As our carriage arrived at San Francisco International Airport, and we stepped out to the terminal I had my doubts about the wisdom of allowing Louis Sullivan to join me on this short trip. But he knows how to be most persuasive.
Much to my surprise, this 19th Century architect breezed through the security screening and we were soon strolling leisurely through the terminal.An unexpected perk of traveling with a man of the Edwardian era and one who is an artist and poet is that he looks at small details. He was immediately drawn to the display of "antique" gambling machines in the United terminal.We opted not to walk along the mechanical sidewalk and instead observed these varying pre-Vegas mechanical oddities."Very steam punk," I observed. He stared back at me, clueless of what I was referring to, and I didn't bother trying to explain.
"Ah, many a penny lost with that one..." His head hung low, and it started coming together that these machines may have played some role in his financial demise.
"Alas, much in life is an endless gamble, is it not Mr. Junk Thief?" he queried.
He brushed his hands against each box, examining it closely until we reached the food court. "Might I find fish and chips or refreshing aspic?" he asked. I assured him that we'd have fuller fare once reaching Denver and steered him over to have a little snack of red bean ice cream and Oi Ocha green tea. "You know, Frank Lloyd Wright introduced me to these in the pre-teens," he said. I patted a bit of ice cream that had dripped onto his beard. "That was before our parting of the ways..." He stared off into the crowd, not exactly sullen but clearly not as refreshed by our snack as I had been.
Noticing there was a bit of ice cream on his hands, I took Mr. Sullivan to the men's room to wash up. You've really not lived until you've shown a 19th century architect how to use a Dyson hand dryer. After I explained who Mr. Dyson is and his passion for design, Mr. Sullivan asked, "Will we meet him in Denver?"