A natural phenomenon occurs each winter in the Midwest. The weather currents shift and for a few precious days, warm air follows the jet streams up from the south. The folks in Kansas City call it the January Thaw. The harsh winter sky gives way to the radiance of the sun and before you know it, the rolling mounds of dirt-laden slush piled up along the roads melt to reveal the crisp lines hidden underneath. Relative to the bitter cold just days before, forty-five degrees takes on the feel of sixty-five, and when the mercury hits fifty, which it does without fail, people all over town come out to rejoice in the unseasonable warmth.
After school you could catch Tommy running a buttonhook pattern in a full sprint across the street as his buddy Rick passes a perfect spiral. Two streets over, Mike Steurgon, a junior star on Ruskin Height’s varsity basketball team, just clunked a brick off of the basketball rim in his driveway. He could have made the shot – hell he’d been sinking it from that distance ever since his dad taught him how to shoot in the third grade. But then he wasn’t shooting with his dad… he was playing Vikki Carlyle in a game of horse, and he liked Vikki. Whether it was basketball, football or simply walking hand in hand with someone special, you did so without the burden of a winter coat.
Even Michael Murphy, a young up and coming defense attorney who was bucking for partner, wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. He’d clear his schedule and spend the afternoon cruising around the Plaza in his BMW ragtop. The thaw provided that much needed break in a winter that had already seemed too long. It was a chance for people to let their shoulders drop and relax. The fact that the warm front didn’t hit until after the weekend didn’t deter anyone’s appreciation for the event. Folks were used to that. In fact the timing fell right in line with the two defining principals you learned growing up in Kansas City. The first was that however unbearable the weather might be during the week, it would always be worse over the weekend. It didn’t matter if you were talking bitter cold in the winter, drenching showers in the spring or smoldering heat in the summer. The second fact was that if you didn’t like the current weather, just wait – it would be different the next day.
Though perhaps less dramatic than the physical elation you could see outside, the temporary break from the bitter cold also provided an escape for those who still had to work. While the pitman at the Quick Lube in Raytown was draining the oil out of a Ford Bronco, he was daydreaming about which Westport bars to hit that Friday night. The secretary across town in Overland Park might have been running through the motions of making coffee in the break room, but her mind was squarely on a matter much more important than keeping the urn full. She was busy trying to figure out how not to disappoint either of her two sons. They both had basketball games scheduled for the same time on Saturday. In Independence, the twice-divorced manager working the register at the Denny’s was so preoccupied with the size of his monthly bonus that he gave change for a twenty instead of a ten. And the metro cop speeding down the Thirteenth Street exit off of I-70 wasn’t pulling at the buckle of his holster in preparation of patrolling the downtown streets on foot. It was to adjust for the swelling growth in his trousers as he fondly remembered the redheaded hooker he caught soliciting the night before. In particular, he was reliving the mutually acceptable act of retribution he had received from the girl prior to sending her on her way.
That was what the thaw did in the Midwest. It gave folks a break from the daily struggle of winter. It allowed them the chance to dream. It was nature’s way of reminding everyone how much life has to offer.
Perhaps that’s why no one saw it coming? After all life goes on doesn’t it? But just like the short life of the January Thaw, all things come to an end. It’s just that no one ever figured the world would end on a Tuesday.
While driving along a side street in the small college town of Warrensburg some fifty miles east of Kansas City, a mother glances at her three-year-old son’s reflection in the rearview mirror. They’re on their way to see the doctor. She first noticed Timmy’s cough late Saturday, and even though it was probably nothing more than a common cold, she couldn’t quite shake her fear that there was more to it than that. She was about to steal another quick glance in the mirror when a black Volvo shot through the stop sign at the cross street right in front of them. In the fraction of a second that separates life from death, she stomped on the brakes and braced for impact. For that timeless moment, the only thing that mattered was the blur of black metal and sparks as the Volvo’s undercarriage bounced off the rise in the middle of the intersection. Then before she could warn her boy, the rubber grabbed the asphalt and flung her forward. As the car’s weight rocked back over the rear tires, she flipped around to the back seat and saw her boy pulling himself up off the floorboard. “You okay baby!” But she didn’t wait for Timmy’s answer. She immediately spun to the passenger window and screamed, “You know what a damn stop sign means… asshole!”
