Building The Wonder City

First Look Friday--Pg. 80

2011-02-18T13:18:00.002-05:00

It’s actually on Friday this week. This is progress.

First-Look Friday (ish)--Pg. 79

2011-02-12T15:16:00.000-05:00

Almost there...

First Look Monday--Tobias Finch is Back.

2011-02-07T16:02:00.002-05:00

Since our new website is up and running and we're coming down to our final photoshopped pages, I thought now would be a good time to bring back that crusty old gumshoe, Tobias Finch. Below I've provided links to the Introduction and first chapter from our website. Next week, I promise I'll post a page.

Intro:

www.thewondercity.com/blog/?p=137

Front Matter:

www.thewondercity.com/blog/?p=137

Chapter 1:

www.thewondercity.com/blog/?p=143

First Look Friday--Our New Home

2011-01-28T22:59:00.000-05:00

No page today for all you first lookers. This week we are featuring our brand new website. Go on over and take a look:

www.thewondercity.com

Many thanks to Jo Tsai who put her time, effort and incredible talents into putting together the website for us.

And this Monday I will be rebooting The Case Files of Tobias Finch. This is the story of how Velma, shadowing an aging gumshoe, really becomes the Velma we come to know in The Wonder City. So stay tuned for that. I promise it will be a fun read.

First Look-Weekend-Pg 78-Dottie

2011-01-23T11:45:00.000-05:00

Our website is just about ready to go (it's already live) and I have a feeling by the end of the week we'll be ready to feature it, so stayed tuned.

Since we've been heavily featuring Dottie in this scene, I thought I would add a little more on her background by including one of Velma's journal entries. She's quickly becoming one of my favorites and I think it's easy to see why. This excerpt from Velma's journal not only features Dottie tough-as-nails persona, but also serves as an intro to the bartender Fox and Velma's foray into becoming a whiskey enthusiast. Take note of Velma's staunch and stuffy tone in this entry. She's 19 years old in her first month at Barnard.

SEPTEMBER 20, 1931:

At 9:30 PM when I am usually tucked away in bed with a book, Dottie told me it was time to get ready. She ran down to the showers and washed herself. She flew back into the room in a terry robe and quickly threw on a slim black dress with white trim. Although Dottie has a pale complexion for someone of the Italian persuasion, I still think black washes her out. Of course she feels she can rectify this by over roughing her cheeks and painting her lips cherry red to match her finger nails.

I put on a simple blue dress and over it a trench coat. Of course Dottie had something to say about this. “What are you some shamus or something? You’re going out not solving a crime.”

“I’m investigating.” Was my retort.

Her face grew stern. “Listen to me and listen good, I swear to the holy Lord if you rat on this joint I’ll bust your nose in.” She made a fist to enforce her claim.

“Dottie, I’m only curious to see if my professor is there. I’m not out to ruin anyone’s fun."

She unclenched her fist. “As long as we’re clear. Just cause you’re whacky doesn’t mean the rest of us need to be.”

I kept the trench on since the evening was moist. We walked over to Broadway and traveled a few blocks south from campus. The restaurants and coffee shops were full of life, which amazed me. I would have been asleep for at least an hour on any other night, but here a whole other world went on right outside my door.

Dottie stopped in front of a dark bakery. She looked both ways. In the dark sliver of space between the bakery and the building next to it was a red metal door with high grate climbing above it. She tapped on the door lightly and whispered, “Sticky buns.” With that the door opened to a crack and we were permitted to enter. Behind the door was a slim dark-haired gentlemen who whispered, “Hiya Dottie.” He looked over me. “This a friend?”

“My roommate, Velma. Don’t mind the jacket. This is her first time out.”

He tipped his black hat, “Nice makin’ your acquaintance, Velma.”

I cracked a smile through my fear, “You as well.”

“Howie’s inside waitin’ for ya,” he said to Dottie.

“Thanks Rick. Come on, Velma.” She took me by the arm and led me through the alley. “That’s Rick. Sweet kid.”

“He seems it.” I was trying to mask my throbbing nerves but the shady alley lit by one naked bulb and the secret passwords were not helping.

She stopped in front of a smaller green door and tapped again four times. The door opened cautiously and we entered. The man behind this door looked exactly like Rick at the first door. “Hey, Dottie.”

“Hiya Mick.” She looked at me. “They’re twins.”

“Oh,” I said. Mick and Rick sounded like the Vaudeville.

“This ya friend?” He asked.

“My roommate, Velma. Don’t mind the jacket. This is her first time out.”

“Nice to meet ya, Velma,” he said tipping his black hat.

“And you as well,” I said nodding my head.

Dottie rolled her eyes at me. “She’s from upstate so that’s why she’s all formal-like.”

Mick smiled, “A formal dame ain’t something I’m used to here…. Howie’s inside.”

“Got it. Thanks, Mick.” Dottie put her arm out and with her hand clutched the air and drew it to the side not only to reveal a room spotted with candles and hanging lanterns, but the noise of the seventy or so patrons drinking and conversing. The black velvet curtain blocked out all sound and light from escaping.

We stepped down a short staircase into the main room. “We call it the Bakery seeing as it’s behind a bakery.”

“Very clever,” I said; my heart racing. The smell of cheap liquor and the clouds of cigarette smoke made me immediately dizzy.

“The air’s not so great. You might want to lose the jacket.”

She was right I was beginning to sweat. “No I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself, honey.”

Out of thin air a man in a cheap blue suit came from behind Dottie, wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her off the ground. She yelped out with a smile, “HOWIE!”

I was frozen with fear.

He turned her around and kissed her on the lips. “Your sucha nut,” she said laughing.

“I know it, but I’m your nut, doll face.” His eyes were light with an angular creamy face and the distinct trace of freckles on his cheeks.

“Howie, this is Velma.”

“Nice to meet ya. Dottie says awful things about ya,” he starts laughing. I hoped he was joking.

She slapped him across the cheek playfully, “Howie’s an idiot who says the first thing that comes across his pea brain, but we keep him around for fun.”

“And Dottie’s the dame who can hustle any of these guys at pool,” he said proudly.

“And Velma’s the one who can speak eight languages. Now that we know each other’s talents, let’s get a drink,” Dottie heading toward the back of the establishment.

“Nice meeting you Howie,” I said. “But I can only speak three languages although I can understand five.”

“Alright, enough,” Dottie said as the three of us walked over to the long bar. “What ya got tonight, Fox?”

Fox seemed to be the short older gentlemen with not a trace of hair on his head and a round pug face. His white apron was impressively spotless. He replied tersely, “Gin or whiskey.”

“What’s homemade?” Dottie asked.

Howie chimed in, “The gin and you can taste it.”

“Ok, three whiskies and put ‘em on the rocks in honor of our new friend, Velma.”

“Dottie, I’m not drinking,” I urgently reminded her.

The man called Fox poured the drinks into ice-filled glasses. “Yeah you are. It’s on me.”

“No, I’m not,” I insisted.

Dottie pushed Howie out of the way and put my arm into a vice grip. “Listen sister if you walk around in a joint like this in a jacket like that and you don’t drink, kids are gonna start thinking you’re the fuzz and it won’t be pretty for any of us—”

“Ladies, ladies,” Howie started seeing the fear in my eyes, I’m sure.

“—so drink the damn drink.” She let my arm go and smiled. “Besides, you might like it.”

“You're a beast,” Howie said to Dottie with wild excitement in his eyes.

“Remember that when some pretty dame walks in front of ya.”

“I will,” Howie said with a grin. Dottie picked up a glass and handed it to me. Then one to Howie and she took the last for herself. She raised her glass, “To breaking the law,” she took a large sip and placed the glass on the bar. Howie took a reasonable sip.

I looked at the full glass and just wanting to be done with the whole thing, I took a breath and drank the entirety of the amber liquid. In an instant the combination of heat, smoke, body stench, and poison hit me and all went black.

First-Look Friday--On Saturday

2011-01-15T14:09:00.000-05:00

So really, what makes a Friday different from a Saturday anyway?

Don't answer that.

Oh and Velma's still throwing 'em back with her friends Dottie and Fox.

First-Look Friday--Pg. 76

2011-01-07T15:30:00.000-05:00

GOOD NEWS! Courtney is officially done inking and we have officially entered the post-production phase of the book! So now all we have to do is clean up the pages you've been looking at. It's going to be a couple months of full-blown Photoshop.

WOOHOO!

Thanks for hanging in there with us.

Happy New Year First Look--Pg. 75

2011-01-02T15:30:00.001-05:00

Here are some things to look forward to from THE WONDER CITY in 2011 (besides Velma downing whiskey in a dive bar).

Our twitter feed: @thewondercity will feature headlines from everyday in 1942 as a count down to the beginning of our first book which starts in, you guessed it, 1942.

The return of Tobias Finch, Private Eye featuring our very own, Velma Graydon (this week).

A brandy new website designed by the amazing, Jo Tsai.

And most importantly:

THE WONDER CITY: Volume 1 The Great Whale of Coney Island!!!

Wishing you all a healthy and happy 2011!

First-Look Friday--Pg. 74

2010-12-24T12:16:00.000-05:00

On page 74 we join Velma at her favorite watering hole with her best friend, Dottie Cento, and her trusty bartender, Fox. These guys came out of Velma's journals from her Barnard days in the early 30's which were being blogged by yours truly (someday yours truly will actually finish them). Dottie was Velma's fast-talking, hooch-swilling roommate from Bay Ridge, Brooklyn (now a lawyer). Fox was a bartender at a speakeasy near their campus who, after Prohibition, went on to legally tend bar downtown.

They were characters created long after the first book was written but their strong personalities found their way into this story too. Basically when I looked at the first script in its entirety I realized Velma needed a little friendly relief from all the chaos that was going on around her. Fox and Dottie seemed to be the perfect anecdote.

So with that a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all from The Wonder City.

First-Look Friday--Pg. 42

2010-12-17T12:15:00.000-05:00

So we're jumping around here with the page order. This is one of my favorites so far and it's not hard to see why. We're back before Velma goes down to her office.

Next week: Ring in the holidays with Velma at her favorite neighborhood gin joint.

First-Look Friday--Pg. 46

2010-12-10T12:44:00.000-05:00

After reading a part of a prophecy in the Tovernboak, Velma comes to one of the most important realizations here. It's actually one that will change the course of the entire book. Of course, I'm not telling you what it is. You'll just have to find out when the book is finished.

Note the staircase from Velma's office. It made a guest appearance in a blog entry last spring:

  Velma dragged me down the right passageway behind the choir and stopped abruptly at at a black iron gate. It was the gilded entrance to a dark spiral staircase. Velma swung open the gate and darted down into the shadows. 

  "How do you not kill yourself going down these things?" I was cautiously placing my left foot onto the first stair.

  "I count them. You know how many years I've been doing this? Close the gate behind you."

  I did as I was told. "No flashlight? Nothing?" I had never been to her office before and I was brimming with anticipation for the opportunity. I just knew it would be a treasure trove of historical artifacts. 

  "Quit the whining, fancy pants. Just count! There are 28 steps." She was already at the bottom jingling keys.   

  "Well I don't know which step I'm on now." I honestly didn't get very far. "Now I have to go back up and start all over." 

  "By the sounds of it, you're on 8." I heard a key click into the lock and then a slow turn was made. It sounded like she was unlocking a massive bank vault.

  In my mind I counted from 8 and once I labored to 27 I took one more step and cautiously felt for another, but there was only floor. She was spot-on. The very second my foot made contact she flung open the door and light quickly spilled out onto the staircase. "You couldn't have done that sooner?"
  "I wanted you to know how right I was," Velma said smugly.  

First-Look Friday--Pg. 45

2010-12-03T13:09:00.000-05:00

Velma's a gal who loves her books especially the one she's looking at on this page. It's called the Tovernboak which is an important document handed down from the Dutch New Amsterdam era of the city. It's the primer Velma needs to solve one of New York's greatest mysteries (That's all I'm going to say on that). When I told Courtney the page Velma was looking at was in 17th century Low Dutch, she just rolled her eyes and wondered why she ever got involved with my historical shenanigans.

In other news, Courtney has set to work inking the last 18 pages of the book and I just recently started doing Photoshop work on the pages she's inked. Basically where getting to the "almost done" phase of The Wonder City. Wooohooo!!!

Last but not least, we had a knod in the Kickstarter blog yesterday. Thanks to them and to all our backers for the continued support. You're the best!

http://blog.kickstarter.com/post/2071730953/love-at-first-sight

First-Look Black Friday--Pg. 44

2010-11-26T11:30:00.001-05:00

Velma doing some research in her swank office. For all you history nerds, take note of the Castello Plan map (c.1660) on her wall in the first panel. Courtney's attention to detail is amazing.

Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving.

First-Look Friday--Pg. 43

2010-11-19T12:50:00.001-05:00

Page 42 is still in production. It's a really cool page, but not ready for a preview, so hang tight.

Velma's office in the basement of St. John the Divine is one of my favorite settings in The Wonder City. It's sort of my idea of a dream office and I think Courtney's done a great job with it so far.

Poor Velma is not happy on this page. You'll find out why soon enough.

Behind the Scenes Sketches

2010-11-15T12:57:00.000-05:00

Some of Courtney's practice sketches for page 41.

First-Look Friday--Pg. 41

2010-11-12T11:08:00.000-05:00

JR here: Every Friday we're going to let you preview a page in progress. This week's page is 41.

Courtney is currently in the process of inking the last two chapters of our first volume. This page here is hot off her drafting table. In the next couple of days (fingers crossed) I'll begin to clean these guys up in Photoshop. I'll go into a little more detail about that when I start.

Here we see Velma returning to St. John the Divine where she is based as the cathedral's archivist. She also freelances as a gal Friday for one of New York City's oldest secret societies which plunges her into the action of this first book.

For Posterity

2010-11-01T14:57:00.003-04:00

As Justin previously wrote, we were recently very lucky to speak on a NY Comic Con panel with the awesome folks from Kickstarter, and some very inspiring project creators: Jamie Tanner (Aviary) and James Swirsky and Lisanne Pajot (Indie Game The Movie). It was a great experience and very cool to hear questions from audience members plotting out their own Kickstarter projects. Lo and behold JR emailed me a link to a video of the panel (which the thought of watching all the way through causes a butterfly riot in my stomach) made by Mary Nichols (DJ Fusion).

My parents assure me we both look professional and neither of us have weird hair.

In comic drawing news, we are getting so close to beginning some photoshop work on two completed channels, I could cry golden tears of joy! I love the part where I can drag my laptop to the coffee house and pretend I'm a freelance something-or-other. I'm also starting inking on the last couple chapters, so we'll have several new characters to introduce soon!

The Wonder City At 2010 NY Comic Con

2010-10-11T13:18:00.000-04:00

Courtney and I were fortunate enough to contribute to Kickstarter's Comic Con panel discussion yesterday. Here are some pics from the day and many thanks again to Kickstarter for the amazing opportunity. We really had a blast.

From the panel:

This is with red-eye reduction. Me, Courtney, and Kickstarter co-founder, Yancey Strickler.

We also welcomed the white spot in the far right-hand corner to speak but he didn't have that much to say. He's hovering over Cindy Au who put together the event for Kickstarter.

Sitting next to graphic novelist, Jamie Tanner creator of The Aviary. On the far-left were Lisanne Pajot and James Swirsky from the upcoming film Indie Game: The Movie. Check these guys out, they are all doing really interesting projects.

How cool did we feel with these?

This wasn't even the crowded section. It was a sold-out show.

Biggest. Nerd. Ever.

Our Coney Island Walking Tour Featured on Kickstarter's Blog

2010-09-24T12:33:00.001-04:00

Take a look at the link below! We think it looks awesome. Many thanks to Daniella Jaeger and all the staff at Kickstarter for their incredible support.

http://blog.kickstarter.com/post/1179320732/walking-wonder-citys-reward-a-tour-of-coney-island

Some panels from Chpt 3 depicting my flirtation with cross hatching

2010-09-09T19:43:00.004-04:00

Adventures in Lettering 2

2010-08-28T10:53:00.000-04:00

Just to keep you up-to-date on the hilarities that ensue when I letter.

That's the page I'm up to (above):

This was a mistake on said page I'm up to. Ironic that the text reads: "I'LL NEED SOME HELP." Oh and after I drew that, I realized I used the wrong pencil. HOT!

With the correct pencil in hand and my trusty Ames guide flying across the panels, I hit it right on the first try.

My lettering moment of zen.

Tobias Finch--Chapter 6

2010-08-27T13:34:00.000-04:00

Chapter 6

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/08/king-of-empire-state-chapter-6.html

Tobias Finch--Chapter 5

2010-07-25T23:09:00.006-04:00

Chapter 5

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/07/king-of-empire-state-chapter-5.html

Tobias Finch--Chapter 4

2010-07-10T09:54:00.003-04:00

Chapter 4

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/07/king-of-empire-state.html

Tobias Finch--Chapter 3

2010-07-03T12:07:00.001-04:00

Chapter 3

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/07/king-of-empire-state-chapter-3.html

Tobias Finch--Chapter 2

2010-06-25T10:51:00.003-04:00

Chapter 2

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/07/king-of-empire-state-chapter-2.html

The Case Files of Tobias Finch--Note & Chapter 1

2010-06-18T11:26:00.003-04:00

Editor's Note

As you've read, Velma gave me a manuscript written by an investigator for hire named Tobias Finch. From what I can tell he operated in New York City from the mid-20's until the late 50's. Although he could have had a longer career, I am not privy to any of that information at this time.

I'm not exactly sure if any embellishments have been made on his part, but this particular case he calls, The King of the Empire State involves his initial meeting and partnership with our good friend, Velma Graydon. According to her this is the first in a series of case files he wrote but never published.

His chapters are on the short side and my plan (fingers crossed) is to post a chapter every Friday. I have taken a couple of editorial liberties with the spacing and paragraph structure to make the chapters easily readable on a blog. I'm also psyched that Courtney volunteered to do an illustration for each chapter, when she can, which will help to make the whole thing more appealing to the eye. This is Tobias's own blog www.tobiasfinch.blogspot.com. Each chapter will have a direct link to that entry on the Tobias Finch site.

Enjoy,

Justin

The Case Files of Tobias Finch: The King of the Empire State

CHAPTER ONE

http://tobiasfinch.blogspot.com/2010/07/king-of-empire-state-chapter-1.html

A Humid Lunch with Velma-Fin

2010-06-11T12:45:00.000-04:00

"Nick, it's always a pleasure to see you," I said stepping into the office.

It was everything I had imagined with a blue peacock and a whiny 29-year old assistant thrown in for good measure. The room was an ample size for one person's workspace, at least 500 square feet. The walls were buttressed stone and on them where old maps of New York City, ancient maps of Mexico, South America, and Europe, a framed diploma from Barnard dated 1935, an assortment of black and white photographs with some framed and others just tacked up. Where ever there weren't maps or photos there were bookshelves. Volumes upon volumes of books in all shapes from all ages and stacked up at least 7 feet high.

Nick had his own desk. It was flat and white, very sparse, most likely from Ikea and on it was a silver iMac with a ridiculously large screen. Velma's desk was directly opposite Nick's and it couldn't be more contrary: huge piles of scattered papers, two weighty volumes of who-knows-what opened with post-it notes wedged in over a dozen spots. No computer. No phone. Just a green bankers lamp. I couldn't even see what the desk was made out of it was so blanketed.

"The pleasure is, of course, all mine," he said sipping on an iced-tea, no doubt left over from lunch.

"So what do you think?" Velma said throwing her arms up. "A real dump huh? But it's my dump."

"No I love it. It's so... you." I pointed to the vaulted ceiling which was covered in maps of the cosmos. "What is all that?"

"Those are the stars, sweetheart."

"I know that, but what are they there for?"

"Stargazing is a hobby of mine." Nick choked a little on his last sip of iced tea. "You alright there, chief?" She said beating his back with her flat palm.

His shoulders cranked up in discomfort. " Yes alright, alright. I'm fine."

Rudy, the blue peacock, was hovering close to Nick's desk chair. He seemed to be in a defensive posture against me. I guess Nick had told him a couple of tales. "Is that Rudy?" I said pointing.

"It is," Velma huffed. "He's more Nick's bird now. Barely pays attention to me anymore. Did Mimi come back?" She asked Nick.

"No she left a little after you went to lunch."

"She's probably flirting with some tourists," Velma grunted.

I stood quiet gazing at the star maps on the ceiling. It looked as though someone was taking notes on them. I was trying to make out the handwriting when Velma clamped down on my left shoulder, "Alright, time to give you a new job." She walked over to a book shelf in the far corner of the office and bent over to pick up a brown file box. It looked ancient. In faded black ink I spied the words, "TOBIAS FINCH." I recognized the name. That was the detective who was trailing her in the journals. "So good ole Toby. He was my first and favorite mentor. The man I spent a couple years on the tail of and right before he died, he handed me this box." She passed it over to me.

I opened the lid and dust erupted into a cloud that washed over my face. After it cleared and I took a hearty sneeze, I discovered a mound of yellowing type-written pages.

"Who knew he fancied himself a writer," Velma said in a laugh.

"What are these?" I asked scared to touch the papers for fear they might disintegrate.

"Finch wrote out some of our cases together. They're pretty good, that old dog."

"And so I'm..."

"Puttin' em up on the computer."

Nick chimed in: "We all know how well that worked the first time."

I wasn't about to let that slide, "Yeah. It seems NONE of us were able to keep that up."

Velma jumped in quickly, "Who cares? The journals we can do later. These are fun. Real fun. He was a character."

I slid the box closer to me in a vain attempt to lift it. It wouldn't budge. There had to be thousands of pages all shuffled about and out of order. "Velma, I can't carry this whole thing on the train."

"Well, boy genius, thankfully Nicky arranged the first manuscript for you all nice and neat."

He pulled a substantially smaller shirt box from under his desk and waved it at me quite disrespectfully. "Because I didn't have enough to do."

"I'm pretty sure you can handle that right, precious?"

I stood up and snatched the box out of Nick's terribly small hands, "Yeah this I can do." I tucked the box under my arm.

"Good. So go. Read 'em. Post 'em-"

"Sometime this century," Nick interjected.

"Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself?" Velma spat.

"Not really," he smirked.

"I'll try my best. Just for you, Nick."

He faked an awful smile. And Velma punched me in shoulder. "So you can find your way out right?"

"Yeah just up 28 steps in the dark. Or you could leave the door open so I have at least a little light."

Velma opened her oaken office door and shoved me out. "Practice. Practice." She slammed it shut leaving me in complete darkness. Clutching the shirt box and counting slowly with each step, I kept wondering how I always seemed to find myself in these situations.

A Humid Lunch-Part II

2010-06-02T15:23:00.002-04:00

After I scarfed down my tuna sandwich, we both packed up our trash and headed toward the cathedral. Velma said my next project would be waiting in her office. I  couldn't imagine what she had cooked up this time and whatever it was, I doubted that either one of us would be able to see it through to completion. I noticed that trend with all of our projects. They sounded good in the beginning but neither one of us could devote the kind of time needed to get them done. 

As we climbed the stairs to the main entrance, a large maroon bus with high tinted windows was slowly spewing out tourists. It was a real weekday crowd: A steady stream of older men and women in bright colors wearing assorted head coverings, some visors, others baseball caps. Somewhere on their person were pouches for their cameras and stainless steal water bottles.  The cathedral was a logical stop for many who came to the New York City. Not only was it one of the largest cathedrals on the planet but it was also an architectural oddity being constructed in a half Gothic and half Romanesque style. Put simply, it was a gargantuan stone mish mosh. 

I had visited St. John the Divine at least 3 or 4 times before and every time the initial height of the Romanesque knave always caught me by surprise. This time was no different.  It was by far the highest indoor expanse I had ever been in with its  hundreds of uninterrupted footage soaring into the air. The top of the vaulted ceilings were nearly undetectable because they were so high. Since the Romanesque windows in the front were so high and comparatively small, it was almost completely dark with the exception of a few lone shafts of light. Velma didn't even slow down to let her eyes adjust to the darkness that enveloped us. She didn't even look up to pay homage to the enormity of the space. This was her office and her everyday routine.

I, on the other hand, was stumbling through the dark with my mouth open like a baby bird. "Come on, sweetheart, we don't have all day."

"I haven't been inside since they finished the repairs." The knave was damaged by a bad fire back in 2001 and subsequently closed off to the public for 7 years. 

"Yeah, yeah, come on. We get enough tourists around here." She said this as she breezed by an older couple standing in the middle of the transept admiring the blue rose window. They  overheard her barb and looked at each other in horror.  

"Ignore her. She has bad gas today. It's making her cranky." I said to them. They giggled.

When I turned around a paper airplane made of a "Music at the Cathedral" pamphlet hit me square in the forehead. It dug into my skin like with its razor-sharp nose. "OOOWAH." The couple started laughing hysterically at my misfortune. Turn coats. 

"I'll give you gas," she hissed. 

