaper.” Thoreau said, “If I could find my cabin, I’d invite you all to live with me.” Jake laughed and said, “Fat chance. Your cabin has probably rotted to the ground and has a shopping center built over it.” “Thoreau, I’m sorry for smacking you in the cell. I thought you were getting fresh with me and I didn’t want it to go any further. You know, there is something to be said for your philosophy of living the “simple life”. What about you, Jake, what’s your profession?” “I was a reporter before the newspapers starting going belly up. I’ll try to get into something else . . . maybe insurance.”

A Visit to Dr. Thornton’s Home

“You can either buy clothes or buy pictures,” she said, “it's that simple. No one who is not very rich can do both. Pay no attention to your clothes and no attention at all to the mode, and buy your clothes for comfort and durability, and you will have the clothes and money to buy pictures.” “But even if I never bought any more clothes ever,” I said, “I wouldn't have enough money to buy the Picasso that I want.” A Moveable Feast Ernest Hemingway The next morning Jake took Thoreau to Professor Thornton’s home by bus. He and his wife Elizabeth lived in a large 19th Century stone house on a piece of partially wooded land north of Harvard University. Dr. Thornton greeted them at the door, “Thoreau, Jake, come on in. Jake, I wonder if you’d us. Civi thinks this man is the real Henry David Thoreau. You’ve spent some time with him; I’d like to get your impression.” He led them into the sitting room with a gray polished stone floor covered with a priceless American Indian rug. The room was decorated with original early American furniture and a grand piano in a corner by the front window. “Care for anything to drink . . . Thoreau said, “Water.” Jake said, “If you don’t mind, a scotch whiskey. It’ll help cure my case of nerves after spending a week in the pen.” Marbury called his butler Charles who took the orders and returned with the drinks. Well, Mr. Thoreau, you look like a denizen of Twenty-First Century Boston.” “Professor Thornton, I am honored to be your guest and appreciate you help. Here are my old clothes that you asked me to bring. But I don’t feel like a

citizen of this era . . . it is as if some trick of fate, some intervention of Apollo has brought me into this century . . . .” “Jake, what is your impression of Thoreau?” “An enigma–it’s as if what he says is true . . . he’s awed by the simplest modern conveniences: the electronic garage door opener, the CD player, the toilet, and even the television. Imagine, someone today not knowing what a TV set is.” “This certainly is a mystery . . . by the way, Thoreau, my friend Civi, whom you met, will be ing us this afternoon. He was released from prison yesterday.” “Excellent, Professor. This certainly is a spectacular house . . . and the furnishings are impressive, too. Did you inherit all this?” “Oh no, my wife and I started out with nothing like most people today. We both attended the university; I became a professor of early American history and she a school teacher. We purchased this house with $10,000 of our hard-earned savings. We bought furniture when we could afford it. The house will be paid for in full this year.” “So it took thirty years of work by two highly skilled professionals to pay for it?” “Yes, when we first started out, all our extra income went into the house. As we increased our salaries, it got easier.” “I lived a very different life at Walden Pond, the life of a rebel you might say. In my book Walden I chronicled how I spent $28.12 to build my house and was able to live for a full year, including the cost of the house, for $61.99. I payed for all of it by raising vegetables, three months of varied labor, and $25 in savings. This bought me freedom, peace of mind, leisure, health, and the development of my spirituality.” “Yes, Thoreau, your philosophy was unique and that is what you are ed for. Today, in this age of specialization and consumption, our highest goals are to do the work and live the life we love while being employed by another or running our own business. In our case, I love history and my wife teaching and children, and we love being consumed by our work and the raising of a family. So the life style we chose was ideal for us.

“Unfortunately, our system doesn’t work for everyone–most people live lives of quiet desperation, working at jobs they don’t like and barely scrimping out a living. It’s amazing that in normal economic times there is only five percent unemployment and five million homeless people in America. “The life style of which you speak has all but disappeared in the United States. It is nigh impossible except for perhaps the homeless, those living in trailers, boats, or those who are ed by an inheritance, a relative, or the government, or the few that homestead in Alaska. People, less fortunate than my wife and I, must spend fifty percent or more of their income on renting an apartment or home . . . and when they are old, have nothing. “Why here’s Civi; you’re early!” “I didn’t want to miss this conversation. Jake, Thoreau, good to see you.” Thornton said, “Well, gentlemen, let us begin to solve the mystery of Mr. Thoreau. Jake, you’re welcome to stay.” “Thank you.” Thornton continued, “Thoreau, do you recall the events before you slept in the woods?” “I lived at Walden Pond for two years and as age and the time requirements of publishing, promoting my books, and lecturing at the lyceum crept up on me, I moved into a room in a house in Concord. I made frequent visits to Walden Pond, at least once a week, sometimes spending several nights in the cabin. I maintained it in its original condition. It was often visited in my absence by travelers going west or visitors to the forest.” “Do you recall the last time you saw Emerson?” “Yes, It must have been in early spring, 1862 . . . we met on a path in the woods not far from Walden Pond.” Civi said, “Thoreau, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I recall Ralph Waldo Emerson describing your death and the discovery of your body in one of his essays.”

“Not at all.” “It was the spring of 1862, and he was terribly upset. He buried you in the forest and then had friends over to his house for a memorial service.” “There were a handful of us in Concord: Emerson, Hawthorne, the Alcotts, Margaret Fuller, Ellery Channing, George Ripley: writers, philosophers, moralists, who were willing to follow their inner voice and live the life they dreamed of. We often got together at Emerson’s house. These were the real and very rare thinkers of the first half of the 19th Century. The rest of society, like cattle going to slaughter, sold their intellect and spirituality to society and day to day survival.” Professor Thornton said, “I recall you had strong feelings on conformity. Didn’t you get thrown in prison for not paying taxes?” “Yes I did . . . not once but several times, usually only for a few days. I would not pay taxes to a government that endorsed what I did not agree with. My friends often payed my taxes for me.” Civi said, “You were ahead of your time. Do you anything of the Civil War?” “Yes, when John Brown was killed, I gave lectures to commemorate his bravery. And when Henry “Box” Brown shipped himself north through a shipping company to escape slavery and moved to Boston, I befriended him. And I President Lincoln deciding to fight the South after it had taken Fort Sumpter and fired the first shots of the war in April, 1861. There was no fighting in Boston or Concord at the time, of course, but I and some friends helped escaped slaves make their way to Canada.” Thornton said, “What do you of your cabin at Walden Pond?” “I it very clearly as if I lived there a few days ago. It was a ten foot by fifteen foot one room house with a garret and a cellar. It had a chimney, a fireplace, and a wood shed. It was furnished with a bed, table, desk, three chairs, some books, and an assortment of cooking utensils.” “And how do you feel now, Thoreau. Do you feel as if something unusual has happened to you . . . or that you are your normal healthy self?”

“I feel vigorous . . . as I have felt throughout my life. I walked over thirty miles, quite usual for people in the 19th Century, the day I came to The Boston Commons Park and was arrested.” “Do you think you could find the place where you woke up before coming to Boston?” “Certainly, it’s not far from one of my usual haunts near Walden Pond.” Civi said, “You were quite right, Thoreau, in Walden when you said someday there will be luxury homes around the pond . . . for that is the case today in that part of Concord. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, however, that the ruins of your cabin have been preserved. They've been designated a Massachusetts State Reservation. The public can visit the area for a few dollars per day, Laughter.” And an irer of yours Roland Wells Robbins built a replica of your cabin in Lincoln, Massachusetts.” Professor Thornton said, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Thoreau, you are lucid, well informed on the facts of the time, and your own history. And you seem as perplexed as we are by the mystery of your presence here. I’d like to invite a few experts and friends of mine to give their opinion on your case . . . Dr. John Carpenter, Dean of Harvard Medical School, Professor Richard Ewing, Chair of the Physical Anthropology Department at Yale University, and Professor Ling, a physicist and physician at Princeton University. I’ll forward your buckskin outfit to Ewing for analysis. Their input may help us answer why you're here in the 21st Century. In the mean time, I’d like to invite you to dinner and to sit in on my class this evening. We are discussing pre-Civil War America. It may ring some bells. Most of most students were required to read Walden in high school, so they are familiar with your work. You are also welcome to stay here tonight or indefinitely if you haven’t made other plans. My wife is out of town for a few days; she’s a fan of yours and looks forward to meeting you.” “Thank you professor.”

Mr. Thoreau Speaks at Harvard

The physical domain of the country had its counterpart in me. The trails I made led outward into the hills and swamps, but they led inward also. And from the shape of things underfoot and from reading and thinking, came a kind of exploration of myself and the land. In time, the two became one in my mind. The Stars, the Snow, and the Fire: Twenty Five Years in the Northern Wilderness John Haines Dr. Thornton stood on the dais at the front of the circular auditorium with nearly 900 students. “Class, I’d like to introduce a friend of mine; his name is Henry David Thoreau. I have ed out a copy of an article and photograph of him that appeared after his arrest in the Boston Examiner a few days ago.” Thoreau, who was wearing another 19th Century outfit provided by Thornton, stood up to a round of applause. He bowed slightly and then sat down. “Thoreau, I know this is asking a lot of you on short notice, but would you be willing to come up on stage to tell the students something about your life and era and answer some questions?” There was a rise of chatter from the students and then a rally began, “Thoreau, Thoreau, Thoreau . . . .” Thoreau nodded. Thornton said, “Before he begins, I’d like to preface his talk with a statement of my own. Mr. Thoreau was a philosopher and was known to speak extensively on morality and ethics. Today, in our entertainment and in our education, we eschew being lectured to on “right and wrong” and how to live our lives. Professors know that the best way to loose their student’s attention is to diverge on a long discourse on such topics. So if this might offend you, you are welcome to leave.” No one walked out. “Mr. Thoreau . . . .”

He smiled and then walked down the aisle to a round of applause. He paused for a moment as he surveyed the crowd. “I’m glad to be welcomed so enthusiastically by the students of the 21st Century, Applause. Why I am here or what brought me to this world is truly an enigma. But I am thankful to have the opportunity to experience this era, which I can safely say, no other man or woman from my time was able to do. “Those of you who have read my book Walden, Life in the Woods may my purpose statement, “I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived, Applause.” A hand went up. Thoreau paused and then pointed, “Yes.” “Mr. Thoreau, we certainly appreciate your being here and speaking to us, Applause. What brought you to this purpose statement while those around your led a traditional life of farming and apprenticing for a trade?” “Part of the realization came from my experience after finishing college at Harvard University. I trained myself and took work as a surveyor. This led to spending long hours alone, sometimes weeks or months in the woods. I became an observer of nature . . . the song sparrows, blue birds, red wings of early spring, the cotton grass, cattails, and johns wort of summer, and the travel and habits of the many creatures that inhabited the forests, lakes, and streams . . . the fox, wood chuck, mink, and marmot. I enjoyed the solitude and often preferred the company of a boisterous squirrel or sublime pine tree to that of man. “I was also an observer of human nature . . . indeed, I watch and studied man as I did God’s creatures. I noticed that although the farmer eked out a living from his land, he became a slave to it and his beasts. He slept with his pigs, cows, and chickens as he did with his wife, Laughter . . . .” Thoreau was abashed for a few moments and then continued. “In that he brought them into his house to protect them from the cold winter weather. His long hours of milking, herding, and feeding his cows defined him as a “cow man” the same way a man that continuously rode a horse became a “cowboy”. The farmer put a price on everything and everybody . . . on the blackberries in his unplowed field, the hay left after the thrashing of his wheat, his beasts of burden, his hired hands, and even his family on whose labor he depended.

“I was tempted to become a farmer myself, because it would offer me a living and an independence from society, but I eschewed the farmer’s traditions and enslavement to his land and animals. Indeed, at one time I found a farm I desired and purchased it, but the deal fell through . . . and now I’m glad it did. “Poverty and ostracism from society were also factors in my decision to go to the woods . . . my life style had evolved into working commissions: surveying the land, teaching, or doing day labor and then long periods without work because of its absence and because I preferred it that way. Indeed, at times I had no more than a dime to my name, Laughter.” “Another hand shot up in the audience. “After receiving a college education, why didn’t you pursue a career and buy a house in the city?” “I shunned the wealthy, their life style, and their homes. When I built my cabin at Walden Pond, I designed it with utility and usefulness in mind. My ten by fifteen foot cabin provided the same protection from the elements as the ostentatious mansions in Concord and Boston did the wealthy. I needed not Gothic or Corinthian columns, wall hangings and carpets from India, or furniture from Europe. I needed not a room for sitting, a room for eating, a room for cooking, and a room for sleeping, but only one corner of my cabin for each of these activities. “My family had a manufacturing business, pencils. I worked there for a year as a young man. In fact, I designed a pencil that was a great improvement over what was commonly used at the time. But the life style of commerce left me board and unfulfilled.” Another hand went up. “Mr. Thoreau . . . you are known for not paying your taxes. Why didn’t you and how did you get away with it?” “I spent short stints in prison, one or two days at a time, for my negligence. Often my friends would pay my taxes for me to keep me out of trouble, Laughter. “I refused to pay taxes to a federal government that permitted the enslavement of human beings or fought a senseless war against Mexico, and to local governments that spent money on causes with which I did not agree. And although there was a force within me that wanted to the government like everyone else, I disagreed with the concept in principle . . . I questioned whether

society was better off with a government or without one. You may know that our nascent country came into existence with a gross conflict: those in the North were for all men being free, and those in the South wanted to enslave the Negroes (blacks), like the beasts of burden to tend the fields. To me, no man or beast should be enslaved. I was thrown in jail for my stance which I expressed by not paying taxes . . . . “I was somewhat vindicated when the southern states ceded the Union and President Abraham Lincoln led a war against the South to reunite the country . . . .” Thoreau stood in thought with a bemused look on his face. He finally said, “You know, I don’t know the outcome of that war . . . what happened?” Dr Thornton answered. “You’ll be happy to know, Thoreau, that the Union won, although President Lincoln was assassinated. A congressional act The Emancipation Proclamation gave all blacks freedom. There has been subsequent legislation that gave all minorities, women, the handicapped, gays, and the elderly equal rights. Today, they are all productive and integrated of society although prejudices remain among our population.” Thoreau smiled in amazement. “Well, Mr. Thoreau, our class session is nearly over . . . do you have any concluding statements to onto the students?” “Yes, from my experience at Walden Pond, I learned this: “If one advances boldly in the direction of his or her dreams and endeavors to live the life which she has imagined, she will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. I also found that however detestable one's life may be . . . live it. . that it is important to live it fully . . . no matter how bad it may seem. For she may find glorious wealth where none is expected, companionship where no spouse or friend exists, and hidden talents and work that fulfill her needs and nurtures her spirit.” Dr Thornton said, “Thank you, Mr. Thoreau. I’m sure the students appreciate the opportunity to hear you speak.” There was a standing ovation in the auditorium with loud applause. Then the chant began again. “Thoreau, Thoreau, Thoreau . . . .” Several of the students walked up to Thornton afterwards. One of them said,

“Professor, that was a wonderful teaching-learning experience. Whoever that man is . . . whether he’s an actor or the real thing . . . I believe I’ve learned more today about history, philosophy, and life than I did all last term.”

Solving the Mystery of Mr. Thoreau

I had this advantage in my mode of life, over those who were obliged to look abroad for amusement, to society and the theater, that my life itself was become my amusement and never ceased to be novel. It was a drama of many scenes without end. Journals Henry David Thoreau A week later, Thoreau spent the night at Dr. Thornton’s and in the morning they welcomed Dr. Carpenter and Ewing who brought several of their associates. Dr. Thornton said, “Ladies and gentleman, this is Henry David Thoreau. And this is Dr. Carpenter and Professor Ewing. Dr. Carpenter said, “I’ve brought Dr. Laticia Washington, a research physician from Harvard University and Dr. Rutherford, who is on the staff at John Hopkins University.” Professor Ewing said, “And I’ve brought a cadre of experts as well: Professor Maria Sanchez, a physical anthropologist from Harvard and expert on radio carbon and pollen dating, and Dr. Holdenkamp, a physician and physical anthropologist at Yale University.” Thornton said, “Everyone, sit down and make yourselves comfortable—and help yourselves to breakfast; there’s plenty for everyone. Thoreau, I’ve “baited the hook” by telling Dr. Carpenter and Professor Ewing that you are the first human being to return to life by spontaneous generation. There are several recorded examples of people who have died in accidents or on the operating table and been brought back to life through chemical injection or the stimulation of the heart. But no one has ever been revived who has been dead for an extended period of time . . . .” Professor Sanchez said, “There was Jesus.”

Ewing said, “Yes, he lay in a tomb for several days and was returned to life through divine intervention.” Carpenter said, “Perhaps this is the beginning of a trend . . . soon we’ll have Napoleon and Joan of Arc at our door steps . . . and a whole platoon of famous people who were thought to be dead.” There was laughter around the table. Professor Thornton said, “I’d like to preface this meeting by quoting from an interview with Ray Kurzweil on “immortality” that I found in a copy of The Boston Phoenix. Ray Kurzweil, a MIT Graduate, is said to be the “Thomas Edison” of the second half of the 20th Century and first half of the 21st Century. He developed the first optical scanner, optical character-recognition software, and a print to speech reading machine for the blind. He published Blio Software which makes it possible to and read books on cell phones and most other mobile electronic devices. Bill Gates, the founder of Microsoft and the richest man in the world, says, 'Ray Kurzweil is the best person I know at predicting artificial intelligence.' “In the article, Kurzweil said, 'It will eventually be possible to create virtual people and give them an appearance and personality based on the knowledge that exists about the person. He is currently digitizing fifty boxes of books, videos, and documents from his father and retrieving the DNA from his grave to program into his virtual father whom he plans to bring back to life. He says, 'The clone of my father would probably be a better representation of what he was when he died that he would have been if he had lived.' “He said, ‘There are three bridges to immortality: the first is exercise and healthy living. The second, starting fifteen years from now, is when humans will be able to reprogram their basic chemistry with powerful drugs (including one that will block fat storage to keep people thin). The third bridge will be blood-cell-botdriven (when people merge with the machines), or “nano technology” (the creation and use of living organic circuitry that is smaller than a human cell and will be programmed into the human body). By the middle of the 21st Century, the only way for us to keep up will be to merge with machines so that their superior intelligence can boost our weak little brains and beef up our pitiful, illness-prone bodies.'

“The work we're doing here today, then, may make an important contribution to science in the 21st Century and beyond.” There was discussion on the subject for several minutes. “Charles will out copies of this article for all of you. And ladies and gentlemen, this is Francine, my cook . . . she’ll provide you with whatever you need, just ask.” Carpenter said, “I’ve already spoken with Professor Ewing. We’d like to do a thorough physical examination and several tests to determine Mr.Thoreau’s exact state of health and the make up and characteristics of certain physical components such as DNA. I’m sure Doctors Rutherford, Washington, and Holdenkamp will concur that medical science has identified certain physical changes over time in the human body . . . two of the obvious ones are longevity and height. There are other subtle changes in the blood and certain organs that will help us pinpoint the years of Thoreau’s birth and previous existence.” Ewing said, “We’ve taken DNA samples from the suit of clothes Thoreau first appeared in Boston Commons and from his manuscripts that were donated to the Concord Library. We’d like to compare those to a DNA sample from Thoreau, himself.” Thoreau, in a childlike voice said, “D-N-A?” Dr. Thornton said, “Yes, Thoreau, the field of genetics that I was telling you about. Man’s DNA contains the genetic make up or codes that determine how his body and mind form. Each human being has a slightly different code . . . Man’s DNA is different from that of the monkeys and even more so from, say, the birds. DNA is microscopic . . . so Dr. Carpenter was able to take samples you deposited on your manuscripts before 1862 that are now in the Concord Free Public Library.” Dr. Carpenter said, “We’ve already had our first breakthrough in this case. The DNA from Mr. Thoreau’s clothing matches that from his manuscripts.” There was intense discussion around the room. “We need only confirm that the sample we take from Thoreau, himself, matches those two samples to prove that this is the real Henry David Thoreau who lived in the early 19th Century.” Thornton said, “Which is very likely since I saw Thoreau wearing those clothes when I met him.”

