After graduating high school, I worked as a night shift forklift operator in a boarded-up warehouse that hadn’t seen the light of day since 1923. While loading truck trailers of the warehouses contents and moving them to the Smithsonian, I found a strange machine in a large wooden crate.

This along with a room full of mathematical equations and theories piqued my curiosity. The equations and the machine gave me hope that I had found a time machine.

I took a leap of faith hoping that it would work, because I knew just where I wanted to go. I idealized the 1950’s, the music, the cars, and the innocence.

I love the 1950’s because my grandparents raised me after children services removed me from my mom’s care. My grandparents loved the oldies.

My grandpa used to play in rockabilly group in the 50’s and he taught me to play the guitar and sing. After my grandparents died and I moved out on my own, I joined up with a 1950’s tribute band.

I met an old guy named Big Mo who had sung in a doo wop band in Harlem in the 50’s. One day Mo opened about his beautiful and talented cousin Ella Smith, murdered by a cruel gangster in 1952.

1952 that was my destination. .