"How did you make that so fast?"

"There's more where those come from so stop giving lip." She shouted right passed a group of singing children. They stood in a perfect arc at the foot of the cathedral's massive choir. Some of the people who had crowded around them turned to look at our little sideshow in disapproval. 

I stopped to listen to the music. Not just to agitate Velma, but also because it was eerily beautiful and... I swore I could place the melody. It was a heavenly combination of major piano under the minor harmony of those 15 or so cherubic voices. Then I did, indeed, recognize the tune. It was John Tavener's piece "The Lamb" based on William Blake's poem. Dissonant but really quite bright in spots. Full disclosure: I had a John Taverner station on my Pandora. Creepy choral music helped to focus me. 

Suddenly a bony hand grabbed my arm. "Move it! We both have things to do and these brats are here every first Monday of the month." She dragged me down the right passageway behind the choir and stopped abruptly at at a black iron gate. It was the guilded entrance to a dark spiral staircase. Velma swung open the gate and darted down into the shadows. 

"How do you not kill yourself going down these things?" I was cautiously placing my left foot onto the first stair.

"I count them. You know how many years I've been doing this? Close the gate behind you."

I did as I was told. "No flashlight? Nothing?" I had never been to her office before and I was brimming with anticipation for the opportunity. I just knew it would be a treasure trove of New York historical artifacts. 

"Quit the whining, fancy pants. Just count! There are 28 steps." She was already at the bottom jingling keys.   

"Well I don't know which step I'm on now." I honestly didn't get very far. "Now I have to go back up and start all over." 

"By the sounds of it you're on 8." I heard a key click into the lock and then a slow turn was made. It sounded like she was unlocking a massive bank vault

In my mind I counted from 8 and once I labored to 27 I took one more step and cautiously felt for another, but there was only floor. She was spot-on. The very second my foot made contact she flung open the door and light quickly spilled out onto the staircase. "You couldn't have done that sooner?"

"I wanted you to know I was right." 

"How does Nick do this everyday?" 

Velma said, "He counts. Like I do."

I quickly heard a second familiar voice from the other side of the door blurt, "I use my cell phone."

Velma jumped a smidge at the sound of his voice. "Oh Nicky. You're home." I was still standing at the bottom of the stairs anxiously waiting for my invitation in. "Well, come on. This is where all the magic happens, sweetheart."

A humid lunch with Velma

2010-05-14T12:36:00.001-04:00

I had lunch with Velma on one of those unbearably humid afternoons last week. That morning I spent the entirety of our phone conversation trying to convince her that we should go out for lunch instead of sitting by the peace fountain in the soupy air (I honestly didn’t want to go all the way up to Morningside Heights). But she insisted and so there I was that very 1 PM eating her infamous tuna sandwiches and slurping down her homemade iced coffee which, I should add, was very tasty.

I told her so: “Velma, this iced coffee is delicious.”

“There’s a secret to it.” There’s always a secret to it with her.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. Vanilla extract. Just a couple of drops.”

“Good idea. It really makes the grade.”

She smiled ramming my shoulder with her flat palm. It almost caused a spill, “Good, I know what a coffee snob you are.”  

She’s right. I am. “Have you gotten Nick to start drinking it yet?”

“Who, that princess? He started drinking tea just to piss me off.” That sounded like Nick. “He’s a real ball-buster.” There was a pause. Dottie was fond of that term.”

“It’s consummately Brooklyn.” I said. 

“It’s consummately, Dottie.” 

I couldn’t help but notice the sweat droplets running down her forehead, but I graciously ignored them as I was fairing no better. “Where is he?”

“Who Nickie?” Running some errands.”

Then I just couldn’t help it. “It’s hot,” I blurted. 

“This? Nonsense! This isn’t heat.”

“Well no, you’re right it’s humidity.”

She grimaced. “Don’t be a little smart-ass. I know the difference.”

“Velma that mouth,” I smirked. There was no customary return. She seemed more sensitive than usual. There was something going on with her. “Velma, what’s up?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a little testie.”

“Really?” She started fidgeting. “I’m just busy, sweetheart.” She went quiet for a good thirty seconds. “I’m too old to be busy. I want to slow down a bit. Spend some time with loved ones and all that.”

“Are you feeling ok? Physically?” It was a valid question. She is in her nineties.

She seemed to drift off again for a split second but whipped back right into place, “What? Me? Oh yeah I’m an ox. Look, don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“No. No, I’m good. But I did have you up here for a reason.”

I figured as much: “Oh yeah? What for?”

“It’s the journals.” I figured. “It seems like we’ve all tried to get them out there and keep them going but—“ She was cutting me loose and as well she should I really wasn’t consistent with them. “—it’s time to stop them. And I figured out why.”

“You did?”

“Oh yeah. Sweetheart, they just don’t make sense without any context.”

I gave the confused look, “What do you mean?”

“There’s no frame of reference. No one really knows what’s going on. So let’s put the entries on the backburner. We can revisit them when people get more of a hold of the story from your graphics novel.”

“Graphic.”

“Right.” With that, out of the thick curtain of air, Velma’s white peacock (I couldn’t distinguish which one was which) came running down toward the fountain and perched itself on the bench next to Velma. 

“Oh Christ, Mimi’s out.”

“Is that bad?” I asked half expecting her to run out onto Amsterdam Avenue.

“She’s just being nosey.”

“Nosy?” I didn’t know peacock’s had a penchant for gossip.

“Yeah then she’ll go and tell Rudy (that’s the blue peacock) that I was having lunch with a handsome young gent and they’ll both give me attitude because I wasn’t with them.” Velma turned her head toward Mimi and shouted. “BECAUSE THEY’RE TWO LITTLE BRATS!” 

Mimi whipped her head around and glared at Velma. My eyes grew wide.

“Now she’s going to prance off and tell Rudy. Watch.”

Mimi did just that. After giving Velma the meanest evil eye I’ve seen since my Sicilian great aunt Agnes, the white pea fowl trotted off toward the cathedral. 

“So…” Velma sighed.

“So you’re letting me go.” I huffed.

She pulled back in terror, “WHAT?” Not at all!”

“With no journals to type, what’s next for me. Well besides finishing the Wonder City.”

She flashed that patented Velma smile. “We’re switching gears, sweetheart. Eat your lunch and I’ll show you what I mean.”

St. John the Divine

2010-05-08T14:37:00.004-04:00

Since the name of this blog is Building the Wonder City I thought it would be fun to take out my trusty (cheap) digital camera and shoot some structural works in progress.

The perfect place to start is St. John the Divine Cathedral on 113th Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Not only is it the base of operations for our heroine, Velma Graydon, it's also New York's longest ongoing building project. Its charter was drawn up in 1873 but a turbulent economic climate put the venture on hold until 1892 when the first cornerstone was finally laid. From that point on it was a roller coaster of financial woes and untimely key player deaths that made completion of the cathedral a near 125 year work in process.

The plaque near the main entrance says it nicely (like Sarah Vowell, I'm a sucker for a good plaque):

Because architects were replaced mid-stream, the nave was started in a Romanesque style whereas the choir, crossing, and apse were later constructed in the Gothic tradition making it an architectural patchwork of form. To this day, many New Yorkers refer to cathedral as St. John the Unfinished.

In 2001 a fire severely damaged the nave and north transept. It also left the organ unusable. After seven years of restoration the cathedral reopened the area in 2008 and the result is truly awe inspiring. Also after an extensive scrubbing the organ is now fully operational.

A little known fact: Madeleine L'Engle, author of the beloved classic A Wrinkle in Time was a volunteer librarian at St. John the Divine and then the cathedral's writer-in-resident. She was laid to rest there after her passing in 2007.

2010-05-04T21:41:00.002-04:00

Here's some further progress on page 39. After some work on the water and the whale swimming away, I think it'll be finished. This page took a week to ink (with a very stiff, small nib), but I think I can now say I'm an expert at drawing tiny people in a crowd!

A page in progress

2010-05-02T19:38:00.002-04:00

A full page panel I'm working on of the crowded Coney Island beach.

Chpt 1, Page 21

2010-04-28T23:37:00.003-04:00

This quilt is probably the crowing achievement of my 20s.
And...that's the last of the colored, photoshopped pages from Chapter 1! Chapter 2 is currently being inked and I'll continue to post photos of my progress.

Chapter 1, Page 20

2010-04-20T23:05:00.001-04:00

Insomniac Inker

2010-04-18T06:09:00.006-04:00

I was looking up a word to explain why I am writing a blog entry at 6 a.m., I just learned that the word insomniatic means someone who is addicted to sleep deprivation. This is according to urban dictionary, but still....Who knew?

What I was really trying to do was preemptively apologize for this entry sounding weird/crazy/rambley since my body decided to start my day at 4:15 this morning. So to pass the time I thought I'd post some pictures of my [very rough] inking progress over the last few weeks. Guys, I forgot how messy and humbling the inking is. Each page is averaging about 6 or 7 hours, and if you look closely, you can probably tell what my blood sugar level is based on how shaky the lines are. Then, you can see just where I gain some confidence and start entering bold swatches of black until "SPLOTCH"--huge smear, which results in some cursing and pouting, then I'm humbled and begin working at a snails pace again with a brush so small, it has approximately three bristles. In the end I think I'll be using a bucket of corrective white paint but I'm happy with the way is shaping up so far.

Chapter 1, page 19

2010-04-15T18:42:00.001-04:00

Velma's Journal--June 3, 1932

2010-03-26T11:10:00.004-04:00

June 3, 1932

Read a review of the new Garbo film. They say it may be her last on the American screen. It's called "As You Desire Me." An adaptation of a Pirandello play. She supposed to be a cabaret entertainer in Budapest. I'll try and convince Dottie to see it with me. Maybe even Sarah if she's free. I just love Garbo's style. The way she speaks and how she carries herself. Such a class act in my book. Somehow I strongly doubt it's her last role. She's still quite young.

Regardless, it is warm day today and I have no work to speak of. Monday I start with Mr. Rapalje's library and it seems most of my days will be filled with dusty old books. Heaven really!

Inky Fingers

2010-03-24T22:14:00.005-04:00

Just in time for the start of manicure/pedicure season, I begin inking The Wonder City once again!

After a little practice with my nibs (it's been 9 months since I inked pages 1-21!), I worked up the confidence to start on page 28. Despite my shaky caffeine hands, things were going pretty well until I got a nice smear on the word "Plunk" and a big splotch of ink on my elbow. After I finish inking, I'll go through with a tiny brush and white paint and fix boo-boos and lighten up some spots to create texture. Then the page is ready for Photoshop.

Here are photos of my progress and my tools. With 80 pages to go, it's going to be a busy spring and summer!

Page 18

2010-03-22T22:58:00.002-04:00

Velma's Journal--May 20, 1932

2010-03-18T22:42:00.004-04:00

May 20, 1932

Finals are over!! Most of the girls are packing up to return home or travel to more exotic locations. I've decided to stay in New York and not spend the summer in Saratoga. I was told that there would be plenty for me to do at my post and Mr. Rapalje has offered me side work at his home for the summer. Apparently I'll be organizing his library.

Barnard said we all have to leave the dormitories for the recess so the Cento family was gracious enough to offer me a home with them in Brooklyn. Dottie and I will be sharing a room so not much will change in that regard. Sarah also has an aunt on her mother's side who owns a house down in Far Rockaway near the beach. Needless to say I'll be taking her up on that offer at least once or twice as I've been told summers in New York City can be quite brutal.

Been keeping track of our Mayor's corruption trial. I still don't quite understand the Tammany Machine, but I've heard it's the most vile thing going in city politics. The misdeeds go one for pages. This judge Seabury and Governor Roosevelt will not rest until Mayor Walker is removed from his office.

Adventures in Lettering the Wonder City

2010-03-15T19:01:00.002-04:00

Justin here! So I'm the guy who's lettering The Wonder City and I thought I would give you little taste of how it's going.

Yeah so it's going.

In the bottom left-hand corner is my trusty ames letterer. It's the preferred draftsman's tool for making straight, evenly spaced lines (this one was a birthday gift from Courtney). Basically the comic needs to be lettered before the panels are detailed and inked. Then once we're positive they're in the perfect spot, the words themselves are inked and the bubbles are crafted. And I say crafted because I am NOT coordinated enough to do that. It's all Courtney.

I am still very new at this and just now, feel confident enough to say that I almost understand the mechanics of the process. There's been a ton of trial and error. In this panel you see the outline of Velma emphatically trying to get her point across to her associate Jack Rapalje (more on him later on). I apologize for the photo quality. My phone isn't the best.

