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Turn Your Radio On, Episode Four
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In the mean time, a preview of this story is shown below. It's about the first half.
Chapter Ten
Marc Kronzburg pushed the overlapping canvas flaps out of the way as he made his way into the Thuringen Gardens outside patio. Or formerly outside patio. The original patio had been outside. Now, a massive roof was supported by four thick stone walls that contained six oversized coal-fired fireplaces, which allowed it to be used during the harshest of winters. None of this had done anything to change the original name.
Spotting Irv Sonderman at his usual table near the outside bar, Marc made his way over to his quarry. "Happy Holidays, Irv! Got a minute?"
The manager of Thuringen Gardens gestured to a chair and continuing to deal with the lunch paperwork, replied, "Sure thing, Marc. "Edith! Would ya get Marc here a beer? Thanks."
Irv Sonderman had been a long haul truck driver before the Ring of Fire. Then, during the celebrations that initiated Thuringen Gardens, he found himself in the right place at the right time with a pocket full of cash and a tractor full of beer. Of the eleven founders, only Willie Ray Hudson, Irv, and a couple of others still were involved in the business.
Turning back to Marc as he set down his pencil, Irv crossed his forearms on the table, "So, what's the word, Marc? We gonna be able to do business or what?"
"Of course, we'll be doing business, Irv! I told you that." Marc beamed, "The Voice of America would be proud to have Live from the Thuringen Gardens on our air following The Ole Timey Radio Hour. It's just technicalities have to be worked out."
"Like money," Irv commented flatly. "I told you, Marc. You ain't getting into my till."
"But you've got to see our point, Irv. So far, our deal with the Pentecostals is close to doubling our revenue from that hour from the overage alone. I've already raised the rate on the spots that run during the show and I've still got a waiting list."
Marc held up his hands and shrugged his shoulders. "When I talked it over with Mr. Grover, he agreed. We only gave them that small of a percentage deal because they were a religious organization. We can't offer the same deal to you. If you want on, we need to make sure we get a comparable deal factoring in the commercial benefits to the Gardens."
Irv scowled and took another sip of his beer. "I don't see how it's worth it to the Gardens. We're already the biggest bar in town. Everyone already comes here. I just don't need the show all that much."
"True, but Tip has also been asking about the time and with the big hall he's built so close to the Deborah trolley stop, he's been pulling in more and more customers from Saalfeld and the workers from the river industrial park."
"Bah! Tip's is a Swedish hang out. They might as well paint the place yellow." A waitress came over and handed Irv a ticket. Irv stood up, craned his neck to look at the patron who was asking for the tab, and scribbled his okay on the paper.
This gave Mark the opportunity to change the subject. "Maybe not, Irv. Listen, why don't we deal with this after New Year's? Maybe we can work something out then.
"By the way . . ." Marc reached into his bag and pulled out the book he had borrowed from Irv last summer. "Here's that baseball book you loaned me. Great stuff.
"You were right, Irv. The statistics in baseball are unlike anything I've seen before. I did see one statistic you had circled that confused me a little though. Why did you circle the 226 sacrifice hits record?
"Oh, you mean the Yankee team record." Irv beamed. "That's the sole remaining record from a player that my granddad loved. Wally Pipp. He was traded from the Yankees to the Cincinnati Reds late in his career. He had been a great hitter, led the American League twice in home runs and was one of the original members of the Yankees infamous Murderers Row with 996 runs batted in for his career."
"Granddad got a shot in the Cincinnati organization as a first baseman while Pipp was there. He always said that Wally Pipp was a great guy, helped him to learn more about being a first baseman than anyone Granddad ever played with. Too bad about his timing though." Irv's face showed momentary distraction. Then he glared right at Marc.
"I get it. Wally Pipp, the most consistent Yankee infielder during the previous nine seasons was pulled from the starting lineup for a young guy that Pipp had scouted out of Columbia. That was Lou Gehrig, and Wally never got back into the starting rotation again.
"What you're telling me is we can always be replaced." Irv leaned back in his chair and thought a moment. "Okay. What if we guarantee to match your revenue from the church show plus five percent?"
Marc smiled as he exhaled. That approach had been tricky, but getting to know Irv so well, he had figured that Irv would see the point himself. "I'm sure we can talk Mr. Grover into something like that. We are talking about the base amount plus estimated expenses for the remote broadcasts up front, aren't we?"
