Dreams Do Come True
by
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Sally paused momentarily before knocking on the door of room 205. She knew she was wrong in going to the second floor of the aging waterfront hotel without the approval of her chaperon, but she charged right ahead without considering the possible consequences. "Well, if it isn’t our little songbird!" She had neither seen nor heard the approach of the creepy old man in the dimly lit hallway and was frightened by his sudden appearance. Trying to step around him, she said, "Please excuse me. I must have the wrong room." "No, my dear. I sent you the note. The boys want a private performance." Grasping her arm, he opened the door and propelled her into the noisy, smoke-filled room. She shuddered when she saw five or six disgusting old men slumped around a small card table, smoldering cigar butts clenched between smoke-stained teeth. Others, no less repulsive, were scattered around the room, drinking and ogling the new arrival. - - - The gentle breeze off the river had almost lulled her to sleep when there was a slight sound from the door. Did I lock the door? she wondered. The garden lights cast a dim glow in the room but not enough to see if the chain was in place. She thought she heard the doorknob turn followed by a soft tap. "Who is it?" Her voice quivered as she spoke. "It’s your friend from Alexandria Bay. I want to apologize for the other night. Let me in Sally." - - - Sally was the first to realize their small boat had drifted into the main channel and was caught in the treacherous current. The hotel lights were no longer in sight and their "path to the moon" became jagged as the stiffening breeze whipped up the surface of the water. When the rain suddenly lashed their shivering bodies, they lost contact with all else until they became aware of the incessant throb of the engine of a freighter. It was like the booming base drum of a marching band and, as it drew closer, they could feel the vibrations. Were they in the path of this unseen towering giant? - - - The boat slowly settled into the river spilling them into the icy water, which seemed even colder than the wind-driven rain. After hours of stark misery and fear of impending death, the rain began to taper off and the eastern sky lightened enough for them to see islands ahead as they drifted downstream. However the current was not about to release them, playing sadistic tricks, propelling them directly at one island after another only to whip them right or left at the last moment.
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About the Book
While DREAMS DO COME TRUE is completely fictional, the author felt the adventures of his wife during the 1930s in and around Syracuse, New York and the Thousand Island area of the St. Lawrence River would be worth recording. That is not to say she actually did all of the crazy things Sally Kirby does in the book, but she came close enough for the author to fill in all of the potentially dangerous antics Sally stumbles into. The names of several real people appear in these pages but their words and actions were contrived by the author and cannot to be taken literally. Their parts in the story could have occurred had they been aware of what might have been going on as related in these pages. Romance, adventure, danger, music and theater are combined in this story about a teenager seeking and eventually finding her niche in a world rapidly shifting from the strictures of family ties to one of unbridled opportunity. Sally demonstrates the slogan of a world renowned clergyman, "If you can dream it you can do it." And she does it.
About the Author
George W. Wyckoff was born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago where he had ready access to the great bands of the day. During his high school years he had a summer job in the city making it possible to take in many stage shows in and around the Loop as well as The Century of Progress World’s Fair on the lakeshore. While in school he took an interest in set construction and lighting, but says he was too shy to appear on stage. During his two years at Antioch College, he developed an interest in classical music and writing short stories. Nothing was published and the seeds lay dormant throughout his forty-year career in the copper and brass industry. In the 1950s he and his wife and children restored an 1830 house in Peninsula, Ohio along the abandoned Ohio Canal and helped convert a barn into a summer theater. This led to various roles on and off the stage for George, his wife, and older daughter. After retirement, with their four children married and scattered across the country, they traveled the eastern states and spent winters in Florida for fifteen years. It was only when they settled down in Cooperstown and Fly Creek, New York--and a daughter gave them a computer--that he was inspired to hammer out the story which had been simmering on the back burner for several years. He and his wife, June, still live a peaceful life in Fly Creek, three miles up the hill from Cooperstown, in an area populated by many ancestors on both sides of the family in the 18th and 19th centuries.