Velma's Journal--May 13, 1932

2010-03-12T18:16:00.005-05:00

May 13, 1932

After Meeting Tobias Finch I was convinced I wandered into one of those detective novels that are all the rage.

He was a tall man, gruff voice, dressed in an olive trench coat and matching hat. When I first saw him at track 16, he was standing under the far staircase just as he said he would. There were no trains on either track and that end of the concourse was quiet. Obviously he planned it that way. Our dialogue was quick. When I walked up to him he was smoking and staring down at the tracks. 

"You're right on time." He said flicking his cigarette down to the tracks. "Cigarette?" He pulled another one out of his breast pocket. He lit it.

"No."

"I didn't think so. Tobia Finch." He held out his hand.

"Velma Graydon." I shuck it. 

"I know."

"So I've gathered." I said mocking confidence. "You've been following me."

"You're a smart girl."

"You made yourself obvious."

He chuckled. "Well played. So without further ado I'll get to my point."

"That's much appreciated."

"Miss Graydon my client is interested in what you know about the theft of his most precious collectible."

"It would help if I knew who your client was."

He continually took drags off his cigarette. "You mean you don't?"

"Not at all."

"Didn't you go asking about me at your hangout uptown?"

"Didn't you ask about me?" I was starting to have fun with this. 

"I did. Talked to two twin genius's. Said you were a cold fish working for Look. A gal Friday. That was all. Then I talked to the bartender and he had nothing. Went back cause I got a tip you went in asking and one of the geniuses Rick, I think, said you were asking about me."

"Well it's good to know they're looking out for me."

He smirked, "One is a dumber stump than the other. Flash 'em a note and they'll say whatever you want to hear. Somehow I think you're a little bit smarter than that."

"That may be the case, Mr. Finch, but I that doesn't buy me a clue as to who your client is."

He took a long drag off his cigarette and blew it in the opposite direction. "A Mr. Fitz Roy. You've met him twice. Delivered something of interest to him."

"I remember. An antique quadrant ruler"

"Well it went missing."

"What a shame." I just don't know where I was coming up with this stuff.

"Do you know who may have it?"

"No, Mr. Finch, not in the slightest."

He stared straight at me and flicked his second cigarette out onto the track. "No. I guess you don't." He knew just by reading the expression on my face that I wasn't lying. He looked down the tracks a little defeated. I could have been his only lead. "Sorry to take up your time, Miss Graydon."

"Are you going to keep following me?"

"Not unless you need to be followed."

"I'm fine all on my own, thanks."

He looked me over and headed for the stairs. "You're a smart dame. Smarter than most that run through Look's fingers. Make a damn fine gumshoe if dame's did that kinda thing."

"Who says they can't?"

"Not me. They just don't want to, is all. But you. I've been watching you. You got the eye for it." He took out his third cigarette and started walking up the stairs. "A good evening to you, Miss Graydon." And he was gone.

Velma's First Journal Entry---September 2, 1931

2010-03-09T22:38:00.001-05:00

September 2, 1931

“There is a magic in the world and all you need do is open your eyes to it.” That’s what my elementary teacher, Mrs. Ham used to say every Monday morning before she called roll. Now that I’m older, I realize that everyone needs to recognize the possibility of something magical on something as awful as a Monday morning. Thinking back on it, Mrs. Ham probably did it to remind herself of the world’s enchantment as she stood bleary-eyed in front of the responsibility of twenty-six children. But as I climbed out of bed on this morning, some years after the days of Mrs. Ham, I saw a world full of magic. The late August morning I found outside my window had a fine mist covering it. The field outside that I have looked on for all eighteen years of my memory was a bright green, wet with the dew of late summer. Dad’s horses trotted by for the first run of the morning. Their nostrils expelled the vapor and the hooves kicked up the moisture. Mother’s coffee called from the kitchen downstairs and all was as it always had been.

My life has always been in Saratoga on my father’s ranch. The routines have been unbroken from grammar to high school where I unlocked the academic mysteries of my own small world. I spent my time working carefully on words until their meanings were revealed and their relationships established. Words are my greatest friend and constant companion. I want to make them my life’s work. My teachers have told me again and again that I have a gift for language seeing as I mastered French and Spanish before I was in high school. While in high school I conquered Greek, Latin, and I am now trying to master German. With recent events in world history, German may work to be useful. It seems that Americans are wary of anything associated with Germany, but I feel a need to understand them may arise.

It is also my ability to master languages that has given me the opportunity to start a new page in my life. This morning as I write in this diary, I am sitting in a nearly empty passenger car bound for New York City. Tomorrow morning I will begin my first class at Barnard University where I have received a full scholarship to study linguistics. I am the first person in the Graydon family to receive a college education. I’ve watched many of my friends leave school to marry or work for their families in these difficult times. I tried to convince them that leaving school would not help; their educations would lead them to prosperity. My own parents told me there would be no higher education because they couldn’t afford it. The tracks have suffered because of the Depression. My father has not seen as much business as in past years. He had to let most of his stable hands go, leaving most of the work to him and my brother Henry. My mother has taken to working up at the spas waiting on the rich women who come in for the baths. Yet even those patrons have become few and far between since those who had fortunes have lost them. My only comfort is that I will be one less charge for my family being out of the house and on my own.

When I came down the old wooden stairs this morning I had three green trunks packed with my most important possessions. One was clothing and two were books that I simply couldn’t part with. Mother was annoyed that I didn’t wait for Henry to help me with them. She told me a lady has no need for so many books or such heavy trunks. She’s so old-fashioned and has never been able to understand my independence. In her eyes I should be staying in Saratoga searching desperately for a husband to sweep me off my feet and knock some sense into me. But father believes in my education and encourages it. When I received word of my scholarship from Barnard, he was the first to say that I needed to go and then eventually insisted, much to my mother’s protest. Deep inside of my mother, I feel it is the regret of her own choices which raised her objections. She left school after the fifth grade to help on her family’s orchard, and at the age of seventeen met my father and was quickly married. Her life has been her husband and children. Mine will be words.

Just an hour ago, as I stood on the platform, looking on my home town and seeing my family sending me off, I could not help but think that I never belonged there. That was never my life. For eighteen years I was only marking time for this moment; to leave for a much bigger world. Of course, I will miss my family and look forward to returning for holidays, but my life will now be in the city. This diary will be a record of the events that soon mark that life. On this very morning as I ride through these green valleys, I am speeding toward the wonder of New York City.

Velma's Journals Have Been Posted

2010-03-01T17:06:00.002-05:00

The first Velma entry from her journal blog has been imported to Building the Wonder City. I will be working backward and posting from the most recent to the very first back in October of 2007. Blogger will sort them at their original composition dates. So the last one written was October 4, 2009. Go to October 2009 on the "blog archive" sidebar and you will find it there. I will label all the imports "Velma's Journals" with the entry date so it will be easier to search for them. All new entries will be posted at the top of the blog.

That was a mouthful. Hope it's not too confusing.

Thanks!

Velma's Journals

2010-02-26T15:51:00.004-05:00

So... Velma Graydon? If anyone's heard of the Wonder City, they've heard about Velma. I guess it's because she's the centerpiece of this little yarn we're trying to spin. It could also be that Courtney and I have included her in many of our polite conversations over the past three years. Since our Kickstarter debut she's found her niche as the librarian super sleuth on the fast track to solving New York City's biggest mystery.

One of the questions I field from people who wander in and out of our story: "Is she real or did you make her up?" My response: "What do you think?" In all honesty, she's as real to me as anyone else who meanders in and out of my daily life.

For awhile I was posting her personal journal entries from her time at Barnard in the thirties. Just as her story was getting juicy, I stopped because of overlapping time commitments. I realized that some people were really enjoying and, dare I say, invested in them.

I was having a conversation with a good friend yesterday who was invited to an organ recital at St. Ignatius Loyola church on the Upper East Side. I asked him if he was going (I thought he would be crazy not to) and he said: "I'd much rather stay home and watch women's figure skating. Besides, it sounds like something my aunt and Velma would show up to." There she is again, lodged in the lexicon of my Brooklyn enclave.

It's been almost two full years and people still talk about her journals. This includes Velma herself who, at last check-in, was trying to post them on her own. Her lack of computer savvy (she's 96) has blocked her success.

So I guess it's time to make the time for them. In the process of completing the first volume of the Wonder City with Courtney, I'll continue to post Velma's shenanigans from her college days when I can. For convenience sake I will import the old posts here and all new entries will then be posted to both blogs.

Enjoy!

Page 17

2010-02-21T10:43:00.002-05:00

2010-02-18T12:15:00.001-05:00

This is a duplicate post from my blog, teeny tiny horses, but since it's Wonder City relevant, I thought I'd share:

While drawing The Wonder City, probably the most helpful tool I use (besides sharp pencil, LARGE eraser and bristol board, of course) is good ole Google Image Search. Here is a smattering of search terms that have helped me draw the comic:

1940s women's attire, 1940s New York City, World War II recruiting posters, loose lips sink ships, world war II rationing, 1940s car, playing marbles, tenement, singer sewing machine, 1940s Coney Island, Coney Island Bowery, Coney Island side show, Wonder Wheel cars, Nathans, body builder, ticket booth, Coney Island games, carnival lights, grandma's fortunes, fortune teller, side show signs, carnival barker, beached whale, sperm whale, dead whale, whale eye, attacked by whale, distress, terror, trampled, punched in the face, in pain, carrying limp body, church candles, st. john the divine cathedral, lighting a candle, 17th century handwriting, 1940s western union telegram, packing a pipe, bankers lamp, globe, 2 Pierrepont, Brooklyn Heights mansions, library, view of downtown Manhattan, 1940s skyscrapers, 1940s menswear, lighting a lantern, stairwell, Brooklyn Eagle headline, dropping china, breaking china, fetal position, sewer grate, street urchin, orphan, 1940s little boy, sewer tunnel, cavern, Half Moon Hotel, stenciled letters, steamer trunk, Victrola, bird cage, carousel horse, roller skate, icebox, birdcage, broken chandelier, antiques, famous missing paintings, shoveling, digging a hole, colonial women's clothing, Barbara Stanwyck.

Page 16

2010-02-09T19:22:00.003-05:00

Any readers that have kept up with the first 16 pages of The Wonder City on this blog may be wondering about the artistic process involved in creating this comic. I can't speak for the scribe Justin, who probably does his writing while lounging in a smoking jacket effortlessly tossing brilliant page after page of script onto a plush bear skin rug (I'm pretty sure this is what writers do, right?), but my artistic gristmill is just as glamorous. When you read The Wonder City in its final bound form, I hope you'll imagine me wrapped in my Gramma's red afghan (limited heat in this apartment), in the middle of my bed, with a marathon of Criminal Minds on in the background, Google image searching terms like "whale eyeballs" and "sewer rats" and mastering the art of sketching Velma's hair-do.
This is how I've spent most of my free time in January and February, but I must be doing something right though, 63 pages down, 30something to go!

2010-01-30T12:17:00.002-05:00

Sorry for the absence. I've been drawing like crazy and making rewards for our Kickstarter donors. Here's page 15...

The Wonder City makes Kickstarter's "Best of" List!

2010-01-07T14:35:00.001-05:00

http://blog.kickstarter.com/post/321752485/the-kickstarter-awards-part-3-sentimental-favorites

Scroll aaaaaaaalllllllllll the way to the bottom!

Celebrate the New Year...

2010-01-07T08:41:00.002-05:00

...with another page from The Wonder City! I'm rapidly approaching the halfway point as I draw the book, and I've been working on the hand pulled prints for the Kickstarter pledges. They're looking good so far, can't wait for our wonderful Kickstarters to see them!

Chapter 1, Page 13

2009-12-24T16:15:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays!

Chapter 1, Page 12

2009-12-16T20:50:00.000-05:00

Here's this week's page. This is the first one exclusively posted on the blog and our facebook page.

Thanks for following.

Chapter 1, Page 11

2009-12-12T15:54:00.000-05:00

THANKS AGAIN & Page 10

2009-12-07T12:24:00.000-05:00

We are officially funded by Kickstarter through your generous donations! Again we can't express how grateful we are. With the fundraising period over, information and updates on The Wonder City will occur on this blog which also feeds directly to the our Facebook page.

Thanks Again!

Countdown

2009-12-04T13:03:00.001-05:00

2 days of Kickstarter fundraising to go! Consider donating a dollar to The Wonder City...
http://www.kickstarter.com/profile/224129525

Chapter 1, Page 9

2009-12-01T12:52:00.000-05:00

I have some serious catching up to do. Kickstarter is already up to page 11.

