Boomtown Page 12

  “Thank you. So are you,” she said graciously.

  “I’m Sarah, and this is my baby sister, Holly. I’m ten years old. That makes me the big sister.”

  “Yes, it certainly does,” Samora said, with a gentle laugh.

  “I’m sure you’re a very good big sister. And who are these others?”

  “This is my mom and dad, and this is Ruth and Jonny.” “Pleased to meet all of you.” Samora shook hands all around. “And now let me introduce you to my great-grandfather.” She gestured to a large painting of the inventor with a brief printed history of his life and career hanging next to it.

  We studied the painting for a moment, and then Janice commented, “It says here that your great-grandfather was a member of the Xhosa tribe from the western cape of South Africa. How did he get from Africa all the way here to Boomtown?”

  She smiled and answered in a soft voice, tinged with a distinctive South African accent. “He didn’t precisely come so much as he was taken,” she said. “In 1854, he was captured by raiders and sold into slavery. He was only fifteen at the time.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Separated from his family and home, he survived the voyage to America—many of the people who were taken did not. He landed in Virginia and from there was sold to a plantation owner just outside of Atlanta. For nine years he worked as a slave in the fields until the owner and his sons left to fight in the Battle of Gettysburg. Mfana decided to escape and make his way north. He was helped along the way by none other than Harriet Tubman herself, who guided him to a safe house of Thomas Garrett in Wilmington, Delaware. He lived there secretly for six weeks.”

  “We learned about the Underground Railroad in school,” Sarah said.

  “That’s good. If it weren’t for Harriet Tubman and Thomas Garrett, my great-grandfather might not have survived. As it was, Mr. Garrett soon learned of Mfana’s nimble mind. He taught him how to read and write. Into the wee hours of the night, he studied and prepared himself for the next stage of his escape. Arrangements were made to send him west. While he traveled by train, wagon, or on foot he continued to read. He read anything he could lay his hands on. Do you like to read?”

  “It’s my favorite thing to do,” Sarah said. “I love books.”

  “Excellent! Reading is what you need to do. Then you could grow up to be like Mfana. Because he was so smart, he was able to work his way across the country. With each new job, he mastered new skills. He was an apprentice to a blacksmith, carpenter, wheelwright, cobbler, liveryman, farrier, miller, and so on. He learned about astronomy, philosophy, religion, government, history, finance, metallurgy, geology, chemistry, and mechanics.

  “By the time he was forty-two, he’d reached the West Coast and San Francisco. That’s where he met my great-grandmother, Nthati. Just like Mfana, she was an escaped slave from South Africa. Isn’t that amazing? Two people from the same place meeting on the opposite side of the world! They were soon married and later gave birth to my grandfather; his name is Mendi. But Mfana was restless; he didn’t want to stay in San Francisco. He had big ideas. He had a dream!”

  Sarah’s eyes were as big as full moons. “I have dreams all the time. Did he dream about unicorns? I’m always dreaming about unicorns. And ice cream.”

  Samora knelt down so she could look Sarah in the eye. “Do you like inventions? Fantastic machines? Unbelievable discoveries? That sort of thing?”

  “I do!” Sarah answered enthusiastically.

  “Then you would have liked my great-grandfather. When he was working for a blacksmith, he plunged a bar of super- heated metal into a bucket of water and watched the steam rise from the bubbling surface. It made him think about riding the steam locomotive on his journey west. He wondered, was there a way to generate an uninterrupted source of steam power? He could put the steam under pressure, hook it to a steam motor, and hook that to shafts and gears and wheels. All he needed was steam, lots and lots of steam.”

  “So what’d he do?” Now it was Jonny asking the questions.

  “Mfana needed a volcanic region of the country, a place where he could tap into geothermal energy. That place was Washington.

  “He arrived here in 1882 and traveled all over looking for the right spot. Boomtown was perfect. It was still called Change at the time; that was when Chang was still alive. They became fast friends, and together they created the wonderful inventions you’ll see here in the museum. With the money he made through their patented successes, Mfana built this house. He built his dream.”

  “It’s absolutely amazing!” Janice said. “We can’t wait to see what he’s done.”