****
When the service ended, Constanzia picked up her overcoat and muff and shuffled down the side aisle to the exit. She couldn't help noticing how much different this church was from the elaborate gothic churches she had attended in Augsburg. Its construction was sturdy, straightforward and simple; exposed beams supporting the roof above, half timbered, plastered exterior walls, and plain glass windows about every six feet along the sidewalls. She noted the progress being made on the installation of balconies along both sides of the sanctuary with staircases connecting them to the entrance area referred to as a narthex. Behind the altar and choir loft, she knew that Reverend Chalker had an office and a small apartment.
Constanzia preferred to attend the early service here. The church had grown so much this year that it provided three morning services and two afternoon services each Sunday. Since this was the Catholic and up-timers' Christmas service, they were all packed in. Even with having to slip through the crowd, though, she could make the second Lutheran service and not upset her uncle and her elder half-brother, Johann Martin Sulzer, who always kept their eyes on her religious education.
With the news this week that her father would be visiting for business reasons during the upcoming Protestant Christmas season, she didn't want any premature word about her personal life in Grantville. She could break that news herself, if it needed to be revealed.
As her cousin Catharina tried to explain to her, the Pentecostals were basically like Lutherans. They believe that people became true Christians by faith—then it got interesting. Unlike most Christians of the era, they were not cessionists. They believe that miracles, healings, and prophecy still happened just like in the Book of Acts. In particular, they thought that after a person became a true Christian, the Holy Spirit would come on them and they would speak with other tongues just like the apostles. Reverend Chalker was even more flexible. He believed that if someone kept coming to the church, the Lord was speaking to him or her, which was good enough because that conversation may take some time.
While there were frequent outbursts of speaking in tongues during the services, for reasons of his own, Fischer kept his dramatic and highly emotional exhibitions limited to his evening services. From what Constanzia understood, those had become filled with an amazing emotional power. There had even been cases of apparent healings. Reverend Fischer just seemed to dominate whatever stage he was on. With that rugged complexion and short-cut, thick, black hair that draped over his forehead, he just looked the part of a leader.
When asked about Fischer's different way of handling services, Reverend Chalker reasoned, "No reason scaring off the little babies in the faith by showing them the adults only version."
During the service, Fischer had introduced the new elders to the congregation. Now, as Constanzia had finally reached the narthex, she approached the reception line of the new elders and their wives. First, there was Georg Heinrich Vitzthum von Eichstedt. Herr Vitzthum von Eichstedt was a widower who lived in Rudolstadt. He actually traveled to Grantville every weekend to attend the services ever since Enrico Abona, the director of Kelly Construction, first invited him. Hermann Neuhoff and his wife Catherine were so busy in a conversation, she moved past them to Johann Friedrich and his wife, Maria. Johann tended to the foot care outreach program ever since he joined the church family.
Finally, was Enrico Abona himself and his wife, Leanna Villarreal. She had joined the church by what Brother Chalker called "the old fashioned way." She married into it. Next to them was Balthazar Schenk, one of the count's minor officials at Schwarzburg castle, who was going out with one of Leanna's friends. Constanzia couldn't remember the girl's name, but Schenk's father had worked for von Eichstedt's father.
As Constanzia finished exchanging pleasantries with Leanna, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she was surprised to see Hans and Maria Kurger. It had also been announced at the service that Hans had heard the call to the ministry and was to become the newest Pentecostal minister, beginning studies this week.
Maria, who was tightly gripping her husband's arm, smiled as she greeted Constanzia. "Fraulein Garb, I'm so glad to see you coming back to our services. If you're not careful, Hans and I will have you teaching Sunday School classes before you know it!"
Constanzia laughed. "As long as it doesn't involve teaching Latin, it might be appealing to me. These up-timers just don't have a good, basic, classical education at all."
Along with most down-timers, Constanzia was amazed that with all the advanced knowledge they brought back with them from the future, knowledge of the classical fundamentals was not common among up-timers. Hans and Maria smiled and nodded their emphatic agreement.
Maria continued, "Constanzia, did you hear that Ingrid Nemeth's son Terrell has been detailed by the army into something called 'T&T Training'? Ingrid's not sure what that is, but she’s asking us to pray for a quick end to this war so whatever it is, Terrell won't be in jeopardy doing it.
"Now, may we invite you to have lunch with us?"