Carpenter said, “We’d also like to find out if anything happened to Mr. Thoreau such as a fall, a hit on the head, or a strike of lightning, that could have precipitated this event.” Dr Ewing said, “And we’ve had another break through . . . Dr. Sanchez, would you report your findings?” “Yes, we did several analyses . . . the first was historical. Thoreau’s clothes are authentic and mid-19th Century . . . down to the buttons used on his shirt, the material, and the stitches used in the cloth. Another was a pollen analysis. The pollen found on his clothes showed that the variety of trees, bushes, and grasses matched the mix of those of the 1860’s in Concord, but not those of 2014.” More discussion. Thornton said, “Fascinating. Dr. Carpenter, Professor Ewing, how long will it take to examine Thoreau and do your tests?” Carpenter said, “No more than two hours . . . but we’ll need to take him to our laboratory and clinic at Harvard . . . .” Thornton said, “After the exam and lunch, dare we search for the pine grove where Thoreau awoke?” Thoreau himself answered, “I dare say we do . . . if we take the c-a-r to Walden Pond, it’s only a short walk from there.” “Agreed.” After the exam, they had lunch in the Harvard Cafeteria to save time and then took three cars to Walden Pond. On the way there Thornton philosophized, “Well, Thoreau, God or nature creates life so easily . . . but once it has escaped our bodies and ed on, whether it be in man or animal, it is lost forever, except, perhaps, in your case. Kings, explorers, alchemists, and men of wealth and power from all ages have searched for the answer to immortality, but none has found it. You, who coveted so little, are the first to have received its gift. It’s a tribute to the Transcendentalists.” When they neared Walden Pond, Thoreau became sublime. All three cars pulled up at the Walden State Reservation at the same time. They took the short walk along the ridge route to the cabin ruins. Thoreau gave a tour describing his one-

room cabin, the cellar (where he kept his potatoes, grains, and vegetables), and the garret, (where he kept his personal items). He said, “This corner was my bedroom; this, with my desk and chair, was my study; this the kitchen; and all of it, my sitting room. When they exited the site he said, “And here I kept a bucket to draw the cool, clear water from Walden Pond.” They walked for a short time to the edge of the wooded state park . . . and then followed the park ranger as he led them around the housing tracks to the woods on the other side. It was but a few more minutes before Thoreau found the place where he had laid for 150 years. There was a distinct impression in the ground in the rough outline of a body. Professor Ewing said, “That’s all the help we need now, Professor Thornton. We'll spend several days excavating and analyzing the area. Dr. Carpenter and I will forward copies of our preliminary reports to you within ten days.” Dr Holdenkamp noticed something unusual in the soil and picked it up. It was a pouch with a draw string. He shook it and there was the unmistakable sound of coins. Thoreau said, “You’ll find $3.28 cents and a cougar’s tooth in that bag.” Thornton said, “Thoreau, what would you like to do?” Let’s wonder through the forest . . . for this is my home and these . . . motioning to the trees and plants, are my friends.” On the return ride to Boston, Dr Thornton said, “Thoreau, I’d like to ask you assistance with a small matter.” “Certainly, Dr. Thornton.” “I, too, grew up in Concord. The wealth of landmarks left by our ancestors and the history of our young and emerging nation in the area were the main reasons that I chose the field of history that I did. When I was a boy, there were constant references to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, Paul Revere and Revolutionary War battles such as those at Concord, Lexington, Bunker and Breed Hills, and the meetings of the Early Continental Congress in Boston. Another reason I chose this field of study was my family history. My great, great, great, great grandfather was none other than Harvey Longfellow

Thornton, the pirate. He ran a shipping company before the Revolutionary War that brought tea, coffee, supplies, tools, and furniture to the colonies. When the war broke out, General Washington hired him and several other sea merchants to attack and disrupt the British Navy and British merchant ships. Thornton coordinated his effort with none other than the French Lafayette. He is known to have plundered many a British trader and “man-o-war” in the Americas. In 1780, he contracted to build a home in Concord for his family, but he died at sea just before the war ended. “His wife Elizabeth and son Harry Thornton moved into the house in Concord in 1781. There was a fire and Elizabeth and Harry were forced to flee their old home near Walden and White Ponds to the nearly completed Concord house late one night. That home is where my father, brothers and sisters, and I eventually grew up. What I have been unable to determine, through all of my research while studying and teaching at Harvard University, is where the old home of Harvey Thornton lay. I am wondering that in your wanderings through the woods and in talking with neighbors and old timers in the area if you may have any clue as to its location?” “Let me think on that . . . there is something familiar in that name, Harvey Longfellow Thornton. I became quite good, while living in the forest, at identifying minute changes in the landscape. You may recall that in Walden, I wrote about some of the current and past occupants of the surrounding area. I sometimes rummaged ruins and would find discarded pots and cooking utensils which I utilized in my kitchen.” Thoreau was quiet for several minutes and then spoke up, “Now I where I’ve heard that name, Harvey Thornton . . . it was rumored that he and several other sea captains sailed up the Charles River and buried glorious treasures taken from British or Spanish Frigates.” Thornton said, “Marvelous, Thoreau. Perhaps we’ll find it and its value will give you a way to recreate a lifestyle of solitude and contemplation in the 21st Century.” They laughed. They returned to Thornton’s house and were met by Elizabeth and two huge yellow labs. Thornton said, “Thoreau, I finally have the opportunity to introduce you to my dear wife,” while he held her hand and kissed her on the lips.

“Elizabeth, Thoreau. Thoreau, Elizabeth.” She held out her hand to Thoreau, which he shook. “I’m delighted to finally meet you. I’ve read your books . . . and have often quoted ages from them to my students.”

Searching for the Old Harvey Thornton Home

In earlier epochs of our race—men dwelt in temporary huts of bowers as easily constructed as a bird's nest, and which they built, if it should be called building, when such sweet homes of a summer solstice rather grew than were made with hand—which Nature, we will say, assisted. House of the Seven Gables Nathaniel Hawthorne On a glorious and warm Saturday morning Thoreau, Thornton, and Elizabeth had breakfast together on the second story deck overlooking the back yard and woods beyond. Thoreau watched the sparrows bathe in the bird bath and the humming birds drink from the bird feeder. Elizabeth and Marbury discussed their son, who was a doctor in New Haven, Connecticut. Elizabeth said, “Henry, would you like some chicken soup?” “No thank you, I'm a vegetarian.” “I wanted to ask you, what inspired you to give up the consumption of meat and chicken while almost everyone around you made it the main staple of their diets?” “Intuition. I could not bring myself to eat those that I called my friends; the squirrel and the wood chuck, the loon and the whippoorwill, while I didn’t find it offensive to eat the fish and plants, what might be called the less developed forms of life. I felt lighter, purer, more in touch with my spiritual self. Gorging on venison, bear, chicken, or beef would leave me feeling languid for days. Later, I read that vegetarianism was a common practice among the Buddhists in the Far East and Hindus in India.” Thornton said, “Chicken soup has come to represent comfort and nurturing in our society.”

Elizabeth said, “Vegetarianism is becoming quite popular today in America if for no other reason than it helps reduce the risk of heart disease and high blood pressure. Marbury and I eat meat only once or twice a week.” After a few minutes Thornton said, “Thoreau, I have something I’d like to show you . . . a letter from my great, great, great, great grandmother Elizabeth Thornton to her sister Betty after the fire that destroyed their home near Walden and White Ponds. Thoreau took the yellow, aged document with crumbling edges that was sealed in a clear plastic case. He began to read aloud: July 14, 1781 Dear Betty I am writing to tell you of the most unfortunate circumstances that have befallen us. On the evening of July 2, Harry burst into my bedroom at 11:30 pm. and cried, “Mother, Mother, I smell smoke . . . something is on fire. And indeed it was . . . the kitchen was ablaze and smoke was pouring into Harry’s room and out the rear window and door of the house. The fire had not reached the stairs to our bedrooms so we gathered up a few things and ran outside. We walked for several hours, it seemed, along Sudbury Road over the Sudbury River and then into town where we made our way to the house that Harvey had under construction for the past year. We are now living there. The old home burned to the ground and is a total loss. You can reach us at 143 Liberty Street, Concord, Mass. As our spirits are low and our life is in shambles and Harvey is still at sea . . . we’d appreciate your company. With love and kisses, your sister, Elizabeth Thornton Thoreau said, “Unfortunate. This letter narrows down the location of the Harvey Thornton home considerably. The old Sudbury Road was still in existence in the 1845. Breed’s cabin was nearby and I noticed several uned for disturbances in the soil in that area. If they are not under a road or a store, we may find out if one of the sites is the Harvey Thornton home.”

Thornton said, “Elizabeth, Thoreau . . . what say you to an excursion and picnic in the woods this afternoon?” “Marvelous.” Thoreau said, “Yes . . . I’d like to pursue this lead as soon as possible.” “I’ll have Francine prepare a picnic basket.” “And I’ll assemble some tools that we may find useful.” Thornton drove, Thoreau sat in the front enger seat, and Elizabeth in the back seat with the two yellow labs. They headed west towards Concord. Thornton said, “I’ve printed these pages from Road Explorer off the Internet. The first is a map of Concord and the surrounding areas. I’ve drawn a red circle around the vicinity that concerns us. And the second is a close up of the area east of Concord that includes Walden and White Ponds.” Thoreau studied both maps. He then pulled out a pen and drew a broken line suggesting the route of the old Sudbury Road. He showed it to Elizabeth who relayed the information to Thornton. Thornton pulled off the highway and studied the map for several minutes. He said, “So we need to go just west of the community of Concord Highlands . . . we’ll use the GPS to guide us the rest of the way.” Elizabeth said, “Henry, the GPS is another one of our modern play things. It’s a computer guidance mechanism that taps into man made satellites that circle the Earth and pin point one's exact location. Look, you can follow our progress on the screen. We’re now traveling west on the Cambridge Turnpike and will be ing Concord Highlands in a few minutes. Marbury, I believe the next exit is ours. We can travel the rest of the way on local roads.” Thoreau looked at the GPS screen and then found the route it was charting on the map of the Concord area. They ed a shopping center and then drove onto the outskirts of a new housing tract pleasantly nestled in with pines, hemlock, and ash. He said, “This is quite close to the Old Sudbury Road . . . if

we can find a trail or access to the forest, we could be on our way.” Thornton pulled off the highway at a turnout across the street from the community that bordered the woods. “Let’s give this a try.” They got out . . . Elizabeth let the dogs bound into the woods while Thornton took the picnic basket and Thoreau the tools. Thoreau said, “This way . . . and they followed him. After a few minutes, Thoreau bent down to pick up an Indian arrow head. He picked up another and another and then handed them to Elizabeth. After half an hour, Thoreau stopped at a small grove of pines . . . he wondered inside, got down on his hands and knees, and dug around. He said, “Yes, this was Breed’s hut. It burned in 1836 when I will still living on the outskirts of Concord and a member of the volunteer fire department. When we arrived at the fire, the hut was all but gone. The next day I found Breed, himself, supine and staring down into the cellar. He was overcome with grief that there was nothing left of his “castle”.” Thornton marked the site on the detail map. “I’ll show this and any other sites we find to Professor Ewing; he may have an interest in excavating them. They continued walking and then Thoreau stopped again. He wondered into a copse of trees with a small meadow of golden rod. “This was one of the unexplained sites I .” “Elizabeth said, “Good, let’s stop here to eat and then we’ll poke around to see what we can find.” Thoreau wondered into the center of the grove of trees and was followed by Thornton. When he returned and sat down, both dogs jumped on him and knocked him over. He grabbed Benji around the waist and rolled over and over with her. He ended up sitting up and laughing while the dogs licked his face. Elizabeth said, “Animals, whether wild or tame, can be the best of companions.” “I agree, I thought about getting a dog when I was living in the woods to keep away potential thieves, but I found I didn’t need one. Security is another benefit of living a simple life unencumbered with possessions. I always left my cabin unlocked, and although escaped slaves, itinerant woodsmen, and forest wanderers visited it, nothing was taken . . . well, once a book was missing.”

Thornton said, “Not what it is today. As you may have noticed, we have a wide selection of locks and bolts and electronic devices to prevent theft, not to mention police that patrol our neighborhoods, but still homes get broken into and things stolen.” Elizabeth said, “On a lighter note, literature was my emphasis in college and I did my doctoral dissertation on the Transcendentalists. Although they had little long term affect on America’s burgeoning trend of consumption, their impact on American thought and literature was significant. Henry Adams of Boston whose family had enormous financial and political power in early America, recognized a third force in the country . . . and that was Concord, Massachusetts.” Thoreau said, “Ah, he was corrupted by his family's money, fame and position.” “America was growing and searching for its identity. Education was on everyone’s mind—farmers, merchants, blacksmiths were all avidly studying and reading Greek, German, and Classic Literature in their spare time. Author’s such as Washington Irving attempted to give meaning to our country’s natural settings by associating them to the scenes of Europe and its history. But you and Emerson pointed out that nature has its own message. You said that in nature we find our spirituality, morality, strength, and our very soul. Emerson emphasized that our language, our thoughts, our states of mind, the symbols and metaphors for our lives can all be found in nature. Your life in the woods and Emerson’s essays were precipitous events that influenced if not formed the thought of millions of settlers who swept across American and settled the West. They found a new power and new way of life which was much more significant than all that had gone before it in the old world. That has been proven by what our country has become. And the Transcendentalist authors, with their focus on nature, have influenced subsequent authors in America, Europe, and around the world,” Elizabeth continued, “What is that bird call, it sounds like the last laugh of the last human being on earth.” “The loons, the loons. They were always the first to arrive in early spring. Their call was like the breath of a new born child announcing the arrival of the season.” Thornton said, “Walden Pond must be close.”

“Yes, it’s no more than a quarter of a mile south,” as he pointed. Concord is two miles north, White Pond lies one mile west and the railroad 100 yards to the east.” Thoreau got up, picked up a shovel, and wondered over to the site. He dug around the edges and then marked a rough square in the meadow with dead branches from the trees. In the approximate center, he began rapidly digging and carrying the dirt and debris outside the area. After a few minutes Elizabeth and Thornton went over to the growing pile and sifted through it with their hands. Elizabeth said, “Pot shards.” “Here’s another and another.” Thoreau hit a piece of metal, took it out of the ground and carried it over to the pile. It was a frying pan. He said, “Now that’s just what I need for my cabin.” Elizabeth and Thornton laughed. He then began digging up pieces of burnt logs and boards. Thornton said, “This looks promising.” Thoreau kept digging for an hour, but found nothing more than pot shards and eating utensils, nothing that would help identify the site. They heard a loud rumble which Thoreau didn’t recognize. Then they heard the whooawwhooowhooo of a train. He said, “The train, they must still use the same route.” “Yes, with 21st Century engines and cars.” Thoreau stopped digging and said, “Let’s try another spot.” Thornton marked the location on his map and labeled it. They picked up the picnic basket and tools and then walked on towards Walden Pond. Thoreau said, “This area is rich in Indian camps. He strolled off the path and began digging near some oak trees. After only a few minutes he pulled out Indian arrowheads, pot shards, and a stone chisel. He pointed out more Indian sites as they walked along the path. Thornton marked each one on his map. Thoreau stopped at a meadow with dense ambrosia, stellar, amaranth, and with dog wood and pines scattered throughout. He walked into the area and disappeared from sight. After a few minutes he returned with a piece of burnt

wood in one hand and a live woodchuck held by the tail in the other. Elizabeth and Thornton laughed. “More pay dirt.” Thoreau used the ax to chop out several bushes and began digging. “My land, Henry, take care of yourself. You’ll die of a heart attack if you keep working like that.” Thoreau laughed, “Why that’s not enough work to even build up an appetite. In the 1800’s a man put in a full day of twelve to fourteen hours of continuous physical labor of chopping down trees for wood or plowing or clearing fields. Women worked as hard at planting, weeding, tending animals, cooking, and caring for children and the house.” Thoreau pulled out several more burnt logs and pieces of lumber. He found pots and pans, and Elizabeth and Thornton sifted out cooking utensils and broken pottery. Thoreau carried over several pot shards that looked as if they were from one piece. Elizabeth put them together and said, “Look, it’s a sea captain.” She found a piece of wood that she was going to discard but instead washed it off. “It’s a toy soldier!” Thornton said, “Clues, more clues.” Thoreau struck another piece of metal. It was heavy and it took the three of them to carry it to the collection of artifacts. They spent fifteen minutes cleaning off the encrusted dirt. Thornton said, “It’s an anchor! This could very well be Harvey Thornton’s home.” He marked its location on the map. “Let’s let Ewing and his staff dig through the rest of it. It will give him something to do.” “There’s one other unexplained disturbance in the ground I’d like to inspect,” They found no burnt wood, but what looked like the remains of a cabin that had

collapsed back into the earth. Elizabeth said, “I’m exhausted . . . should we pack up and return another day?” Thoreau said, “Yes, we’ve visited all the locations I . We can return if need be.”

An Unexpected Turn of Events

He that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon. Comus John Milton ” In the morning Elizabeth and Thornton sat reading the newspaper at the breakfast table while Thoreau ate. Elizabeth suddenly let out a loud gasp . . .”Oh . . no!” She read aloud, Preliminary examinations and tests confirm Henry David Thoreau, noted author of the books Walden and Civil Disobedience, has come back to life after being dead for over 150 years, said Dr. Rutherford, a noted physician at John Hopkins University. Thoreau was buried in the woods on an ice field in 1862 by his friend and well known author, philosopher, and lecturer Ralph Waldo Emerson. His body was preserved by the unique environment of a bog and the frozen ground. He was miraculously brought back to life on August 14, 2014 when the ground and a nearby tree were struck by lightning. Dr. Rutherford said that DNA, medical tests, and certain scientific dating procedures confirm that this is indeed Henry David Thoreau. He is now 197 years old.” Thornton said, “A glory seeker. He’s given the press conference so he can take credit for the find and research and make money off of any procedures that result from it. I should have foreseen this happening . . . well, I’ve got the day off; I’ll do what damage control I can. I’m so sorry, Thoreau.” Elizabeth said, “Oh, Henry, this is so unfortunate. I’m sure that's the last thing you want, in addition to finding yourself living in a different century, is to be the center of a media storm.” Thoreau laughed, “It’s not the first time,” as he made a gesture of surrender with

his hands. There was a knock at the door, Elizabeth said, “I’ll bet it’s the press . . . .” Thornton answered it and returned with Catherine, Jake, and Civi. Jake greeted everyone and Thornton introduced Elizabeth to the new comers. Jake said, “Thoreau, we are driving up to Maine today. Catherine has a job interview in Portland. We’ll have lunch and see the sights. We thought you might want to us. The town still sports 18th and 19th Century architecture and is one of the most active ports on the East Coast—and the sea food restaurants are marvelous.” Thoreau looked at Thornton who said, “I don’t see why not. It’ll give you a break from our work here.” Everyone sat down while Thoreau used the restroom and got his things. Thornton said, “I believe I met you at the court house.” Catherine said, “Yes, I was an for the ignominious Rastoff who made off with billions of dollars of investor’s money. Fortunately, the FBI and police let me go when they realized I was as innocent as the investors and was willing to cooperate to put my ex-boss behind bars.” Elizabeth said, “He was a scoundrel, wasn’t he? Marbury and I were going to invest one-third of our savings with him and then our son asked to borrow the money instead to buy medical equipment for his new office, so we never went with Rastoff. It was a very fortunate thing for us.” “I’m happy for you, unfortunately, hundreds of others weren’t so lucky. Well, now I’m trying to get back on my feet. I’ve got to clear my name and get a job or get a job and clear my name . . . and in the meantime, I’ve got to downsize and fast! I can’t afford my Mercedes or my $3000 per month condo. Jake and Civi are helping me sell them.” When Thoreau returned to the room, Catherine said, “Ah, there’s our noble savage . . . what a hunk he is.” She took his arm and they walked out together followed by Jake and Civi.

* * *

In the evening, when Thoreau returned, Marbury and Elizabeth were reading in the living room with the dogs sitting at their feet. Elizabeth said, “Well, how was your day, Henry?” “Pleasant, I had traveled to Maine to do survey work for the U.S. Government in 1842. Maine has obviously changed in 150 years, but it’s still magnificent country. On my last visit, I spent several weeks touring the state with Joseph Polis, an Indian living in “Old Town”, as my guide.” Thornton said, “Well I’m glad you had a chance to see it again. Catherine seems to have “an eye” for you.” Thoreau sighed . . . “There is something I like about her; I think it’s her direct and brash personality. You couldn’t find women like that in the 19th Century . . . no, the men kept them in check. But you know, I’m a confirmed bachelor.” Thornton said, “I’ve scheduled a news conference in the morning . . . Dr. Carpenter and Professor Ewing have agreed to attend and, of course, you’re welcome. The media would love to ask you pointed questions about what happened and what you .” Thoreau laughed, “It might be a good idea.” “My lawyer will be here for breakfast to advise us on the legal issues involved with the usurpation of our research by Rutherford. And he’ll help us get ready for our meeting with the press. He also suggested that we meet with him after the conference to discuss matters related to your living in the 21st Century. There are things that are needed by everyone today such as identification and health insurance. He also said that since you are alive now, that you may have a right to the royalties on your books. They’ve been a steady seller for 150 years. Who knows, you may be a wealthy man after all. “Today I received the reports from both Carpenter and Ewing. The medical exams confirm that you are, indeed, Henry David Thoreau.”