  “Then let’s get started. But maybe you’re cold after being outside in the snow? Maybe you’d like some hot chocolate, children? And some coffee for your mom and dad?”

  Sarah grabbed Samora’s hand. “What are we waiting for?”

  We followed Samora from the main entrance, down the hall to the right, and into the kitchen. And what a kitchen it was! Every surface gleamed in bright stainless steel. Overhead lamps illuminated the windowless room with incandescent light. A counter with a conveyer belt wrapped around all four walls; it surrounded a large U-shaped cooking area in the middle of the room.

  Just to the left of the double-swinging doors stood a con-sole with various actuator knobs, each of them labeled with the name of their corresponding function. The top row said: LIGHTS, HEAT, WASH, DRY, VACUUM, DISPOSE, LIFT. The second row (breakfast) said: TOAST, EGGS, BACON, SAUSAGE, JUICE, COFFEE, and COCOA. The third row (lunch) said: SOUP, SANDWICH, SALAD, CASSEROLE, FRUIT, LEMONADE, and TEA. The fourth row (dinner) said: STEAK, CHICKEN, FISH, BREAD, VEGETABLE, and DESSERT.

  Samora said to Sarah,“Go ahead. Pull the lever that says COCOA three times and the one that says COFFEE twice.”

  She pulled each of them, and we watched as a small door in the wall across the kitchen opened and three mugs slid out onto the conveyer belt. Right behind them came two coffee cups and saucers. The conveyer carried them along the counter where each of them stopped long enough for hot steaming cocoa and coffee to pour out of spigots that hung over the conveyer belt.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Whipped cream?”

  “Yes! Lots of it!”

  Samora reached over and activated two smaller knobs in rows along the bottom. Their labels read: CREAM, SUGAR, BUTTER, HOT, COLD, DRESSING, RARE, MEDIUM, WELL-DONE, SALMON, TROUT, RED, WHITE, and so on. I surmised they were modifiers to customize whatever a person might order. We watched as the mugs received a shot of whipped cream while our coffee cups stopped for a squirt of cream and a teaspoon of sugar supplied by dispenser tubes. A small whisk extended from its housing to stir the coffee. Then the cups finished their journey down the conveyor belt and stopped right in front of us. Samora explained the operation of the amazing, self-propelled kitchen while we sipped on our hot drinks.

  “You’re probably wondering what drives the belts and doors and ovens and other apparatus in this room. It is the same power that drives the entire house: geothermal energy. My great-grandfather’s dream is built into the floors and walls and outbuildings. As soon as you are finished, I’ll show you the power source.”

  We finished quickly and placed our cups on the conveyer. Sarah was allowed to pull the WASH actuator, and the dishes disappeared behind another door in the wall. Then it was Jonny’s turn. He pulled the LIFT knob and we jumped in surprise. The floor section we were standing on gave a quick lurch and began to slide downward with a loud hissing sound.

  “It’s all right,” our guide said. “I should have warned you. It’s a little startling at first.”

  The hissing noise continued as we headed down. The floor above our heads slid shut while lights in the wall flickered on to illuminate our descent. We passed by several dimly lit openings marked with signs that said LEVEL A, LEVEL B, and so on.

  “We won’t be stopping at any of the sublevels where the variou
s exhibits are kept and maintained. We’re going down to the lowest level, where the power generation system is located.”

  A few moments later, the elevator stopped to reveal a most amazing sight. As far as our eyes could see, shiny, chrome pipes grew from the floor, up through the ceiling, and into the house above. The maze of pipes surrounded a larger central area, where wisps of steam and the hum of machinery could be seen and heard. A pathway between the pipes was clearly marked with painted lines and was secured by safety ropes on both sides.

  Samora led us to the main station. With a wave of her hand, she said, “This is where it all happens—my great-grandfather’s greatest invention, and the secret behind all the marvelous wonders in the museum.”

  “What’s that big machine?” Jonny asked.

