Forum Host- Joined
- Nov 27, 2018
- Location
- Chattanooga, Tennessee
This is a haunting tale if one believes in supernatural phenomena. If one can even begin to connect the dots of coincidence and believe in signs and wonders, how can warnings be given for the historical detective to take heed. I speak from first-hand experience of encounters with unlikely parallels that alone and separate mean nothing, but like the ticking clock that may be heard in the background, or the oscillating fan that rumbles first to the right, it's course is set, and it follows through. Stopping just long enough to count the times and patterns, they continue until at some divine moment a match gets struck and a reoccurrence erupts.
It all began with a story I wished to pursue regarding the Tift Brothers and their fantastical project of a new kind of design for boats. I went back to the beginning of their life, being born in the North and then as men, heading south. Nelson the eldest settled in Georgia, gained capital in business and farming. Asa went down to the Keys of Florida and began salvage operations. When the war broke out, the Union retained the Keys as a Naval station, and Asa lost his holdings. He traveled up to Richmond and presented a plan to the Government for building a boat with his brother's financial backing, named the Mississippi. Upon acceptance he traveled next to New Orleans and found land to purchase on the river as a boat yard, and checked about all the foundries, and all the carpenters, and the rates, and opened the project for bids. All of this was done under the auspice of Naval authority, yet he retained full control of the building program.
For whatever reason I first involved myself with following Asa Tift I can't really recall, other than wanting to write a story of suspense. Maybe due to the crisis of the moment as the war finally broke open, and the uncertainty of future times, it appeared that following Asa like a hound on a scent would answer some question as to what he experienced in times such as these. Somewhere in the midst of all this bustle as I researched his world, a sharp piercing thought occurred. This vessel, the one being built by this man I have shadowed will suddenly be brought off it's skids and launched prematurely, and burnt to the water's edge. I noticed this as a sign and wonder, as fires had suddenly begun breaking out among people that meant something special to me, and at uncanny times and coincidental places, such as the USS Reagan and a Carnival Cruise ship neighbors had taken. Another event was the Nissan cargo boat that caught fire. Again a good friend's garage burnt down on one of the coldest days of the year. So I stopped the project of following Asa due to the evident reality that the final product would be destruction. Do you dismiss better judgement when that intuitive thought beckons you to beware?
After it all was over with, and my curiosity abated to the point I thought little of it, I was laying upon my bed in drowsy slumber. I was a pipe smoker, and always enjoyed a good bowl of tobacco. I had a small cooking pot I would knock the ashes into when I came in from outdoors, and also to load the bowl above so residue would be concentrated when it dropped. There was some concentration in the pot, and I had come in from a good smoke outside, knocked the ashes out, set the pipe down in the pot with the concentrated residue, and laid back for that drowsy slumber I mentioned while ago. Something startled me awake, and I sat quickly up, and there was the pot with my pipe, and it was smoking like an Indian signal on a tall hill far away.
I instantly jumped up and grabbed the pot and went directly outside my door. On removing my pipe, I sat the pot down on my porch, loaded up my bowl with tobacco, and looking at the pot, I uttered, "Burn Baby Burn."
Lubliner.
It all began with a story I wished to pursue regarding the Tift Brothers and their fantastical project of a new kind of design for boats. I went back to the beginning of their life, being born in the North and then as men, heading south. Nelson the eldest settled in Georgia, gained capital in business and farming. Asa went down to the Keys of Florida and began salvage operations. When the war broke out, the Union retained the Keys as a Naval station, and Asa lost his holdings. He traveled up to Richmond and presented a plan to the Government for building a boat with his brother's financial backing, named the Mississippi. Upon acceptance he traveled next to New Orleans and found land to purchase on the river as a boat yard, and checked about all the foundries, and all the carpenters, and the rates, and opened the project for bids. All of this was done under the auspice of Naval authority, yet he retained full control of the building program.
For whatever reason I first involved myself with following Asa Tift I can't really recall, other than wanting to write a story of suspense. Maybe due to the crisis of the moment as the war finally broke open, and the uncertainty of future times, it appeared that following Asa like a hound on a scent would answer some question as to what he experienced in times such as these. Somewhere in the midst of all this bustle as I researched his world, a sharp piercing thought occurred. This vessel, the one being built by this man I have shadowed will suddenly be brought off it's skids and launched prematurely, and burnt to the water's edge. I noticed this as a sign and wonder, as fires had suddenly begun breaking out among people that meant something special to me, and at uncanny times and coincidental places, such as the USS Reagan and a Carnival Cruise ship neighbors had taken. Another event was the Nissan cargo boat that caught fire. Again a good friend's garage burnt down on one of the coldest days of the year. So I stopped the project of following Asa due to the evident reality that the final product would be destruction. Do you dismiss better judgement when that intuitive thought beckons you to beware?
After it all was over with, and my curiosity abated to the point I thought little of it, I was laying upon my bed in drowsy slumber. I was a pipe smoker, and always enjoyed a good bowl of tobacco. I had a small cooking pot I would knock the ashes into when I came in from outdoors, and also to load the bowl above so residue would be concentrated when it dropped. There was some concentration in the pot, and I had come in from a good smoke outside, knocked the ashes out, set the pipe down in the pot with the concentrated residue, and laid back for that drowsy slumber I mentioned while ago. Something startled me awake, and I sat quickly up, and there was the pot with my pipe, and it was smoking like an Indian signal on a tall hill far away.
I instantly jumped up and grabbed the pot and went directly outside my door. On removing my pipe, I sat the pot down on my porch, loaded up my bowl with tobacco, and looking at the pot, I uttered, "Burn Baby Burn."
Lubliner.
Bringing the