“Of course, Marbury and I haven’t doubted it for a moment.” “And Rutherford was correct, there seemed to have been a lighting strike. Ewing corroborated. He found a recent lightning scar on the tree and ground near where you had laid. There were no visible burns on your body, but the studies gave evidence of cell damage in your left shoulder, similar to that caused by electric shock. “Carpenter also found evidence of a blow to the crown of your head. Were you ever clubbed or hit on the head, or did you take a serious fall?” “Not that I recall.” “Then that remains unexplained. Carpenter and Ewing concur that what likely happened was that your body was preserved in the near perfect conditions of the bog and then frozen in the ice that was being mined by the ice miners. Just when global warming melted the ice and your body thawed, the lightning struck and the electrical current traveled through you to reignite the spark of life. It’s a one in a ninety billion occurrence . . . considering that’s how many people have lived and died on this planet during its history. You’re the only one known to have returned to life after being dead for a significant period of time. And, oh yes, Ewing drove over today to deliver these personally to you . . . here’s your leather pouch with the $3.28 and a cougar’s tooth. He also found this ax that was buried next to you.” Thoreau took the ax handle in one hand and dropped the head of it in the other hand several times as if he were getting ready to chop some wood. “I borrowed this ax from Bronson Alcott. Perhaps I can return it to one of his heirs.” Elizabeth said, “That $3.28 in early American coins may bring you quite a sum of money from a coin dealer. Today, with our free time and wealth, we collect old coins, stamps, cars, and any other memorabilia desired by a large number of people.” Thornton said, “After our press interview tomorrow, it may be a good time to journey to Princeton to discuss your “resurrection” with Professor Ling. He may have a different opinion on what happened.” “Oh Marbury, don’t start using that word.”

“What?” “Resurrection. The media will think you’re comparing Henry to Jesus.” “Your right." Going to Princeton will give us a chance to escape the media blitz. They’ll be following us like a pack of wolves with pens, paper, cassettes, and video recorders.” Thoreau nodded and laughed.

* * *

The news conference was held at Harvard University in Thornton’s circular classroom. There were twenty-five journalists in addition to camera crews from CNN, Associated Press, MSNBC, and several local and national television stations as well as several hundred spectators. Thornton led off, “ of the press, thank you for attending this meeting today. We intend to set the record straight regarding the emergence, discovery, and research concerning the existence of Henry David Thoreau—a man born in 1817 and alive today—197 years later. Mr. Thoreau, would you please stand.” Thoreau stood up. He was wearing the early American set of clothes that Thornton had lent him for the appearance before the students in the American history class. Thoreau bowed slightly and sat down to plaudits from the audience. Dr. Carpenter, Professor Ewing, and finally Professor Thornton gave their presentations. A reporter asked, “Professor Thornton, what was your first impression of Thoreau?” “That he was who he said he was. My friend Civi Sastovich, a laid off Professor of history, had met Thoreau in prison and vouched for his authenticity and moral sanctity, Laughter. Thoreau was wearing authentic 19th Century clothing and had the language and demeanor of someone of that time period.”

The CNN reporter asked, “Dr. Carpenter, what impact will the resurrection of Henry David Thoreau have in the medical field?” “It proves that it is possible for a human being to die and be brought back to life under certain conditions. This could have tremendous impact for those with incurable diseases . . . let’s say a child or a person in the prime of life with only a short time to live.” Ewing added, “It could also revolutionize space travel and allow us to visit planets or solar system too far away to travel to in one man’s lifetime.” “Professor Ewing, what impact does this have for the field of archaeology?” “It allows the physician and physical anthropologist to study a living specimen, so to speak, and observe subtle changes in the human body over time.” “Dr. Carpenter, are there any other possible explanations for Mr. Thoreau’s presence here today?” “Yes there are; some are plausible and some are not. For example, he could have been brought back through divine intervention, he could have been abducted by space beings and then returned to earth, or even kidnapped by a foreign government with advanced technologies, Laughter.” “What about cryogenics, is that a possibility? The idea that Thoreau never died, but that he was simply living in suspended animation.” “That’s another one of our theories. We are also taking a closer look at Thoreau’s DNA. There is the chance that he has a genetic mutation that allowed him to live to be 197 years old, but then, he doesn’t the intervening years. There are also recorded cases of sleeping sickness in the Renaissance era —where people went into a coma, were thought to be dead, and then buried, only to rise from a state of suspended animation at a later date Indeed, it was a common practice in early 19th Century England to connect a bell mechanism to a corpse in its coffin, so that if a person were buried alive, he or she would be able to communicate with those above ground and be “returned to life” so to speak.” Dr. Thornton added, “In the field of history, the impact is extraordinary. Thoreau is someone with a keen sense of observation; he is able to provide information

and details of life from the 19th Century not recorded.” The Associated Press reporter said, “Mr. Thoreau, welcome to the 21st Century. How does it feel to be here?” “Thank you, life today is so complicated and everyone has so much and so many choices . . . and science and technology have made so many strides forward . . . it’s absolutely overwhelming to me.” “Mr. Thoreau, what do you of your transition to 2014?” “I waking in the woods near Walden Pond and then walking towards my cabin which was no longer there. I then journeyed for most of a day and night until I ended up in what is called Boston Commons and the Public Garden. I was subsequently arrested for indecent exposure, apprehending a fish without a license, building a fire to cook the fish, and carrying my hunting knife as a concealed weapon, Loud laughter. When Professor Thornton payed my fines of $1010.00 and said he would vouch for my good behavior, I was released.” “Do you feel as if you’ve died and come back to life?” “Well I don't feel as if I've died and gone to heaven, Laughter. It seemed as if I had a normal night’s sleep and then awoke in the morning feeling refreshed. Today, I feel like the same man I was in 1862 and, indeed, I believed it was 1862 when I got out of the ground and went looking for my cabin. But instead, I found the 21st Century and all of you.” “Have you thought about what kind of work you’ll do to make a living?” “I plan on living off my benefactor Professor Thornton as long as possible, Laughter.” “And I understand you were against paying taxes . . . what will you do if you are required to pay taxes now?” “Get my friends to pay them as I did in the 1840’s, Roaring laughter.” “Mr. Thoreau, will you be available for future interviews?” He looked at Thornton who nodded.

“I imagine so.” Dr. Thornton said, “It’s time for us to end this news conference. I will send press releases and e-mails to the media to announce future meetings or developments. Thank you, Applause.”

* * *

On the way back to the house, Thornton said, “Well, Thoreau, it’s time we visit Dr. Ling at Princeton. Do you feel up to a long journey in the car. In your day, it would have taken two weeks on the back of a horse, but today, we can be there in eight hours. We’ll be traveling through Massachusetts, New York, and all the way to southern New Jersey.” “It will be a pleasure in your c-a-r.”

The Journey to Princeton

There is a demand for whiskey, but I think you and I do not care to sell it. If the respectable people knew what harm they did, they would not feel the living was honest. They ha'f no right to put poison in the sugar plum and let the small ones eat it. They should think a little and sweep mud in the street before doing these things, (said Fieidrich Bhaer). Little Women Louisa May Alcott “Now Thoreau, this is Einstein Brother’s Bagels, a popular coffee house and restaurant. It’s trendy to stop in coffee houses for tea, coffee, a light meal, and for socializing.” “T-r-e-n-d-y.” “Oh, that means popular or a common habit. Bagels are baked dough, a form of bread. Today we have coffee and tea drinks of every kind. You can see from the menu they have coffee regular, coffee latte, and café mocha, carmel, and machiaote. Now here’s the tea selection.” Thoreau looked down the list, read down the choices of bagels, and spoke them in a childish voice, “C-h-o-c-o-l-a-t-e c-h-i-p, a-s-i-a-g-o c-h-e-e-s-e, g-o-o-d g-ra-i-n-s, p-o-t-a-t-o p-u-m-p-e-r-n-i-c-kl-e, and s-i-x c-h-e-e-s-e-s.” He selected green tea and a plain bagel. Thornton said, “You see, it’s the age of specialization. Wherever money is to be made, people create a selection in order to make as much as they can. It’s the same case with shoes. Today people wear dress shoes, tennis shoes, golf shoes, dance shoes. “Whereas in my time most people had only one pair of shoes.” “Yes, and now an opposite trend is being promulgated when more money is to be

made through standardization and mass production. And that is the elimination of choices. Clothing is a good example. At one time the variety of clothing was as diverse as the cultures of man. Today, however, most people around the world wear the shirt or blouse with the folded collar and pants for men or skirts for women. As they continued the drive south, Thornton said, “Most of the people you saw in Einstein’s Bagels were going to work. They are employees in companies, some work for the city, state, or federal government,” “Bureaucrats, I know them well.” Thornton laughed, “And a few have their own businesses.” “What do the men do that wear the uniforms?” “Uniforms, I didn’t see anyone with a uniform in Einstein's?” “The ones with the dark coats and pants, a white shirt, and the inverted noose around the neck.” “Oh, those are business suits with a tie. Those, you might say, are the unofficial uniforms of the business and corporate world.” I’m amazed, professor, at the women . . . how they look, I mean. They don’t look like the women of my era: the clothes, the paint on the faces, the shoes.” “Makeup, eye shadow, a plethora of facial treatments and compounds, high heeled shoes, and hair styles. Yes Thoreau, appearance in both women and men is valued in our society . . . it’s a commodity . . . a sad state of affairs. Young people are under tremendous pressure to find a girl or boy friend and get married. And there is astonishing competition. And then the flower that blooms in the springtime is evanescent; it looses its bloom through time . . . through child rearing and the stresses of life. And many cling to their props of appearance as an insurance against old age. Time and our society seem to be easier on men. Men are accepted more for their natural appearance.” Thoreau said, “Much of love is an illusion.” Thornton laughed, “In all life, nature conspires to propagate the species. There

is a trend in some areas now, such as Boston, for women to forgo makeup and to welcome the aging process, graying hair, and mottled skin as a sign of growth and the attainment of a stage of life. But just as fast as some adopt this course of action, the majority still flocks to the latest creams, conditioners, eye shadows, and masks. Elizabeth, even though she ages and falls farther and farther from the ideal, I love her the more.” Thoreau said, “Most of the people I see are huge, I mean they are not only taller but are so fat.” Thornton laughed. “Yes, that is one of our major health concerns. Because of their wealth and freedom, people can buy whatever they want and they tend to eat too much and become grossly overweight. And it is also the result of food scientist deg food that taste so good, that people can't stop eating. Over eating, unfortunately, results in a variety of diseases such as diabetes, heart disease, strokes, and cancer. “Today, because of advances in health care and an easier life style, people are living much longer than they did in your day. The average age of death for men is 76 and that for women is 80 years old. It’s predicted that many people born today will live to be over 100.” “In the first half of the 19th Century, people usually died before they were 50, and many in their twenties and thirties. I . . . I died at forty-four.” “Yes, that is one of the major changes in human existence over time.” “Doctors, scientists, and biologists have found answers to most of man’s ailments. New technology in the field of genetics and bio-engineering will enable man to alter himself and every living thing to his desire.” Thoreau said, “G-e-n-e-t-i-c-s.” “Genetics is the study of genes in our bodies or DNA. DNA is also in animals and plants and every living thing. It determines what we are. It determines the color of our eyes and hair, what our arms and legs will be like, just as the genetic codes in a fox determine what its limbs and body will be. “Man has practiced the breeding of live stock and the hybridizing of plants for

over 10,000 years when he has chosen the desirable traits and eliminated the undesirable ones. But genetics is much faster. Geneticists can take the genes for wings from an eagle and insert them into the zygote of a fox to give the fox flight. Or take the rind of an orange and put it on a potato to keep the potato from bruising during shipment. This has already been done with cattle. Cows have been created that produce ten times as much milk which stays fresh longer. The milk is already available in stores. A miniature cow has also been created that will be sold as a pet. And now salmon have been engineered that eat twenty-five percent less food and are ready for market in half the time. There's even a cat that has been genetically engineered to glow in the dark by utilizing the genes of a star fish. They say this cat was created to help cure a disease in man. “But the problem with genetic engineering is we truly don’t know the long-term effects of these new concoctions on our bodies and on the environment. Let’s say one geneticist creates the fox with wings and lets it go into the wild. It may throw the whole balance of nature off. Or he may accidentally include a gene to make the new fox a giant. Genetics may create an innocent looking fish such as the salmon that kills us all like the plagues of the middle ages, giant monsters that trample our cities, or foods that cause us to become sick and die. “Another nightmare recently developed is cloning.” “C-l-o-n-i-n-g.” “Cloning is the creation of an offspring of a human or an animal through the duplication of its exact genetic code rather than through the combination of the genes from a male and female.” Thoreau shivered in revulsion at the thought. “There has been cloning of sheep and a few successful cases of the cloning of lesser animals. The goal is to produce an exact replica of a prized animal such as a cow, pig, or race horse that will perform as well as the original.” “Another manifestation of modern day man’s greed.” “Yes, and cloning in humans would allow those parents without the ability to produce children the opportunity to do so.” “Or a man that doesn’t want to die to live forever . . . or a government to duplicate a leader, such as Napoleon to further their ends. Man without a soul– the worst abomination that could ever be bestowed upon this earth.”

“You’re getting the idea. There were men in the 20th Century who created tremendous havoc across the world and killed millions of people. More of them are emerging in this century. God forbid that one of them was duplicated. And these men (and perhaps all human beings), like Ray Kurzweil said, will be clones that are programmed by those outside of us. In the 20th Century our world faced tremendous challenges: two world wars, a nuclear arms race that caused the two most powerful countries on our planet to stockpile weapons so severe that one could destroy a city and millions of people. But the wonders of micro-technology will bring us more challenges, so insidious, that one group of people will be able to kill or take over and change the minds and bodies of all men without anyone even knowing it until it's been done.”

* * *

“Ah, good, we’re right on schedule. Well be arriving in New York City just after dark. I think you’ll enjoy seeing Manhattan.” They stopped at a huge truck stop for gas that sported a Dunkin Donuts and Subway. “Here’s an example of what many people eat today. It’s called “junk food”. This is a major contributor to our weight problems.” “J-u-n-k f-o-o-d.” They walked over to the chip rack. “Now these are chips . . . most have potato or corn as a basic ingredient. But they have so much salt, sugar, and chemical additives for taste that they have very little real nutritional value and contribute to our obesity and bad health.” Thoreau read the labels, “ C-h-e-e-t-o-s C-h-e-e-s-e- F-i-x-e-s, M-u-n-c-h-i-e-s F-l-a-m-i-n-g H-o-t-s, B-a-k-e-n-e-t-s: F-r-i-e-d P-o-r-k R-i-n-d-s, D-o-r-i-t-o-s S-c-o-o-p-s, D-o-r-i-t-o-s S-p-i-c-y N-a-c-h-o-s. I grew potatoes in my field and stored them in my cellar through the summer. They were a major part of my diet.”

“Your right, potatoes, themselves, are an excellent food staple, but it’s the additives in those bags of chips that make them deadly. Now here are the candy bars.” “C-a-n-d-y b-a-r-s. Thoreau read the names, “S-n-i-c-k-e-r-s, M-a-r-s B-a-r-s, Re-e-s-E's P-i-e-c-e-s . . . .” “Candy bars are dangerous for us primarily because of excessive amounts of sugar and chemical additives. In the early 1800's people consumed four pounds of sugar a year; today, they eat 104 pounds, over twenty-five times as much. Thornton read the indigence for Reese’s Pieces: “Sugar, partially defatted peanuts, partially hydrogenated vegetable oil, (palm kernel and soybean oil), reduced minerals, whey, dextrose, contains 2% or less of corn syrup, (artificial color: Blue 1 Lake, Red 40 Lake, Yellow 5 Lake, Yellow 6 Lake), salt, soy lecithin, cornstarch, resinous glaze, modified cornstarch, vanillin, artificial flavor, and carnauba wax. “Many of these, particularly the artificial colors and flavors, are chemical additives and may have deleterious effects on our bodies. The problem in our economy is that the food manufacturers employ people and make profits, so they can successfully lobby our congressmen to stop regulations from being placed on their products.” “I understand what you mean.” They drove down route 95 towards the heart of New York City. It was spring time and Thoreau was consoled by the green grass carpeting the freeway medians, trees in bloom, and flowers and greenery painting the yards and parks along the highway. They ed a cemetery where the grave stones were placed back to back with only a few inches between them and six feet between the rows. Thoreau thought, “Land is at a here; every single inch in the grave yard is put to use”. “What a wide selection of cars . . . it seems like there’s one to fit each person’s budget and personality.” “The range and variety of cars, you might say, is like the selection of homes in today’s Boston. There are small economical cars for the working person or student like that Honda Fit and the Toyota Corolla over there. They might be compared to a home like your cabin at Walden Pond. Then there are mid-sized

cars for families and middle class people like a Ford or that Chevrolet. They are comparable to a modest home in the suburbs. The luxury vehicles such as the Cadillac, Lincoln, Lexus, Chrysler, and Mercedes are on a level with estates in Beacon Hill.” “Ah, yes Beacon Hill, where the elite of the 19th Century lived.” “Vehicles such as the Porsche, Ferrari, and Masaratti, selling for well over $100,000 are status symbols for the rich. And like homes, people buy their vehicles for what they represent to society, as much as for how they fulfill their transportation needs.” “The profligacy I wrote about in Walden.”

* * *

“Now we are in Manhattan, and this is Times Square, the heart of the New York City Theatre District.” Thoreau gazed in awe at the miasma of flashing signs and lights which looked like the extravagant displays of Las Vegas or an amusement park. “Most of these are ments to get people to visit one of the theaters, stores, or restaurants, or to buy a product. People today are barraged from the moment they wake up in the morning until they go to sleep at night with media messages of what they should want and consume. Indeed, one of the major soft drink manufacturers has recently been indicted for sending subliminal messages using a pulse wave to people while they slept in their homes suggesting that they buy its products. This blitz on our bodies and minds will only intensify as time goes on. These messages suffuse our television, radio, newspapers, cell phones, the Internet, and scores of new devices that people listen to and watch all day long. In the future, manufacturers may use DNA, nano technology, and other new technologies to turn nature into ments. For example, they might create a bird that flashes an electric ad for cars or dish soap . . . or even program those messages directly into our brains. All this input distracts people from who they are and what’s important in life. Very few of us today listen to our inner

voice about what we truly need, what we want, and what is best to do with our time and money. Indeed, the advertising industry would gladly take over that inner voice and make it their own. They are programming denizens from the time they are born until they die, from when they wake up in the morning until they go to sleep at night. They are told to consume toys and candy when they are young; sports, clothes, entertainment, and cars when they are teenagers; a home, vehicles, entertainment, food at restaurants, and stylish clothing when they are adults. Even the wealthy, who can have anything they want, often spend their money on those things that they are told are important, stylish, or bring them status rather than what is truly important to their lives. Recently for example their has been a trend among the super wealthy to buy homes in the range of $29 million dollars. Image spending that much money on a cottage, a house, or even your cabin. It would be almost impossible to do. “I’ll reiterate, Thoreau, your messages of simplicity, solitude, and looking inward to find happiness are more important today than ever before. I’ll dare say they may save our world. Man has already partially destroyed the ozone layer, a protective shield around our Earth that deflects the sun’s harmful ultraviolet rays and keeps the earth cool. Earth’s nearly eight billion people all using cars and air conditioning or heating and manufactured products that were made and delivered with the use of fossil fuels has created this problem. If it is not corrected, we could face massive melting of the ice caps and flooding of the coastal areas such as those in Boston. Already the condition makes it dangerous for us to be outside and exposed to the sun’s rays for long periods of time.” Thoreau shook his head with disgust. “Well, Thoreau, I’m ready for some breakfast. Let’s park the car and I’ll give you a closer look at New York City.” They drove to a fifty story parking lot. Thoreau read the sign and said, “Is this another one of your homes where you must pay $33.00 per year to own?” Thornton laughed. “I wish that were true. No, that $33.00 is “rent” for parking the car here for one hour.” “Only one hour?” It was almost dark outside, but they could still see a trace of light in the western

sky. They had walked only two blocks towards Times Square when a voice from behind them said, “Put your hands in the air and turn around slowly. I’ve got a gun and will use it. If you give me your wallets and valuables, I’ll let you go.” Thornton and Thoreau did as they were told. Thoreau stared hard at Thornton with a slight smile on his face as they turned towards the robber. The man said, “OK, take one hand and get your wallets out and give them to me.” “When he finished talking, Thoreau said, looking over the robbers shoulder, “Oh, hi, Ben, we’re glad you caught up with us.” When the robber glanced over his shoulder for the imaginary man, Thoreau let loose with a tremendous kick that knocked the gun out of the robbers hand and then a monstrous punch to his jaw which knocked him backwards into the wall of a building. He was out cold. Thoreau picked up the gun and handed it to Thornton who dropped it through the grate of a sewer drain. Thornton said, “Thanks Thoreau, that was quite a show of fighting.” “I haven’t had to do that since I was a young man living and surveying on the Massachusetts frontier. One had to learn those skills to defend against marauding Indians and woodsmen.” It was 9:30 pm on Saturday night when Thoreau and Thornton walked down 32nd Street towards 7th Avenue and then north on 7th towards the theater district and Times Square. The sidewalks were crammed with swells decked out in their finest clothes: couples going or returning to the theater, movies, restaurants, or out shopping; teenagers out for a dinner at McDonald's, Burger King or one of the plentiful New York pizza houses or deli’s and seeing the sights. They continued walking down 7th Avenue. They came to a Citibank where there was an unconscious man weltering in a pool of blood near the ready teller. There was a red spot on the front of his white shirt and blood pouring out of the rear of his arm near his shoulder blade. Thoreau walked over to the man and checked his pulse while Thornton went over to a homeless man who was begging in front of a nearby Seven Eleven market. He asked, “What happened here?” “A middle aged heavy-set black lady was using the ready teller when a low to the ground blacked Cadillac pulled up. A tall masked man wearing a hooded sweat shirt jumped out of the car with a gun in hand. He ran over to the lady,

pointed the gun at her back, and told her to give him her money–which she did. The man with the white shirt and red tie walked out of the bank, saw what was happening, and went over to help the lady. He tried to knock the gun out of the man’s hand but missed. The masked man shot him and then ran to the car and drove off with the money.” Thornton looked back at the man lying in the blood on the ground. People were ing him by as if he weren’t even there . . . couples walked by in animated conversation, while others ed quickly and glanced away. Thoreau gave him the “thumbs up” sign to signal that the man was still alive. Thornton said, “How long ago was that?” “Forty-five minutes.” “Did anyone call an ambulance?” “No, in New York City it would have been here in five minutes.” Thornton dialed 911 on his cell phone. He reported the incident and gave his name and phone number. He then walked over to Thoreau who was still standing next to the man. “An ambulance will be here in a few minutes. We’d best let them try to save his life.” They continued walking up 7th Avenue and by the time they reached the next corner, the ambulance had arrived. They stopped in front of Starbuck’s at 7th and 38th Street and watched a homeless man panhandle. He was dressed respectably with a clean sport shirt, blue jeans, and white tennis shoes. He said, “Can you help an out-of-work-stock broker?” The sidewalk was crowded with people and most were dressed in clothes costing hundreds of dollars, but nary a man or women stopped to offer the man a dollar or a coin . . . or even to acknowledge his presence or offer consolation for his condition. Thornton took out his wallet and handed the man a twenty dollar bill. The man said, “Thank you,” with a big smile on his face. They walked on. Suddenly they were surrounding by a gang of skateboarders. The teens who were a representation of New York City society circled Thoreau and Thornton and then rode on. Thornton said, “A favorite pastime of today’s youth. They have so much energy and nowhere to use it.”

