Alarms and Diversions: A Visit to the Thurber House

(In which the would-be author visits the home of his literary hero only to be confronted by chaos, confusion and comedic results.)

We are currently at the Renaissance in Columbus, Ohio awaiting a private tour of the James Thurber House. Of course, this was all the result of a curious and chaotic course of events that I will blog now that my computer is fixed...

Needless to say, the police were involved.

Over the river and through the woods to Mary's mother's house in upstate New York we're going (for Thanksgiving!). I know the way to ferry the, er, Chevy Cavalier through the bright and, uhm, open roads. Oh!

Once you start one of those songs it can be hard to make reality fit...

We departed Crystal Lake at 5:28 a.m. with two destinations in mind: The Columbus Renaissance Hotel and the James Thurber House at 77 Jefferson Street, the boyhood home of my literary hero. This was to be the culmination of a life-long dream I've had since the home opened in 1984.

We were at the hotel by 1 p.m. EST and to Thurber's house by 1:35 p.m.

Now, I had traded emails with Marlaine from the Thurber House earlier in the week who assured me: "Sundays are a good day to visit since we have tour guides available."

In addition, she told me: "Safely assume we're open unless I email you again."

She didn't. Hence, we were all goose-pimply with anticipation upon our arrival. We parked right in front of 77 Jefferson St. because the parking lot was locked shut. That should have been an omen. A cynic would have already begun to panic.

Us? We took up the offer on the front door sign and walked right in...

Nice foyer. Now, at first, we mistook the loud alarm as some sort of signal to someone, maybe an employee in the back, that guests had arrived. Then we heard a robotic voice warn us to "Exit the building immediately. The police have been notified."

Not quite the welcome we had been promised... Confused, we exited back to the front porch. Why would the door at this national landmark (a plaque assures us it is a landmark right there on the front porch) be unlocked if the house was closed? Why would the house be closed when a sign clearly says it is open Sunday? Why would I be emailed that the house was open to visitors only to be rudely threatened with arrest? Was this not an alarm but, perhaps, the voice of the infamous ghost from "My Life and Hard Times"?

"The DAY the Ghost Got In" perhaps!

Our minds whirled. That whirling coincided with the arrival of the first set of officers in a police van. The alarm had stopped, apparently convinced of our retreat, only to be started up again when the officers entered. By then, two more visitors arrived, convinced, too, by Thurber House employees, that volunteers would be running tours from 1-4 p.m. They were locals and could easily reschedule. We had driven 413 miles and I had Griswolded this stop into an unbreakable schedule calling for our departure at 6 a.m. the following morning, some seven hours before the house would allegedly be open again.

A squad car now joined the police van at the scene, alerted by the new set of alarms set off by the first set of officers. I am convinced Jefferson Street had not seen so much commotion since "The Day the Dam Broke." Certainly, it had not seen so much confusion.

The new officer joined his fellow officers inside. Mary and I amused ourselves by taking a set of pictures that appear to show me stealing Thurber's pumpkins. For that, I received a Thurber sliver from Thurber's porch. I was about to turn a little surely...

"That's a great house. I have never been in Thurber's house before," one of the officers said as he exited. The officers declined to have their pictures taken. "Nothing good ever comes out of having our pictures taken," another officer said, smiling. They DID contact the alarm company and "Jeff" was either going to show up to disable the alarm or call Thurber House employees to alert them that the door was unlocked and visitors, now numbering four, were threatening to get unruly. Or, at least, threatening to take a pumpkin home as a souvenir.

Within 20 minutes, Chuck arrived. He is in charge of maintenance for the Jefferson Center which oversees the Thurber House property. He let the four of us in, disabled the alarm, apologized for the missing volunteers, but explained his mother was stuck outside in his car. We agreed he'd call us at 4 p.m. back at the Renaissance and arrange the full-private-tour treatment!

Optimistically speaking, the worst we can expect are "More Alarms at Night."

More later,


Mark