  “Those are the turbines that are driven by the geothermal steam coming up from below the earth’s surface. My great-grandfather chose this spot because it is here that the hot magma rises close enough to the earth’s crust. It enabled him to drill a shaft deep enough to reach the liquid stone. Water is pumped from the river and poured down a shaft where it vaporizes and returns to the surface as steam under pressure. It is forced through these pipes to the turbines. The steam makes the turbines spin, and they produce electricity to run the house. The steam is also used to heat water for sinks and showers. It drives steam-powered motors and hydraulic systems including the elevators, vacuums, and doors—all activated by the levers you’ll see in every room. The used steam condenses into water and is pumped back into an injection well and reused. Some of the excess steam is pumped into condensers that provide rain in the conservatory. You’ll get to see that later. But for now, do you have any questions?”

  “Dr. Losotu invented and built all of this?”

  “As I said, he was a tremendous reader. He adapted many of the ideas and concepts invented by others and applied them here. He was the first one to tap into the heating power of the earth and turn it to practical use, that’s true, but much of what he did depended on the work of others. Leonardo da Vinci was writing about hydraulics as early as the 1400s. James Watt built the rotary motion steam engine back in 1781. Siemens and Gramme invented the first electric generator in 1870. Archimedes, John Whitehurst, Nikola Tesla, Thomas Edison, Elisha Otis, pioneers of motion and energy, steam, and electricity—all of them were heroes to my great-grandfather. Personally, I think they would have been proud of what he accomplished using some of their ideas.”

  We spent a few more minutes looking around, but it was uncomfortably warm and sticky down in the “power farm,” as Samora called it. We started looking for the exit.

  “Over here,” she said. “The children are going to enjoy this. I certainly did when I was their age.”

  She led us over to a niche in the wall where there was an elevator. It had upholstered seats around three of the four sides with seatbelts and shiny brass handholds. The polished wooden walls had elegant, beveled windows in them, and so did the two doors. The floor was covered with thick, red carpet.

  “Get in,” she said, “and make sure you use the shoulder and lap belts. It’s quite a ride, let me warn you! Make sure you hold tight to the baby.”

  “I’ll just use the stairs if that’s all right with you,” I said, eyeing the elevator nervously.

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Button,” said my wife. “Don’t be an old poop.”

  I stepped into the velvet-lined box like it was a coffin. I strapped on my belt and counted the buttons on my sweater. Janice double-checked each of the kids and wrapped her arms firmly around Holly.

  “Hold on tight!” Samora warned. She reached over and pulled an actuator switch. We heard a hissing blast of steam the instant before we were launched like a rocket—my guess was about thirty feet per second. The walls of the elevator shaft flew past our eyes. Up through the glass windows of the ceiling, I saw the roof of the house swing open with gray overcast skies overhead. We raced up, up, up, and out into the cold afternoon air, through the roof until we whooshed to a stop about five stories above the house.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Janice gasped. To our surprise and relief, baby Holly had slept through the exciting ride.

  “Woohoo! Do it again! Do it again!” The kids were thrilled.

  “No! Please, no,” I groaned, turning a little green. My stomach was down in the basement and my head was in my lap. I felt like I’d being thrown through the ceiling like Walter’s barber chair. “I’m ready to go back down now—as slowly as possible if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course,” said our guide. “Nice and slow.”

  She activated another lever, and with an audible hiss the elevator descended along the telescoping pole it was mounted on. It rotated slightly as it descended, giving us a full view as we slid downward. We could see the spire of our church; we saw the town hall, the fireworks factory, even the smoke rising from the Hopontop reservation over the horizon. Down by the river, past the gardens and apple orchards near the back part of the property, we could see clouds of steam hanging over a windowless, cement building with a spider web of poles sticking out of its roof and wires stretching away from the building toward the main part of town. “What’s that?” I asked, clutching the handrail and pointing toward the strange building.

  “That is the Boomtown Geothermal Plant, another one of my grandfather’s gifts to the town he loved. It’s basically a larger version of the geothermal generator that runs the house. The turbines produce enough electricity to power the entire town—with some to spare. You probably noticed that you don’t receive an electric bill at your house?”

  “I never thought about it. I guess we don’t.”