Thoreau took in the miasma of giant electronic billboards and video screens, flashing signs and ments. As he walked his face became grimmer and grimmer. It took on a pale, deathly appearance that was magnified by the flashing lights. Thornton said, “Let’s stop here for something to eat. They walked into the Europa Café and sat down. They ordered breakfast, Thornton coffee and Thoreau tea. Thornton looked at Thoreau and said, “What’s the matter Thoreau, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s this place . . . I have not seen a single living thing other than human beings since we’ve been walking . . . not a flower or tree, not a bird or even a blade of grass growing in the cracks of the concrete. It’s as if man has given over to the beast inside of himself . . . worshiping the idol as the Jews did when they were forced to wonder in the desert.” Thornton smiled. “Today it’s called “a night on the town”, fine dining, and entertainment.” “Man has truly given up his spirit . . . .” Thornton laughed, “Did you see those tall, two and three level buses? Those are filled with tourists . . . thousands of them every day . . . millions a year . . . they come from all over the world to get a taste of New York City.” Thoreau shook his head in disgust. A middle aged swarthy man in a garish sport coat, pants, and tie walked in with an attractive well dressed woman and sat down near Thoreau and Thornton. They were producing a play. The man was the director and the woman his assistant. He spent fifteen minutes telling her what she should do to bring in more business. Then they spent the rest of the hour complaining about the others in their company until they departed. There were two veterans in their late thirties behind Thoreau and Thornton arguing about the war. The conversation turned into a shouting match and then fisticuffs before the security guard broke it up and ushered them outside. Thornton sighed, “New Yorkers speak from their baser selves–perhaps it’s their environment. There’s such a profusion of people, commerce, and interactions

between the denizens that they don’t have time to reflect or compose themselves . . . they merely react at an emotional level.” The restaurant filled and emptied several times from theater and movie goers and sight seers while they sat there. The manager of the restaurant was working with an employee to help rush through the orders. She was rude and brash and grabbed several fast food pies from the worker that were in cardboard containers and shoved them roughly into the warmer. In a rear corner, not far from Thoreau and Thornton, sat several homeless men with their shoulder bags or backpacks close by on chairs or on the floor. Some were drinking coffee or eating a meal; others were listing to music or sleeping. A tall black man, who was an actor and dressed in a colorful sport shirt, white tie, and black pants, sat down at one of the tables with the men. He said, “Hello girls, how’re you doing this evening?” One of the Latino men showed him his new camera and pictures he had taken around New York City. He said, “It can shoot video, transfer the files to a computer, or put them on my favorite social networks.” The actor said, “No . . . how much did it cost you?” “Ninety-nine dollars.” “Nahh. You can do all that for only ninety-nine dollars? I’m going to tell my mother that that’s what I want for my birthday.” Another man walked in and sat at their table. He was wearing a black velvet frock down to his mid-thighs with purple tights and dancing shoes. His black hair was cut in a way that made the “Mohawk” haircut look common. There was a long pointed horn of hair that protruded from the rear-top of his head eighteen inches out at a forty-five degree angle. The rest of his hair was cut one inch long and the sides were shaved close. The actor then began talking about sex . . . which at 1:00 am is a prosaic subject. He said, “Now I’ve tried both men and women and I can tell you girls, men are much easier to get along with. Men are direct and tell you what they want. Women, on the other hand, are moody, competitive, manipulative, and capricious.”

A few minutes later a woman came in, who was one of their friends, and sat down at the same table. The actor asked her, “Now how about women, do they enjoy sex or do they just go through the motions to please the man? What I mean is, when they have sex with a man?” “Oh, yes, oh . . . it’s divine.” Thoreau looked at Thornton and smiled and shook his head. Thornton said, “Thoreau, it’s late and after what’s happened tonight, I don’t feel like walking on the streets or continuing our drive. Let’s take a cab–there’s a hotel I frequent that’s not too far from here. Let’s get a couple of rooms and a sound sleep before we further our journey.”

* * *

“Now this is Trenton, the capitol of New Jersey. We’ll leave the car here and take the bus to Princeton University. Professor Ling will pick us up there. This stretch of road is particularly attractive at this time of year and it was George Washington’s route when he fought the battle of Princeton.” They parked the car in the central bus and train station and walked to the ticket window of the local bus station. Thornton asked the clerk, “What bus do we take to Princeton?” “Well, it depends on where you want to go. Do you want to go to Princeton Township, Princeton Burrough, or the University of Princeton. Sir, you must decide on where you want to go.” We want go to Princeton University,” “Then take the number 606 Bus.” “I’d like two “day es”.” “I’m sorry sir; we don’t have “day es”. You’ll have to pay the full fare for

each ride. Here’s a brochure that will describe the different services available. After you’ve read it, you can decide which plan is the right one for you.” “OK, can I get change for the bus?” “No, we are instructed not to give change. You’ll have to ask one of the vendors in the terminal or businesses on the street. Next customer please.” Thoreau said, “Bureaucrats. They are one thing that hasn’t changed over time. Do they all sound like that today?” “No, that’s just Trenton and New Jersey. Trenton’s the capitol city and runs the New Jersey Transit System, the bus system for all the cities in the state. I believe they are just conditioning us to fit into their transportation bureaucracy. I ride the bus in Boston regularly, the drivers and clerks are friendly and the prices are affordable.” Thoreau said, “It’s certainly easy to tell the difference between someone who’s serving you and someone who’s taking advantage of you.” They got change from the Cafe Expresso vendor in the terminal and then boarded the number 606 Bus. A sign posted on the toll box read, “One zone $1.25, two zones $1.90, three zones $2.30, transfers $.60.” Thornton put in two times $1.25. The driver asked, “How far are you going, buddy?” “Princeton University.” “You won’t get to the end of the next block for $1.25. It’s $2.30 each way.” “OK, can I get transfers?” “What bus are you transferring to?” “I’m not sure yet.” “Well, when you decided what bus you’re going on tell me and I’ll give you a transfer. It’ll cost you a dollar each.”

Thornton added the balance owed and they sat down. He said, “Friendly, Huh! We would have been better off driving.” The bus was filled with working people on the way to their jobs wearing uniforms and name tags, (that worked in restaurants, hotels, and factories), or those that were dressed in boots, jeans, and work shirts or overalls (that worked in construction or an automotive garage). They traveled through the downtown center of the city . . . past impressive government buildings constructed on models of pseudo Greek architecture. The few business and shops in the area were boarded up. Then they ed through a section where the buildings were almost completely demolished with only the foundations left and finally through a section of great poverty with run down row houses and small grocery and liquor stores. Thoreau said, “What happened here, was there a war?” Thornton said, “It’s obvious that something is horribly wrong in Trenton. It is not a war of guns and tanks and bombs, but a war, none the less. A war between the rich and the poor, between the races, and between those in power and those who are not. Princeton is nothing like this. It’s a quaint country town with numerous 18th and 19th Century buildings still in existence.”

* * *

“Thoreau, the history of Princeton, like that of Harvard and Yale and other major universities, is inextricably linked to the development of the United States. For Example, Woodrow Wilson, a president of Princeton University, was the United States President from 1913 until 1921 during World War I. And then Albert Einstein, one of our greatest physicists, taught and studied at the university. Let’s exit the bus here and then walk over to the Laughing Buddha Coffee House where we'll meet Professor Ling. Here we are in front of the main gate of Princeton University.” The lobby of the Laughing Buddha was filled with professors, students, and employees on the way to work and ordering coffee, tea, morning snacks, and meals. Professor Ling squeezed his way through the crowd, greeted Thornton

and Thoreau, and led them to a table. After a brief introduction, he got right to the point, “I received the reports from Dr. Carpenter, Professor Ewing, and yourself. I will rely on those laboratory tests and findings for the most part. However, if Mr. Thoreau is amenable, I would like to take additional DNA samples and pursue a slightly different train of reasoning.” Thoreau said, “That’s not a problem Doctor. I’m glad to do anything I can to help.” “Dr. Carpenter’s conclusions may very well be correct: that Thoreau was preserved by the bog and Ice and “returned to life” when lightning touched the ground near where he lay. This by far is the most logical conclusion. What I found interesting was the freezing of the body. Emergency rooms across the country have recently instituted the freezing of stroke, cardiac, and accident patients whom they have been unable to revive. This prevents brain and other tissue damage when blood no longer circulates throughout the body. This procedure has already saved thousands of lives. “I would like to compare Mr. Thoreau’s DNA to that of reported 18th and 19th Century “sleeping sickness” and coma victims to discover if there is any correlation between the two.” Thornton said, “A sensible strategy.” “The Laughing Buddha is one of my favorite hang-outs, but it’s also preferred by most of the residents of Princeton, and thus becomes unmanageably crowded early in the mornings. Let’s proceed to my office, and on the way, I’ll give you a tour of the university.” “Marvelous.”

* * *

On their drive home from Princeton, Dr. Thornton got a call from Professor

Ewing . . . Thoreau listened in on the speaker phone. “Professor Thornton, we’ve nearly completed our research at the “resting place” of Thoreau. Nothing beyond what I discussed in my report has been found. While were we in the area, we did exploratory digs on four of the 18th and 19th Century sites you noted on your map. We will eventually excavate them all including those of the Indians. Two, the Breed's house and the site where you found the sea captain, toy soldier, and anchor, are of particular interest. We’ve begun excavating those . . . the second site, which I call “Thornton–Question Mark”, looks promising. I invite you to visit it and give us your opinion on what we’ve found. Professor Sanchez is running a crew there every day from 8 am. to 5 pm.” “Excellent . . . if it is indeed the Thornton home, it would provide me not only great joy, but also answers to historical questions regarding my family and the activities of the Continental Navy during the Revolutionary War. I’m delighted, perhaps the day after tomorrow would be a good time for a visit the site.”

Discoveries at the Harvey Thornton Site

As Carter enlarged the hole, Calender dashed up the ageway to collect some electric lights. It was a jamb-packed room looking like a whole museum. Carter could hardly comprehend the treasures stacked on top of each other into what appeared to be infinity. Tutankhamun: The Untold Story Thomas Hoving Two days later, Thoreau and Thornton got an early start and arrived at the “Thornton Question Mark Site” at 10:00 am. They were greeted by Professor Sanchez. “Professor Thornton, Thoreau, I’m so glad to see you . . . we’ve just made a spectacular discovery; we’ve found a sea chest in what was the cellar of the house. We are just now getting ready to open it.” The site was now thoroughly excavated. The crew had identified a pathway leading to the house, exposed the burnt logs and lumber and foundation, excavated a ten by ten by seven foot deep cellar, and a midden behind the house. The original plaster walls of the cellar were still intact. Off to the side of the excavation were the artifacts, each labeled with a detailed description. Most of the items were pots and pans, cooking utensils, tools, children’s toys, locks, and a few items such as metal combs and mirrors from a ladies boudoir. The chest had been raised from the cellar and carried by the students to an area outside the excavation. It was not locked, but had been rusted shut by time and the elements. Two students stood in front of it with crowbars in hand and then gently pried it open. When Thornton peered inside, he let out a cry of joy, “Look, it’s filled with documents and books.” He picked up one of them and carefully opened the first few pages. He read, “Sea Log of the Voyage of the Massachusetts by Harvey Longfellow Thornton.” He thumbed through it and then read, On August 1, 1777; Commander George

Washington conscripted myself, my men, and my ships into service to intercept, loot, and destroy any and all British navy and merchant ships. “Oh Thoreau, Professor Sanchez, this is more than I could have hoped for . . . there is a wealth of information here that will open new chapters in early American history. I can’t thank you, Professor Sanchez, enough.” “Now Professor Thornton, I know you’re excited, but we’ll need to keep this log with the others to record and preserve it. Exposure to a harsh environment could cause it to turn to dust in a matter of days.” “Yes, I know.” He handed it to her and then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re welcome to walk through the site,” which Thornton and Thoreau did. They descended the original staircase leading into the cellar and wondered around. There was still some excavation going on . . . Thoreau recognized three revolutionary era muskets and priming rods lying in a corner. He also noticed the north wall . . . something about it caught his eye. He ran his hand over it but said nothing to the others. Thornton said, “I believe we’ve seen all we can here, we’re going to head back to Boston.” Professor Sanchez said, “We’re nearly done with the excavation. We’ll dig down a few more feet in the cellar to make sure there’s nothing we’ve missed. However, this is a fairly simple endeavor, nothing like excavating an ancient city where there are several layers of occupation built right on top of each other. We’ll be finishing up in a week or so. Feel free to visit us anytime.”

* * *

On Friday, Thornton decided to make another visit to the Thornton site. He asked Thoreau if he’d care to go. Thoreau said, “No, but I'll go with you; I’d like to make a stop at Walden State Reservation to ask the ranger some questions about my belongings.”

At the Thornton site, they were greeted by Professor Sanchez, “I’m glad to see you again. We’ve found nothing new, but I thought you’d like to see this; it’s a list of what was in the sea chest.” Thornton read, “Logs and records of the voyages of the Massachusetts, Sea Witch, Concord, and George Washington. “Well those certainly were topical names.” “I know your anxious to take a look at all of these, unfortunately, it will be months . . . maybe years before these documents can be properly preserved and recorded.” Thornton looked devastated. “However, I was able to convince our staff to photocopy the Log of the Massachusetts, as it was the one in the best condition. Here’s a copy for you.” Thornton’s eyes lit up and he kissed her again on the cheek. Thoreau said, “Is it possible to take one more look around?” “Certainly, whatever you like.” Thornton and Thoreau strolled past the labeled artifacts and midden where they spent several minutes examining the findings. Thoreau climbed down into the cellar while Thornton wondered through the rooms of the house and studied a diagram that exhibited the probable layout of the original dwelling. Thoreau threw a bemused look at the wall of the cellar opposite the stairs which had caught his attention on the first visit. He studied the corners where they ed the two perpendicular walls and then slowly moved his hand over them. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled along the wall's base while running the back of his hand along it. There were two students finishing the excavation in the corner near the stairs– they had several tools laid out on the ground near them. Thoreau picked up a short handled 4 lb sledge hammer and said, “Can I borrow this?” One of the students said, “Sure,” without even looking up. Thoreau took the sledge, walked to the wall opposite the stairs and began furiously hammering at its center. Thornton, who had heard the noise and could see him from above, shouted, “No Thoreau, you’ll ruin the excavation and then

Sanchez came running over and said, “What are you doing? Stop . . . stop that now!” But Thoreau kept up his work. In less than a minute there was a twelve inch hole in the wall . . . and in one more, a portion of the wall collapsed inward and Thoreau crawled through the opening and was gone! Thoreau took out the mini mag flash light Catherine had given him and turned it on. He was in a small chamber. There was a six foot high wooden bureau in front of him with shelves filled with 18th Century books, steins, and decorative items. Below the shelves was another larger platform that served as a desk. He spent a few minutes examining the bureau, studying the fixture from top to bottom and looking at its sides. He lifted it away from the wall and saw a 4’ high tunnel through the rock. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled through it until he came to a large room carved out of the earth and stone. The floor was partially covered by a disintegrating carpet . . . and there was furniture: a long early American dining room table with 12 chairs, two side tables, and three decomposing sofas that formed a “U” shape. In the middle of the table sat another sea chest . . . and leaning against the sea chest was a human skeleton. One of the students entered the opening in the cellar wall and was soon followed by Sanchez and Thornton. Sanchez was lecturing Thoreau as she walked through the vestibule and crawled through the tunnel, “Mr. Thoreau, what possessed you to hammer on a well preserved wall? It will take months to restore,” . . . she stopped mid-sentence when she reached the room. Thoreau gingerly moved the arm of the skeleton off of the sea chest and onto the table. He tried the lid and it opened easily. When the students, Sanchez, Thornton and Thoreau peered into the chest, they were staring at a priceless treasure: jewelry–necklaces, bracelets, and pendants of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and gold. These priceless items were laying on a fortune in 18th Century Spanish gold coins. Thornton said, “And the skeleton . . . did the log mention who it was?” “No, but we haven’t read all of the log . . . or the others. What a marvelous find. Of course, we’ll need to call in the authorities to examine the treasure and the coroner’s office, the skeleton.”

* * *

On the ride home, Thornton said, “Thoreau, how did you know it was a false wall?” “18th and 19th Century sea Captains were notorious for finding and digging caves to hide their captured prizes. And something about that wall seemed unusual. When I stood up close to it . . . I could feel a slight draft.” Thornton got a call on his cell, “Hold on a moment, Thoreau.” “Marbury?” “Yes Elizabeth, we're heading home now. You won’t believe this, but Thoreau found a secret chamber behind the cellar wall which led through a tunnel into a furnished cave. Elizabeth, there’s a skeleton guarding a sea chest with a priceless treasure!” “That’s marvelous. . . Marbury, I must tell you, though, I got a call a few minutes ago from Juanita Carpenter, Dr. Carpenter’s wife; she said the Doctor hasn’t been home since yesterday morning . . . over 32 hours. She says he’s always on time. He never even skips a meal. She thinks he’s been kidnapped and that it has something to do with the announcement of the story on Thoreau. She’s notified the police.” “Oh, no . . . when we get home, we’ll go see her and do all we can to help. “Thoreau, Your presence in the 21st Century is going to create a bigger stir than any of us could have imagined.”

Searching for Dr. Carpenter

Whatever mitigates the woes or increases the happiness of others, this is my criterion of goodness, whatever injures society at large or any individual in it, this is my measure of inequity. Robert Burns From a Statue of Robert Burns in Quincy, Massachusetts When they arrived at the Thornton home, Civi, Jake, and Catherine were sitting in the living room. Elisabeth whispered to Thornton, “Marbury, they got here just after I spoke with you . . . they were concerned when I told them about Carpenter’s disappearance and wanted to help.” He kissed Elizabeth on the lips, “Thank you my dear.” Thornton called Juanita, “I’m so sorry to hear about Dr. Carpenter . . . we’d like to stop over to talk with you and give you our . And we’ve got three of our friends with us who’d like to help as well. Can we bring them along?” “Yes, of course. I’d love the company right now.” When they arrived at the Carpenter’s house, Juanita ran up to Elizabeth, threw her arms around her, and began to sob. Elizabeth comforted her and walked her over to a sofa where they sat down. Maria, the Carpenter’s maid and cook, took orders for drinks and light meals. The Carpenter’s lived in an early American wooden home on the northern outskirts of Lexington. It had two stories, round white pillars on either side of a large, white double front door, and small double hung windows. It was surrounded by a huge lawn, a stream, and a wooded area off to the right. The inside had been restored–the vestibule, living room, and dining room were replete with wood and plaster walls and hardwood floors. It was tastefully

decorated with early American furniture and artwork. After Juanita’s wave of grief subsided, Elizabeth introduced everyone and began asking Juanita about what had happened. “Rubert called me at 4:00 pm. yesterday to say he was leaving the office to make a stop at Kensington’s Office Supplies and would be home before 5:30. But he never arrived. I’ve been through all of this with the police this morning. They called Kensington’s to confirm. The manager said Rubert charged a case of photocopy paper and a toner cartridge to his . That’s the last we’ve heard of him.” Elizabeth asked, “Did they notice if he drove away in his car?” “Yes, one of the clerks said he ed Rupert’s red Alpha pulling out of the lot.” “Did anyone see the car after that?” “The police haven’t reported back to me yet.” Jake said, “May I make an observation?” Juanita nodded. “He could have been taken in the car and the car driven away with him in it . . . or the car could have been left somewhere and hidden to confuse the police. Also there is the slim chance he had an accident and drove off the road and ended up out of sight.” Juanita said, “I imagine those are all possibilities . . . Rubert, though, was an excellent driver. He has not had one accident in the twenty-seven years I've known him.” Civi said, “So that would eliminate the accident explanation.” Jake continued, “As a reporter for the Boston Examiner, I’ve investigated numerous robberies and kidnappings . . . the perpetrators will often take the victim out of the area or even out of state or country to avoid detection by the police.” Thornton said, “In that case, the police will have to use their national or international network of law enforcement to track him down.”

