S3: I Don’t Believe in Coincidences

Jeff (Dr. Robert Cope) was absent

[Dr. Oskar Orendorf’s letter to his Aunt Beatrix]

Monday, 4 Sept, 1933: Dear Aunt B, I had hoped to write you daily but so much has happened of late, to say it is hectic is too simplified a description. If only my days were as simple as setting the broken leg of the ship deckhand who fell thru an open hatch. The fact we have Professor Moore in charge is a blessing. The man has his hands full trying to “corral” Mr. James Starkweather’s news announcements. I can’t blame the man as he IS trying to secure financial backing for our expedition beyond his investment; but, his thirst for frontpage attention drives Moore mad.

Charlene Whitston

Mad like James’ ravings over Acacia Lexington’s announcement of her own expedition. You should have heard him scream, “GET ME A WOMAN!” They must have some history; she’s definitely put a burr up his behind. Anyway, if you’ve heard rumors of me out and about with women…it was all in the line of work. Moore assigned Robert and I the task of finding qualified women to include on this S&M Expedition. We already have a lead on a young Botanist Miss Charlene Whitston. And I’m interviewing a black ‘Amelia Earhart’ pilot. If Mr. Starkweather wants a “first female” candidate, might as well go all out.

I mean, I don’t know how close you’ve been following the expedition news. Big uproar about one of our black geologists, Willard Griffith (Rutgers football star). Anyway, he studied abroad to include in the Soviet Union. Now the papers label him ‘RED’, “a member of the Communist Party of the United States.” And there’s Mr. Stark stepping up to the microphone, “I don't give a rot about where he went to school or whether he is white, black, brown, red or purple. I only care that he is good at his job." Thanks to our German grandfather moving to America so long ago, I can enjoy such free speech; it sure wouldn’t be heard in the streets of Germany today!

Tuesday, 5 Sept: That same nagging feeling the Orendorf’s are known for. It’s not good to have one’s boss so distracted. So, my colleagues did a little research. A 1920 “Daring Rescue” article portraying a “brave and chivalrous Starkweather” rescuing “the socialite scamp Acacia.” Scamp; such an enduring term. No wonder Acacia was livid, “I didn’t need rescue, especially by that pompous ass.” Sounds like she has to prove herself to everyone. Maybe that’s why she took over the Lexington enterprises to the distain of the company board and their sexist dribble. Is she still proving herself by leading her own expedition? I wonder what makes Mr. Starkweather think her actions personal against him. There has to be more to the story.

My colleague Wilbur is chasing another angle to the story. He found a 1921 newspaper article about the tragic death of her father. Suicide? Speculation based on an “anonymous source” of financial problems. The distraught daughter Acacia calling the cops buffoons, “Daddy wouldn’t kill himself.” Her claims his death linked to the disappearance of a rare manuscript. Then days later recanting her story. The book not found but maybe just misplaced/misfiled. Coincidence? I think not. So, we researched more about the manuscript.

A rare proof of an Edgar Allen Poe book titled The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. Acacia HAD suspected a collector killed for it. If she hasn’t found it, why suddenly change her mind? Intriguing. So, we dug more. I called Professor Derby, head of the MU Library. He laid out its history of being sold by one collector after another. Once claimed an original, another claiming forgery/fake. Till Percival Lexington himself declared it a non-fictional account of a real Nantuckian stowaway sailing the Far Seas. His recollection of unusual creatures, hollow Earth, references to Antarctica.

Add to that Wilbur’s research into an auction house contacted for the potential sale of the manuscript by P.W. Lexington himself. Upscale, near The Empire State Building. Mr. Frank Boseley the proprietor willingly offering his own account. And even providing a letter from a Mr. Fuch who sold the 16-page manuscript to Percival. Disturbing recollections of “macabre…a tribe of inhuman horrors that dwelt in the Antarctic practicing human sacrifice.” Wilbur suspects Acacia found and read the manuscript. Is it coincidence she plans an expedition to the south pole? Should I fear father has fallen to cannibalism? No, I cannot tread that path that would add me to the list of weak-willed members. It is but another lump of coal that stokes my fire to find the truth behind father’s 1931 expedition. I owe my full efforts to my fellow teammates with whom I have bonded. They, and my father’s name and legacy are my utmost concern.

Wednesday, 6 Sept: Days away from sailing, more than enough preparatory work piling on my desk, yet I couldn’t get the manuscript nor Miss Lexington out of my thoughts. Only to glance at the morning paper and read about the murder of Captain Douglas! Remember the fisherman Zachariah Lindt in the cove next to your cottage? Yep, same ending. Except Auntie, I was just talking to him last night! Professor Moore wanted me to ‘smooth some feathers’ as you like to say. I found him at a low-life, seedy hotel, wanting nothing to do with Stark or the expedition. In his words, “I’m never going back to the pole. I’m not interested; never was!” Whatever made the man change his mind, is locked away with him in his casket.