  “You won’t have an electric bill for the church or any-where else in town. That’s because everyone gets free electricity from the power plant. The Losotu estate pays for any necessary repairs—those are done by my father and brother, who take care of the maintenance for the property. My mother and sister are in charge of the gardens and cleaning, what little there is. They also conduct tours and teach classes. My nephews take care of all the exhibits. It’s our family legacy.”

  Janice said, “It’s absolutely wonderful. Free power for everyone?”

  “It’s even better than that. The power plant is a self-sustaining system. As the steam cools, the water drips down into an underground holding tank where it can be reused. The cloud of steam that hovers over the building mists all the surrounding plants in the gardens. Having abundant electricity means we don’t have to cut down trees for fuel or burn oil or coal. It works for everyone without hurting the rivers or forests or the animals that live there.”

  By the time she finished her explanation, we were passing back through the roof. The clamshell roof panels tilted closed behind us. Samora pulled the STOP lever and the elevator hissed to a halt on the top floor.

  “Everyone out!” she said, standing up and swinging the doors open. “Our next stop is a favorite for busy mothers—and children who don’t like to do chores.”

  “That would be me,” Ruth said.

  “And me!”

  “And me!”

  We bundled out of the elevator into the hallway and stopped in front of what appeared to be an ordinary bed-room. Looking through the door we could see a bed, two nightstands mounted on the walls, a chair, a small table, and a wardrobe with a mirror. It was stylishly decorated with heavy curtains over the windows, attractive paintings on the walls, and a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. We could see through a side door into the adjoining bath-room, covered from floor to ceiling with gleaming white tile and chrome. There was a control station just outside in the hallway. There were similar controls for each of the other rooms.

  “I know this room doesn’t look that special. But Ruth, go ahead and pull one of the levers—anything that looks interesting to you.”

  Ruth studied the panel and then pulled the actuator marked VACUUM. As soon as she did, the bed, the chair, the table, and the wardrobe slid upward on hydraulic pis-tons,
clearing the entire floor of any obstacles. The base-board along the right wall popped open and long vacuum heads were pushed across the carpet, dragging hoses behind them. When they reached the far wall, we heard the loud sound of suction come on. The vacuum heads retreated across the floor back into their wall sockets. Within a minute, the entire room was freshly vacuumed and the furniture was lowered back into place.

  Janice said, “Oh, I want one of those!”

  Like most homemakers, Janice hated vacuuming almost as much as she hated washing windows. That’s when she saw the WINDOWS knob. When she pulled it, a cloud of hot steam shot onto each of the windows. The top half slid up into the wall and the bottom half went down. When the window closed again, it was clear as crystal.

  Janice rubbed her hands together and said, “I want two of those.”

  Samora explained. “There’s a rubber blade inside the wall and a drying unit. As the windows go up and down, they’re wiped clean and blown dry. In a three-story house, auto-clean windows are a big time saver. No ladders!”

  Then Samora turned to Ruth. “Go ahead and pull the BATHROOM lever.”

  She did, and we watched the door to the bathroom slide shut and heard the blast of steam jets behind the door.

  “What’s happening in there?”

  “The sink, toilet, and bathtub are filling up with super-heated water mixed with disinfectant. Steam jets are filling the entire room with a cloud of hot steam mixed with lemon. That makes everything smell good. Then all the water drains out, and a fan turns on and dries out the room. The entire operation takes about four minutes from start to finish.”

  Janice was amazed. “A self-cleaning bedroom and bath-room! With a self-cooking kitchen and self-washing dishes. Dr. Losotu thought of everything!”

  We heard the sound of a small bell like an egg timer. The door to the bathroom swung open. Every surface sparkled and every fixture gleamed. Clean as a whistle and dry as a bone.

  “Over there behind the two small doors in the wall is the chute to the laundry room. The one marked with an H is for hot-water clothes. The other marked C is for cold water. Throw in sheets, pillowcases, shirts, dresses, and under-clothing. They fall down to Basement Level One, where the automatic washers, dryers, and ironing system cleans, dries, and presses your clothes. Open the third door and pull the actuator next to it, and fresh linens are delivered direct to your room.”