Rattled and mad, she jerked back behind the wheel and took her foot off the brake. That’s when she heard it – like a sudden clasp of thunder – the horrible crack of metal impacting metal. Every muscle in her body locked up as the nose of the Pontiac dipped for the second time under a hard brake. In one startled reaction, she found herself halfway across the bench seat in time to catch the black Volvo’s first flip as it sailed into the air at the next intersection. It was a sight that we hope we never have to witness, but at the same time, one that we can never turn away from. All she could do was stare through the frame of the window with her mouth gaping open as the tumbling mass of metal slammed against the asphalt and flipped again. The momentum sent the windshield sailing and threatened to rip the doors from their hinges. But what caused her heart to skip a beat was the brief glimpse of the driver’s arm and head. That drove it home. She wasn’t just watching the violent destruction of a car. She was witnessing the last seconds of a man’s life. The finality of that fleeting moment pulled her emotionally right in there with him to where she shared his fear. Then just like that - he was gone as the twisted mangle of metal and flesh flipped over the curb and slammed into the trunk of a giant sycamore. She flinched but maintained her stare as several dead branches fell to the ground and a flock of doves took to the sky. At street level, a blue Ford F150 coasted aimlessly across the intersection with the hood crunched all the way back to the cab.
She closed her mouth and took what felt like the first breath in several seconds. But still she didn’t move. Even though her emotions were still tied up in what just happened, the focus of her thoughts was beginning to shift. A slight tremble began in her hands that quickly intensified as it rolled up along her arms. What if she had crossed the intersection a half second earlier?
A few blocks to the north, a small diverse group of well-dressed men and women looked for a seat among the three rows of folding chairs in a small, turn-of-the-century brick warehouse. In front of them, a man in a white lab coat grinned and fidgeted as he waited anxiously behind a podium on a small stage. With one chair still open after the last person in the audience sat down, the man stepped from behind the podium, bit his lower lip, and said, “Good afternoon.” He paused briefly to look around and acknowledge each of those there. Then as he directed their attention to the empty chair with a slight nod of his head, he observed as only a true friend can, “As you know, Dr. Edwards would prefer to bury himself in the math behind our project. So I’m guessing that the empty chair is that way on purpose and that Jim won’t be joining us on this momentous occasion.”
He dropped his head to conceal the grin brought on by the constant behavior of his overzealous colleague as he stepped back behind the podium. But as he turned back around to address the audience, a feeling suddenly rose up that made him stop and stare at the exit door. For a split second, the situation struck a nerve of the familiar and pushed a single shiver up his back. In the air of that moment, he sensed the shadow cast under a heavy emotion. He could almost see his colleague bursting through the door. He even felt the need to blink just to see if anything would change.
Then just as strangely, the feeling passed. He redirected his focus back on the group and after a second he said, “I’m not going to make this a formal presentation. Most of you know me well enough to know that I’m not very good at this kind of thing – public speaking. What I’m good at is tinkering in the lab. So when my esteem colleagues said they were giving me twenty minutes… and that they wanted me to throw the switch as it were, at precisely three o'clock, I simply agreed with a nod.” He looked out over the small crowd and raised his hands as he smiled. “Don’t worry… I’ve never been one to be held to schedules. With that in mind, before I throw the switch, I do think some credit needs to be given.”
He stepped to the side of the podium and relaxed his posture. “Most of you who have ever stepped foot inside my office, know how engrossed I am with the incredible work of a few brilliant scientists. To name all whose brilliant contributions to the field have brought us to this juncture, would run me well past my three o’clock deadline, but I must give credit to three. Dr. T. Henry Moray and his theories on radiant energy, John Ernst Worrell Keely and his inspirational designs for a magnetic resonance amplifier, and the man whose life work and ambition can be traced directly to the name of this project, Dr. Nikola Tesla. For the laymen among us, Dr. Tesla is the man responsible for giving us the alternating current that powers our homes at night.”