Elizabeth said, “Who would have the motivation to do such a thing?” Catherine said, “There are countless possibilities. If Thoreau has actually come back to life . . . that’s a secret coveted by many people in many high places such as pharmaceutical companies, hostile governments, or terrorists.” Thoreau said, “All these forces of greed brought about by me, and I profess the living of a life of simplicity and harmony with nature.” Juanita smiled, “Well, Thoreau, I don’t blame you . . . it’s not as if you came here on purpose, you know.” “No, but if there were some way I could leave to save my friend, I would certainly consider it.” After spending another half-hour chatting, they decided to come up with a plan to help find Carpenter and the kidnappers. Civi, Jake, and Catherine would check Lexington and the surrounding countryside and roads for the Alpha. Thoreau and Thornton would talk to Carpenter’s assistants to find out if they could uncover any clues. Elizabeth would be the communication link networking information from the different groups, and Juanita would communicate with the police.

* * *

Civi, Jake, and Catherine drove south to explore the main and rural routes in and out of town that led towards Boston. They stopped at dirt roads that ambled into the forest and turnouts where vehicles could be exchanged or hidden or where the doctor could have been lost in thought and driven off the road and with his car ending up out of sight. Catherine had taken Thoreau’s message of simplicity to heart. She wore blue jeans, white tennis shoes, and a blue-gray sweater. She said, “Look, a dirt road that borders the lake. Let’s try that.” They walked along the road, being careful not to step on tire tracks in case they

found something and wanted to show the evidence to the police. Jake said, “There are two sets of tires here. A small car . . . you can tell by the spread between the wheels . . . and a larger vehicle with double wheels on the rear axle.” “How do we know if they were made by the doctor’s Alpha?” “I took a look at the tracks left by his car in the Carpenter’s driveway. , I’ve done this kind of work before. These look similar to those made by Rupert’s Alpha.” They followed the tracks for about 50 feet and came to a place where both vehicles stopped, the small one behind the larger one. “Here,” Catherine said, “the smaller vehicle tracks miraculously end and the ones with the double set of tires continue on and lead back to the main highway.” Civi said, “What could have happened?” Jake said, “I don’t see anything that answers that question, but they could have erased the Alpha tracks or driven the car into the truck.” They decided to report the findings to Elizabeth so Juanita could notify the police. When they walked back towards the Mercedes, Civi saw something shiny in the gravel. He picked it up. It was a gold pin with a post for mounting on a lapel. The face of it said, “Harvard, Thirty Years of Service”. They reported it to Elizabeth who relayed the message to Juanita. Juanita said that the pin was given to the Doctor by the university. He always wore it on his shirt or coat wherever he went.

Unexpected Complications

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrude, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less but nature more. Child Harold IV Lord Byron “Marbury, I’ve got good news and bad news . . . Civi, Jake, and Catherine found a dirt road where two vehicles, a small one and a large one, met. The larger one, perhaps a truck, continued on and the smaller one seemed to disappear. They also found Dr. Carpenter’s thirty year Harvard pin, so we can assume he was there. The police are examining the area right now. The bad news is that two FBI Agents were here and they want to take Thoreau, you, and me in for questioning. They want to put him into protective custody. The agent said it’s for his own good.” “Oh no, that would kill Thoreau’s spirit and perhaps him quite literally. If they return, stall them. I’ll see if I can find a place to hide him. They can’t seem to get their filters correct. They stick their noses into areas and people where they just don’t belong, tracking and badgering writers, movie stars, professors, homeless veterans. Well, I’ll just tell them Thoreau ran away and I don’t know where he is. I’ll be home sometime this afternoon. “We talked to professors Ewing and Sanchez— they’ve scheduled a press conference to announce the discovery of the treasure. They told me that if they didn’t hold the conference, the Sheriff’s office would, and they said, 'Who knows what message would get out there or what damage would be done.'

“We can’t seem to find Professor Rutherford, either. He’s not picking up his messages and not at his office or at home.” “OK, I’ll stall the FBI; you’ll talk to them, won’t you?” “Of course, love, nothing that I like better than being interrogated. Don’t worry, we’ll get through this.”

* * *

Thornton and Thoreau agreed that the best place for Thoreau was in the woods. Thoreau said, “Professor, if you leave me west of Walden Pond and the “s-u-b-ur-b-s” as you call them, I can make my way to a safe place in the forest. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do, anyway, and this is as good an excuse as any.” “Alright, Thoreau. Here’s some money to live on and my spare cell phone. You can call me or I’ll call you if I need you.” “Professor, keep the money . . . I can live off the fish I catch.” “No, Thoreau. You’ll need to buy food staples like potatoes, rice, and vegetables . . . and supplies like a sleeping bag, tent, and stove. The ponds and lakes aren’t what they used to be . . . many of them are fished out or so polluted that the fish can’t survive. And you’d better buy some water purification tablets, too.” “OK Professor.” After he dropped Thoreau off, Thornton’s cell rang. “Professor Thornton? This is Joseph Ching, President of Cryogenics, congratulations on your discovery and evaluation of Mr. Thoreau—what a marvelous breakthrough.” “Thank you Mr. Ching.” “Have you heard of our work and company?”

“Only in ing.” “We are the world leader in research into cryogenics, suspended animation, and artificial intelligence. And our pharmaceutical division “Cell Labs” has been in the news lately for using stem cell technology to alleviate Alzheimers.” “Marvelous, right now though, I don’t have time to pursue any other opportunities because we’re caught up in a crisis . . . Dr. Carpenter, a colleague and one of our team that evaluated Thoreau, has disappeared.” “I’m sorry to hear that . . . I’d like to be of help. I’ll look into what resources I can garner and call you back. In the mean time, I’d like to present you with our vision of what’s possible.” “OK, but keep it short.” “If Thoreau has indeed come back to life, we believe it is possible to develop technology that will simulate his experience for others. I don’t have to tell you what some people would pay to have their loved ones or themselves revitalized in the future. There’s tremendous money to be made. All I’ll need from you is your and Mr. Thoreau’s cooperation and the ing on of your research.” “Thank you Mr. Ching. As I said, that’s not something I have time to consider right now. But if you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll talk it over with my associates and call you in the future.” “Certainly . . . here’s my number . . . and would you mind if I call you again in let’s say . . . two weeks when you’ve regained your equanimity?” “Yes, that would be fine.” When Thornton arrived home at 5 pm Elizabeth wasn't there. He tried to reach her on her cell, but there was no answer and no note. He called Juanita and Catherine, but they also had not been able to find Elizabeth for the last hour. Thornton had that sinking feeling . . . everything was falling apart . . . Dr. Carpenter gone, now Elizabeth, the FBI, research companies . . . it would only get worse. Francine cooked and served him dinner while he continued calling everyone he knew and every place Elizabeth could have gone. At 6:00 pm. the FBI arrived

and Thornton welcomed them in “I’m glad you’re here,” he continued on incoherently, “in addition to Dr. Carpenter’s disappearance, now my wife can’t be found. She’s always available on her cell phone, but I can't find her anywhere. And I’ve called every place she’s likely to have gone.” “Calm down professor. This is agent Robb and I’m Stacky. We’d like to ask you and Mr. Thoreau some questions—preferably at a safe location away from here.” “I’m agreeable, but Thoreau has disappeared. He jumped out of the car at a stop light when we were returning from Harvard. He said it was best for everyone that he left for awhile. Francine, would you bring these visitors a drink . . . scotch?” “No, no professor, we’re on company time. Coffee would be fine if you have it.” The FBI agents asked Thornton to reveal all he knew about Thoreau and to turn copies of his research over to the Pentagon. He was also interrogated in depth about Dr. Carpenter and Jaunita’s relationship and his own relationship with Elizabeth. He was returned to his abode at 1:00 am. But still Elizabeth was not at home.

Mr. Thoreau Returns to the Woods

“Did you every tickle a lizard with a straw?” “No, but I'd sure like to.” “Mr. Hyde used to do it and he'd make snakes listen to him while he whistled, and he knew just when certain flowers would bloom and bees wouldn't sting him, and he'd tell the most wonderful stories about fish and flies and Indians and rocks. (According to Madeleine Stein, a literary editor and historian, Mr. Hyde represents Henry David Thoreau). Little Men Louisa May Alcott Thoreau made his way into the forest . . . he skirted several housing tracts and then walked through the woods parallel to Highway 2 heading west. This was familiar ground to him; he had surveyed it for the U.S. Government in 1835 and then had spent several months that summer living off of and exploring the land and communing with the birds, animals, and plants. He found a paved bike path along the highway and followed it for ten miles until it ended. He then followed a dirt path for another five miles until it disappeared. After sunset, he walked over to the highway where he found a shopping center. He bought food from the supermarket and then a day pack and tent from the sporting goods store. He considered purchasing a backpacker’s stove but decided against it because he knew he could collect wood and build his own fire. Instead, he chose a mess kit with a small pot, pan, plate, cup, and silverware. He continued on his journey. He walked along the highway but dove into the bushes along the side of the road whenever cars ed. Finally, he walked several hundred feet into the forest, found a small grove of pine trees surrounded by bushes, made himself comfortable, and fell asleep for the night.

When Thoreau woke, it was light. He looked around and saw that what he had thought was a pristine forest was covered with beer cans, plastic plates, styrofoam food containers, and paper and plastic drink cups. He read one huge cup that said, “Big Gulp”. He saw no one, but was so overcome with revulsion for his immediate environment that he picked up his backpack and walked on through the woods without cooking breakfast. He continued to avoid the roads. He came to a stream where he drank some water, which had a funny taste to it. He stopped to cook a meal. While he was eating, a rock landed near him . . . then another . . . and another. He set down his plate, backtracked the way he had come, and then circled around the bushes and trees and jumped across a stream. He came up behind two teenage boys who were staring at the spot where he had been sitting. He tapped one of the boys on the left shoulder and then hid behind a tree. He then tapped the other boy on the right shoulder and hid behind the tree. The second boy said, “Hey, Charlie, cut it out.” “Cut out what, you dork head?” Both boys turned around at the same time and saw Thoreau standing above them. “Are you two having fun?” “The boy on the left said, “Hey mister, we didn’t mean to hurt you. This is my father’s land and he told us to chase away tresers and homeless people. It’s private property.” “Well . . . I’ll be gone as soon as I’ve finished my meal. Thoreau shook his head in disgust. Private property . . . the root of man’s evil—men work to accumulate it, then arrest, harm, or even kill others to protect it. And the circle of evil be unbroken . . . the father es it on to his children and inculcates them with his values. And they, who have done nothing to earn the property, hold on even more tenaciously to protect it. He thought he was far from civilization, but now realized he was at the edge of a housing tract where the boys obviously lived. He continued walking for the rest of the day and stopped several times to snack on what was left of his noon-day meal. He came to more areas covered with trash, half buried clothes, and rotten

plastic tarps and tents. He thought, “Abandoned camps of the homeless”. He reached another stream that had pockets of trash and foam (from chemicals and dish detergent) floating on its surface and accumulating along the shore. He saw mattresses and car parts protruding from the water . . . and he counted twenty three dead trout.”

The Prisoner

Might and wrong combined, like iron magnetized, are endowed with irresistible attraction. The House of the Seven Gables Nathaniel Hawthorne Elizabeth woke to find her hands and feet bound and a gag over her mouth. It was dark and she was uncomfortable lying on a blanket on a hard surface and being bounced around. She could tell by the noise and the vibration that the vehicle was traveling fast. After a few minutes her eyes adapted to the dim light . . . she could see two figures, one on each side of her. They were dressed in loose fitting clothes—she thought, Muslim terrorists. She didn’t know how long she had been out, but after an indeterminable amount of time, she went back to sleep. She was again awakened by someone roughly shaking her shoulder. The two guards led her outside. She could see that she had been riding in a large truck with an enclosed bed. It was now parked at the end of a dirt road and at the beginning of a dirt trail through the forest. One of the men tied a six food rope to her bound hands and pulled on it to signal that she should follow. The two men were indeed Middle Eastern. They wore Arabian head dresses and dowdy loose fitting shirts, pants, and sandals. They walked along the dirt path which became rocky and steep. Elizabeth fell. One of the guards shouted at her in an unfamiliar language. He then dragged her for several feet over rocks and stones, and finally kicked her in the thigh in a fit of rage. The other guard helped her up and they walked slowly along the trail for another half-hour. They came down a steep hill and arrived at another dirt road where a black Hummer was parked. The guards led Elizabeth to the vehicle and pushed her in through the rear door. There was a driver and another man in the front seat who was wearing fine white clothing with an Arabian head dress. The Hummer bounced down the dirt road and turned onto a highway. Elizabeth read the sign,

Highway 1 with a maple leaf under it . . . they were in Canada. The man in the front enger seat turned around. He had a long graying beard, a broad fine featured face, and was redolent of Mohammad Atta, the terrorist who participated in the 9/11 Twin Towers Attack. He said in perfect English, “Well, it looks as though we’ve captured the goose that laid the golden egg.” He began reading an article from the Boston Examiner, “Anthropology and Archaeology Professors Ewing and Sanchez announced the discovery of a priceless treasure guarded by a prodigious skeleton at the excavation site of the American Revolutionary War Naval Captain Harvey Thornton. The treasure is believed to have been taken off of a Spanish Galleon by a British man-o-war and then Captured by Captain Thornton in service of George Washington and the Continental Congress. The site and treasure were discovered by Henry David Thoreau, the 19th Century philosopher and author born in 1817 who remarkably came back to life in March . . . .” “Mrs. Thornton, we took you in order to persuade your erudite husband to turn over his research and Mr. Thoreau to us so that we can give it to our glorious leader . . . now, with the discovery of the treasure, you will help us fund our research into cryogenics and life regeneration as well.” “Elizabeth said, “I won’t help you . . . whatever you do to me.” “Ha . . . but your husband will to get his lovely wife home safely.” “And what do you want with Thoreau and the research?” “That is a good question . . . we hope to bring our most revered fighters back to life . . . when Muslims see that Allah truly watches over them and that those that die in battle are immortal, we will have jihadists flock to our cause in platoons . . . in legions. We will conquer the infidel United States and its allies.” Elizabeth said, “It will never work . . . Thoreau was an anomaly . . . a one in a 90 billion occurrence. It will never happen again or at least never be controllable so you can use it at will.” “We will see. I will now stop the car at a convenient location and you will talk to your husband and tell him what we want.” “Never!”

“Elizabeth, you are a brave woman, but women . . . especially American, are not so good at enduring pain . . . and disfigurement.” One of the guards took a polished shiv out of its scabbard and slid the highly sharpened tip across her bare throat. Elizabeth shivered with fear. He then deftly slashed her left cheek several times so that each age of the tip was no deeper than an eighth of an inch. She screamed in pain and humiliation. The blood poured down her neck and clothes. She used a handkerchief to wipe it up and stop the bleeding. “Why that's nothing, my dear. Mohammad has been known to cut up his victims into one-inch sections while they were fully conscious . . . a painstaking process, but he enjoyed every minute of it.” He dialed Thornton’s number on his cell phone and handed it to Elizabeth. She growled and took the phone. In a solemn voice she said, “Hello, Marbury, it’s me.” “Darling, are you alright?” “No, well, yes, I’m still alive. This reminds me of the summer of 2004 . . . they want the research and Thoreau.” “Oh, Elizabeth, I love you . . . I’ll get you out of this. We’ll give them what they want . . . whatever it is . . . who are they . . . where are you.” The terrorist in the front seat took the phone, “Hello, Professor, I’m glad you have such a sensible attitude. Your wife will remain unharmed and be returned to you if you do what I tell you.” “Anything you want. Just let her go. You can have me in her place.” “Professor, we want copies of your research, Thoreau, and the treasure.” “I can give you the research . . . but Thoreau has run away . . . and the treasure is not mine to give. It’s in the possession of Professors Ewing and Sanchez or perhaps the U.S. authorities.” “How very generous of you, Professor. Do we need to persuade you further?”

He signaled to Mohammad who took his dagger and slowly cut the underside of Elizabeth's left arm. She screamed in pain and then went unconscious.” The Arab said, “Woman in our country are decent enough to cover their faces with a burqa. If you don’t do what we ask, when we are finished with your wife, she will beg us to give her one.” “Alright, Thoreau has a cell phone . . . I may be able to arrange a meeting with him. And the treasure, I can find out where it is.” “That’s better, Professor. We’ll be paying you an unexpected visit.”

* * *

“Professor Thornton, It’s Juanita. “Have you been able to find Elizabeth?” “Yes and no. I just got a call from her captors who are holding her for ransom. They’re demanding that I give them my research, Thoreau, and the treasure.” “Give them what they want, Marbury. I can tell you . . . there’s nothing more important than the ones we love.” “I know, I know.” “Did she say where or who they are?” “No . . . but she said something unusual, “This reminds me of the summer of 2004.” “Where were you in 2004?” “Why we were visiting professors at the University of Toronto. We brought our son with us.” “Then she’s telling you she’s in Canada.” “That very well may be . . . it would make sense. It would be much harder to

find Elizabeth if she were out of the country. Any news on your end?” “The police confirmed that Rubert and his Alpha were on the dirt road. There’s no sign of the car so they believe it was loaded into the truck and taken elsewhere.” “Keep me posted.”

* * *

At 4:30 am there was a knock at Thornton’s front door. It was Catherine, Civi, and Jake. Catherine came up to Thornton and hugged him. “I hope you and Elizabeth are all right.” He rested his head on her shoulder. When he pushed himself away, his face was red and there were tears streaming down his cheeks. “Francine, will you bring refreshment and breakfast for our guests?” Jake said, “Coffee, yes, and breakfast is just the thing.” “What’s happened professor?” “Well, I know she’s alive.” “Where is she . . . and who’s taken her?” “All I can say is that she’s in grave danger. Civi, I don’t want anyone interfering. Her life is balanced on the point of a dagger, so to speak . . . my best course of action is to give them what they want. They said they’ll let her go if I do.” Catherine said, “Do you think there’s a connection between the two kidnappings, Elizabeth and Dr. Carpenter?” “It’s possible . . . but doubtful. The man I talked to never mentioned Professor

Carpenter . . . OK, I’ll tell you what they want; I’m not good at keeping secrets. But before I do, I want all three of you to agree to not repeat what I’ve said or to try to find Elizabeth.” “Yes Professor, we agree.” They all nodded. “Well, Catherine, your intuition was correct. Her captors seem to be Middle Eastern terrorist. I believe they’ve taken her to Canada. They want our research, Thoreau, and the Thornton treasure.” Jake said, “Are you going to give it to them?” “I have no choice . . . they were torturing her while I was on the phone. I could hear her screaming in the background.” Catherine said, “I’m so sorry Professor.” Civi added, “What about the police . . . have you told them about Elizabeth?” “I’ve been interrogated by the FBI and told them Elizabeth had disappeared but not about the phone call from her captors. If the police or FBI gets involved, the terrorists will kill her.” Jake said, “If you don’t mind my input . . . the worst terrorists will kill their victims when they receive their ransom—they want to protect themselves from being identified.” “Then what can we do?” “Our best chance is to play along with them and put all of our efforts into finding Elizabeth. If the FBI knows a terrorist organization is involved, it will be highly motivated to find the criminals, track them down, and put them in prison. And it will call in other clandestine organizations such as the CIA.” Civi said, “How are you supposed to them?” “They said they’ll be paying me an unexpected visit.” The door bell rang and Catherine jumped. Charles announced that agents Robb and Stacky had arrived.”

