Velma's Journal--December 10, 1931

After days of research I was unable to find out who John Randel, Jr. was. It seemed that no where in any of the encyclopedias in our university library was he mentioned. Although it was a waste of my time to do this instead of studying for my exams, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something I should make my business to know.


In what I thought would be a vain attempt, I asked Dottie one morning as she rubbed her throbbing head. “Oh yeah, he was the lead surveyor for the New York City street grid back in the 1800’s.”


Days of research turned up nothing and my cigar-smoking, hooch-drinking dear friend and roommate could tell me off the top of her pounding head. She must have seen the stunned look on my face because all she said was, “What? I did a report on it for Ms. Mancini in fourth grade.”


I asked her where she found her information. She looked at me strangely. “It was in some huge book about the history of New York. Pop needed to carry it around for me.” When I asked her where she got the book, she simply said the library in Bay Ridge. “Every library had one. All fourth graders need to report about their city.” She paused. “I got an A on that project and Ms. Mancini was a real bitch about that stuff.” She huffed, “Whatta bitter spinster.”


Then she laughed, “You kinda remind me of her, Vel (she’s taken to shortening my name now).” I threw a pillow at her, assuming she was joking.

Velma's Journals--December 4, 1931

I shouldn't even be taking the time to write with all I have to do, but I feel it is necessary to record all my transactions as messenger in case it should be disputed that I didn't carry out my charge.


Thus:


Upon arrival at the former World Exchange Bank I was greeted by a rotund man who would not name himself. The building was empty and he was in, what appeared to be, a cheap black suit, bowler hat, and red neck that barely made it over his stomach. He stood in the middle of what used to be the bank's lobby with a small wooden box in his hand.


He said, "Miss Graydon, yeah?"


"I am," I said cautiously.


"Tell Look I found what he needed." He gruffly handed it to me. "Open it. Just so he knows there's no funny stuff."


"It's not my business to-"


"Sweetheart, you got to open it so you know what address to bring it to."


He was right. I had forgotten that I wasn't bringing this back to Dr. Loockersmans and there was no further instruction from him on where to deliver it. I opened the lid to the box to find a slip of paper atop a gold quadrant ruler. It was the last thing I expected a man of this caliber to turn over to me. The address on the slip said Empire State, 75th floor.


"Ever been?" He asked me.


"Where?" I said.


"To the Empire State Building?" I think he was expecting me to say no.


"Yes, I went for my birthday."


"I've always wanted to go. Some day, ya know?"


Then the thought occurred to me, "Who am I delivering it to?"


"Look didn't say. I'd bring it myself, but I've got other business to attend to." With that he walked toward the back of the empty bank and disappeared behind the vault door. The most curious part of this whole scene is how comfortable I'm becoming with these shady characters.






I walked up to the Empire State Building and entered the same bronze hallway that left me in awe a month ago. I walked to a desk with a uniformed gentleman sitting behind it. "I have a delivery for the 75th floor." I figured he would ask for a name. He didn't. Only a nod and his finger pointed to the center elevator in the center embankment. I pressed through the line of people waiting to go up to the observation deck. When I pressed the up arrow, a bell sounded and the door immediately opened. Another uniformed man stood inside at the controls.


"I'm going to the-"


"I know where you're going." Again, nothing surprises me anymore.


The elevator sped up the shaft the same as it did last month. I felt dizzy when the door opened to a completely empty floor. "75th floor," the man said.


"Are you sure?" I said peering out the elevator. "There's no one here."


Then I heard a man's voice call out, "Come Ms. Graydon, you're right. Welcome."


I stepped off the elevator. "Make a left off the elevator and walk to the back." I followed his instructions. The enormity of the empty space didn't help the dizziness from the elevator. The entire floor was without walls or doors or furniture. There was only one desk by a window. On it was a small lamp and the shadow of a man sitting behind it.


"Excuse our office. It's a new aquisition. We figured how best to show the world we are a modern institution than by moving into the most modern building in the world. And of course, the tallest."


I walked up to the desk, the man stood to receive me. He was tall and thin, his salt and pepper hair was slicked to the left side. Unlike the man who handed me the box, this man was striking and dressed very well.