Can you imagine my concerns when our hotel was stormed by reporters? I spent the morning faking a head-cold to avoid the reporters while waiting instructions from my bosses. Wilbur arrived to tell how he was cornered and questioned by a Detective Hanson working the case. How, “The reporters ratted me out, ‘Hey, there’s that Byrd guy…anything to say?’” Finally, Stark stepped out and made an announcement giving me the chance to slip out and meet with the gumshoe. The whole truth, nothing but the truth. There’s 2 hours I’ll never get back. The detective reasoning a simple mugging, “It fits with the docks and low-life area where he was residing.” And to think the ship sails in 3 days. Not soon enough in my opinion.

So, to stay busy, I began psych-exams of all the expedition crew. I had a feeling…you know…like dad…your brother always got his neck hairs standing on end. Wilbur gave me the clue, “It only takes one crazed member to sow chaos and cause catastrophes.” I’ve already identified a few others to keep an eye on. Weak willed. Such as: Avery Giles, the archaeology grad student. Anti-social and opportunistic. Then there is the drill tech Albert Gilmore. There is more to him than the physicals scars of the Great War flamethrower burn to his face; I’m seeing an underlying psychological scar that may manifest at the slightest stress.

Before I forget, do you remember my earlier letter that mentioned a Paul Danforth? We’ve since learned he IS a surviving member of the failed expedition. But a raving lunatic institutionalized by his wealthy family upon his return. Just released weeks ago as declared “functionally” cured. Only to be identified as a suspect in the break-in of the MU museum. Seems someone tried to access the 1931 expedition artifacts on display. More reason for me to contact the institution requesting doctor-to-doctor privileges to examine Danforth’s files. While tending physician Dr. Norton would not give me direct access, he is compiling a general case study using pseudonyms. Vague enough to protect the institute but detailed enough I should recognize Paul’s records. Hopefully get a clear picture of what troubles the poor man.

Thursday, 7 Sept: Wilbur came rushing into my room this morning with even more grim news. He had submitted a classified ad days ago trying to make contact with the crazed writer of that mystery note that warned against “waking the Sleeping One.” This morning he received another note: a 2^nd warning that includes threats. The diner cook describing the man as a "30ish redhead with dirty fingernails." The author admitted killing Captain Douglas as “the first to die.” Could this be Danforth?! I could only suggest Wilbur tell Professor Moore about it before contacting the police. Yet both Moore and Detective Hanson see the letter as just “crackpots who always surface at such notable times to gain a little publicity themselves.”

Friday, 8 Sept: Dear Aunt B, the clock-hands spin faster as our departure date nears. So little time remaining. Starkweather publishing more newspaper announcements to hype this expedition. And somber moments, pausing to attend Captain Douglas’ funeral. James providing kind words during the eulogy. A show of respect to Capt Douglas’ brother Philip who could only ponder, “Everything about that 1931 expedition…he was a changed man. Lost more than just those 2 fingers to frostbite. He was not well when he returned. Brought back an icy-black stone, so cold you’d think it caused the frostbite. And then to hear him speak of that boy Danforth. Screaming paranoia.”

And that’s when I lost it Aunt B. Spotted the man in the long trench-coat approaching Philip as we said our goodbyes. Him pulling out a pad and paper. A reporter! Good God, a damn reporter tormenting the poor man during his most vulnerable time. I grabbed the pad and laid into him, “Have you no respect?” Him only seeing headlines. Not seeing a man who had lost his brother. Has the world come to that? Headlines? I pray even more now that I can uncover what happened to father. Protect his good name from these hounds.

We sail early tomorrow. Relief Mr. Starkweather found a ship captain. Should I be concerned he is German? I can only wait and listen to his position on Jewish Rights; see if he is a supporter on the new Chancellor Hitler. I can only hope Mr. Starkweather was thorough in his background check of this man. Meanwhile, I can’t thank James enough for being willing to find and recover the bodies of the lost expedition. Hopefully, finally, bring dad home to rest beside mother. Wish us smooth sailing as we hopefully leave this dark mystery behind and focus on what lies ahead. I will write again, soon. Enclosed, you will find my last paycheck. Hopefully, I can send you a postcard from The Panama Canal.

Dr. Orendorf’s BIO   

Well he’s not married and worked at MU hospital while completing his degrees in psychology and pharmacy to add to his medical degree. He left behind his Aunt (father’s sister) who raised him whom he sends part of his pay every month. She is one of those tough as stone New England types who is a woman of few words. He writes her keeping her informed of how he is doing but much is interpreted in few words between them. If you know the type. Much is not straight forward; rather, using local stories to tell what is going on. Such as the captain meeting the same end as Zachariah Lindt the fisherman.

Next episode: https://rigglebmm.blogspot.com/2020/10/s4-i-drink-and-i-know-things.html