Chapter 1, Pages 8

2009-11-17T12:35:00.003-05:00

We have less than 20 days left for the fundraising on Kickstarter!!! Since we skipped last week I am including pages 8 and will immediately follow with 9. Enjoy.

Peg-Leg Pete, Issue 4

2009-11-10T14:45:00.000-05:00

4. “I am sustained by the tranquility of an upright and loyal heart.”—Peter Stuyvesant

I guess the whole Peter Stuyvesant thing started on a humid September afternoon in 2006. I was walking up Second Avenue after work to go to Urban Outfitters. My bath mat had become a certain kind of awful being stepped on fresh from the shower (sometimes twice daily). Of course, if you were to insert my mother here, she would say, “Why don’t you just wash the thing?” I would say, “I don’t have a washer and dryer in my apartment.” She would then say, “It’s because you live in that hellhole (she would mean New York) where you can’t afford a house with a washer and dryer.” I would then say nothing because you just don’t fight with Kathy. Anyway, I really needed a new bathmat and for some reason I thought Urban Outfitters was the place to find one.

On my walk up the avenue, I saw the garden variety East Villagers doing their thing: being pierced, drinking coffee, and straddling the line of fashionable / certifiable. The beautiful irony of this sight was the back drop: 6-story tenements standing stiff like soldiers up the entirety of the avenue. They droned on and on serving as a static compliment to an overly-eclectic street scene. When I reached 10^th street something broke the monotony and caught my attention. It was a church, completely out of place, plopped diagonally on the alphabet city grid facing southwest. It had a stone façade with a lone steeple shooting straight into the air. It was obviously a relic of an older city that didn’t make its way much passed Canal Street. I would soon come to find out that this place was called St. Mark’s-in-the-Bowery and that it was on the U.S. Register of Historical Places. There was an old cemetery adjacent to it closed in by a high rod-iron fence. If I was holding something in my hand, I would’ve dropped it in amazement. That was the end of the bathmat and the beginning of Peg-Leg Pete.

I crept over to the structure like I was about to trespass. Surely a rare historical find in New York like this must have been a mirage or at least closed off to the casual passers-by. Seeing that there was a poetry reading going on inside the church and 5 or 6 homeless folks camped out on the steps, I guessed I had every right to be there as anyone else. When I turned right toward the cemetery I was stopped by a huge bust of Peter Stuyvesant. I thought, this couldn’t be, could it? Could it actually be the resting place of the man who sealed the deal on New York’s (and America’s) destiny?

I moved closer and saw a black stone plaque built into the side of the church. It read: “Here in this vault lies buried PETRUS STUYVESANT… late Captain General and Governor in Chief of Amsterdam in New Netherland now called New York and the Dutch West India Islands. Died Feb A.D. 1672 aged 80 years.” I yelped audibly. I couldn’t believe it. Here he was, the legend, the peg-legged Dutch Director General eternally resting under this chapel. In a city where almost every physical trace of its Dutch roots was erased by fire or progress, here was the dust of the lead dog.

Why didn’t anyone care? Why weren’t tourists lined up for blocks to see this? This is when I made my connections with Shorto’s stance on New York’s revisionist history. No one cared because Stuyvesant wasn’t glorified for anything in history. Actually it was quite the opposite; he was a historical loser whose only enduring legacy was his last name. It peppered this region almost anonymously because very few had a clue what it actually signified.

Upon closer examination of the plaque, I was hit with a memory from Island in the Center of the World. Shorto wrote about this very spot and this very plaque as a footnote in the book: “As a nice metaphor for the way history has muddled Manhattan’s Dutch period, Stuyvesant’s tombstone, embedded in the foundation of the Church of St. Mark’s-in-the-Bowery, manages to get both his age and his title wrong.” Of course, how could I have been so dumb? Why hadn’t I come here sooner? Well I left that evening, only to return the next day to get the bathmat and make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Pete was still there and the bathmat was green.

Later that weekend I emailed a friend from Massachusetts. We had been exchanging niceties about our respective weeks and I mentioned, “I found Peter Stuyvesant’s grave this week at St. Mark’s-in-the-Bowery and almost flipped my shit. I went back twice. Well the second time I went to Urban Outfitters across the street to get a bathmat, and it just so happens to be right across the street.”

His response: “Am I stupid because I don’t know who Peter Stuyvesant is? At least he led you to a new bathmat.” Shorto’s theory in practice.

About three hours later came the aforementioned survey and my resolve to incorporate Peter Stuyvesant into the graphic novel. Where others in history had failed, I would be loyal to Peg-Leg Pete and give him the recognition he deserved. Even if it was only to exist in my own head.

If we ever need a book jacket photo...

2009-11-03T22:18:00.000-05:00

A Couple New Pages

2009-11-03T22:08:00.004-05:00

Pages 6 and 7, plus some photos of the early inking process.

Chapter 1, Page 5

2009-10-21T20:24:00.000-04:00

Chapter 1, Page 4

2009-10-20T11:08:00.001-04:00

For some reason, I skipped over page 4 last week. Sorry. I'll do page 5 tomorrow.

Peg Leg Pete, Issue 3

2009-10-15T16:12:00.002-04:00

“The attack did not succeed as well as I had hoped, no small impediment having been the loss of my right leg.”—Peter Stuyvesant

In 2004 my mother gave me a book called The Island at the Center of the World by Russell Shorto. It was a gorgeous hardcover with a seventeenth century sketch of New Amsterdam on the cover. When I read the description on the jacket sleeve, I smiled. The book was interested solely in the Dutch founding of New Netherland. “It just looked like something you would obsess over,” my mother said. “You don’t have it, do you?” I didn’t. I knew nothing about it, and for that my mother grinned, “I found one you didn’t know about. HA!” I asked her if she had read it. She gave me one of those “are you crazy” looks and said, “Who the hell wants to read a book about New York?”

It became my bible.

It was every historical morsel about New Amsterdam Shorto could find and distill into 325 pages of sheer reading pleasure. The next summer when I was down and dirty in my research, I bought a soft cover copy so I could mark it up and take notes in the margins. From it came so much of what I needed to make the history of New York an active and interesting character in the graphic novel. Shorto portrayed the Dutch not only as the pioneers of a diversified New York City, but of the democratic system in America. His intended hero was Adrien van der Donck, a free-thinking Dutch lawyer who persistently petitioned for representative government in New Amsterdam. But in it I found my aforementioned historical lynch pin: Peter Stuyvesant.

One of Shorto’s most astute observations came from his theory on the revisionist history of the Dutch impact on early colonial America. When New Amsterdam was turned over to the British in 1644, the powers that were went out of their way to erase the Dutch from the collective memory banks of history. Thinking back on it, in high school history courses, all I remember from that time period were all those drab Puritans. It was all Plymouth Rock and cities on hills and of course John Winthrop, that bore with the pointy goatee who seemed to have no sense of humor. These passages were usually punctuated with, “And to the south from the Hudson to the Delaware Rivers, the Dutch East India Company started this cute little colony called New Amsterdam which quickly fell into the prayerful and industrious hands of the British.”

So in September after a wonderful summer of losing myself in Dutch history (and an unexpected historical find in the East Village), I decided to send out an email survey to the 76 people in my contacts.

My idea was to put Shorto’s theory to test. I figured if I asked people who Peter Stuyvesant was and who John Wintrop was, for sure everyone would remember the latter and have no clue of the former. The email read as follows (I don’t use caps): hey all,

i need your help. i'm writing this essay and i need to ask you two quick questions. a survey if you will. answer honestly and don't google. just tell me the first thing that pops up in your pretty little heads. i thank you in advance. oh and since i'm sending this to everyone in my mailbox, if we don't speak for whatever reason or you haven't heard from me in awhile, i apologize, but your help is still greatly appreciated. explanation will come later if so desired (remember, don't google!) QUESTION #1: who is peter stuyvesant? QUESTION#2: who is john winthrop? hope all is well even if i don't really know you, justin

The responses will follow tomorrow.

Chapter 1, Page 4

2009-10-13T10:17:00.000-04:00

The beat goes on.

Peg-Leg Pete, Issue #2

2009-10-08T14:12:00.004-04:00

“It is my intention to proceed slowly with our trenches.”—Peter Stuyvesant

One night as I was re-watching the Ken Burn’s New York documentary (Disc 2), like I did when I sat down to dinner, I heard the esteemed Peter Hamill say that no one had ever written the perfect New York City book. There were books about New York but never one that encapsulated the whole city. So, like any other cocky red-blooded 25 year old male, I thought I would set out to write one. Ha!

For two years I read as many books about New York history that I could find. One Christmas morning I received my coveted edition of Gotham, a mere 1236 pages of pre-twentieth century New York fun. My mother just looked up at me with my wide-eyes, like I was opening my Knight Rider Hot Wheels all over again, “Books shouldn’t be that long. Do you know what a pain in the ass it was to carry that thing out of Barnes and Nobles?” She glanced over at me flipping through the pages as I said excitedly, “You know, Peter Minuet didn’t really buy Manhattan for $24?” My father still thinking it’s important to encourage his little boy’s interests said, “Oh no?” Mom rolled her eyes and grunted, “Someday you’ll tell me what this is all about, ok? So then maybe I can sleep through the night.”

Regardless, over that next year I was reading and researching. I was on a mission from God (Peter Hamill) to write the Great New York City novel. Ideas cropped up here and there. Characters started over developing. Plot arcs where drawn up and down and over again. I quickly became overwhelmed. One book became three. Three books became seven and soon I was writing character sketches that went on for thirty pages. A few pages of a prelude to a prequel were written but they were left to rot in a blue Ralph Lauran shirt box under my bed. I was symbolically burying my primer to this mammoth project in a catacomb that was once occupied by a great blue and red-stripped rugby shirt. It was too lofty and arrogant a dream. I simply settled on my historical New York fixation to be a decorative choice and immediately heaved a sigh of ho hum.

Enter Courtney Zell: Good friend, talented artist, and companion on many crazy adventures, one of which included making a trust-fund baby cry at Mars Bar. One night, over one too many glasses of wine, I started telling her about this New York novel. It involved secret societies, vengeful whales and nerdy librarian linguists. I think I went on for about an hour. I figured she would immediately ask me to leave and seek help. She didn’t. She smiled and said she loved it. On a lark I blurted out, “How about making it a graphic novel?” She agreed although neither one of us knew anything about comics. But like two cracked-up pieces making a whole, we found our calling. At first, the book was called The Tulips, but something very Tiny Tim (may he rest) resonated. Next we tried, Owen Tulip in the Empire City. That stuck for about a month but it was like a mouthful of marbles to say. Then looking over some vintage art one afternoon we spied a poster from a 1925 film, New York, The Wonder City. That was it! Drop the “New York” and we were sold. We had a title, we had a story (that needed some tailoring), and we had a medium. Three years later, although not anywhere near the finish, we are steadily building our trenches.

What in the world does all that have to do with Peter Stuyvesant? Since so much of the story was rooted in history I needed to find that New York historical character who could be my lynchpin; the rug who tied the room together, as it were. The staunch peg-legged governor of New Amsterdam seemed to be the fit.

Only one problem: no one had a clue this guy ever existed.

In our next issue of Peg-Leg Pete. Justin sends out a survey about Peter Stuyvesant and the proverbial good times roll.

Chapter 1, Page 3 & THANKS!!!

2009-10-06T11:29:00.000-04:00

WE HIT OUR GOAL!!! WOOOOHOOOO! And with 60 days to spare.

Thanks to all the backers who generously made that possible, no matter what crazy journey THE WONDER CITY takes you guys helped to bring us there. You truly are all citizens of THE WONDER CITY.

Courtney and I are still forging ahead with the fundraising, now with the publication funded we can go ahead and put any additional earnings toward tables at comic shows and shipping costs.

Many thanks again and enjoy page 3!

Velma's Journal--Velma At the Helm!

2009-10-04T23:00:00.003-04:00

Velma Here,

So I've been practicing on this thing and I think I got it down. You type. You read it over. Then you hit "Publish Post." I think I'm going to be real good at this. Nicky or Justin, if you can see this, tell me if it looks alright. Also, I like this font. It looks like a typewriter.

I miss a typewriter. So much more substantial than this machine. So now if I can only make this site start from the beginning instead of starting at the end. That makes no sense to me! Am I the only one who thinks that?

Ok, if this works, I'll get to posting the journals.

Chapter 1, Page 2

2009-09-29T09:19:00.002-04:00

Velma's Journal--A Chat With Velma

2009-09-28T14:54:00.006-04:00

After all this Kickstarter excitement settled down, I was finally able to sit down with Velma and get the whole blogging process back on track. After asking her to be kind enough to write a letter a week to our supporters she launched right into it.

