Simmie Johnson was born the son of a slave. He was also a genius. After earning a PhD in physics from Tuskegee Institute, he wrote a paper outlining a theory for time travel, including plans for a time machine—called a Chronocar—which was published in a scientific journal in the early 1900s. Since the technology required to build the Chronocar did not yet exist, the paper and its brilliant writer faded into obscurity.
A century later, a young Illinois Tech student, Tony Carpenter, discovers the journal article and decides to build a Chronocar so he can travel back to 1919 to meet the black scientist he hopes to emulate.
Unfortunately, time is not on his side.
Dr. Johnson is living in Chicago’s Black Belt with his beautiful daughter, and Tony arrives just in time for the bloodiest race riot in the city’s history. Can Tony use the Chronocar to save his new friends, or will his attempt forever alter the future he hopes to return to?
Targeted Age Group:: 16 yrs to adult
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I have always had a love for science fiction. Real science fiction. Not necessarily stories about aliens and space battles, but “everyman” stories that people can relate to. As an African American author I chose to write from that perspective, one that I know best. However, my stories are not just for African American readers. Anyone can relate to the conflicts and challenges that the characters experience.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sG5wrRUj78
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
Characters are often inspired by real people. Not exactly, however. I may take attributes of several people to create a single character. So no one would recognize themselves. The one exception is that in at least two of my stories, the main character is based on me.
Book Sample
Straw Boss called out “Quittin’ time!” just before the whistle blew. Thirty shirtless exhausted men, their brawny bodies gleaming with sweat in the hot Mississippi sun, stopped what they were doing, not wanting to give the company a minute more than what they were getting paid for. It was a typical railroad work gang: coolies from China carried and placed the heavy ties, their bowed heads covered in traditional straw hats, and the Irishmen were trusted with actually laying the track. But the Negro men did the hardest and dirtiest work—digging ditches, moving big rocks, and some were allowed to pound in the spikes that fastened the iron to the wooden ties. Three-and-a-half miles of fresh railroad track lay behind them, and nobody had died. It had been a good day.
Simmie Johnson was in mid-swing. His herculean arms glistened in the sun as he brought the big hammer down. His cousin Willie held the stake in place and barely got his hand away as Simmie punched it several inches into the ground with a loud plink! Only one more stroke to go.
Simmie wielded the heavy mallet with ease. He was a tall, buff, handsome young black man, with a gentile nature about him, qualities that did not go unnoticed by young females. But Simmie had no time for women. Not now, at least. He had more important things to concern himself with, like finishing up here, collecting his pay, and getting home. The time would soon come when he would leave this dreadful life behind and make something of himself. Soon, very soon.
“Come on, Simmie,” Willie called. “We done fo’ today.”
Simmie followed Willie and the other weary workers to the tool wagon, where they surrendered their picks, shovels, and hammers to Straw Boss, a wiry middle-aged sunburned white man who had earned his position solely through his heritage.
“Put mine in the corner,” Willie said as he handed in his pick. “I want to use the same one next week.” Straw Boss threw Willie’s pick onto the pile.
“Hurry up, Simmie.” Willie tugged his arm, as Simmie lifted the heavy hammer to Straw Boss, who almost toppled out of the wagon from the weight. A minute later, they were standing in line at the pay wagon where Old Mr. Sykes distributed the wages.
Sykes was a chubby old man who wore thick spectacles and a green eyeshade that framed his balding head. “Okay, Willie J.” Sykes adjusted his glasses and licked his thumb. Then he peeled off dollar bills and counted out coins as he read off Willie’s pay record. “Five dollars and seventy-five cents.”
“Thank ya, suh.” Willie bowed, which was a slight gesture since his back naturally bent forward.
“Simmie Johnson,” Sykes said as he flipped through the book. Simmie stepped forward. “Here you go—seven dollars and twenty-five cents.”
“Thank you,” Simmie said, wondering why he should thank the man for giving him the money he had worked so hard to earn.
“Wait!” Willie grabbed Simmie’s arm and glared at Sykes. “Why he get more than me?”
“You didn’t show up for work on Wednesday,” Sykes said flatly, “and you left early yesterday. Lucky I don’t fire you!”
Willie frowned. “White man tryin’ to cheat me,” he mumbled as they stepped out of line.
“He’s not trying to cheat you.” Simmie sighed. “You’ve got to work a full day to get a full day’s pay.”
“You as bad as him,” Willie said, stuffing the money into his pocket. “Come on, let’s go get somethin’ to drink.”
Simmie carefully folded his money, placed it in a tattered envelope, and slipped it into his pocket. “I told you before, I don’t drink, and I don’t carouse around.”
“Naw, man, I mean let’s go to Ol’ Ben’s and get a cold pop.”