"You look a little scared. I understand." He said extending out his hand. "My name is William Fitz Roy. CEO of the Commissioners."


"Velma Graydon, messenger to-"


"I know, you're one of Jack's. A Barnard girl and a smart one, according to Gerdi. I wish I could offer you a seat, but I only have one." He smiled. "Besides, you just came to deliver my artifact. I won't keep you."


"Yes sir." I handed him the box.


"Do you know what it is?"


"It's a quadrant ruler, I believe, sir."


"You're right, this quadrant dates to at least 1807. It was used by John Randell, Jr.. Do you know who he is?"


"No, sir."


"Look him up. He was very important." He smiled and put the box in one of the desk drawers. "Well, I thank you," he said sitting down back in his chair. "The elevator should be waiting for you."


"Yes, sir, a pleasure." I said slightly embarrassed I didn't know the answer to this question. I turned and walked toward the elevator.


"Next time I promist to be more hospitable, Ms. Graydon."


I turned and nodded. "Thank you Mr. Fitz Roy."


"Please call me Bill."


I couldn't. And I left as quickly as I came. Now I'm frantically trying to look up John Randell, Jr..

Velma's Journal--Justin Here

Dear Readers,


I cannot thank Mr. Fish enough for so eloquently explaining my absence. But I'm back! My fingers are hard at work typing out Velma's journal entries and I have posts ready to go. Mr. Fish also let the cat out of the bag by announcing that I'm putting together a blog of Edwina Tulip's letters. Her family generously granted me permission to use them in any way I saw fit. The bulk of her letters run from the late 40's into the early 70's and they are fascinating reads. My hope is to actually get a few of them scanned in, so I can post the scans of the actual letters with the entries. That of course takes time. It will all be explained when that blog is up and running. I'll be sure to post a link to it here on Velma.


Bottom line: Thanks for waiting. Thanks for reading. And it's good to be back.


Best,
Justin


PS-I'm trying to convince Mr. Fish to edit the entries for typos but he told me he finds copy editing demeaning. Oh well.

Velma's Journal--A Letter from Mr. Nicholas Fish

Dear Readership:


My name is Nicholas Fish and I am Ms. Graydon's assistant. Reading over the blog in it's entirety, I am under the impression that you know very well who I am and no further explanation is needed. Mr. Rivers has done a fine job of making our correspondences part of this electronic display. In turn, since he insists that there are no secrets between his readers and ourselves, the gatekeepers of Ms. Graydon's information, he has allowed me access to this blog so that I can address you as to his whereabouts.


Mr. Rivers recited a liteny of reasons for his now, 38-day absense from the already slow moving blogging process. I shall attempt to reduce them down to a less rambling state: a hellish amount of work at his "day job," the preparation of a grant for a comic that he and Ms. Zell were working on (apparently it's about the history of coffee) and the preparations for a new blog containing the letters of Mrs. Edwina Tulip and her family back in England. He assures us that he will be back on the blog by next week. If not, he has given me full permission to blog in his absense.


The best to you all and on behalf of myself and Ms. Graydon, our sincerest apologies.


Nicholas Fish

Velma's Journals--December 3, 1931

I am in the thick of finals. My attention to this journal will be scant because of it. I will be leaving for Christmas recess as of the 18th and not returning to campus until the 4th of the new year. A large part of me dreads the time at home. But it will be a chance to catch up on the reading I was not able to do because of school. I will also need to perfect my Dutch usage since a second semester of Dutch is required for my post.


After two weeks of not hearing from Loockersmans, he has contacted me for a very important matter. I spoke with Harold this morning who told me that a directive has been left with him at the professor's office. Apparently a large sum of money was drawn out of the World Exchange Bank when it closed earlier in the year. There was also an important item in one of the safe deposit boxes that I need to claim and deliver to an anonymous member of an associated commission. I don't know what any of this means, but nothing surprises me anymore. 


The ladies of Hewitt Hall are having a Christmas social this coming Tuesday. I have nothing to wear.

Velma's Journal--LUNCH WITH VELMA (FINAL INSTALLMENT)

"Why don't I give you what you came all the up here for, huh?"