VELMA: So I think I’m going to start doing the lobbing?

JUSTIN: The blogging?

VELMA: Sure. Whatever.

JUSTIN: How’re you going to do that? You hate the computer.

VELMA: I’m getting used to it and you seem to be too busy.

JUSTIN: What about Nick?

VELMA: Who my assistant? The one who’s supposed to assist me in anything I ask him to assist me in?

JUSTIN: Yeah him. He loved taking over my blogging duties when I came up short.

VELMA: He’s being a priss. He says he’s too busy.

JUSTIN: Well then—

VELMA: Which, in all fairness, he is. I’m workin’ him to the bone.

JUSTIN: Poor thing.

VELMA: He reminds me of it every morning. I told him to start drinking coffee and he’d be a helluva lot happier.

JUSTIN: Amen to that.

VELMA: Yeah. So I’m going to give it a go. Just furnish me with the address and by the end of the week I’ll be up and runnin’ sweetheart.

JUSTIN: Are you sure about this?

VELMA: What? This got you nervous? Come on, how many 94 year old lobbers can there be out there?

JUSTIN: You might be the only one.

VELMA: Then God bless me.

JUSTIN: Perhaps God should bless all of us.

VELMA: You’re such a smartass sometimes.

JUSTIN: Just to you, Velma.

VELMA: That’s why I like you so much.

So Velma’s going to try it out. I think she intends to pick up where I left off, but who knows. Maybe she’ll shake things up a bit.

Our Kickstarter Video!!!

2009-09-25T09:57:00.000-04:00

Check it out. My tag line is: It's very Ken Burns but without the budget or celebrity narrators.

http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/224129525/become-a-citizen-of-the-wonder-city

Peg Leg Pete, Issue 1

2009-09-23T12:22:00.002-04:00

“The people have grown very wild and loose in their morals.”—Peter Stuyvesant

Opinion: the average person finds history boring. There are no hard or fast statistics to back this statement up, I only mention it because of experiences I’ve had with friends, family members and unenthused seventh graders. As a teacher of American History on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, I battled this historical apathy on a daily basis. “Social Studies,” as it’s called on the elementary level, was the most dreaded subject of the day. When the announcement, “Take out your social studies books,” left my mouth, students would audibly moan, suck their teeth, and sink their bodies so far under their desks that only a vast sea of foreheads remained. In my lectures I tried to find a way to trick my students into believing that history could be something as entertaining as their Sidekicks, last night’s America’s Got Talent, or the newest scary movie. I tried to turn history into a series of anecdotes as if Alexander Hamilton was just another kid from the projects who, in the course of forging our national economy, woke up, threw on his Catholic school uniform, went to the corner bodega, had a breakfast of Nestea and Doritos, and found himself sitting in a classroom being lectured about it.
They didn’t buy it.
I, on the other hand, am a history fiend. I can’t seem to get enough of the stuff. Opinion: there cannot be a full appreciation of anyone or anything unless you know where they or it came from. I’m not happy unless I’m sitting in front of a mountain of books discovering why something is the way it is. For this I’ve spent most of my life being mocked with names like “loser” or “nerd” or “mad whack.” And you’re damn straight I want to know the history of the phrase “mad whack.” I just can’t seem to find one. On the other hand I’m a sucker for the present and spend many a day relishing what the future holds. Essentially, I’m a Buddhist’s nightmare.
But what about history? Long boring history. What really makes it so fascinating? Besides that fact that history is the ultimate form of storytelling, deep in the annals of it are legions of figures yet to be recognized. This person was undoubtedly a trailblazing outcast. Someone who, in the course of his or her life, made such an impression that he or she changed history without even knowing it. Someone who carried around a barrage of great stories or lofty quotations that no one ever got to hear because he or she royally pissed someone off. Thus he or she was practically written out of those social studies books that seventh graders dread?
That’s right Peter Stuyvesant; I’m looking at you.

Stay tuned for the next issue of PEG LEG PETE when the author's mom says he needs to get a life.

Chapter 1, Page 1

2009-09-22T11:05:00.000-04:00

Now that you've been introduced to the Tulip family, every Tuesday we'll be posting a page from the graphic novel in chronological order to give you a taste of the story.

So where better to start than on page 1?

Enjoy!

Characters & Costumes

2009-09-21T13:31:00.000-04:00

This first book of The Wonder City takes place in the early 1940s, which is my if-you-could-live-in-any-other-era era. So buying a huge fashion source book and designing the character's clothing has been one of my favorite parts of the drawing. Here's my costume guide for the four main characters. I'm even considering turning these guys into greeting cards!

Mrs. Tulip

2009-09-18T10:16:00.008-04:00

You've met Velma...

You've caught a glimpse of Owen and Lizzie and their garden...

There's one more main character to introduce you to, the matron of the Tulip family, distracted seamstress, rambling storyteller, more than slightly off center Edwina, Owen and Lizzie's mother.

Over the course of drawing The Wonder City, these characters are becoming disturbingly real to me. Owen tugs my heartstrings, Lizzie is looking more and more like my sister did at age 5, and Velma...basically I want to get whiskeys with her. For some reason Edwina pushes my buttons. I have walked away from the drafting table annoyed with her on more than one occassion.
She is simultaneously overbearing and absent, but she also reveals the most information about the Tulip family, their Dutch heritage, the father away to war, and their struggle to survive in New York. Basically, she'll drive you nuts, but you can't help but sympathize with her circumstances.

Her constant rambling also provides the motivations that for better or for worse set her children on their Coney Island adventrue and change the Tulip family's lives forever.

So love her or hate her, meet the dandy seamstress.

2009-09-16T09:47:00.002-04:00

Justin has a lot to say about the process of creating The Wonder City's story, so I thought I'd balance it by introducing you to two of The Wonder City's pivotal characters, brother and sister, Owen and Lizzie (from page 7 of the book). Owen is curmudgeonly (I'll have to trust my instincts on the spelling of that word) and Lizzie is a typical little sister (I'm looking at you, Kirsten).

Actually, sometimes I feel like this panel embodies Justin and my relationship as we work on the book.

"T-squares are dumb."

"You're the dummy who made me draw these straight lines."

Owen's green thumb is an important ongoing theme throughout the story. Hint: keep an eye on anyone who can grow stuff!

FRONT MATTER

2009-09-14T10:05:00.004-04:00

With our recent launch on Kickstarter I’ve been fielding the question: “What’s The Wonder City about?” This one almost always makes me panic. Not a good sign when you’ve been nursing an idea in your head for years. I should have a statement etched onto the underside of my skull. Something I can recite by rote that just blows people away. I don’t though. I turn red, I get nervous and I create a distraction to change the conversation. But now I feel it’s time to pony up. It’s only fair that I explain what this project really is about and where it came from.

At the moment, there are few visual samples available and some may find that a little strange since it’s a graphic novel. But that’s intentional. Also, I’m not interested in giving too much away plot-wise. That would take all the excitement out of reading the graphic novel when it’s completed. So I thought I would give you some background into how and why this story came to be along with a couple of plot nuggets along the way. I hope this will serve to peak your interest not only in the project and the story, but in the meaning behind it.

Spending the last four years researching and creating this thing, I’ve had my fair share of crazy experiences. In traipsing around New York, I’ve had my ear chewed off by crazy librarians for what seemed like days, shoved down in dark tunnels for hours and been urban whale watching on Coney Island. But these research expeditions alone capture exactly what makes New York City one of the most unique spots on the planet: its history and its people.

So I present to you for the duration of our fundraising period (in digestible digital installments):

AND MAYHAM ENSUES: BUILDING THE WONDER CITY

Check back on a daily basis for updates (we hope).

NYC 400 and The Wonder City

2009-09-11T12:30:00.002-04:00

A large piece of the mystery in The Wonder City centers around New York's Lenape origins and New Amsterdam's founding by the Dutch. How fortunate that we launched our project during the 400th anniversary of Henry Hudson's discovery of the New York Harbor.

Here's a great documentary, Pam clued us in on:

http://www.thirteen.org/dutchny/

Plus a cool project which recreates an untouched Manhattan Island as Hudson would have seen it:

http://themannahattaproject.org/

Check back as we start nerding out with some history-based "funny stories" involving our research trips for the Wonder City.

Our New Post Card

2009-09-09T12:13:00.003-04:00

Courtney designed our new postcard for the Kickstarter campaign. It's Velma's head.

The Wonder City in a Nutshell

2009-09-08T21:58:00.007-04:00

To commemorate the successful launching of our Wonder City fund raising efforts on Kickstarter, I've decided to start this blog in order to keep our backers and anyone else interested in what we are working up-to-date on the graphic novel.

Check out the project here: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/224129525/become-a-citizen-of-the-wonder-city

So here's a brief run-down of the story:

When the Dutch settled their fledgling island outpost of New  Amsterdam in 1624, they were approached by an old Lenape man who called himself Kapsee. He entrusted to them a small, deformed pearl that he called the Parelzaad. Contained in it was the spirit of the island and the only defense against the mystifying dark times he prophesized would come. A few Dutch believers formed a secret society called the Light Keepers that swore to protect the charm. Yet through the turbulent early history of the city, the Parelzaad was lost.
  

Brooklyn, 1942: A young boy by the name of Owen Tulip lives an unremarkable life in a small two-room tenement with his mother and younger sister, Elizabeth. His life changes suddenly when a young woman approached his sister offering to buy a mysterious charm necklace she had inherited from her Dutch grandmother. Velma Graydon, on behalf of the Light Keepers, has traced the Parelzaad to the Tulip family**. Unfortunately, the Parelzaad was lost again in a tragic accident. Velma believes that Owen is the only one who can help her find it and time is running out. The dark times prophesized by Kapsee will soon be upon them and New York’s fate is tied up in the lost charm.

The Wonder City is a graphic novel that traces the mythological origins of New York City through the adventures of its hero Owen Tulip. The novel, in it's entirety, spans his life and his quest to redeem the Parelzaad during which he also unlocks the history and spirit of the city itself.

**Read how Velma finds the charm here: www.velmagraydon.blogspot.com

Velma's Journal--Back from the Void

2009-08-27T10:05:00.004-04:00

As some of you may know, last December Mr. Fish was generous enough to assume blogging responsibilities seeing that I was bogged down in lettering the graphic novel. Not soon after both Mr. Fish and Velma disappeared for 8 months. No word from either of them. No one was returning phone calls and Mr. Fish stopped emailing and blogging.

I naturally assumed the worst.

Then this morning my phone rang (at a very early hour mind you).

JUSTIN: Hello.

VELMA (Very Loud): SWEETHEART!!

JUSTIN: Who is this?

VELMA: It's Velma, hon.

JUSTIN: Jesus, Velma, I thought you-

VELMA: Kicked it. Yeah. A couple of people thought so. No, Nicky and I were off for awhile.

JUSTIN: I'm assuming you can't say where?

VELMA: Of course not. It's not that interesting anyway.

JUSTIN: I'm starting to think you work for the government.

VELMA: I'm starting to think you don't work at all.

JUSTIN: Ouch.

VELMA: I mean, nothing. Not a single post since December.

JUSTIN: Nick told me he had it covered. Actually he told the readers. I didn't even get a head's-up.

VELMA: Ah, whatever. I know you and Courtney have been busy with the graphics novel.

JUSTIN: Graphic.

VELMA: WHAT? Oh. Right. Graphic.... Well, I've been thinking about some things.

JUSTIN: Oh yeah.

VELMA: I think we need to make some changes.

JUSTIN: To what?

VELMA: To this blog thing. We might've been going at it all wrong.

JUSTIN: I'm not sure there's a right or wrong way to do it, Velma.

VELMA: I do. Let's talk about it.

JUSTIN: Ok.

VELMA: Can you meet up with me tomorrow in my office?

JUSTIN: Actually I'm not in the city right now.

VELMA: Well where the hell are ya?

JUSTIN: Martha's Vineyard.

VELMA: Oh I see. Must be nice.

JUSTIN: It is.

VELMA: Well, when do you get back in?

JUSTIN: Can we meet the beginning of next week. Say Tuesday.

VELMA: GREAT!! Come over my way, noonish. Make ya a tuna sandwich.

JUSTIN: Yummy. See ya then.

VELMA: Right. Bye now.

I guess we're back in business.

Velma's Journal--May 6, 1932

2008-12-01T09:35:00.002-05:00

A note was left in my campus post box stating that, in one week's time, I am to meet with Tobias Finch,  Private Investigator at 8:15 PM under the far staircase of track 16 in Pennsylvania Station. The note said to tell no one and bring no one. It also said that I was in no danger and could be of great help to him in a very important investigation. 