Chapter Eleven
January 7 (Christmas Day, Julian), 1634, Erfurt, USE
Snow flew into the old smokehouse as he entered. Colonel David Leslie stomped the slush off his boots, leaned his SRG rifle against the wall, and closed the door behind him. He pulled his cape off, shook it and hung on the peg beside the doorway, then lit the candle stub he had left on the table this morning. He fiddled with his new iron campstove until a somewhat out of place, cheery flame took hold of the kindling.
Flopping down on his cot, Leslie pulled off his boots, examining them for daily wear and tear. "Ah, there you go, my laddy! I knew that you'd finally opened up that wee little hole. It's to the cobbler you'll be going in the morning."
At least the horses were well fed, better than any winter since he joined his uncle, Lieutenant General Alexander Leslie, on this continental adventure back in 1630. Well, not his uncle precisely. More like his father's bastard cousin who had done the family proud. The feeding certainly boded well for this season's foals. With so many mares bearing this season, his cavalry should have no problem with adequate mounts if the war continued another five years, another small miracle thanks to the Americans and their gadgetry.
Thinking about the American up-timers and all the stories they told still gave Leslie headaches. His other destiny would have been to command all Scottish forces to historic victories, only to go to defeat at the hands of an English Puritan. Then, to be knighted by the restored monarchy and be given lands and pensions, taking honor to his grave. Well for sure, with what he'd learned now of future cavalry tactics, no New Model Army of Englishmen would see the day they would crush his forces, by God.
Leslie's professional Holy Trinity these days was Stuart, Forrest, and Sheridan. Aye, those were cavalrymen's cavalrymen! First with the most, indeed! From what he had been able to gather from all those fine books, only Wilson in his massed cavalry raid through Alabama had led a mounted force as well trained as the one he was readying for the spring campaign. So many good Scottish names in that horrid blue and grey war of those up-timers.
But Leslie was engaged in his own horrid war, this one with more divisions making less sense. When he first enlisted, it all seemed so clear. Protect the Reformation against the Papist. Then he found that his men's pay was coin from the purse of Cardinal Richelieu. Now, he commanded units combining Catholic and Protestant soldiers. Nothing made sense.
Uncle Alexander had told him, "Nephew, we cannot bother ourselves with what might have happened or could have happened. We can only be true to our duty as we see it on this day.
"It’s fidelity we pledged to Gustavus Adolphus and as long as he continues to show himself a leader worth following, it’s fidelity we’ll be giving. If he believes in these Americans, we will continue to call them allies ourselves."
Aye, and marvelous allies they had proved to be. People more loyal because Americans had shown ways of sharing the burden more fairly, of increasing the crop yields, and reducing the size of the army, while increasing it's firepower and maneuverability.
It was like that new song his men now sang. On this Christmas night, he would indeed sleep in heavenly peace.
****
"So, Constanzia, I understand you're seeing a radio star."
Constanzia could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks in embarrassment at her father's words. "What? Who told you that? Martin!"
Marco Garb's face broke out in a big grin as he observed his daughter's reaction. So, it was true what his stepson had been writing to him about Constanzia.
Constanzia's half-brother, Johann Martin Luther Sulzer, was fifteen years her senior and thought of himself more as an extra father than a brother. When Grantville first appeared in the world, Marco had dispatched Martin there to become his eyes in this new place. However, it was soon apparent that Martin didn't have the guile to successfully obtain the information that Marco needed. Thus he asked his youngest daughter to visit her Aunt Potentiana in Badenburg, which was close to where the Ring of Fire had appeared, and see what she could do.
Her brother had managed to get both her and her cousin Catharina jobs teaching at the high school. From there, she had done very well indeed. From the high school student partners of the Barbie Consortium to the young owners of the Other People's Money mutual fund who had recently graduated, Constanzia had smoothly used her position teaching Italian at the high school to get to know every one of the young lions of Grantville's financial community.
"No, Papa. I have not been seeing Reverend Fischer, no matter what my nosy older brother thinks. Catharina and I have attended services at his church occasionally." Constanzia thought to herself that twice a week could truthfully be described as occasionally. "But we've never been alone together a single time. Besides, what if I were? I'm over twenty-one!"
"Now, now, Tesorina, you should know by now that I trust in your judgment. Would I have asked you to come here on my behalf if I did not?" From her reaction, Marco was now certain that there was more to how his "Little Treasure" felt about this radio preacher than just spiritual.
Whether Marco had trust or not in his daughter was not the important issue. Once his stepbrother Emanuel Sulzer and his wife's sister, whose house they were guests in on this Christmas evening, found out about little Constanzia's deviation from the Lutheran faith, it would be him, not Constanzia, who would catch hell.