I actually forgot there was a purpose to this meeting other than freezing ourselves for the sake of a tuna sandwich. I neglected to mention that it really was one of the best tuna sandwiches I had ever had. It was something about the amount of mayo she used in concert with the celery bits. I'm always a sucker for celery. "Right, the letters."


"And my profile. Nicky wanted to type it out, but I thought handwritten would be much more personal."


"You can scan the note and put it on the blog," Courtney offered as she sketched.


Nick perked up, "With Velma's permission." He turned to Velma, "Would you be okay with that?"


She hit him across his shoulder with her gloved hand. "Would you stop it! Quit showing off in front of guests. What the hell do I care if he posts my note? He's gonna put it on there anyway. You're not my mother, Nicky, so cool it."


"I'm watching out for your interests, Velma." I have a feeling they've had arguments of this nature before. Nick didn't seemed phased by the retribution.


"I already told you, we can trust this one. He's a good egg."


Nick just looked at me suspiciously. "I assume. He doesn't appear threatening."


I kept all of the many comments I could make to myself.


Velma growled a little and opened her satchel. "God, this kid. He's lucky he's good at what he does." She carefully pulled out a brown package wrapped in newspaper with a white envelope on top of it. "Here. The package is the letters. The envelope is my profile."


"So about these letters-"


"Yeah. Return them to me when you're done and I'll give them back to Laural. They said use 'em for whatever."


"What if I added them on to the blog?"


"They said whatever."


"Should I call one of them and ask?"


Velma took out a piece of scrap paper and pen from her pocket. She quickly scribbled a number on the scrap, "This is Laural's number. Her full name is Lauralea Tulip. Although she's married now, I don't know if she took his name. Wilcott or Walcott, I think the husband's name is. She lives in Brooklyn by the park."


"Do you know where? Courtney and I live over there."


"I forgot the address, but it's close to the park. Call her. I'm sure she'll be fine with it."


"What about Owen?" I asked. I noticed everyone sort of snapped out of where ever they were and looked at Velma. Courtney stopped sketching. I couldn't help but ask.


"What about him?" She said quickly.


"Does he live there?"


"Yeah, they all live in the same house."


"Could I talk to him?"


"Look, sweetheart, don't bother Owen. You know me, I don't mind the fuss. Owen likes it quiet."


I knew I hit a nerve with Owen. As Nick is protective of Velma, I think, knowing what I know, Velma is protective of Owen. And just who Owen is, will be answered soon enough.


"Nicky, did we feed Mimi, yet." Mimi is one of the peacocks, for those who might not remember.


"I haven't."


"Alright, go do that for me, while I wrap up with these guys."


Nick immediately got up and gathered his things. "Well it was very nice meeting you both."


"Good meeting you, Nick," I said.


"Yeah, bye, nice meeting you," Courtney said distracted with her work.


"Be there in a minute, Nicky," Velma said as he was walking off. Velma whispered a couple of things in my ear. She asked that it not be put on the blog. "So I'm glad you finally got these letters." She forced herself up.


"So am I. And thank you for the tuna sandwich." I got up and grabbed her by the arm. "Let me help you."


"I'm not an invalid sweetheart."


"I know, but I would love to have the honor."


"Oh, such a gentleman. Courtney, are we done?"


"Well, no. But I have enough to work off of."


"Am I beautiful?" She asked with a grin.


"Totally."


"Good, maybe I'll get a man from this blog."


"Maybe," I said.


"I hope he's not one of those internet weirdos," Velma cackled.

Velma's Journal--LUNCH WITH VELMA (PART THREE)

When I stepped off the C train at Cathderal Parkway the wind was whipping down Amsterdam Avenue. My face was already tingling and my fingertips where raw. This was going to be a challenge. I was never one to mind the cold, but to sit out in a park and eat lunch was a bit much. I had decided on the walk up Amsterdam that Velma Graydon was a woman of extremes.


When I came to the fountain I saw Velma sitting down with a skinny dark-haired gentleman of about 24 or 25, and Courtney next to them clutching a cup of coffee. All where wrapped up in scarves and hats. Velma had a large thermos and the gentlemen, whom I figured was Nick had a bottle of water that was in the process of changing from a liquid to a solid.


"Courtney said you'd be late," Velma yelped out.