Simmie saw no harm in that, so they started down the dusty road toward town. Willie talked Black Pete into joining them. Black Pete was big, dark-skinned, and had even less sense than Willie. Simmie walked a few paces ahead of them, lost in thought.
“The quantity of motion, which is collected by taking the sum of the motions directed towards the same parts, and the difference of those that are directed to contrary parts, suffers no change from the action of bodies among themselves.”
“Hey, Simmie!”
“What?” Simmie said, annoyed at the interruption.
“How come it is that you so smart?” Willie asked.
“What?”
“I mean, you can read, you can do ’cipherin’. You about as smart as any white man.”
Simmie stopped and looked at him. “Maybe smarter.”
“But why?” Willie said.
“Yeah, why?” Black Pete parroted.
Simmie shrugged. “I guess the good Lord saw fit to bless me with a good mind.”
“But why?” Willie asked again.
“I don’t know, ask him!” Simmie pointed toward the sky as he started walking again.
“Don’t make no sense,” Willie puzzled. “Why would the Lord give them kinds of smarts to a colored man?”
“What in the hell are you talking about, Willie?” Simmie stopped walking again.
“You smart, Simmie. Smarter than all the white men we works for. But what can you do with it?”
Simmie turned and resumed his pace. “I got plans.” He put his hand in his pocket and felt the envelope with money inside. Just a little more money and he could get away from this place. Then, finally, he could put his mind to work. No more pretending to be stupid just to stay out of trouble with the white man.
“What kind of plans?” Willie asked.
“I got plans. Don’t you worry about what kind. They are my plans. Hopefully, it is God’s will that I see them through.”
“So you do believe they’s a God, right?”
“Now, what kind of question is that?” Simmie scowled. “I’m the one who has to read the scriptures to you every night.”
“Big Momma say you don’t believe. Big Momma say you a heathen!”
“A heathen!” Black Pete echoed.
“Big Momma,” Simmie scoffed. “What does she know?”
“She say you study the devil,” Willie said softly.
“The devil,” Black Pete whispered.
“Now why would she say that?”
“’Cause she found that book under yo’ bed.”
Simmie turned and faced Willie. “What book?” he asked, knowing full well which book. He only owned two. And what was Big Momma doing going through his things?
“That… prince book.” Willie cringed under Simmie’s glare.
“The Principia? She found my Principia?” he asked, carefully using the pronunciation that Miss Abigail had taught him six years ago.
Willie looked around to make sure no one could hear him. “She said all the crazy writin’ and the lines and circles and numbers was all the work of the devil!”
“Man, what you been doin’?” Black Pete cried.
“Big Momma don’t know… What did she do with my book?” Simmie snatched Willie by the collar. “What did she do with my book?”
“Sh-she burned it,” Willie said meekly.
“Good thang!” Black Pete said.
“Shut up, Pete!” Simmie bellowed, and Black Pete cowered away. “She burned my book?” He imagined his prize possession aflame. One of the most important things he owned, the thing that sparked his dream of starting a new life. He felt a tightening in his gut.
“She said it was the work of the devil and that it was goin’ to ruin yo’ soul. She burned it to protect you, to keep you and all the rest of us from goin’ to hell!”
“She burned my book?” Simmie roared as he raised a fist.
“Don’t hit me! I didn’t do it!” Willie cried. “Big Momma did!”
Simmie released Willie and tried to calm himself. His Principia! He had had that book since he was twelve years old when he rescued it from the trash behind the town library. So what if the pages were tattered and the cover was torn off? It was his book! He had begged Miss Abigail, the teacher at the white children’s school, to teach him to read, just so he could discover what that book was all about. After he’d breezed his way through all of the readers and textbooks she had, he showed her his Principia. She’d looked at it and dismissed it as nonsense, which Simmie found to be odd since she had heard of it and even knew the correct pronunciation of the title. It turned out that she had never actually seen a copy of it before, and young Simmie was able to understand it all better than she could. And the knowledge! The wisdom! Written two hundred years ago by Sir Isaac Newton, a genius of a man! It was as valuable to Simmie as his Bible. For over six years he coveted that book, and now Big Momma, in her senile ignorance, had destroyed it. Fortunately, Simmie had it all memorized.
Links to Purchase Print Books
Buy The Chronocar Print Edition at Amazon
Buy The Chronocar Print Edition at Barnes and Noble
Buy The Chronocar Print book for sale at other booksellers
Links to Purchase eBooks – Click links for book samples and reviews
Buy The Chronocar On Amazon
Buy The Chronocar on Barnes and Noble/Nook
Buy The Chronocar on iBooks
Buy The Chronocar on Google Play
Buy The Chronocar on Kobo
Buy The Chronocar eBook via other booksellers
Read more about the author here.
Have you read this book? Tell us what you thought! All information was provided by the author and not edited by us. This is so you get to know the author better.
