THE MAN FROM THE UNKNOWNS

By Gary Martin Burnell

How can a 400 year-old diary that was brought to America by John White, the Governor of Sir Walter Raleigh’s Lost Colony of 1587, contain Beatles' song lyrics? And what does Elwood, a college freshman who believes he’s an extraterrestrial, have to do with it? And how does Erica, the beautiful daughter of the U.S. Air Force’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Martin Burnell
• Release date: Mar 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578633503

Gary Martin Burnell

Gary Burnell is a retired High School English teacher.

Book preview

Table of Contents

One: America 1965

Two: Six Months Earlier

Three: Getting Real

Four: No Deposit-No Return

Five: Living By Faith, Not Sight

Six: College Freshmen

Seven: Is There Anybody There?

Eight: Erica’s Shocking Realization

Nine: Elwood And Erica, Round Four

Ten: The Eye On Self

Eleven: Seek And Destroy

Twelve: 1580’S London

Thirteen: Meanwhile, Back At S.e.l.f.

Fourteen: Knavelmania

Fifteen: London John’s Flashback

Sixteen: Courting Disaster

Seventeen: The Date

Eighteen: Hoaxes And Jokeses

Nineteen: Let’s Duke It Out

Twenty: The Revelation

Twenty-One: Self-Exposed

Twenty-Two: Where It All Began

Twenty-Three: Busted!

Twenty-Four: It’s About Time

Twenty-Five: Self-Deception

Twenty-Six: Shock Theatre

Twenty-Seven: Get The Picture?

Twenty-Eight: Mission Accomplished

ONE:

AMERICA 1965

As the jumbo jet cruised eastward to North Carolina, Erica sat back in her seat and sighed.

Repeated attempts to ram the impregnable wall of incongruity frustrated her to no end. What to do about the Elwood situation totally consumed her. Hopefully Dr. Peterson would have an answer.

Within the hour she was resting comfortably in a soft-leather chair in Dr. Peterson’s personal library, facing the distinguished, graying professor. I’m so thankful you could see me at such short notice, doctor.

He smiled. No imposition whatsoever, Erica. Always glad to be of assistance to an old colleague’s daughter. How is your father, by the way?

Recovering, she acknowledged. And back to work.

Good! Glad to hear it. Felt so sorry for him being put on the spot like that. Unfortunately, it comes with the territory in positions such as his. But enough about that. What do you want to know about the Lumbees in Robeson County? he asked.

Well, she began, you’ve written several papers on them and their claim to be blood relatives of Sir Walter Raleigh’s ‘Lost Colony.’ Unsolved mysteries of the past intrigue me, so I’m doing a research paper on them for my Freshman History class. So, without taking too much advantage of your friendship with my father, she smiled, I thought you’d be the one to know if anything has recently come to light concerning their sacred text.

Ah, yes, the Lumbees. he chuckled and leaned forward. I, too, was fascinated by their claim. Of course, the whole ‘Lost Colony’ story is really quite interesting. When John Watts reached Roanoke in 1590, three years after the colony’s planting, all he found was rummaged chests, rotted maps, rusty armor, and the word ‘Croatoan’ carved on a tree. Most historians presume that the colonists either starved to death or were killed by the Croatoans. But today’s Lumbee Indians, direct descendants of the Croatoans, disagree. According to them, the adult settlers died of sickness and the remaining children were adopted into to their tribe.

"And they have a diary in their possession which they feel supports their English blood claim, supposedly the personal diary of John White, the Lost Colony’s governor?’’

Dr. Peterson laughed. That they do. And at first I was taken in by them, and their sincerity. Was a hero to them, almost. But I needed to see the original. So they dug it up.

"Dug it up?’’ Erica asked confused.

Yes. They’d buried it with White after having a scribe copy it onto animal skins, figuring they’d eventually learn the white man’s language and possibly find something quite useful in it. So, through the years, the copies were recopied before they decayed. Their first presentation to the scientific community was a copy of, say, seventy years of age. They were laughed at. At my urging, they dug up the original. But it didn’t really matter--it was the content that branded them as deceivers, not the material itself. Which is also why I bowed out.