What does this all mean?

Velma's Journal--From the Desk of Nick Fish

2008-11-25T11:37:00.004-05:00

Readers (if there are any of you left):

The wait is over. Now, over two months since Mr. Rivers's absence from the blogging process, the word has been handed down from both Mr. Rivers and Ms. Graydon that I may continue the process where he left off. At last check-in Mr. Rivers was still mired in the lettering of his graphic novel and happy to turn the work over to me. Also, I am pleased to report that I have been given full editorial discretion which means entries will be posted with more efficiency.

I shall enjoy communicating with Ms. Graydon's readership in the future. Thank you.

Best,

Nick Fish

Velma's Journal--May 4, 1932

2008-09-09T21:07:00.004-04:00

Met with Fox last night at the Bakery. After throwing back a whiskey with me, he said that by the description of the man I gave him, it sounded like someone by the name of Tobias Finch was following me. Fox said he is a private eye usually hired by the affluent to investigating heists and thefts. He occasionally comes into the Bakery and was in last week having a drink with Mick and Rick. When I approached both of them, they both said (so eloquently) that he asked nothing about me. How strange this all is.

In the most important news, I received another letter from Robert. He has made it to Edinburgh and is staying with his grandmother as Mrs. Vanderford has given him leave to see his family while they're in Great Britain. He says he will stay the reminder of the month and rejoin Mrs. Vanderford in London. He mentioned many times that he missed me and wished I was with him. How I wish the same. He said he has no doubt his grandmother would love me.

And through all this I have finals to attend to. I can hardly believe my first year at Barnard is drawing to a close.

Velma's Journal--May 1, 1932

2008-09-08T22:41:00.003-04:00

I've confided in Dottie that someone's been following me. There have been at least six occasions since Jacob Vandewater pointed out the tall gentleman three weeks ago. I've noticed him every once and again when I'm off campus. For some reason I can't bring myself to tell anyone else but her about it. He seems to trail far behind me so that I can never make out his face, and like some secret agent or mysterious gumshoe of crime novels, he wears a gray hat and trench. He is abnormally tall, at least 6'4". I can't be sure exactly. Besides that he's only a shadow lurking behind me.

Dottie said that Fox the bartender at the Bakery can help me. She said he knows all the "shady" characters. I'll pay him a visit.

Tomorrow night, Dottie, Sarah and I are going to see Tarzan the Ape Man at the Roxy. It will be my first time there and I've heard it's just grand. Perhaps my tall mystery man will join us.

Velma's Journal--April 14, 1932

2008-08-24T10:45:00.003-04:00

Was called back to Jacob Vandewater who once again received me curtly at his door. Looking quite disheveled again, he handed me the exact same manuscript in the exact same shirt box which was now crumpled and in a sad state.

"Don't return that to Dr. Loockersmans. The note is intended for Mr. Rapalje." His wire-rim glasses were still crooked on his face. I wondered if he had changed at all since my first delivery. "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, completely."

"And don't hand it to that driver of his either. Directly to Mr. Rapalje himself. I fear that man to be meddlesome."

"I understand, sir," I said almost chuckling. Rudy, to me, seems to be the nicest man I've met in my travels.

Vandewater looked both ways down the street and ducked inside the door. "Be careful, Ms. Graydon, I fear you're being followed. Do not go directly to Mr. Rapalje just yet." With that he slammed the door.

I turned slowly and started walking down the street. In the corner of my eye I did notice what seemed to be a tall man in a hat following me. I couldn't make out his face but as soon as I reached the corner he began to move in my direction. I quickly found my way into a taxi cab and as far as I can tell, was free of him.

The intrigue doesn't seem to end. And now, part of me, is starting to enjoy it.

Velma's Journal--March 30, 1932

2008-08-23T23:00:00.003-04:00

Listening to the radio this morning, my favorite show at the moment is The American Album of Familiar Music on the NBC dial. I have to usually fight off Dottie for the radio. She is completely enthralled with Little Orphan Annie which just so happens to come on everyday of the the week at the same time. But listening to some of the bands on my program makes me think of Robert. He's been gone for nearly a week now and I can't believe how much I miss him. I know that be he'll be back by summer. I only hope he doesn't go off and fall for a fancy European girl.*

It's Sarah's birthday today. Her father had Dottie and I down to their home for dinner. It was a different dining experience from the last time. Mr. Schimberg served a traditional Shabbat dinner. We had chicken and a stew of carrots. I was introduced to a host of Hebrew words for certain household items like mapit is a napkin and prachim means flowers. Sakin means knives. There was a song which was a prayer to the Shabbat Angels to bless the food and Sarah as she entered her 19th year.

Of course Dottie added her own flare to the evening. She stopped at an Italian bakery on the way down and bought an assortment of pastries. I bought Sarah a biography of Louis Daguerre, which she loved the most she said.

Tonight Sarah is staying in Hewitt Hall so we can go to the Bakery to celebrate "properly."

*EDITOR'S NOTE: In a prior entry not included on the list given to me by Velma, it is mentioned that Robert was accompanying Caroline Vanderford on a European tour as her butler. He was gone for approximately five months before returning to New York. She mentions many times how she misses him but does not confirm whether or not they are officially coupled.

Velma's Journal--March 11, 1932

2008-08-20T23:19:00.001-04:00

Studying feriously for mid-terms next week and then there is a spring recess called for the week after. I don't think I'll go to Saratoga but rather stay in New York and continue to practice my Dutch and research more on these Lightkeepers.

I've been dreaming quite a bit again. Recurring images. The girl in the tattered bonnet like the one in my dreams back in the fall. She continually gives me the long blue feather which I can sware I feel in my hands. And for the past two nights I've been dreaming of ships sailing into a desolate harbor. There are three of them and they are old. Perhaps caravels or European schooners of some kind. The images flash by in my dreams in a nonsensical pattern.

Had a delivery to a new Lightkeeper today. His name was Jacob Vandewater of E. 77th Street. I delivered him a shirt box tied with brown string. It felt as though there was a stack of paper's inside. He answered the door in quite an erratic state. His hair was disheveled and his glasses crooked. He took the box quickly and said that he would call on me soon to bring the box to Mr. Rapalje. He then bid me good day and shut the door rudely. I have now met four of the seven Lightkeepers. Two seem perculiar to me and two I like very much.

Velma's Jounral--March 2, 1932

2008-08-19T22:58:00.002-04:00

Read a disturbing article in the morning paper about Colonel Lindbergh, the famous aviator, who found his child missing last night with a ransom note. How frightening! I think this Depression is making people commit desperate crimes for money.

It has been over a week since I've received an assignment from Loockersmans, so I have taken the time to do some investigating of my own. Of course with Mid-term examinations coming, this is the worst time for that sort of thing, but I can't help myself.

Robert and I are going out again for the third time tomorrow. He is taking me to the cinema to see 20,000 Years in Sing Sing with Spencer Tracy and Bette Davis. He told me that he enjoys my company more than anyone elses. I said I did his. I really cannot stop thinking about him. I'm not sure these feelings couldn't have come at a worse time.

Velma's Journal--February 25, 1932

2008-08-12T12:14:00.001-04:00

Delivered a package today from Professor Loockersmans to William Fitz Roy, CEO of the Commissioners. When I arrived on the 75th floor of the Empire State Building I noticed the stark contrast of the office. There were glass partitions between offices and silver marble lining the floors. A secretary was there to greet me when I stepped off the elevator. She escorted me down a newly formed hallway, extremely art deco, all black, white, and glass. Stark. Everything was shining and new. Even the secretary wore a black dress and her hair was pulled tightly in a bun. I felt completely out of place in a drab brown dress with my trusty green satchel.

I was led past an enormous room and saw the longest conference table ever imaginable. There was a maid polishing the finish on it. It was clear that every detail of this office was deliberate.

When we reached the end of the hallway, two black and silver-trimmed double doors were opened. I was announced by the secretary and Mr. Fitz Roy bid me to enter.

I explained that I would have left the package with his secretary but Professor Loockersmans said I give the package only to him. He had me sit and offered me a drink. I declined. He said not taking a drink was poor form in a business meeting. I replied that I was not aware we were in a business meeting. For some reason I felt a strange air of confidence in this situation. Being such a standout made me feel like I needed to act like a standout.

“You’re missing out on a wonderful Scotch from the Isle of Skye. Nothing from a bathtub in Harlem, I assure you.” He poured himself a drink.

I simply handed him the package and asked, “Does this have to do with John Randel Jr.?”

He said, “You looked him up?”

“I did.”

“It does. Everything here does. City planning is our bread and butter, Miss Graydon.”

And then out of nowhere I asked a question that I felt was none of my business. “How are you associated with the Light Keepers then?” I’m still not sure who the Light Keepers really are. I was hoping he could elaborate. But I noticed the question cut the air and created a moment of discomfort for him.

His face was blank for a moment. “That is a good question. Ask your professor. I’m not at liberty to say.”

I smiled politely and suddenly felt the need to leave, “I’ve taken up too much of your time.”

“Not at all.” He sipped his Scotch. “Always a pleasure Miss Graydon. ” I was promptly shown out.

I vow to the page that I will get some answers even if I have to do some investigating of my own.

Velma's Journal--February 17, 1932

2008-08-08T12:07:00.002-04:00

Had the most wonderful night with Robert. I arrived at a club called Small's Paradise which is in the basement of a building on 135th street in Harlem, hence the 1/2 address. Robert stood at the door waiting for me with a black case in his hand. When he saw me, he handed me a green carnation stating that he thought green was my color. He said it was his favorite. I said it was mine as well.

When we walked inside a round man greeted Robert familiarly and took the black case from him. He showed us to a small table among the smoky room. The tables were set up around a large open dance floor where people were dancing wildly. On the stage, in the front of the room, was an ensemble of men, one on piano, one on base, one on clarinet, one on trumpet, one on trombone, and a gentleman on drums. All where wearing black fedoras. The room was stuffed with people drinking and moving along to extremely upbeat music. I would assume jazz, although I had never heard it before. The entire club was alive with energy and even the waiters danced with the drinks on their trays.

Robert ordered two whiskeys and offered me a cigarette. I refused it since I've never smoked before. He lit one for himself and we talked a little over the music about growing up around horses since his father ran Mrs. Vanderford's stables. He also fascinated me with the story of his crossing from Scotland when he was eight. There was the 10 days he spent on the boat with only he and his father and for 8 of them it was stormy and he couldn't go above the deck so he stayed below reading all the complete works of Sir Walter Scott. His mother and two sisters came over two years later when his father could send the money. Then out of the blue he asked me what my favorite church hymn was. I told him I wasn't much of a churchgoer, but I remember Granny Ellie saying she loved "Closer Walk with Thee" when she went down south with her sister. He smiled and said Granny Ellie had excellent taste in southern hymns.

Suddenly the music stopped and the same round man came on stage and asked Robert to come up. The host introduced him as "White Lightening." The room went crazy with applause. When he stepped on stage he took a silver trumpet out of the case he was carrying before and addressed the ensemble. He turned to the audience and said, "This is a fairly new little dirge from New Orleans, but tonight it'll raise the dead." The band then exploded into this swing rhythm of "Closer Walk with Thee" which lasted for 10 minutes, each instrument having their turn on improvising on the theme. Robert's solo was the longest and most complicated. The audience hollered, clapped, and some people even danced in the aisles. It was the grandest thing.

Robert played fives songs after that and stepped off stage. We finished our drinks and he offered to walk me back to campus. I accepted. When I asked where he learned to play trumpet, he said that Mrs. Vanderford gave him a trumpet for Christmas when he was twelve. One of the stable hands from Harlem, who played drums, took him to his father who taught him how to play trumpet.

When we reached Barnard's campus at 1:30 AM, I told him I'd never had an experience like that and I wanted to go again. He leaned over and kissed me softly. I almost collapsed from weakness. He said anytime and walked off. When I walked in to the room, I found Dottie up sitting in bed waiting to hear all about it. She said by the color of my cheeks the night went well.

Whatta night!

Photo: www.newyorkpartyshuttle.com

Velma's Journal--February 14, 1932

2008-08-05T22:41:00.001-04:00

The day of Saint Valentine. Not very much to report on that front for myself. Dottie is off with Howie, doing what, I'm not quite sure. She told me not to wait up. Like I ever have in the past. Sarah and I will most likely have dinner. Neither of us pretend to be too broken up about being single young women.