“Send them in.” Mr. Robb said, “Professor Thornton, a little early to be having a party, isn’t it? And look who we have here, it’s Catherine Riswald . . . gone to work for another bond trader?” “That was uncalled for.” Thornton introduced everyone and asked the FBI agents to them. “We were just discussing my wife Elizabeth and how best to save her.” While Thornton described the call from Elizabeth and the terrorists, Jake walked outside to get some fresh air and distance himself from the agents. It was still dark, but he could see the first signs of dawn creeping into the eastern sky. While he leaned against the side of the house, he heard a twig snap; he walked around the corner and right into the path of a man with his head wrapped in a dark colored cloth and wearing black, baggy pants and shirt. He dove and tackled the man . . . but was pulled off of him by two others. They tied his hands behind his back taped his mouth closed and threw him into a grove of pine trees. Agent Stacky thought she heard something outside and asked, “Is Jake coming back?” Catherine said, “Yes, he only went out for some fresh air.” Stacky opened the front door and called, “Jake . . . Jake,” but there was no answer. She walked outside with gun drawn and agent Robb behind her. She looked around the corner of the building, but there was no one there. Both agents moved forward with guns drawn and eyes moving from side to side. When they reached a large rhododendron in bloom, two figures simultaneously disarmed Robb and Stacky and tied them and then through them into the bushes along with Jake. Moments later, six figures in black walked into the living room with Elizabeth in tow. Catherine, Civi, and Thornton sat frozen with fear. “Hello, professor,” while pointing to Elizabeth, “I’ve brought my calling card. I’m prepared to keep my end of our agreement when you keep yours . . . the

research, Thoreau, and the treasure.” Thornton looked at Elizabeth and ran over to her . . . she rested against him with tears streaming down her cheeks. Thornton was pulled away . . . he said, “I’ll tell you everything I know. I have copies of the research here . . . .” “Good, we want all your copies and the location of any other originals.” “One was from Dr. Carpenter . . . his copy is most likely at his home or with him and the same applies to Professor Ewing's. The treasure has been turned over to the United States Government for evaluation. It’s in a vault at the Sovereign Bank in downtown Boston near City Hall. And then Thoreau . . . I’ll give you what I have . . . he has my cell phone, here’s the number . . . . I’ve tried to reach him but haven’t been able to get through. I left him in the woods near Walden Pond, but now he could be some distance from there.” “Good Professor, now I’ll let your “cow” go.” He signaled to the two guards who freed Elizabeth. “But unfortunately, there will be a change of plans . . . I will need to take you with me to ensure you are telling the truth.” “Agreed.” He smiled at Elizabeth. She said, “Marbury, no . . .” and then ran over to him and embraced him. “He will be returned when the treasure and Thoreau are ours.” The men in black bound Catherine, Civi, and Elizabeth’s hands behind their backs . . . and then they were gone. Elizabeth mumbled, “There are knives and scissors in the kitchen in the first drawer on the right . . . if you can get to them.” Civi went in search of a knife and quickly found one. By the time he returned, he had cut his bindings and soon freed Elizabeth and Catherine. After comforting Elizabeth, he and Catherine walked outside. They heard muffled cries . . . and it didn’t take them long to find Jake and agents Robb and Stacky. In a few minutes they were freed.

Another Prisoner Makes a Deal

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that of blood and chains? The despotism of vice, The weakness and the wickedness of luxury, The negligence, the apathy, the evils, Of sensual sloth—produce ten thousand tyrants. Sardanapalis, 1, 2 Lord Byron Dr. Carpenter woke up, shook his head, and` tried to move . . . but couldn’t. He was lying on his chest with his hands bound behind his back and his feet tied to the bed post. There was tape over his mouth, a cloth over his eyes, and tremendous pain in his neck from laying on the left side of his face for several hours . . . not only that, but he had to go to the bathroom. He could hear the drone of a motor in the background but couldn’t feel any movement. He lay conscious for a very long time. He heard the door to the room open. Because of his discomfort, he groaned to gain his captor’s attention. He could hear the person walk away and speak to someone in a foreign language, perhaps Chinese. Someone entered the room and spoke in clear English, “Dr. Carpenter, you’re among the living.” The man motioned to the guard to remove the bandanna from his eyes, the tape from his mouth, and help him sit up on the single bed. Dr. Carpenter was staring into the face of Dr. Rutherford. “I should have known it was you, you were the one among us who most wanted to profit from Thoreau’s rebirth. Be that as it may, I would appreciate it if I could use the restroom.” “Certainly, Doctor. Wu will take you—you may shower and refresh yourself.

And make yourself comfortable.” While Dr. Carpenter walked out of the small room and down a corridor, he realized he was on a jet . . . he could just see the rays of the sun turning the cumulonimbus clouds pink. He wondered where in the world he was and where Dr. Rutherford was taking him. When he returned to the small room a meal awaited him. Dr. Rutherford walked in a few minutes later. “I’m sure you’ve noticed . . . escape is impossible. Enjoy your meal. We’ll talk further after you’ve composed yourself, let’s say in an hour.” After finishing his meal and reading Time and Newsweek magazines he began to relax. A short time, later Dr. Rutherford returned to the room. Dr. Carpenter said, “Sporting you own private jet now?” “Not even a doctor makes that kind of money. No, the jet was provided by my associates.” “And who are they and what is their purpose?” “Since you choose to be so direct, I’ll get right to the heart of the matter. They are an aggregate of Far Eastern businessmen backed by the Chinese government. I’ve given them my research on Thoreau, but to proceed in such a complicated matter, they want access to you and Thoreau as well. I’m sorry, Dr. Carpenter, to have to take this course of action—we’ve worked together on projects before and I’ve enjoyed your company. However, business is business and money is money and I don’t intend to live out the rest of my days on the meager income I’m paid at the university . . . .” “So you’re leaving your position at John Hopkins . . . what about your wife?” “I’ve already told her I’ve been offered a medical research opportunity in the Orient. I’ll send for her in a few months. She has expensive tastes like myself— when she realizes the wealth I’ll accumulate, she’ll gladly follow.” “And what about Thoreau and myself? Am I to leave my wife and life at Harvard and live in the Orient, too?”

“We would like to make a magnanimous offer to you for your cooperation and participation. It would require only occasional visits. Would say . . . a million dollars make it worth your while?” “Perhaps . . . but not at gun point. And what about Thoreau? He’s a free spirit with a philosophy of his own. He’s not likely to contribute to a cause he doesn’t believe in.” “Yes, he’s a “free agent”, so to speak, and in another world from his own—he may be persuaded to participate . . . perhaps Professor Thornton can influence him.” Dr. Carpenter, realizing he had already been kidnapped and that his persecutors were not likely take no for an answer, said, “I’ll do what I can to help.”

Mr. Thoreau Searches for Work

But to live, to wear on day after day of mean, bitter, low, harassing servitude, every nerve dampened and depressed, every power of feeling gradually smothered—this long and wasting heart martyrdom—this slow daily bleeding away of the inward life, drop by drop, hour after hour, this is the true searching test of what there may be in men or women. Uncle Tom's Cabin Harriet Beecher Stowe

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After several days in the forest, Thoreau decided to return to Boston. He found a Finnagle’s Bagel shop and bought a cup of tea and two plain bagels. He then sat down to rest and get warm. He found a copy of the Boston Examiner left by a customer. He scanned the headlines: Economic Indicators Improving, Consumer Confidence Up, Korinsky Arrested for Investment Scam. He did a double take when he saw, Person of Interest Questioned in the Murder of Professor and Mrs. Marbury Thornton. Thoreau dolefully buried his head in his hand and cried. He realized he was out on the streets—his best friends Professor and Elizabeth Thornton were dead . . . he had no source of income, no food, no place to stay. He watched the red sun sink behind a cover of gray clouds. He would go to the woods again . . . he would feel safe there . . . be able to catch a fish, a wood chuck, or a squirrel to eat, but now he was in downtown Boston where he had used all but his last $5.00 to take the “T” (subway) to the Boylston Station. It was a busy intersection, no trees, no bushes to hide and feel safe in . . . and it was dark. He climbed over a fence bordering a freeway over and crawled along the precipitous slope until he came to an area of dense vegetation. He slid

under it and fell asleep. In the morning he found a homeless man outside of Bruegger’s Bagels. He asked him if there was any work available in the area. “You can try the “day labor” office on the next block.” At the office, the clerk handed Thoreau a pen, a clipboard, and application, “Fill this out and return it with your I.D. and Social Security Card.” Thoreau said, “What’s a Social Security Card?” “Are you illegal or something? You’ve got to go to the Social Security Office with your I.D. to get one.” “O.K., I’ll return tomorrow with the number.” When he was leaving, Thoreau saw the clerk pick up the telephone to make a call . . . he hurried on so he wouldn’t be questioned if the man was calling the police. He came to a slovenly dressed man with a week old beard and a dark, red, weathered complexion and asked, “Where are the woods?” The man said, “I don’t know . . . could be about thirty miles north of here, I guess.” “I need to make some money, anywhere I can get work?” “You can sell the Boston Examiner like I am, hiccup, but business is lousy.” “How much do you make?” “$10 to $15 per day, hiccup. Carlisle stops in front of the Mobile Station across the street at 5:00 am . . . you’ll need to fill out a card with your name and Social Security Number, hiccup.” “What’s a Social Security Number?” “Look, this is mine.” Thoreau counted the numbers—there were nine. He walked across the street and sat on a bus bench and watched the man work the traffic. He walked up and

down along the edge of the sidewalk, holding the newspaper so the drivers could see it and shouted, “Paper . . . paper . . . paper . . . Boston Examiner.” The man then walked onto the median strip of concrete in the middle of the road and walked up and down. When the cars stopped for the traffic, he walked between them along the broken white line—he chatted with some of the drivers and called, “Paper . . . paper . . . Boston Examiner.” When someone waved their hand or honked, the man ran over to the car, gave the driver a paper, and took the money. Thoreau decided to give it a try the next day. He wondered through downtown Boston. The city was pleasant and the sidewalks were crowded with tourists and people doing their shopping and stopping in restaurants and coffee houses. He arrived at the Haymarket (subway) Station. He went across the street and begged at Citizen’s Bagels for two hours. He made $4. He then wondered past glitzy Italian restaurants, cafes, gift shops . . . many of them with 18th and 19th Century architecture. He came to a sign that said, “Paul Revere’s House” and did a double take. The sign said, Tours $2.00. He paid the money and went in. The architecture looked familiar and made Thoreau feel comfortable—the early American construction, the simple handmade furniture. He felt relaxed . . . peaceful . . . at home. After he finished the tour, he aimlessly walked around the city. He wondered past Boston University and stopped at the Café Mirror where he ordered two plain bagels for lunch. He continued walking. He came upon an ominous looking graveyard. The sign said, Granary Cemetery, resting place of Paul Revere, John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and Robert Paine, signers of the Declaration of Independence. At first, the graveyard looked foreboding as if one of Washington Irving’s “headless horsemen” would rise up from the ground and attack him with a saber. But then the sun broke through the clouds and the sublime setting of the towering oak trees and 18th and 19th Century buildings that protected it from the wind made a distinct impression on Thoreau. He thought, A fitting place to spend eternity . . . he considered it longingly. He wondered over to a park. It looked familiar . . . it was the Public Gardens and Boston Commons where he had been arrested when he first came to the city. He lay down and slept for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

The next morning, he was at the Mobile Gas Station at ten minutes to 5:00 am. There were three men and a woman waiting for Carlisle. The woman said in a strident voice, “What’s your name, mister?” “Thoreau, I’m here to sell the Boston Examiner.” “Carlisle usually gets here by 5:15. This is Michael, Coo, Fast Lane, and I’m Shiner.” They were all drinking beers. Thoreau nodded. Shiner continued, “Carlisle gives me twenty-five papers a day and I sell them for $.75 and pay him $.25 each. I get to keep the tips and he picks up what I don’t sell. Business isn’t what it used to be . . . we’d do fifty papers every day during the week and one hundred and fifty on Sundays. Carlisle comes back later in the morning to get his money.” Michael said, “I’ll have finished off four beers and be asleep by then. He has to collect from me the next day.” An old scrubby white van pulled up . . . Fast Lane walked up to it and Carlisle said, “What happened to you yesterday? I gave your corner to someone else.” “Had a doctor’s appointment.” “I told you guys that if you can’t make it to call me . . . here’s my card and number, Fast Lane. If you want to work for me, you call me, I don’t have papers for you today.” “Hey Coo Coo, got $2.00 you can spare for another beer, I’ll pay you tomorrow?” “Here, it’s O.K., Fast Lane, you can keep it . . . that makes up for the six-pack you bought me last week.” Carlisle handed out the papers . . .”Coo Coo . . . twenty-five?” “Yea.”

“Michael, here’s thirty.” “Shiner, thirty-five.” “OK, Carlisle, you know I’ll give you ten back at the end of the day. This is Thoreau, he wants to sell, too.” “Ever sell newspapers before?” “No, but I’ve done just about everything else. I think I’d be a good seller.” “Here are twenty-five papers . . . and I need you to fill out this card.” Thoreau wrote his name and Professor Thornton’s telephone number and then made up a nine-digit number to use for Social Security. “And you’ll need to wear this yellow tee-shirt and orange vest—get in the van.” I’ll drop you off at Boylston and Tremont.” There were three other vendors in the back of the van and it smelled as if they hadn’t washed for a month. Carlisle was separated from them by a metal grate. One of them was a man in his sixties with long shoulder length graying hair. He was drinking a beer that was in a brown paper bag. He sat on a stack of papers and every time Carlisle stopped, he went flying and spilled the beer on the papers and the engers. The other two vendors were a mother and daughter. Thoreau thought they looked huge, fat. The daughter said, “Toffee (which was the name of the older guy) can I please have a cigarette?” He didn’t answer. “God dammit, can I have a cigarette, Toffee?” He finally said, “I ain’t got one.” She said in an even louder voice while almost crying, “I haven’t had a cigarette since I woke up this morning . . . I want a God damn cigarette!” At the first stop Carlisle said, “O.K. Thoreau, this is your corner. Work the south bound sidewalk. You can walk in traffic when the light’s red. If you’re out there in moving traffic, the police will give you a ticket.” Thoreau unloaded his papers and carried them to the nearest corner. He surveyed the traffic and lights for several minutes, Dr. Thornton had taught him

how to cross the street and look both ways when the light was green. He walked up and down the sidewalk and shouted, “Paper, paper, get the Boston Examiner,” while waving the paper over his head like he’d seen Coo Coo do the day before. He heard a honk and saw a hand waving three lanes over so he ran out into the traffic . . . but what he forgot to consider was that the green arrow had just changed for cars making a left hand turn . . . Thoreau walked right into a moving 2008 BMW—it hit him on the left hip and he bounced off and fell to the ground in front of another skidding car. The man got out of his BMW and helped Thoreau up. After Thoreau gained his feet, the man said, “I’ll give you my name, address, and license number. You can report the accident to your insurance company in case there are medical expenses.” Thoreau said, “No, I’ll be alright.” The man handed him a twenty dollar bill. Thoreau took it and walked over to the sidewalk. He decided to be more careful next time. He sold several more papers without incident. Then he heard another honk from the far lane from a woman in a small red car. He checked the lights and cautiously ran over to her. She smiled and handed him $2.00. He said, “Thank you,” and dug in his pocket for change. She gently squeezed his hand . . . “You keep it . . . it’s called a tip.” When Carlisle arrived at 10:00 am, Thoreau paid him $6.25 for the twenty-five papers. He had five left and stayed until 11:15 to sell those. When he was finished, he sat down on the bus bench and counted his money. He made $16.50 with tips plus the $20.00 from the man in the BMW. While he was sitting on the bench, a man in his seventies pulled up next to him in a mid-sized U-Haul Truck. He said, “Hey Buddy, do you want some work? I need help moving from my apartment to my new home. I’ll pay you $10.00 per hour. It’ll be about five hours work.” Thoreau nodded. They drove across the city to Deerborn Crossing through several residential neighborhoods and finally past some huge apartment complexes situated around a golf course. There were dozens of white haired people (who Thoreau thought looked ancient) walking in shorts and colorful shirts and white tennis shoes. Others were riding in golf carts.

The U-Haul backed into a space next to a walkway in a huge building. It was three stories high and had rows and rows of square white columns. Thoreau stood next to one of them and ran his hand over it—stucco crumbled off onto the ground. He then looked down a row of the columns that appeared to lead off into infinity . . . he studied the architecture . . . he thought, “Designed to create an illusion just like the homes of the wealthy in Concord in the 19th Century. When he followed the man to the third floor, he looked off into the distance and saw the white haired people hitting tiny white balls with medal rods with wedges on the end. He thought, They’ve created their own reality. The man handed Thoreau a hand truck and a shopping cart, “Here, we’ll use these to move the furniture. What’s your name?” “Call me Thoreau.” They entered the elevator and went up to the third floor. “I’m Don. Yesterday, I had two guys help me. We took the heavy stuff.” He was interrupted by a cell phone call from his wife. “I’ve got this guy here with me; we’re at the apartment. We’ll be at the house in about four hours. I’m sure glad I found him. If I throw my back out again, the doctor said I’ll need surgery.” He continued talking while he pointed to the bedroom as if he wanted Thoreau to start in there. Thoreau picked up the first two heavy boxes he saw and then walked pasted Don. “No, put those down. Let’s start there . . . in the closet. And unless you’re Hercules, you’d better use this hand cart.” Thoreau returned with the cart to the closet. He loaded black, hard plastic cases that concealed familiar shapes. He opened the catch on one of them and found a flute. He regarded it sentimentally, ing his own. Don came over to him and said, “Now put this box in first and then these two on top of it. Good, now take them down to the truck and stack them against the back wall.” Thoreau returned to the bedroom and began loading more of the boxes from the closet into the cart. The man said, “No, take those out of there. You’d better use the hand cart now. Now load this box and then these two on top of it.” Thoreau

did as he was told. Don followed him downstairs to the truck. Thoreau was getting angry at Don for managing every detail of the work. He thought, This is a five hour job—if I do it my way, it will take three hours—if I listen to Don, it will take seven. He knew he’d have to control his anger if he wanted to get paid. When they reached the truck, Thoreau unloaded the boxes from the hand truck. Don said, “Take those boxes and cases away from the back of the truck, I want to put the dining room table there—and so the afternoon went. When they finally finished at 7:00 pm, Don paid Thoreau eighty dollars for eight hours work. He asked him to return another day to make some repairs on the house. Thoreau never did.

Mr. Thoreau Meets an irer

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Don’t it always go to show, That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, You pave paradise and put up a parking lot. Take all the trees, put’em in a tree museum, Charge the people a dollar-and-a-half Just to see’em. Don’t it always go to show, That you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, You pave paradise and put up a parking lot. Paradise (Song) Joni Mitchell When Thoreau woke up the next morning, it was snowing. He made his way to Bruegger’s Bagels and bought tea and breakfast. He stood outside the restaurant planning out his day when a young woman came up to him and said, “Is that you, Mr. Thoreau?” “Yes, who are you?” “I’m Amy Ling from Professor Thornton’s Early American History I Class. You answered my question.”

“Ah, yes. I was living with the Thorntons when they were kidnapped and presumably murdered. I decided to return to the woods. But now my friends are gone and I'm living on the streets.” “I’m so sorry, Mr. Thoreau. We're all devastated by the loss of Professor Thornton. Here—I’d like to help—here's ten dollars, but I don’t have much money myself . . . that's all I have. .And I’ll ask around; perhaps I can find you a place to stay. Here’s my number; call me in a few days. “And . . . Mr. Thoreau, you our class, don’t you? The students are lost without Professor Thornton. They loved him and aren’t happy with the substitute professor; there’s been no continuity for them. “Mr. Thoreau . . . I was wondering—would you lecture to us again—it would give us hope and lift the student's spirits?” “I’d like to Amy, but to be honest, I eschew bureaucracy and especially that of higher education.” “I’ll handle that part of it. I’ve been promoted to class assistant—if you could make it to class on Thursday evening at 7:00 pm, everything will be arranged.” He nodded. “And Mr. Thoreau . . . I almost forgot to tell you, Elizabeth has been found. I’ll call her to let her know you’re here.”