When he met Potentiana's sister Constanzia Turettini, she had been a recently widowed mother of six. Her first husband, Heinrich Sulzer, had died in a horse accident. Marco had fallen in love at first sight. He even converted to the Lutheran faith in order to make her his own. Another year had brought them Jean Achille Garb, their first child together. But the next birth a year later of his beloved daughter came at the price of the life of his love. He had named the baby after her departed mother.
After some years of mourning, Marco had decided to revert to his Calvinist faith, although he had kept his vow to raise all his children and stepchildren as his wife had wished. It was good that Emanuel lived so far away. A firmer believer in the tenets of the Lutheran faith could not be found than Emanuel, who saw no good from any non-follower of Lutheranism in any way.
"Now, enough of our play. Tell me what you've learned of the investments I asked you to look into for me."
For the next hour, Constanzia gave her father a detailed run down on the young people running the investment opportunities Marco was studying. Finally, after reviewing his notes, Marco mused, "The board meeting is tomorrow. It's good to have alternatives to the capitalization call for a second steel plant location that Frederic Swisher is going to present to us."
Since the Ring of Fire, Constanzia's father had become a major player amongst the investment community of her hometown, Augsburg. He had guessed early that betting the new technology these Americans had brought would survive, no matter what happened to the Americans themselves. The investors who followed his lead had been richly rewarded, to the point that they had been able to get Marco a seat on the Board of Directors of USE Steel to watch over their interests.
It had been an amazing rise for Marco Garb, born Marco de' Gilbelli, an immigrant boy. He left his hometown of Turin with his parents for Geneva. They hoped they could practice their Calvinist beliefs there. As the Holy Roman Empire exerted its power in oppressing Protestants of all faiths, Marco moved on to the Imperial City and ancient Roman outpost of Augsburg. A city proud of its historic tolerance of different faiths. He had even adopted his cousins' Germanized version of their family name in order to fit in better with the local business people. After all, his third cousin Johann Baptist Garb was still the Swedish Resident, or as the Americans called it, "consul" in Augsburg at that time. It was Cousin Johann Baptist who took it upon himself to introduce Marco to all the important financial leaders of the Imperial City.
"Now, about this young minister of yours, I must come with you sometime and meet this man."
Late January 1634, Grantville, State of Thuringia, United States of Europe
John Grover found himself whistling as he rode his horse away from the station that evening.
Pesky little song, I just can't get it out of my head, he thought. But, I always did like "Will the Circle Be Unbroken?"
That had been last Saturday night's featured song on the Ole Timey Radio Hour. If the mail received so far this week were any barometer, it would be as big of a hit as the first show's "Silent Night." Fischer and his bunch were really tuned into the market. Since they went on the air, mail to the station had more than doubled and that didn't count the mail directly to the show itself. Requests for more broadsides on how to build better crystal sets, requests for parts, requests for more commodity prices on the morning farm reports, it just went on and on. In fact, there didn't seem to be a category of station programming that didn't have more feedback and suggestions for improvement.
He turned a corner. All this time on the air and we've only had one broadcast tube burn out. Way below Gayle's initial estimate but really close to what Art Berry had predicted if we would follow his advice about how to operate them, which we did. All in all, things are good. If that isn't enough to have me whistling a happy tune, there are the rest of the projects that GE is working on.
****
". . .Then Chief Dan Frost pulled out his guns and shot the evil horsemen as they galloped down the street toward him. All the townspeople, maybe some of your parents even, were up on the rooftops shooting at them until they were either dead or decided to give up.
"Then they all hopped into their trucks and sped down to the school house to help out Jeff, Julie and Dr. Nichols and the others who had been holding off the other band of Croats all by themselves. And that's how Grantville fought off the Great Croat Raid."
"So children, remember that in a democracy, everyone has to respect each others rights and stand up to defend them together. Now let us pray . . ."
In the barracks of the Yellow Regiment, one of the troopers threw a boot at the wall. "Again he did it, Swen! You and I both were there at that damned schoolhouse and this Fischer didn't even mention the part we or Captain Gars played."
"You're too sensitive, Henrik. It is just a story told to children. He doesn't mean anything by it."
"But, he's never given any credit to the part we're playing in fighting this war on any of his shows. No credit at all. I think we should say something to Lieutenant Ivarsson."