"It is only 1:04," I said, struggling to find the watch under my glove and coat sleeve.


"That's the worst kinda late," she said. "If you're gonna do it, be courteous enough to take a full hour," she then jumped up and bear-hugged me. "I'm just pullin' your chain. Glad you made it, sweetheart."


"So am I." Thinking about making it out of the cold.


"Justin, this is my assistant, Nick Fish. I believe you've met."


Nick stood up to shake my hand. He was shorter than I thought. "A pleasure to finally put a face to the name."


"A face to the fingers," I said. "They're the real stars of the show," I laughed. He didn't. "Nice to meet you too."


"Ok so sit," Velma commanded. "Business first. Nick?" Nick turned around and handed her a green satchel. She pulled out four white packages tied with brown string. "Lunch."


"Ewww tunafish, yummy," Courtney said. She put down her sketch pad to take the sandwich.


"I brought some coffee, but Courtney beat me to the punch," Velma said taking white styrofoam cups out of the satchel.


"Well, I haven't and I could use a cup," I said grinning at the thought of holding something warm.


"I'm fine," Nick said.


"Nick doesn't drink coffee," Velma said. "How can you trust a guy who doesn't drink coffee?" She started pouring.


"My thoughts exactly," I said


"I made it light and sweet, I hope you don't mind.... Yeah he only drinks water. It's why he's so thin. Courtney, sweatheart do you need more in that cup."


"Please," she held out her bodega cup.


"Velma can I ask you something?" I said eying the worn satchel. "Is that the bag you've always used?"


"Good eye. Haven't used anything else. I hate change."


I looked at the satchel in awe; a virtual time capsule that held my tuna sandwich. To think what that thing has carried over the past 75 years made me giddy.


"Velma, our friend Jenny is from Saratoga," Courtney offered.


"Oh really. Does she still live there?"


"No she moved by us in Brooklyn."


"Smart move. Saratoga was a great place to grow up, but it got too small, too fast for me."


"She works for Yaddo," Courtney said.


"Fascinating. Good for her. Beautiful campus." She sipped her coffee. "I haven't been up there in 15 years. To bury Henry."


"So, Justin," Nick cut in, "Velma and I were talking about your progress with the blog."


"Uh huh," I said munching on my sandwich.


"We've done you a great service," he said. "We've compiled a list of dates from 1932 to 1942 which are the highlights, so to speak, of her journals."


"What does that mean?" I asked nursing my iced coffee.


"That means we're gonna cut to the chase a little. Cut out some of the bull that you're readers don't need to know," Velma said. "I mean, I'm bored with some of it."


"That's because you lived it. We haven't. I find it all fascinating."


"That's because you're a nerd sweatheart. I'm gonna trust your readership is not as fascinated by all this as you are."


"She's right. You are a nerd," Courtney said.


"Shhh, you're not helping," I said to Courtney.


"Honestly, it's not that much of a cut. Just enough to keep things moving. I'd say we axed about thirty or so entries. Wouldn't you say that, Nicky?"


"More like forty or fifty, but still that's nothing compared to what lies ahead of you. Of course, I volunteered to help in the process, but Velma said no."


I continued munching on my sandwich, a little vexed at the turn of events.


"Sweatheart, honestly it's chump change stuff," Velma said kindly.


"You see Justin," started Nick. I could imagine my eyes rolling to the back of my head, but my pupils were frozen in place. "You're job is to edit. An editor would pick and choose pertitinent entries. Not include everything. Can we talk about typos yet?" He looked at Velma but she made a head-slicing motion with her gloved hand. I assume she saw my face turning purple.


"I guess you're right, Nicky, I can't thank you enough for bringing that to my attention," I said smiling.


Courtney had picked up her pad and pencil and begun sketching again. I noticed Velma had taken her hat off and was primping her gray bob. "Courtney assured me she hadn't gotten to my hair yet. I've become so vain in my old age. Ha!"


"Pretty much there," Courtney said. "It won't be too long. I also have to draw you in," Courtney said to me.


"No you don't." I barbed back. "Just do Velma and Nick." I gobbled down the remains of the sandwich with a frown.... I knew Courtney was drawing me into the sketch.