* * *

Amy stood at the lectern on the dais in the circular auditorium. Class attendance had been at 50 percent since Thornton’s death, but today, after Amy had emailed the students about Thoreau’s visit, it was nearly full. When she introduced him, the students bellowed forth the familiar chant, “Thoreau . . . Thoreau . . . Thoreau.” “In addition to working as a day laborer and selling newspapers, I’ve used this

opportunity to return to the woods. Laughter. Most of us spend our lives regretting what’s happened to us, past decisions, missed opportunities . . . saying to ourselves, if only I’d done “that” (gone to school, helped a friend, performed well on a job, been a better boyfriend or girlfriend) I’d be happy. But, happiness can be found . . . now . . . in the moment. The past can be let go of and decisions can be made today to bring us what we want. When I first went to Walden— appearances said I was poor, had nothing: not fancy clothes, a fine home, a family, iring friends, work I loved, nor a steady income. But I soon had all I wanted and much much more. “When I went to the woods in 2014, I found solace, peace of mind, and my friends: the pine, cedar, oak, the chattering squirrel, and curious blue bird, laughter, but the woods have changed since 1860, like modern man himself. They have been chopped up into small pieces, compartmentalized, and turned asunder for profit to make way for the suburbs, for cities and industry, and they have been polluted by the detritus of society. Only those plants and animals that can survive along side of a busy highway or in the shadow of a boisterous city train, remain. And like man himself, they are no longer whole and complete— the cougar and eagle, their greater parts, have moved on. “My friend and mentor Ralph Waldo Emerson said that through nature man finds completion.” Man’s mind and intellect when combined with nature bring forth his spirit. He said that our language itself comes from nature. For example, the light and dark stand for knowledge and ignorance and good and evil. And every appearance in nature can be a symbol for man’s thoughts . . . a cloudy sky is an unfocused and distracted mind. And in its broadest sense, nature is emblematic of man’s spirit and morality. The first spring day, like the holiday of Easter, can evaporate pain, resentment, guilt, anger, and bring about forgiveness and a resurrection in our lives.” A hand shot up. Thoreau pointed, “Yes.” “Although students, like ourselves, are closer to nature than our parents and the more established of society, most of us live our lives on campuses, on concrete slabs and walkways, and in concrete boxes . . . .” “I’ve noticed. Laughter. I, too, have lived in the cities and towns . . . in Concord

as a boy and young man . . . and, of course, here in Boston. But even in our cities . . . even in our most dire and desolate environments, nature has a constant presence . . . in the parks and green spaces, in the woods and along the rivers, in the back yards and apartment windows— the first clump of green grass in a dead and decaying winter wood, the first shoots of spring growth on the dogwood that burst into bloom over night, the crocus, daffodils, narcissus, and ice drops pushing their petals and stems through the ground and towards the sun. Nature shows its face in the city and where ever we go: The ruffling of a flag in the wind and its shadow on a nearby wall, the marching of the clouds across the sky, the crunch of snow or the breaking of ice on a frozen puddle as one walks a familiar path, the laughter on a baby’s face, and the smile in an old persons eyes. “In the spring, I rode with Professor Thornton into New York City, a desolate and pernicious place with nigh a sprig of grass in its densest parts (Times Square). When we left Boston the winter seemed endless and the snow poured down upon us as we traveled south from the city. When we drove along the concrete highways into New York City, however, the sun broke through the clouds, green grass was plentiful along the roads, bushes and trees were sprouting new verdure, daffodils and an assortment of flowers were reaching for the sky. It was possible to forgive man’s “concrete creation”.” Amy said, “Mr. Thoreau, many of us are touched by your words and thoughts, but for those of us who truly love nature, like yourself, how can we stop the steady eroding of those places by our insidious society that strives to pave over every open space, field, or forest?” “Each of you must look into your own selves, as I have done, to find out what rings true. You must then ask: are the policies of growth and development right for me, for my community, country, and world? And then take a stand for what you believe in . . . whether through voting, civil disobedience, or forming organizations to educate and spread the word to others. For what is true for you, is true for many.” Another hand went up. “Mr. Thoreau, I ire your experience at Walden Pond. To students, many of whom have accumulated $20,000 or more in loans to complete their education and who face the prospect of working the rest of their lives for a home, a family, and to provide the basic needs of existence, your story of grasping everything for $68.00 is certainly appealing, Laughter. What possibilities do you see for living the life of Walden today?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “Find a benefactor like I did. Laughter. I asked that question of Professor Thornton—he said that my way of life is all but gone, that a parsimonious existence can be found, perhaps, by those living on a boat, in a trailer, or renting a small room. I’ve also heard that it is still possible to homestead land in Alaska . . . if one can endure the winter. And some land in the United States is still cheap. There are also opportunities in other countries where the cost of living is very low. “But living frugally and taking the inward journey is a way of life that can begin here and now. Through giving up the myriad distractions with which we fill our lives: a thousand forms of entertainment, hundreds of clothes to keep in style, toys and knick knacks that fill our rooms and garages, we begin to make the inward journey and find vehicles and clothes of the mind that far sur those of the world. I know that today life is far different from the 19th Century—one can hardly live without, say, a computer or a car or a cell phone—but a frugal life can be had none-the-less with the rewards being greater happiness and fulfillment . . . you need not a mansion with many rooms, but only the mansions of the mind to be happy. “One more thought . . . Professor Thornton told me that people today strive to specialize in the work they love. He loved American History and Elizabeth, his wife, children and teaching. Together they loved raising a family and being immersed in their lives. From these goals they effortlessly found abundant income, a home, family, and happiness. “As I mentioned in my first visit, 'When you go confidently in the direction of your dreams, and endeavor to live the life which you’ve imagined, you will be met with a success unexpected in the common hour.' Through trusting in your heart, dreams, love, and in nature, those possibilities that the intellect cannot conceive, will rush forth into your life.” Amy signaled to Thoreau that his time was almost up and then a few minutes later walked up to the podium. “Thank you, Mr. Thoreau. I’d like to invite you to return to our class at any time to give us early American history from your perspective.” There was a standing ovation and the students chanted, “Thoreau . . . Thoreau . . . Thoreau . . . Thoreau.” After the meeting, Elizabeth came up to him, “I was inspired by your talk as much as the students.”

“Elizabeth . . . your alive . . . you’ve returned! I thought you were dead as well.” They embraced which was an unusually effusive expression for Thoreau. “I was released when Marbury was taken. The terrorists needed his research, the treasure, and, of course, they wanted you, but you weren’t to be found.” “I’m so sorry about Thornton.” “I am too . . . I feel lost without him.” “He gave me a cell phone, but after trying it and getting no response, I threw it away. If I had known Thornton was in trouble, I would have given myself to the kidnappers in his place.” “Oh, Henry, don’t . . . your not to blame. It’s our world that’s at fault—it’s man’s relentless greed and striving to have everything he wants that is the root of the problem. It’s his unwillingness to accept life as it is. Anyway, Marbury’s gone. I, myself, must find a new awakening and go confidently in the direction of my dreams as you say . . . which to me means continuing my teaching and Marbury’s work of documenting the American Revolutionary War Navy.” He nodded, “Anyway, my life is expendable, too. I’ve already lived it onehundred and fifty years ago. And here I am again—what am I to do . . . start all over again. And what purpose have I been brought here to fulfill?” “Henry, the world needs you—they need to hear the messages you spoke of today . . . of living frugally, taking the inward journey, creating one’s own morality and values, and looking to nature for their spirituality . . . perhaps that's why your here. “You know, your room is still empty. You're welcome to use it now or anytime you choose. God knows, I would enjoy the company.” “Perhaps I’ll accept your offer . . . at least for the time being. I’ve got some business to transact.” “Good, you can me now, if you’d like. I’ll call ahead to have Charles prepare things for you.”

The Terrorist Go in Search of Harvey Thornton’s Treasure

Money is honey my little sonny, and a rich man's joke is always funny.

––––––––

The Doctor Thomas Edward Brown The downtown Sovereign Bank had been in existence since 1895. There were six guards on staff. One guard watched the lobby and front doors when the bank was open for business. Another guarded the entrance to the vault and surveyed the HD TV video screens that transmitted the closed circuit TV signals from the cameras that monitored activity at the doors, in the lobby and hallways. There were also alarms on the doors, windows, and the vault. The bank was equipped with motion sensors and a dead-man’s switch that rang directly into the police station if the guard at the vault activated it. Of the six guards, four were in their twenties and thirties (three of these were unmarried) and one was fifty-six years old raising three girls seven, thirteen, and sixteen years old as a single parent (his wife had died the previous year). The sixth guard was sixty-two (the one with the most seniority) and planned to retire on his birthday in three months. Jeff Gries, twenty-seven, the last one hired, needless to say, worked weekends. He had attended Granite High School in Boston. When he graduated, he had decided to get a job and take two years off from school. He then would return to a college or university to study either architecture or police science. But one

thing led to another . . . a car, a girl friend, marriage, and finally a child. Thus, he stayed on at Sovereign Bank. His second child was due in two weeks . . . so he had made arrangements with the other staff to cover his shifts while he attended to his wife and newborn. Jeff Randle, Fred Washington, and Thomas Rodriguez, the three younger men, agreed to cover his days during the week and Louis Hays, the man raising three children on his own, would cover the shifts on the weekends. Mr. Hays could use the extra money for he seemed always to be behind on his rent or car payments. The oldest Richard Petty declined extra hours. In the early morning of April 20, it was raining, and while the temperature dropped, the rain turned to ice-rain. Michael Hennessey was the police officer manning the walk-in and alarm desks at the downtown police headquarters (the positions had required two officers in the past, but one of them had been eliminated due to budget cuts). At 2:30 am, two men, who were arguing back and forth, ambled into the station to report an auto accident. Chung Mu, a Cambodian American who spoke broken English, said (while gesticulating wildly with his hands and arms) that Mr. Ching Lee had rear-ended his car and caused lots of damage. Ching Lee, who spoke and understood very little English, repeatedly said no, obstreperously moving his head and arms. He rambled on in Chinese for several minutes which neither the police officer nor Chung Mu understood. After a few minutes, the two interlopers began shoving each other and soon the shoving matched turned into an all out melee. Officer Hennessey, who was ten inches taller than either of his visitors, came around in front of his desk to intervene. When he reached Chung Mu and Ching Lee, they promptly threw kidney punches to his body and karate kicks to his face which render Mr. Hennessey unconscious. The two fighters tied him hand and foot, taped his mouth so he couldn’t yell for help, and deposited him out of sight behind his desk. Needless to say, there was now no one at the police station to respond to the dead-man's switch. A few minutes later, there were a series of muffled explosions in the vicinity of City Hall. Seconds after that, a Breed’s Hill Fruit and Vegetable delivery truck smashed through the front doors of the nearby Sovereign Bank. When Louis Hayes activated the dead man's switch and left his position at the vault to investigate the crash, he was over whelmed by four men dressed in loose fitting

black, baggy clothes. They slit his throat and he lay bleeding to death in front of the vehicle. The vault was subsequently entered from an entrance in the Milton Office Tower that had been created by the explosions. The Thornton treasure and $250,000 in cash were carried out of the bank and driven away in a Securado Armored truck by the four men.

* * *

It was late at night when the Chinese Jet with Doctors Rutherford and Carpenter landed in Hong Kong. They were met by a chauffeur with a black Cadillac limousine and driven to the downtown Marriott Hotel where they were given two ading rooms on the second floor. They were tired after the long flight and after refreshing themselves, went to sleep. At 1:00 am, a figure clad in loose fitting black clothes entered the second floor hall through a window that had been left open by an accomplice. He was followed by two fellow conspirators. The three men approached rooms 203 and 204, quickly picked the locks on the doors, and entered the rooms. They awoke Doctors Rutherford and Carpenter and tied their feet and hands behind their backs. One of the men in black said, “Hello, Dr. Carpenter, Dr. Rutherford. We’ve come for the notes on Mr. Thoreau . . . which one of you has them?” Dr, Rutherford said, “Thoreau . . . Thoreau, that name sounds familiar. Oh, yes, isn’t that the man that “returned to life” in Boston, Massachusetts after being dead for 150 years? An interesting case. But no, we have nothing to do with that. We’re going to the Osteoporosis Conference tomorrow in Guangzhou. Two of the men put duct tape over Rutherford’s mouth, roughed him up, and left him unconscious. The man said, “Doctor Carpenter, how about you?” “I . . . I’ve been kidnapped by Rutherford . . . he apparently works for the Chinese Government and has forced me to agree to turn my research over to him and assist in developing a technology to return others to life who are dead. I’ll help you but please, let me go . . . my wife . . . my work, my students . . . .”

“Certainly Doctor, we met your wife when we searched your home. All I want is the research.” “Is she . . . hurt?” “No, no . . . we left her unharmed.” “I believe Doctor Rutherford has it. Try the brief case. The notes are in my laptop.” The two terrorists found the brief case and carried the laptop over to Doctor Carpenter. They freed his hands. “Doctor . . . which files are they . . . show us.” “Here they are . . . they are the files that end with a “T”.” The man speaking nodded to his assistants who carried Dr. Rutherford out of the room . . . and they were gone. When the men left, Doctor Carpenter called the desk clerk and reported what had happened. Carpenter then telephoned his wife who ed the FBI. When the police arrived at the hotel, they found Dr. Carpenter sitting in his robe in a state of semi-shock. Dr. Rutherford was found dead with his neck broken in the second story public restroom.

A Visit to Concord, Massachusetts

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson “Henry, how has your week been?” “Uneventful. I’ve spend most of my days in the library catching up on the world. I’ve found several essays written in response to Walden and Civil Disobedience.” “You seemed to have gained more fame than Emerson although he had a much greater influence on American culture and literature than you did. Perhaps it was the audacity of your writing and Walden that made people want to respond. And many of the responses were in fun. One of my favorite modern day writers E.B. White, for example, wrote a short essay in parody of you, Concord, and our modern society. It’s in this collection. I think you’d enjoy reading it. Emerson, on the other hand, was highly intellectual and wrote and spoke to the erudite and religious of society. Today, he’s read primarily by historians and philosophers. “Virtually all of the Transcendentalists gained greater eminence and fame after their ing. Louisa May Alcott, with her book Little Women was the greatest among them. She’s read avidly by each generation of children and young women. Most of the Concord author’s works have been printed many times as “classics” including yours.” Thoreau sat reminiscing for several minutes.

“What’s wrong, Henry, you look as if you’ve lost your best friend.” “I have . . . many of them. I tell the students to let go of regret and the past, but here I am dolefully reminiscing over the life and times I’ve lost.” “It’s only natural, like loosing Marbury—to mourn the loss of those that were suddenly ripped out of our lives.” “It would , I believe, if I could find a purpose and a direction here in the 21st Century.” “The wonder of modern technology is the answer. It can help you get your message out to the world. Through the Internet, you can write news and editorial columns called blogs, participate in and lead discussion groups, and build a following. And it’s all posted immediately. It’s an interactive electronic network that allows us to communicate with each other around the world. After breakfast, I’ll show you. “You know, I wanted to tell you before we get started today, that I woke up this morning with the most unusual desire, I want to visit Concord. It’s where I spent time while attending the university and working on my doctoral dissertation. And it’s where Marbury and I fell in love.” “I’ve been wanting to look through some of my journals and I understand they’re kept in the Concord Free Public Library. How about tomorrow?”

* * *

“Henry, I don’t feel like driving, do you mind if we take the local bus through town and the train to Concord?” “No, I’ve been disposed to take the train to expedite moving from one place to another, although I still eschew man’s reliance on every contrivance to speed up and make life more convenient.” “You haven’t flown yet, have you?”

“No . . . air travel . . . I’ve read about it.” “Let’s get off here; we’ll take the “T” (subway) to the North Station and the commuter train from there. Air travel makes it convenient to travel from city to city within the United States in a few hours. Europe is only six hours away by jet moving at over six hundred miles an hour.” The commuter train seemed ancient to Elizabeth in comparison to the Boston subway even though it was manufactured in 1989 by the Bombardier Company. The conductor, though friendly, shouted out the destinations and slammed and opened doors as if he were breaching the kiln in a steel manufacturing plant. The train was about half full with morning commuters, most of whom were dressed casually. They traveled over the Charles River and past manufacturing plants in and around Waltham, scrolling by an occasional business park or office complex. As they moved further away from Boston, they ed scattered homes and wooded areas with nascent spring growth. Thoreau followed Walden Pond with his eyes as they zipped by it and then skidded to a stop in Concord. They strolled down the street from the train station to the first corner where there was a Dunkin' Donuts and a Starbuck’s Coffee shop. They turned left onto Sudbury Street from Thoreau Street. Elizabeth said, “See Henry, you are forever immortalized in the hearts and minds of Concordians and all those tourists that come to the town made famous by the Transcendentalists and the Revolutionary War.” Thoreau said nothing. Although he had visited Walden Pond and the surrounding forest several times since “returning to life”, he had not seen modern Concord. They walked past the Concord Free Public Library and stopped into the Visitor Center. Elizabeth said to the attendant, "We’d like a map of the town.” The man said, “Excellent. Maps are only one dollar and they show you the historical sights and how much it costs to tour them. And we have this brochure that tells about the life of Henry David Thoreau . . . it’s only $2.00. And this booklet, that gives a history of the Transcendentalist Authors, is only $5.00.” Thoreau threw a smiling glance at Elizabeth. “What about the Old Manse, is it still in existence?”

“Excellent. It’s letter “C” on Monument Street on this hand drawn map. It was the home of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nathaniel and Sophia Hawthorne, and even the Alcotts for a time. And a little further north on Monument Street is The North Bridge where the first shot of the American Revolutionary War was fired. Now the Yellow House, two blocks west of here, is where Thoreau died. The Virginia House, where he was born, is now being refurbished, so there’s not much to see there. And you can go to the Concord Free Public Library and see Thoreau’s writing and journals in his “very own handwriting”. There’s a curator there to help you find what you want.” Thoreau was smiling and could barely contain his laughter. At that point the man looked down at Thoreau’s shoes and surveyed him from head to toe, “You can even see the “scope” Thoreau used as a surveyor.” Thoreau said, “Sextant . . . thank you, that’s all the help we’ll need today.” “Now, at the end of Main Street, you’ll find Sleepy Hollow Cemetery and Author’s Ridge where Thoreau and the other Concord author’s are buried.” Elizabeth said, “Thank you, there’s so much to see, we’d better get started.” “When they walked out, Elizabeth said, “I don’t think he approved of your warn shoes or outfit, Henry.” “No, probably not . . . they were given to me by Catherine and are not up with today’s styles.” They walked across the street towards the Emerson Book Shop, Inc. “Look Henry, another memento to you, She read the sign on a shop, Thoreauly (thoroughly) Antiques.” He chuckled. They wondered through the book store. It offered a modern selection of fiction, non-fiction, children's, history . . . . Elizabeth picked up a copy of Paul Brooks’, A History of Concord, skimmed through it, and then set it down. She found Henry and led him to the philosophy section. Your writing, unlike that of Emerson, has been like a locomotive slowly picking up speed and momentum through time. Here’s Walden and Other Writings published by Bantam Classics in 1962, 1981, and again in 2004. And here’s a marvelous edition of Walden in hardcover with illustrations printed by Shambala Press in 2004. There’s Civil

Disobedience and Other Essays by Dover Thrift, 1993, and A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers also by Dover in 2001.” Thoreau’s eyes lit up and had a faraway and misty look. “What are you thinking, Henry?” “It was such a struggle in 1849 to get A Week on the Concord and Merrimac Rivers published. I did it on my own meager earnings with Emerson’s help. And I was finally able to get a friend to publish 2000 copies of Walden in 1854, a full seven years after I lived it. I made very little off of those books and he only a modest profit.” “There’s something positive then that’s come from our consumer oriented economy—whenever there’s a unique product that appeals to a large number of people, it becomes an instant success. People, as I’ve told you, want to read about alternatives to our mediocre and materialistic life styles . . . and look here, in the afterwards to the Dover Thrift edition of Walden, the writer mentions that some of your journals have been published as well. When we return to Boston, I’ll show you how to go onto the Internet to search the Library of Congress database for your works.” “Thank you.” They wondered past the Verril, a natural foods market and cafe. Elizabeth said, “Oh Henry, let’s stop here. This was one of Marbury and my favorite haunts.” Thoreau sat down at a small square table across from the counter. Elizabeth returned with two cups of tea. There was a counter for ordering above a baked goods display case with a wide assortment of chocolate layered cakes, éclairs, and pastries. Towards the rear of the café was a bar. The café offered an eclectic assortment of teas, coffees, lattes, and light meals. It was a “hang out” for Concordians and tourists. Sitting next to Thoreau and Elizabeth was a lady in her mid-sixties with her daughter across from her. She was holding her one-month old granddaughter in her arms and feeding her out of a baby bottle. The restaurant was filled with a diverse assortment of men and women dressed casually and people strolling in and out, chatting around tables, eating and drinking tea and coffee, studying or working on laptops. Gifts and kitchen items were hung in front of windows and placed on shelves around the

store. Elizabeth said, “This is a good cross-current of Concordian society. As you can see, people today buy, eat, and have what they want. The businesses, such as the book stores and the restaurants, make a living by providing people with what they desire and the people buy it. The fine arts of marketing, advertising, and sales, however, have been developed a thousand fold from what they were in your time . . . so that manufacturers, suppliers, and merchants can barrage us with messages to buy their products and create desire for them. Our society has found that this is the best way to keep the greatest number of people employed and happy and the economy growing. “Our society has tried, from time to time, to restrict human desires with laws, for example, they outlaw gambling and alcohol . . . but those experiments were failures . . . what happen was that most of the people wouldn’t give up what they wanted or simply consumed them anyway to spite the government. Seventy-six percent of the people bought alcohol during our prohibition era and risked being thrown in jail. Today society prohibits only those activities that interfere with its efficient functioning.” Thoreau smiled. “Let’s walk over to the library. They ed the Yellow House the man in the Visitor Center said Thoreau died in. “I’ve never even been in that house.” “A ploy to create more landmarks for the tourist industry then.” Elizabeth took his hand and held it as they walked. They spent several hours in the library, Thoreau reviewing his later journals and Elizabeth reading through Nathaniel Hawthorne’s collection of short stories from Mosses from an Old Manse. When Thoreau was finished he found Elizabeth. When they walked out of the library, they ed four swarthy men dressed in army uniforms. The men acted like tourists . . . Elizabeth became worried. “Something looks familiar about those men.” They walked down Main Street, turned right onto Lexington, and then walked past the Sleepy Hallow Cemetery. Thoreau said, “I’ll forgo looking at my grave.”