Chapter Twelve
February 1634, Jena, State of Thuringia, United States of Europe
Der Kronz was very pleased with himself and the results of this little trip to Jena. Add up all the new six-month ad buys and this was by far his best visit to this town yet. With the increased listenership, no one had even blinked at the latest rate increase. Sticking the folder containing this particular ad contract into his very thickly filled satchel was especially satisfying.
"So, Mordechai, what is it with the 'Marc'? Isn't the name your mother gave you good enough for you now?"
Marc grimaced. Cousins! Who could live with them? "I told you, Isaac. It's a perfectly normal and modern name for Jews in the twentieth century." Marc responded, "A very good name for dealing with all the up-timers around these days, and the Germans too for that matter."
"Leave your cousin alone, Isaac! If Mordechai wants to be called Mordy or Mortimer or Marc or whatever else, it's his business as long as he's still looking for a good Jewish girl to settle down with and have kids." Marc had hoped to avoid that particular topic this trip, so to his way of thinking Rachael's defense was a double-edged sword.
Marc was about to reply, when the door bell jingled as several burly, heavily dressed men walked in with grim expressions on their faces.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Isaac said. "How may I help you?"
"You can give us back our father's money that you stole for one thing, Jew." The man in the middle with the long blond beard snapped. "Franz Holstein. You and your dirty Jew usury ruined him."
Isaac should have known that Franz Holstein would cause him trouble. Nothing but hate in his eyes every time he came into Isaac’s door with his payment. Even when though Isaac regularly forgave him for being a few days late, never once did a thank you come out of his lips. But Isaac had been startled at the news of Holstein’s suicide on Christmas night, the Lutheran Christmas just past.
Isaac replied cautiously, "I heard about your father. I'm very sorry, but I assure you his unfortunate death had nothing to do with the loan. I offered to forgive him the last quarters interest and put him on a new payment . . ."
"Shut up, you Goddamned lying Jew." The man on the left slammed the palm of his hand down on the counter top. "Martin Luther was right! He called it. All of you are just poisoned, envenomed worms who should be expelled for all time. Well, this is the day, thief! We're here to take back all the money you stole from good Christians, just as Luther instructed."
All three men whipped out their down-time, single shot pistols and aimed them at Isaac and Marc.
Isaac raised his hands above his head as he slowly backed away from the counter. The pistols these men were brandishing were only accurate at a very close range. His chances were better further away.
"Gentlemen, please! Calm down! There's no need to do anything rash," Isaac began, using his gentlest tone, "Very well. You shall have your father's money. There is no need for bloodshed. Rachael, go to the back and bring out all the money we received from Mr. Holstein. Bring the accounting book as well, so these gentlemen can see for themselves it's all there."
Rachael, hands still raised, started backing toward the door to the back room.
The blond, bearded brother barked, "Stop, you Jew whore! My brother told you. All your money! Franz, go with the bitch. Make sure they have nothing left."
The third brother, evidently the youngest, tried to vault over the counter. His right boot landed awkwardly on the side of a stool behind the counter, tipping it over and losing his balance.
His pistol discharged. The loud sound rumbled through the small office as its shot burrowed it's way into a ceiling joist, startling the other brothers who responded by jerking the triggers of their pistols.
At the sound of the first shot, Marc raised his satchel to protect himself as Rachael screamed and dived for the open doorway behind her. While Franz struggled to regain his feet, the other brothers were at a loss as to what they should do next. Isaac heard one of the bullets buzz past his right ear, and quickly reached for the small of his back where he carried his modern Walther PPK/S pistol.
"Freeze, Holsteins!" Isaac he flipped off the safety and, using the two handed grip he had been taught, pointed the weapon at the nearest, now frozen, brother.
The front door crashed open, ringing its bell madly. "Committee of Correspondence! Lower your weapons and surrender!"
****
"Is everyone okay, Marc?" John Grover was still stunned at the close call that his sales manager had just relayed.
Marc nodded. He'd just arrived back in Grantville, following the aborted robbery attempt. Naturally, he'd first hurried to the station to turn in his contracts before retreating to his home for a very long and very hot bath to relax his tense muscles.
When he walked into the station, Maria Kurger and Fischer were finishing up double-checking the week's mail receipts with Helga Armbruster and John Grover. He collapsed in the nearest chair and blurted out the entire story.
"My God!" Fischer called out, "They quoted Martin Luther? Marc, I'm so sorry. So many things that man did that were so good, then just three years before his death a hateful publication like that."