In 1914, Garrett A. Morgan patents a breathing mask
- In 1914, Garrett A. Morgan patents a breathing mask
but because his world balks at black menGarrett Morgan hires a white man to sellhis invention.
Standing before a tent swelling with smoke,the fake Morgan serves up a sidekick to the crowd.The real Morgan, masquerading as Big Chief Mason,dons a canvas safety hood. He plunges into danger,emerging ten minutes later to applause. Sales are brisk.
Two years later, on a beautiful July night, 31 mendie when a gas explosion traps Cleveland minersin a tunnel under Lake Erie. Morgan rushesinto the dawn, pajamas yawning against the wind,breathing masks swinging at his sides.
Mayor Davis tells Morgan, "The city will take careof you for the rest of your days." Morgan hands outthree hoods, places one over his own head and slipsinto the shaft. "Goodbye," the Mayor sighs.
With the weight of the lake pressing down, they stumbleover bodies, immigrant laborers, mainly Irish and Germanswho had, for minutes or hours, crawled along the soft-clayedbelly of Lake Erie, scouring for air. [End Page 349]
Morgan and his team drag up the living, but mostly the dead.In the pockets of the dead are poems and letters. Motherswriting, Dear boy, I hope your cough is better.Don't you need your suitcase and clothes?
The muck, for Morgan, is as deep above as below.The city does not take care of its genius-hero, not evento help with injuries he sustained in the rescue. Paperswrite him out of the story. As others are showeredwith accolades and medals of bravery, orders for Morgan'smask dwindle as buyers learn he's black.
Yet Garrett A. Morgan keeps inventing a better world. Thisson of slaves will start his own newspaper, The Cleveland Call,and create the traffic light. One in London already announces:Stop. Go. Morgan—because he's been jammed up at crossroadswhere colors collide—introduces a third signal into his design,an interval of time, a lapse in all directions where, before progresscan be made, everyone must wait, wait, wait … [End Page 350]
Jennifer Clark is the author of the full-length poetry collection Necessary Clearings. Her second poetry collection, Johnny Appleseed: The Slice and Times of John Chapman, is forthcoming from Shabda Press. Her work has been published in failbetter, Storm Cellar Quarterly, Concho River Review, Flyway, Nimrod, and Ecotone, among other places. She lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. She can be reached at jenengeman@aol.com.