He paused and nodded in recognition of those three men. Then he looked out over the faces of his colleagues. “Of course I can’t say enough about the project team. It’s hard for me to put into words the appreciation I feel for you - my colleagues.” He smiled as he motioned toward the audience. “In my eyes you stand above all others in your respective disciplines. You believed in this project and the possibility it represented enough to take sabbatical from some of the most respected universities around the world. You left your home and your families. You came here to Warrensburg and joined me. Without you… this would not have been possible.”
A man in the second row spoke up. “You may be idealistic in your applications Dr. Hilliard, but your genius is well recognized.” Another man seconded that thought as several others nodded in agreement.
Dr. Hilliard smiled. “Well I appreciate your vote of confidence. I know several of you questioned the economic feasibility of free power, but we’ll save that discussion for a later date. Speaking of free, this project wouldn’t have been possible without the funding and foresight of our benefactors. Specifically Central Missouri State University and Mr. Reginald B. Armstrong.”
Dr. Hilliard stepped over to a computer keyboard behind the podium. “I told you I wouldn’t take twenty minutes. Like you, I’m anxious to confirm our success. The objective of the Wardenclyffe Project was to overcome the obstacles faced by our predecessors, and in doing so, to carry their work forward to fruition. My theories as to why Dr. Tesla failed date back to my days in graduate school. As many of you have heard far too often, I’ve always theorized that his primary obstacle was the inability of his device to overcome the interference of naturally occurring resonant cycles. The world is made up of different frequencies. Look at the human mind, it generates measurable frequencies we call brain waves… and the earth, it resonates at a natural frequency of 7.8 Hz. This project is based on the belief that Dr. Tesla was prevented from being able to produce a verifiable transmission because of these competing frequencies. For us to succeed where he couldn’t, our goal necessitated the accomplishment of three dependent stages. The first was to develop an efficient system for the sub-harmonic resonant collection of free energy. Once that was accomplished, we needed a means to harmonize an electromagnetic transmission wave that would not be distorted by the natural atmospheric frequency of the Earth. Then finally we had to have the ability to receive and convert this energy to a usable form of electricity. If successful, we’d be able to transmit a form of usable power around the world without the use, or limitations of any physical conduits. Imagine all the peoples of the world having access to unlimited power. Think of the profound impact on the less fortunate. We’d be able to bring the most destitute and isolated into the twenty-first century.”
He stepped back from the keyboard to address the audience. “What I believe this team has accomplished… is nothing less than miraculous. It is in a matter of speaking, opening the door to the dawn of a new age. An awakening… in which I feel we’ll find that the potential applications for this technology are countless.” He paused as a siren raced along Business 50 outside. Then his chest rose with pride as he took a step to the side. “Founded in the theory of wave branching and harmonic influence, my hope is that this team has succeeded…” he stopped to flash a knowing smile as he raised his hand and crossed his fingers. Then he bit his lip and continued, “… My hope is that you are about to bear witness to the demonstrated ability for a dominant wave to influence and alter the inherent frequency of a subordinate wave.” He stopped and grinned as a mental image came to his mind. “Think of it as the ability of a magician to convince an entire audience that an elephant just disappeared. It’s the ability to influence… that’s the key. That’s what has enabled us to prevail where the very father of the theories this project is based on… couldn’t.”
Then he stepped back over to the computer terminal. “But enough talk. Now it’s time to see if our years of hard work and dedication were worth it. Have we succeeded in giving the world an unlimited source of free, clean energy?” Dr. Hilliard looked at his watch and called out, “Dr. Wilson… please note the time, its 2:47pm. If everyone will direct their attention to the register on the receiver… I present to you the first test of the Wardenclyffe Project.” Then he reached down and with a simple click on the keyboard, turned on the magnetic resonance amplifier.