"Could you elaborate on that, Dr. Peterson?’’

Sure. Imagine this: lyrics of early Beatles’ songs. Fanatical fans, to say the least! Then they take a possible half-truth, like trickles of English blood running through their veins, and supposedly dig-up a four-hundred-year-old diary that substantiates their claim. Incredible! The doctor leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. The whole thing’s even dedicated to some mystery man named L. Wood who’s on a mission to find his lost parents!

Erica had begun to swoon at the account of the Beatles’ lyrics, but when Dr. Peterson referenced the dedication to Elwood, it was lights out.

Dear! Dear! Dr. Peterson shouted to his wife as he bounded out of his chair and around the desk to attend to her. She’s fainted!

Erica’s limp body, once in a forward posture with her elbows rested on her knees, now lay sprawled at the foot of her chair, sucking dust.

Mrs. Peterson came running in from another room and helped the doctor lift Erica to the nearby sofa and lay her down. Then she left and returned with cold compresses to set on her forehead. Erica soon began to stir.

Erica? Erica? Can you hear me? Dr. Peterson called.

‘’Yes, she muttered softly as she opened her eyes. I can. I’m OK ...I think."

Are you sure? See if you can sit up without getting dizzy.

Erica summoned her strength, tensed her abdominals, and forced herself up. Her vision was clear and she seemed to feel fine. I...I feel OK, actually, she declared. No, actually I feel quite embarrassed, she blushed as she swung her legs over the sofa’s edge and sat upright.

The Lumbee’s diary really got to you, didn’t it? laughed the doctor.

If only he knew, she thought. Well, let’s just say I can’t imagine anyone trying to legitimize a claim so obviously fraudulent. It just doesn’t make sense. Was there ANYTHING that stumped the researchers, anything to give their claim any validity at all?

The doctor thought for a moment, then hesitantly admitted, "Well, there is one thing that puzzled the experts, and does to this day.’’

Erica perked up.

But most experts are confident that the dilemma will somehow be resolved, given the nature of the diary’s content. The point in question is that the original diary paper and its ink test-out authentic. Never has anyone seen such a professional job of giving the appearance of antiquity. But of course, the school of higher textual criticism renders that interpretation totally absurd.

Of course, she replied, thinking ‘boy are they in for a surprise’. That would sure be something to see the original, she added wistfully.

I’ll take you there this afternoon, if you like, Dr. Peterson offered.

Confused, Erica replied, Where?

To see the original. Isn’t that what you want to do?

Seriously? You must be joking! she laughed. See the original diary? This afternoon? I was just thinking out loud, really.

Dr. Peterson was serious.

Really? Erica asked unbelievably.

Really! he chuckled. ‘’They’ll show it to anyone who shows an interest. And I’m still very well connected with their Chief. He’d be more than happy to see us today...or any day, for that matter. We’ll drive out there after lunch. How’s that?"

Oh, that would be wonderful! More than I ever hoped for. I’d be ever so grateful, doctor.

Within the hour they were out on the highway, Lumbee Indian Reservation bound. During the ride Erica decided to write her suspicions down in a letter that she would mail to Elwood, just in case something should befall her before her return home. By the time they left the smooth pavement for the rougher road leading to the reservation, Erica had finished the letter and stuffed it into her purse.

After a short spell, they finally entered into a modest clearing of homes. Erica’s excitement grew with every passing minute. She sensed that this just might be the most important event of her lifetime. If the diary proved to be truly authentic, corroborated by Elwood’s shenanigans, then mankind’s whole concept of time would change. And she would be the one who stumbled upon the missing piece and put the whole together.

Children were seriously at play throughout the neighborhood. Whoops and hollers, balls flying every which way, ropes a ‘twirlin’, life was in full swing. Dr. Peterson wheeled his station wagon past the children and up the finest compacted dirt driveway Erica had ever seen. And the two-story home at its end was none too shabby, either. It sported a turn-of-the-century wrap around porch to die for, upon which an older gentleman was found perched on the edge of a rocking chair, suspiciously eyeing Dr. Peterson as he pulled up and parked. By the time he and Erica disembarked, the scout had disappeared through the screen door and into the house.