Although, I only admit this to the page, but my thoughts keep coming back to Tuesday evening's upcoming date with Robert. His note was so terse and mysterious and that leads me to question his intentions. I have only seen him a handful of times and each we have exchanged less than five words to one another. Of course he is exceedingly handsome and he smiles at me like no one else ever has. It makes my heart beat a bit faster than usual. Something I've never felt. Dottie says this is what normal "dames" call falling in love. Sarah said the same thing. I assured both of them I haven't had the time or the occasion to fall in love with him yet. She then called me an idiot for trying to schedule love like an appointment.

Regardless, after having Dottie do a little investigating at the Bakery, the club where I'm meeting Robert has the queerest address, 2294 1/2 W. 135 street. Can half a building be correct? She says I have Mick to thank for the information, so I wonder.

Velma's Journal--February 3, 1932

2008-08-04T11:54:00.001-04:00

The third Olympic Winter Olympics games opened today in Lake Placid. Henry has informed me that he will be traveling north on the 9th to watch the bobsleighing competition. That has always been a favorite pastime of his in Saratoga. He was sweet to ask if I wanted to join him, but time will not permit me.

This afternoon Abby Putnam, who seemed to virtually fall off the face of the earth since Christmas recess, came to our door with a huge gift-wrapped box on a dolly. She said that it was a very late Christmas present from the Putnam family to all of Abby’s closest friends. We are only mere acquaintances and Dottie has kept Abby at an arm’s length since the bootlegging situation this past fall. Thus one might understand my complete confusion as to being classified as “closest friends.”

“How many of those do you have, Abby?” Asked Dottie unscrupulously.

Abby smirked, “More than you think, I’m sure.”

Dottie who is much stronger than she looks, hugged the package, threw it on her bed and did the honors of unwrapping it. “With the number I’m thinking of, I’m sure you’re right.” Dottie, being proud, did not appreciate feeling used by Abby for booze. “But I’m never one to turn away a gift.” She proceeded to tear open the box. Inside was wood-paneled tabletop Zenith radio with gold fixtures.

I gasped. “Abby we couldn’t possibly accept this.” I knew how long it took mother and dad to save for ours.

“Of course you can. Dad was given a gross of them as gifts for one of his contracts. He told me that every cultured college girl should have one.”

“So I guess this one’s for you, Vel,” Dottie said.

“No,” Abby insisted. “It’s for both of you. I sincerely hope you both enjoy it.” And with that, Abby wheeled her dolly out of our room. “Have a good evening ladies.”

We both thanked her graciously. Well, at least I did. Dottie and I then both looked at each other. “She wants something,” Dottie said to me.

“I agree.” I said.

“But hell, I’ll take the radio. Ma and pop don’t even have one yet.” Dottie spent the remainder of the afternoon finding the perfect spot for it which we settled on being my desk since it is closest to the window. When we first turned it on, we mostly heard static and finally settled on a frequency that was playing something classical. Perhaps Brahms. Dottie didn’t enjoy it.

Photo: Courtesy of www.radioblvd.com

Velma's Journal--January 16, 1932

2008-07-15T23:08:00.001-04:00

Unemployment at an all-time high in Germany, according to the papers. Apparently it's up to 6 million people. It seems the entire world is in a depression. No sign of relief anywhere.

Yesterday was an interesting day to say the least. As Mrs. Vanderford asked, I went to St. John the Divine Cathedral, which is a breathtaking structure. When I walked in I was awestruck by the size. Then immediately, I was hit with the sense that I had been there before, even though I know I never had. I couldn't seem to place the feeling.

As I traveled down the cavernous nave, I saw a small man standing off to the side of the choir. What a marvel of architecture, it's what I imagine the great cathedrals of Europe would look like. The man must have been about 5'4" inches, long gray beard, not much hair left on his head and he was smoking a pipe. There was a sweet-smelling smoke billowing out everywhere. He spotted me instantly. And looking at him, I felt like I had seen him before as well, but I couldn't remember where or when.

"Can I help you young lady?" He said through his teeth.

"I'm looking for a Mr. Irving Lincoln."

He smiled. "Why that's me. And you are?"

"Velma Graydon, sir." I took the the blue velvet pouch out of my satchel. "This pipe is from Caroline."

The color left his face for second. Then a puff of smoke came out of his pipe. His look was grave. He took the pouch and slowly removed the clay pipe. "So it is. And she sent you directly to me huh?"

"Yes she did sir."

Then he went on about something very queer. "Do you know that just today, it was announced that astronomers have seen as far out in the cosmos as they can. And what do you think they saw? Twin nebulae. What the laymen call island universes and they're moving away from the earth at 15,000 miles per second. They calculate the distance by their luminosity. And within the small portion of the cosmos we can see their are hundreds of constellations, with thousands of nebulae which inside them contain hundreds of star systems." He puffed on his pipe. "Imagine all that."

"Yes sir." I must have looked confused.

"You have no idea why I'm spouting on about this, do you?"

"No sir, I don't really."

"You work for the Light Keepers now."

I gave another confused look. "The Light Keepers?"

"Well don't ya?"

"I work for a Mr. Rapalje of--"

"He never told you did he?"

"Told me what sir?"

"That must be my job. Well, I'll tell you what. Today is not the best day for us to begin. So come back to me soon and we will start."

"Start what sir? I'm not sure I understand any of this."

"No of course, you don't. You're not supposed to." He puffed his pipe. But you will." He smiled then he turned and walked behind the choir a trail of pipe smoke following behind.

The frustration and mystery of this post is about all I can stand. I wish someone could deliver a straight answer to me about anything.

Velma's Journal--January 14, 1932

2008-07-09T23:50:00.002-04:00

I was called today to go to Caroline Vanderford's. It was a note hand-delivered yesterday to my postbox, not by Loockersmans or Harold. It wasn't in either of their hands.

I traveled to Park Avenue this morning and was greated by her Butler, Robert. He smiled when he saw me and showed me into Mrs. Vanderford's office. She was sitting at her empty desk twirling a pen, much the same way she had done months before. Two cups of tea were waiting on the desk.

"I took the liberty of having Robert fix us tea, Ms. Graydon. He never forgets a cup. No milk. One sugar."

"Yes. Thank you," I said. I sat down and took a sip.

"I've called you here on unofficial business." She turned and smiled at me. "I need you to deliver this to an old friend." She pulled out a blue velvet sack and revealed its contents to be an old clay smoking pipe. "His name is Irving Lincoln. You may find him at St. John the Divine Cathedral near your university. Go in and ask the first person you see for him. Tell him this pipe is from Caroline. Do not say Mrs. Vanderford. He'll be offended."

"I will." I took another sip of tea.

"He'll be expecting you the day after tomorrow."

"At what time?" I asked.

"At whatever time is conveniant for you. He is there all day and into the night most of the time." She carefully sipped her tea. "Also take note of the small envelope on the tray. That is meant for you." She smiled as I picked it up. "Do not feel the need to read it in my presense. I assure you it isn't from me." Her smile grew wider.

Later, after Robert showed me out with only a smile and a goodbye. I immediately tore open the envelope. It was a card simply saying: FEB 16, 9PM, SMALL'S PARADISE, HARLEM. BEST, ROBERT.

I felt my face radiate heat through the cold afternoon. My stomach, at the same time, fluttering.

Velma's Journal--January 3, 1932

2008-07-08T21:57:00.001-04:00

Mahatma Ghandi has been arrested by the British Viceroy in Pompey today. This could be disastorous for the Indian movement. Now that I've been keeping up with current affairs, I've taken a special interest in the Independance movement there. I think Ghandi is a remarkable figure and I truly hope for the best in his situation.

Returned to New York this morning by rail and took the BMT to 77th Street and 4th Avenue which was around the corner from the Cento's home. Upon arrival, I was immediatly fed by Dottie's mother, Anna with grapes, crusty bread and cheese. Dottie's family is just as energetic and loud as she. They all live in a three-floor tenement on 5th Avenue above a tailor's shop. Dottie her mother, father, and two sisters live on the first floor. Her mother's sister and her family live on the second. Her grandmother lives on the third. Her cousin Constance (Connie) and Anthony (Little Tony) came down to meet me and introduce themselves. They brought pastry with them. I went up to meet her grandmother whom they all call Grandma Susie and she was making Sunday dinner for everyone, which was prompty at 2 PM.

When I sat down at the long table, which started in the kitchen and ended in the living room, with the other sixteen members of the family, I could hardly hear myself think. Aunts, uncles and cousins came from around the corner. They all started asking me questions at once. Where was I from? What was I studying? Was I married? Will I marry? At one point, Dottie just told all of them to "can it" and just let me eat in peace. Of course for dinner there was pasta with gravy (red sauce), eggplant parmagian, vegetables, a host of meats that were made in the sauce including sausages, meatballs, and a pork dish I can't remember the name of. Of course there was crusty bread at every end of the table. Then there was fruits brought out and less than an hour later it was dessert.

I have eaten a week's worth of food in less than 8 hours. It's amazing Dottie keeps her figure eating like this on a regular basis.

Velma's Journal--January 1, 1932

2008-07-07T18:16:00.002-04:00

I am still in Saratoga and have enjoyed a lovely holiday here. Am anxious to return to New York which I will be doing on Sunday. One of my New Year's resolution for 1932 is to read the newspaper every morning so I can stay informed of the events in this world. Grannie Ellie came down from Maine and had many a discussion about current affairs. I realized I had no clue about half the stuff of which she spoke. I love to read about history and languages, but I rarely delve into newspapers. She told me she's read the morning papers since she was 16 years old. So that has inspired me to do the same. Another resolution, which Dottie and Sarah suggest, is to loosen up a bit.

I have read only a third of Dottie's book. It is more dense that I expected and my mind hasn't been in the material.

Velma's Journal--July 5, 2008

2008-07-05T15:49:00.008-04:00

Dear Readership,

It seems that, once again, the Velma blog has fallen to the wayside. With Velma and Mr. Fish out of the country working on a mysterious project, and me trying to decipher this new list of entries that Velma gave me months ago when we lunched at the Peace Fountain, I've felt a bit overwhelmed. The list that was compiled by Mr. Fish to tightened up the material, which he felt was "too numerous in entries and the scope too overwhelming to sustain a readership," was ill conceived. It's too scant and lacked a narrative cohesion. That's my fancy way of saying it made for bad story telling. So I've taken the past month to look at all of Velma's journal entries from January 1932 (since that is where I left off) consider the ones on the list and add a few more in to make it a readable story arc. It has actually been a more gruelling task than I initially thought.

But today I think I've finally come up with a suitable list to work with. Out of the remaining 2,438 entries from January 2, 1932 to July 12, 1942, I was handed a list of 152 from Velma and Fish (those they felt where the most important) I have added an additional 145 in order to make the story more readable (i.e. including entries with Dottie, Sarah, Robert and some characters you are yet to meet). So in all we have 297 more entries to go before we start the events of the first installment of The Wonder City which begins in July of 1942.

Another thing worth noting: as the years go by and Velma becomes more involved in her academics and side career as courier, her entries becoming shorter and shorter. Nothing half as long and detailed as her beginning journal efforts which will make transposing them into blogger easier and faster.

Thanks for bearing me.

Justin

Velma's Journal--December 18, 1931

2008-05-29T15:43:00.002-04:00

My final day at Barnard for the semester. The train leaves at 4 PM from Pennsylvania Station. Of course, I haven't packed nor thought about how I'm going to get to the station; most likely by taxi.

All five of my finals are finished and Dr. Loockersmans has informed me that I have leave from my post until January 4. Although classes don't resume until the 14th of the new year, I've been invited to stay with the Cento family in Brooklyn until the dormitories re-open. I'm actually a little relieved to have the break cut short, since I already anticipate my boredom in Saratoga. Also the chance to stay with the Centos is one I would never pass-up. At the very least, I know I will be well-fed.

Both Sarah and Dottie loved their gifts. They conspired on mine, which Dottie said involved going home to Bay Ridge. Last night, Dottie lugged out this large package from under her bed and passed it over to me.

"Sarah wrapped it," she said. "Not bad for a Jew huh?"

Sarah turned and punched in the arm. "You're such a twit. Jews give gifts!"

"But they ain't under trees."

I knew it was a book when I held it. I unwrapped it and saw the title in gold embossed letters: THE HISTORY OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK 1609-1906. My heart leapt.

"Ma called to tell me I still had it on my shelf at home. I guess I never returned it from the 4th grade. The catalogue card's still in there." Dottie's smile was huge. She was proud of that. "We knew you would blow your wig over it. And now you can stop asking me dumb questions about dead guys I did reports on."

I do love it. It's coming home with me over break and I am committed to finishing it by time I return.