“Oh, Henry, let’s stop at Emerson’s House . . . and I’ve never been able to find the time to visit the Alcott Home . . . look, there are those soldiers again . . . probably on leave from a base in Virginia.” They continued down Lexington past Heywood Street . . . holding hands and swinging their arms between them. Thoreau said, “Downtown Concord is about the same size as it was in 1862 . . . and many of the same buildings are still in use. “What Emerson said is still true—that people living in the small towns and villages in America have a better lifestyle than those living in the cities . . . breathing cleaner air, drinking purer water, living closer to the fields, forests, lakes, and streams, and leading a slower pace of life.” “Yes, I can see that.” The Emerson House was closed to tourists, but they stood in the front yard and gazed up at it. “He’d have us over for an evening, Bronson Alcott, Hawthorne, and several others. He’d try out his ideas on us before using them in lectures or essays. But those hours . . . those hours were some of the most inspirational of my life.” “He was an incredible genius like all of the Transcendentalist authors, a man with bold, innovative, moving ideas . . . that molded much of American thought in the second half of the 19th Century and the ideas expressed through literature through the 20th Century.” They continued walking down Lexington. Two elderly ladies were standing and talking over the fence of another historical house. One had been raking and weeding her yard. Elizabeth waved and thought, “They look like those “pin cushion dolls” of old women she’d seen in gift shops”. They came to The Orchard House (home of the Alcotts). Elizabeth said, “Louisa May Alcott began her career writing “dime novels” under the pseudonym of Flora Fairfield. She made a little money off of them, but her career really took off when she wrote about her family in Little Women I. As soon as it went on the market, her readers demanded a sequel, so she wrote Little Women II and later several other novels and children’s stories.”

There was now a crowd, mostly girls and women, standing in its front yard chatting and taking pictures of each other. “Oh Henry, Let’s go in.”

* * *

After the tour, they continued down Lexington past Alcott and Hawthorne Streets. They stood on the side walk and gazed at the large circular front porch of The Wayside House (home of the Hawthornes). Elizabeth said, “His book The Scarlett Letter made him famous but not wealthy. He returned a second time to work at the Salem Customs House to make a living so he could his family. He was later appointed Ambassador to England at Liverpool by President Pierce, a college friend. His subsequent books, Our Old Home and a biography of President Pierce show a marked change in philosophy and writing styles.” They walked back towards town along Lexington, iring the old and new houses and spring weather. A recent model black Lincoln Town Car drove past with two men in army uniforms in the rear seat and a man with a white MiddleEastern headdress in the front. Elizabeth grabbed Thoreau’s arm . . . “Henry . . . I recognize that man . . . he was the one who kidnapped me—I’ve got to stop . . . rest a minute.”

The Hand of Fate

She began to see that character is a better possession than money, rank, intellect, or beauty; and to feel that if greatness is what a wise man had defined it to be—‘truth, reverence, and goodwill’–then her friend was not only good but great. (Jo March's soliloquy) Little Women Louisa May Alcott Thoreau and Elizabeth walked down Heywood Street and sat on a bench in a huge field. The grass was ankle high with blue nemesias, orange-reddish diacias, and yellow dandelions growing within it. After a few minutes she said, “I think I must be imagining it, Henry . . . I thought I saw Marbury in the rear seat between those soldiers.” “Then they’re terrorists disguised as the military.” He put his hand on her back, “I know a place where we can go until they leave.” They turned left onto Walden Street, ed the district court building and several open fields and community gardens. The houses on the left side of the street were spaced far apart. When they ed Carlisle High School and Thoreau Street, they walked into the woods. The ground was covered with a thick layer of the previous fall’s leaves so that it was like walking on a carpet that made a crunching sound. They walked among hickory, elm, and pitch pine and up and down over undulating hills. Elizabeth rested her head on Thoreau’s shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her waist. They neared the corner of Highway 2 and Walden Street. It was rush hour, so the traffic was bumper to bumper and moving slowly. They waited for an opening and crossed the highway. They skirted the massive Concord Composting Center and the Walden Pond State Reservation Ranger Station and then took a wide trail through the forest. Eventually, Thoreau turned off the path and headed away from Walden Street. They came to a rock over hang at the bottom of a raven. It formed a small cave.

“We can stay here until they go elsewhere.” “Oh Henry, what can we do, they want to take you and they may kill me . . . we’re going to need help.” “There are six of them . . . in the morning, we’ll return to Boston.” “You don’t understand . . . these men are dangerous . . . insidious . . . deadly. They’re not the British soldiers we fought in the Revolutionary War that wore red shirts and marched in formation so we could shoot them down like ducks in an arcade. They are cunning and pernicious and part of an international organization. They disguise themselves and strap bombs to their bodies and walk into crowds and blow up hundreds of people. They killed over 3000 Americans in New York City and we’ve fought two wars against them . . . the longest in American History. In the morning, I’m going to call the FBI.” They watched the yellow ball of the sun sink towards the horizon and turn the sky orange and then red behind a veil of mist. They lay down against the rear wall of the cave and used their jackets as blankets. Elizabeth rested her head on Thoreau’s shoulder and he put his arm around her. She was feeling affectionate and kissed his cheek and then his neck several times. “Elizabeth, I’m flattered . . . but I’m a confirmed bachelor and not of this world. You’d best find a man of your own time.” “I’m sorry Henry . . . I know. It’s just . . . it’s just everything . . . Marbury gone and those monsters out there.” After a while they fell asleep. Thoreau woke at 4:00 am. He gently moved Elizabeth’s head off of his shoulder and rested it on a jacket. He reconnoitered the area. When he returned, Elizabeth was getting up. “There you are . . . .” “It looks all clear, we can follow the railroad tracks to the station and then return to Boston from there.” They crossed Walden Street and then took the ridge trail around the end of Walden Pond. The dawn was just breaking with the first golden rays of the sun reflecting off the water.

Elizabeth let out a cry, “Oh, Henry . . . this is magnificent.” The water was rippling from a breeze and the light gave the water and the air a pale luminescence. “I feel a sense of peace and calm . . . as if God were blessing us. I understand why you love this place.” “And the light cast each day of the year and each hour of the day changes its face as if each one were a different blessing.” Walden was comed with vegetation right over the shore except for the east end which was a swimming beach. Through the years, the local citizens and tourists had desecrated the forest, so the rangers were now restoring it. They built a wire fence along the trail next to the precipitous slope leading down to the pond. Elizabeth and Thoreau continued along the trail until it descended to a small inlet. They walked down to the water but could travel no further because it covered the wooden bridge over the inlet. Thoreau said in amazement, “This is the highest I’ve ever seen it.” They took the path towards the site of Thoreau’s cabin. It was six rods from the pond and had a clear view of the water at a slightly descending angle. The cabin was marked with a Walden Pond State Reservation sign on a pedestal and eight stone posts outlining it. It had been ten by fifteen feet with a twelve by ten foot woodshed behind it. A very large stone, still in place, had been the foundation of the fire place. Elizabeth read the sign, “In 1923 amateur archaeologist and Thoreau enthusiast Roland Wells Robbins spent three months excavating the area to find the location of the cabin of Henry David Thoreau. The cabin and woodshed had been confiscated by local residents—the house was used to store grain and the its roof to cover a chicken sty.” They both laughed. Thoreau said, “I would expect nothing less of the farmers.” They walked along the ridge route watching the reflection of the sun change in the water. They both saw the two soldiers at the railroad tracks at the same time when they reached the apex of a small hill. Thoreau led Elizabeth back down the ridge route and across Walden Street. They headed towards Concord through the woods. Elizabeth stopped to call the FBI. They continued walking but were finally

forced to take Walden Street when the forest ended. “I told the FBI that we’ll go to the police station for protection.” When they neared the station, however, they saw the Lincoln Town Car with two heads in the back seat and the man with the Middle Eastern head dress in the front enger seat. Thoreau took Elizabeth’s hand and they walked into the green space between two houses. They crawled under branches and lifted berry and rose vines over their heads. Thoreau helped Elizabeth over two wooden fences. They crossed Lexington Street, walked up Alcott Street, and then took a trail through the woods towards Concord. While Elizabeth and Thoreau were climbing over fences, one of the soldiers went into the police station and said that a short heavily built man and a middle aged woman had picked his pocket and taken his wallet while he was walking along Sudbury Street in Concord. He said, “We saw them walk up Walden Street and then towards one of the houses.” While he was making his report, an FBI agent was on the other line briefing the chief of the Concord Police Richard Fetters about six or more terrorists dressed as soldiers who were pursuing the “returned to life” Henry David Thoreau and Elizabeth Thornton, a professor's wife, through Concord. He said they were extremely dangerous and were most certainly armed. Fetters opened his office door a few inches and saw one of the soldiers talking to the sergeant at the front desk. He said, “I’m looking at one of them right now.” When Police Chief Fetters hung up the phone, he called his officers and a selection of men around town and explained the situation. Although they had not taken up arms since 1781, Concord had maintained a secret Minuteman Militia in case “America ever needed its help again.” When the sergeant finished taking the terrorists report, Richard Fetters and two policemen came up behind the man and arrested him. Four officers then poured out the front door of the police station, but the car drove off and the men in the car fired automatic rifles at the police for several seconds. The result: two Concord officers were dead. When Thoreau and Elizabeth reached the ridge of the hill, they could see the Town Car slowly driving down Lexington with the driver and engers looking left and right for them between the houses. The path widened so they

walked side by side. Thoreau was scanning the hills above on the precipitous slopes. Elizabeth shouted, “Look out Henry . . . .,” and grabbed onto his shirt to keep him from falling into a large pit, six by six by eight feet deep. “Someone’s unfinished business.” Thoreau cut several wrist sized limbs replete with broad fans of needles off the nearby pines and laid them over the pit. “A surprise for our terrorist friends that I learned from an Indian.” The forest was riddled with foot paths. They chose another one and walked above the Sleepy Hallow Cemetery towards Monument Street. When they peer down Bedford Street, they saw two men in army uniforms running up the hill. Thoreau walked a hundred yards down the trail to where it narrowed between several large bushes and trees. He used his hemp fishing cord to tie back the heavy branches and make a trip cord across the trail. He ran to catch up with Elizabeth. “We won’t be seeing those two for a while.” They continued along a trail parallel to Monument Street. A helicopter was circling over the greater Concord area . . . and then another appeared. They could see The Old Manse below them. “I know every corner in that house. If we can get inside, we can hide until the police capture our friends.” They descended the hill and moved around to the rear of the Manse. A minute later they could hear a car slowly rolling down Monument Street and then onto the gravel surface into the driveway of the Manse. A helicopter was in pursuit. Thoreau frantically tried to pull the nailed on covers off of the windows and cellar doors, but modern construction was too much for him. He took Elizabeth’s hand and they ran across the rear of the house up to the street. One of the terrorists, still dressed in a United States Army uniform, was shooting an automatic rifle at the helicopter. The third man, wearing the Arabian head dress, pulled out an antitank gun, aimed, and fired a rocket. Thoreau and Elizabeth watched the projectile (as if in slow motion) seek out its target and blow the helicopter into a thousand fiery pieces. The driver of the car floored the accelerator and skidded backwards out of the driveway onto Monument Street. Thoreau and Elizabeth strolled to the center of the North Bridge and waited for their pursuers. Thoreau said, “We could jump . . . the water in the Concord River isn’t deep, but

it’s cold and traveling fast.” “We wouldn’t get very far. Let’s negotiate with them until the FBI gets here.” When the car stopped, the man with the Middle Easter headdress got out. “So we meet again, Elizabeth. It seems you’ve been able to locate Mr. Thoreau where I have failed. I have someone here who wants to talk with him.” They pushed an aging man in a business suit out of the car. It was Thornton! Elizabeth ran over to him. “Marbury . . . you’re alive.” She held him in her arms. She whispered, “The FBI will be here in a few minutes.” A terrorist pulled Elizabeth away. The man in the headdress said, “He has a message for Thoreau.” Thornton began, “I’m sorry, Thoreau, to be the bearer of bad tidings. They have me at gun point and want me to convince you to go with them.” “That’s all right, professor. I was expecting their return, but not yours. I’m glad to see you are alive.” “They said that if you’ll cooperate with them, they’ll let Elizabeth and me go. This is not a decision I want you or anyone else to make. But, unfortunately, I am the bearer of these tidings.” “Tell them that I’ll gladly cooperate. But before I do, I want to be assured that they’ll leave you and everyone else involved alone.” While they were talking, the second FBI helicopter landed in the field near the police station. The, FBI, the police, and numerous of the Concord Minutemen converged by car, jeep, motorcycle, and foot towards the ever so famous North Bridge. The man with the headdress said, “We are finished with the Thorntons and the others. We have the doctor’s reports. All we need is for you to come with us, so we can do our own research and perfect the technology to bring our fallen warriors back to life. When we are done, we’ll let you go.” Thoreau said, “Agreed.”

The terrorist walked Thornton and Elizabeth over to the middle of the bridge. He tied Thoreau’s hands in front of him, led him to the car, and helped him in. When the door closed, a marksman, high up in a pine tree, fired a shot that hit the man with the headdress in the forehead and exploded out of the back of his head. Thornton and Elizabeth dove for the ground. The FBI, police, and Concord Militia moved quickly towards the bridge from all directions. The driver of the Town Car shifted into reverse and accelerated. He then saw the vehicles moving towards him in the rear view mirror; he jammed the car into automatic and drove forward again towards the bridge and the Thorntons. Another sharpshooter fired a shot which enter the forehead of the driver, but his foot and its dead weight held the accelerator down and the car continued moving towards the bridge and Elizabeth and Marbury. Thoreau sensing the danger, threw a deadly two handed punch at the terrorist’s jaw in the back seat, grabbed the steering wheel, and yanked it hard to the left. The car drove along the edge of the bridge, smashing the railing into thousands of pieces, and then rolled into the river before it hit the Thorntons. The car flipped over in mid-air and landed with the roof smashed level with the door handles. Thoreau was dead.

The Reunion

Lara walked along the tracks following a path well worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was dearer to her than her kin, better than a lover, wiser than a book. For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name. If this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place. Doctor Zhivago Boris Pasternak A week later, in the small wood adjacent to the Thornton’s home, a wood chuck scurried along the stream and paused while an insistent mockingbird sang a mournful melody. The guests arrived in ones, twos, and small groups and were greeted affably by Elizabeth and Marbury. They were served their choice of beverage and an abundant repas. The event turned out to be a celebration as well as a memorial service for Henry David Thoreau for which it was arranged. For there was a lot to be thankful for: Elizabeth, Marbury, and Dr. Carpenter were returned safely and the Harvey Thornton treasure and the $250,000 belonging to the Sovereign Bank were recovered. It was an unusually fine and warm day . . . tables were set up on the lawn where people ate, socialized, and wondered through the gardens. The Thornton’s sat near the center of the gathering and had a crowd chattering around them most of the afternoon. Guests offered condolences for Thoreau, congratulations for the escapes, and asked questions about their adventures. Half-way through the afternoon, Civi, Jake, and Catherine strolled over to the Thorntons.

Jake said, “And what finally happened to your captors?” Elizabeth said, “The operative that the Concord Police arrested confessed and cooperated with the FBI.” Marbury said, “The CIA was able to track the terrorists to Somalia where they raided their training camps and captured the leaders and three-hundred fighters. That’s where they found Harvey’s treasure and the $250,000.” While they were talking, Professor’s Ewing and Sanchez walked over. Ewing said, “The treasure is now ensconced in an undisclosed safe house and will remain there until it is released by the United States Government. It will be donated to the Boston Historical Museum and put on display for the public.” Civi said, “I guess we’ll never know who it was that was guarding the treasure.” Sanchez said, “The skeleton, according to Harvey Thornton’s Log of the Sea Witch, was none other than the cousin of the ignominious British governor of the thirteen colonies. He was killed in the battle when the ship carrying the treasure was taken.” Just then, Amy walked over with a group of students from Thornton’s Early American History 1 class. Amy said with tears in her eyes, “Oh professor, Mr. Thoreau was the one that kept the students motivated and gave them hope and courage when you were gone. His last lecture made us take action. Four of us have built a web site and are seeking permission to permanently post Thoreau’s writings and journals. Several others have formed action groups to raise awareness of America’s diminishing forests and burgeoning consumerism. And Tom and Rebecca Peterson, who recently graduated and married, plan to move to Canada to live in the woods, a la Thoreau, and write about their experiences. They’ve found a publisher and have been given a $5,000.00 advance!” There were cheers and congratulations from the group. Dr. Carpenter, who had been sitting next to the Thornton’s said, “He was a unique man . . . unique in his own time as well as ours. I’ll sincerely miss him. Thoreau has taught us that under certain conditions, it is possible to bring human beings back to life after they have died. Dr. Ling from Princeton, after completing his research and DNA comparisons on Thoreau, concurred that our hypothesis was the most plausible.

“I think Thoreau is happy now that he is finally buried in The Sleepy Hollow Cemetery with the other Transcendentalist Authors. I just hope that the undertaker connected a bell to his coffin, so that if he wakes up again, he will be dug up, Laughter.” Professor Thornton said, “I heard it from a boisterous and emphatic mocking bird this morning, that Thoreau expressly forbade any modern devices to be ever used that may “return him to life”. Elizabeth said, “He’s finally where he wants to be.”

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Dear Reader. Thank you for perusing “Mr. Thoreau Goes to Boston.” If you’ve enjoyed the experience, I encourage you to leave a review at your favorite e-book retailer. Please continue to Enjoy your reading.

Afterwards

I began to realize the brilliance of Henry David Thoreau (and the Transcendentalists authors) while reading Walden, Civil Disobedience, and a collection of essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson. After reading these, I let the pen flow . . . and Mr. Thoreau Goes to Boston was the result. I used three direct quotes from Thoreau's writing to introduce chapters and two other quotes embedded in the text of Thoreau's lectures to the students of Thornton's Early American History I: “I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately . . . .”, and, “If one goes confidently in the direction of his dreams . . . .” The rest of my writing is what I imagined Henry David Thoreau to be if he were to come alive in today's world. The scenes in New York City were taken from my own experiences, those imagined, and a newspaper story about a man who was shot and left to die on the busy sidewalk while people walked by who could have helped him. I hope the readers and Thoreau aficionados will forgive me for imputing Thoreau with the use of force against the robber in the city. For in all of his writing, I never found a reference to his use of a weapon or violence. The purpose of this scene was to make the story entertaining and relevant to today's reader. I have included numerous quotations from 18th, 19th, and 20th Century authors to preface chapters, being enamored by their wisdom and eloquence. I have also included the essay "Thoreau" by Ralph Waldo Emerson to give readers a true life experience of the man Henry David Thoreau. Ken Wasil MR. THOREAU GOES TO BOSTON

About the Author

Ken Wasil enjoys reading and traveling. He has taught English, academic and creative writing, and Cultural Anthropology at universities in Asia. He currently writes and is a small business and start up marketing coach. He has written A Great Escape: Short Stories for Travelers, African Safari Bootcamp for Women, Rivers of Words, The Car of the Future and Other Stories, The Quick Style Guide for Writing for the Web and English Usage and Mr. Thoreau Goes to Boston.

When he is not working, you'll find him trekking the jungles of Malaysia, chilling out on the shores of a verdant river in Asia, or teaching English in a newly formed country going through the pains of a first election. He now makes his residence in Boston, Massachusetts.

You can reach Ken Wasil at [email protected] and can visit his pages on Facebook at books-from-ken-wasil, Ken Wasil and Keep Your Business Up and Running Online.

About The Quick Style Guide for Writing

for the Web and English Usage

The Quick Style Guide for Writing for the Web and English Usage, Grammar, and Punctuation provides vital information and instruction for writing for the web and writing in English. It is the ideal reference guide for writers, students and business people, to help them improve their writing.

Sections such as How to Write a Blog, Writing Effective Emails, Writing Press Releases, Writing Articles, and Writing Essays provide easy to use tutorials on creating documents that are essential to work and study.

Chapters on Capitalization; Punctuation; Commas, Verb Tenses; Pronouns, Adjective and Adverb Use, serve as quick references for English usage that are crucial for written work. The tutorial on Using Style Guides, such as the MLA Handbook and Associated Press Stylebook assists writers in applying the correct protocol for their industry or field of study. Finally, Secrets for Writing Well gives writers of all genre tangible steps to improve their written communication.

Ken Wasil enjoys reading, traveling, and teaching. You might find him trekking the jungles of Malaysia, chilling out on the shores of a verdant river in Thailand, or teaching English in a newly formed country going through the pains of a first election. He grew up and resided most of his life in California and now now makes his residence in Boston, Massachusetts. He has also taught English, academic writing, and Cultural Anthropology at universities in Asia. His book Rivers of Words is about his teaching Experiences in Cambodia and Asia.