As they walked toward the porch, Dr. Peterson turned to Erica. I need to warn you. He’s somewhat unrefined and may say things that are slightly offensive. It’s just his way.

Suddenly the entry door swung open and the oldster came out followed by a long-haired,muscular, very clean middle-aged man wearing sandals, bell-bottom pants, and a tie-dyed shirt.

Afternoon, good Chief R and R, Dr. Peterson greeted, then turned to Erica and whispered, R and R for Rock ‘n’ Roll.

Dr. Peterson, what a nice surprise, he smiled diplomatically. On behalf of the entire Lumbee nation, welcome! He then turned to the older gentleman. And thank you, Rock-a-Hula, for fetching Me.

You be the man, Red Rider, he responded respectfully.

Dr. Peterson began to reply, ‘’Thank you, it’s a pleas..."

‘’Who’s the babe?" interrupted the Chief.

Uh, good Chief R and R, this is Erica Smith, daughter of my friend and colleague Dr. Heinrich Smith of NASA, he replied.

Whoa, hey, yeah, wow! Erica Smith, eh? Oochie capesto! he boomed, the grinning idiot smile gracing his face slightly too familiar to Elwood’s for Erica’s liking. Hebephrenia was obviously no respecter of persons, native or otherwise.

Hello, I’m charmed...

And smoking hot, tool he added, then changed abruptly. Then you’re the daughter of that moron who got scalped by that high school freak on IT’S ACADEMIC?!

Well, I’m--

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being more laid to waste than he was. Of course, it’s not your fault you’ve got an idiot for a father, he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hey, that’s not--

How could such a bozo have such a fox for a daughter, I ask you that!

I beg your pardon I Erica snapped. He is my father, and...and…you’ve no right...

Though the Chief was still laughing sarcastically, Erica’s tone seemed to subdue his euphoria and he suddenly changed his demeanor. Oh, have I said something to offend you? May it never be. How can I make it up to you?

Boy was Peterson on the money. What the? I came in the hopes of seeing John White’s Diary. Is that possible?

Of course it is, he replied compassionately, then looked at Dr. Peterson. But the jackass stays outside!

Erica’s head jerked back in startled horror at the reference to Dr. Peterson. This did not escape R and R. "Are you OK? Is something wrong? ‘

Oh no. Nothing. She glanced quickly at Dr. Peterson, rolled her eyes, then returned to Chief R and R. I just have a twitch that comes on every now and then. I’ll be OK.

Fancy that! A bitch with a twitch. Well, scoot that pretty little butt into our humble abode and I’ll show you the Sacred Diarrhea. But Benedict Arnold stays outside! he roared as he flung the screen door open and charged inside.

The door shut in Erica’s face. She looked at Dr. Peterson sheepishly. There must be an easier way to debunk the space-time continuum, she lamented.

I’ll be right outside this door, Erica, Dr. Peterson offered. Both his words and his warm smile gave her the assurance she needed to feel safe. Opening the door, she bravely marched in.

The first thing she noticed about the place was the burning incense aroma of...English tea! What else?! Posters of English rock groups adorned the walls. What else?! And there in the exact center of the room was an altar to...the Beatles. Who else?! On the altar lay the sounding box of an acoustic guitar, and the flowers that surrounded it reminded her of the Sargent Pepper Lonely Hearts Club Band album cover. A short distance away sat a styrofoam head wearing a Beatie wig, rose colored granny glasses, and an Indian headdress of dilapidated feathers. The Chief was kneeling on a padded area in front of the table, bobbing up and down and moaning some sort of ceremonial chant. She decided to wait reverently until he finished, but as she listened she realized that instead of communing with his ancestors, he was ad-libbing words to the song ‘You Can’t Judge a Book by Looking at the Cover’.

Oh oh oh can’t you see, oh baby, you misjudged me. I may look like an Injun, but my ancestor’s from Dover, you can’t judge a book by looking at the cover.

As he finished, he wobbled his head rapidly from side-to-side and warbled Whew just like Paul and George did in the song ‘She Loves You’. The next thing R and R did once he got up from his knees was to open the hinged guitar top. Then he motioned to Erica to come closer. As she approached, he stopped her suddenly and demanded, ‘That’ll be twenty dollars to look at The Book, of which you will get a complete xerox copy, and twenty dollars for the informational Tour."

Forty dollars! This is how you make it up to someone?! Erica blurted.

Think Manhattan Island, and our prices will all of a sudden make sense to you. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. Informational tours are never given on Fridays, and I’m making an exception especially for you. Does that make it better?

Well, yes, I’m thank--

Hey, he snipped, cutting her off. We’ve got a real unsolved mystery here. If you’re looking for ‘Wish you were here’ tomahawks, or ‘It’s a good thing you weren’t here at the Little Big Horn’ tee shirts, you’ve come to the wrong place. This is serious, genuine documentation you’re about to see, honest Injun, so either slap me the cash, or sashay that cute little ash outa here.

Why you rude ---

Now, now. Name calling will only spoil the mood. If you’re short the cash, well, how about a date? He flitted his eyebrows.

OK! You win! she snapped as she dug the money from her purse. Here’s the forty bucks. And if I were you, I’d cut with the butt smut and start tour talking real fast, or I’ll scream and get Dr. Peterson in here. I bruise easily, and it’ll be my word against yours. You savvy, kimo sobbie?

Chief R and R never rock ‘n’ rolled so fast in his life. It was ‘goodness, gracious, great balls of fire’ as he dove to a cardboard box underneath the altar and came up with a Diary xerox copy, quickly handed it to Erica, then seized the items from the Styrofoam head and masterfully donned them. As Erica watched on, the Chief then assumed a trail guide posture by bending at his knees, hunching his back, and raising his right hand to his forehead as if to block the sun. Erica looked at him funny.

This is the only way I can find my motivation, R and R offered testily. Is that alright with you?

By all means. Know what you’re fighting for. Say yes to love. Do whatever you have to do. JUSTS TART TOUR-TALKING NOW, she boomed through a glare that would melt an iceberg.

OK. I think you’ve given me proper motivation. Many, many moons ago...

Oh brother, Erica moaned.

It worked for Hiawatha! the Chief pleaded, then continued. As I was saying, many many moons ago the Lumbee’s noble ancestors came to the aid of the courageous English settler, and in so doing, as you are about to see, should now share in the English birthright. We’ve commemorated their act of goodwill with a series of life-size diasporas just beyond that door where our tour begins. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll be so kind as to follow me, I’ll lead you to the glory days of yesteryear, and to the most fascinating page of English-American history the world has ever known.

Diasporas? Ladies and gentleman? What a riot. Erica’s eyes followed the Chief as he gallantly marched out the door and into yesteryear, then glanced back over her shoulder through the screen door to where Dr. Peterson reclined next to Rock-a-Hula. The distance, she concluded, was vocally surmountable, so she gathered her courage and charged after him, trying to forget that he was the biggest psycho she’d ever met. Unbeknownst to her, the letter marked ‘Elwood’ fell from her purse to the floor just before s he exited the room.

Once outside, she heard Beatles music blaring overhead and found herself standing on an oval cobblestone pathway that circled past eight curtained stalls. Several tall oak trees growing within the oval gave ample shade from the mid-afternoon’s glaring sun, and as she joined the Chief at the first station, he resumed his presentation. On a hunting expedition my forefathers came across the white man’s settlement at Pamlico Sound, which was an awfully piss-poor plot of land to start a new nation on, I might add, he laughed. We still chuckle over that one. He then reached up and pulled a cord to open the curtains of the first stall, revealing a semi-circle of five wooden cigar-store Indians standing around a piece of sod on a birdbath. A flag marked ‘Pamlico Sound’ was planted in the center of the sod. After a token moment of reverence, he pushed a button on one of the support poles and a stream of water came gushing out from the private sections of each of the wooden Indians directly onto the sod. We’ve spared no expense to recreate the high points of our heritage, the smiling Chief declared proudly. Just like being there, isn’t it? he thoughtfully added, then