Bowman's Bodacious Bazaar

By Donald P. Marsolais

Have you ever wanted to go back in time to make a difference? Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar will transport you to some of the most meaningful events of our country’s growth by taking a unique look at each event. Follow along with James Jefferson and his friends as they investigate how Bowman’s Bazaar and its owner, Bob Bowman, may have affected the future of our country. Also, follow them as they help solve the murder of the local librarian.

Enjoy eight visits along our historical timeline as you become entangled in a murder mystery. Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar includes fantastical historical events, a love story, and a murder mystery—something for everyone. Find out how the back room of Bowman’s Bazaar has been a special place for explorers since it was first built during the American Revolution.

Finally, this uniquely fictional look at the growth of our country may interest you in finding out more about the events in this book. Don’t be shy to learn more about our American Revolution, the Lewis and Clark Expedition, the California Gold Rush, the Civil War, the Transcontinental Railroad, Woman’s Suffrage, Pearl Harbor – WWII, and the Civil Rights Movement. This is one of those books that you just can’t put down. Spend your time enjoying all that Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar has to offer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889108931

Donald P. Marsolais

Mr. Marsolais has been writing for most of his life. He is a graduate of Cal State University Dominguez Hills with a BA in English and an MPA (Masters of Public Administration). Mr. Marsolais is an Eagle Scout and a published author who wrote for fun while working at careers in finance, telecommunications, and education following four years in the United States Air Force. After his retirement from teaching, he put his efforts into achieving his life’s dream, that of being a published author. His genre of choice at this time is historical fiction. He has begun his next book and looks forward to sharing Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar with those in love with American history and crime dramas. Other books by Mr. Marsolais are: The Power of Positive Christian Teaching and Twelve Days of Christmas Stories.

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About the Author

Mr. Marsolais has been writing for most of his life. He is a graduate of Cal State University Dominguez Hills with a BA in English and an MPA (Masters of Public Administration). Mr. Marsolais is an Eagle Scout and a published author who wrote for fun while working at careers in finance, telecommunications, and education following four years in the United States Air Force. After his retirement from teaching, he put his efforts into achieving his life’s dream, that of being a published author. His genre of choice at this time is historical fiction. He has begun his next book and looks forward to sharing Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar with those in love with American history and crime dramas.

Other books by Mr. Marsolais are: The Power of Positive Christian Teaching and Twelve Days of Christmas Stories.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my wife, Barbara, who has given me the space to write on my own time and patiently listen to each chapter. That's love. Thank you, Darling.

Copyright Information ©

Donald P. Marsolais 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Marsolais, Donald P.

Bowman’s Bodacious Bazaar

ISBN 9798889108924 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798889108931 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921615

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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The Mysterious Mr. Bowman

The year is 1977. The place is Northeast Tennessee. Have you ever heard of Bowman’s Bazaar? Neither had I until I ran across an obscure advertisement while researching a paper for my US history class.

My professor wanted us to learn about history by doing original research, so she assigned individual projects to each of us. Mine was to be titled, The Move from General Store to Super Mall. Needless to say, I was not thrilled with the topic. My interests lay in the Revolutionary War. In trying to convince Professor Willingham that I really should be researching the Revolution, she dressed me down as someone who wanted to do what would be easy for me instead of stretching myself to uncover some history I never thought to study.

While she made sense, I still wasn’t very satisfied with the assignment. Never being one to do a job or assignment half-assed, I became determined to do the best job that I could instead of just doing enough to get by.

The first thing I did was what all good writers do, I researched the topic, and then I outlined my paper. I focused my structure on finding the incremental dates that made the biggest differences in the growth of capitalism as it pertained to the growth of the country. I began by looking at Boston during the Revolution (remember my interest in the revolutionary period). From there I researched many different growth cities all across the United States.

This is where my research gets a little weird. Almost every city I researched had some sort of reference to Bowman’s Bazaar as being a one-of-a-kind establishment for the purchase of unique specialty items right alongside dry goods. I’d never heard of a store selling specialty items and dry goods together, but that’s exactly what Bowman’s Bazaar offered in their ads. When I tried finding information about Bowman’s, there was next to nothing in print. This provided me with an interesting conundrum. Do I just eliminate this part of history from my paper or do I chase it down?

As I had a month to research and write the paper, I decided to use a little of the time to see what I could find out about Bowman’s Bazaar. So I went back into the archives and pulled what information I could find. Each ad that I found was similar to the previous one. I actually found ads running from the 1770s to the 1960s all in different cities. The twelve or so that I found would have to be enough to get me started. There may have been more, but I needed the time I had left to finish my research and write the paper.

As I continued my note-taking, I decided that there wasn’t enough information available to use Bowman’s Bazaar in the paper, so I dropped it. I had enough other information to discuss how the USA went from general stores to major malls.

The next day, I gathered my notes, went to the university library, and began writing the first draft of my paper. Guess you can say that I’m old-fashioned, but I still write my drafts in pencil on a yellow legal pad.

I had been sitting and drafting for about an hour when I saw a man about my grandfather’s age walking through the stacks. I had noticed him a few minutes earlier as he hobbled down one aisle to the next. He had a cane that looked well-used. He wore a three-piece brown suit, carried a matching bowler hat, and kept a well-manicured beard. I thought that that was a little out of the ordinary, but there are some strange professors at this university. I chalked him up to just another of the ‘loonies’ as I disrespectfully called them in my own mind. Eccentric would have been a more respectful way to think of him.

A few minutes later he approached me by pulling out the chair at the two-person study table and sitting down with a slight groan. He sounded in pain. Are you James Jefferson? he asked in a low tone.

I am. Can I help you? I asked wondering how he knew my name. I looked at his face for the first time and saw that he seemed much older than my grandfather.

He answered in a voice that sounded all gravelly and used up, You may be able to. He laid his cane and bowler on the table.

The cane caught my eye as soon as he took his hand from it. There was a presentation plaque on the upper portion of the shaft just below the handle. It read, ‘Presented to Bob Bowman for outstanding service to humanity, 1783’.

That’s quite some cane you have there. Is it yours?

Yes, it is. It was my great-great-great-grandfather’s, he said with pride.

Now I was curious. Was this a descendant of the Bowmans from Bowman’s Bazaar? You wouldn’t happen to be related to the Bowmans who built Bowman’s Bazaar back in the 1770s would you?

So you know about Bowman’s Bazaar, do you? What do you think you know? He stared at me with a twinkle in his eyes waiting for me to answer.

Not much. It seems that there has always been a Bowman’s Bazaar here in America since the Revolution. I’ve found several ads in newspaper archives but nothing substantial about the business or its owners. The last ad I found was in the late 1960s. By the way, how did you know to come to this table and that I was researching your relatives’ business? Then he said something that made me question my choice to use Bowman’s Bazaar as a partial focus for my paper.

Well, if you listen carefully enough, you can hear the universe directing you. I knew that someone was investigating our family business. Don’t ask me how. I just knew. I didn’t know who or where until last weekend as I was sitting on the porch listening to the early pitter-patter of an oncoming rainstorm. I heard what sounded like whispering in the breeze, and, as I closed my eyes and listened more attentively, I swore that I heard the name ‘Jefferson’ and the word ‘school’. Since East Tennessee State is closest to me, I came here. The librarian directed me to your table.

I was in awe of his explanation. It was a little after 1:00 in the afternoon, and I was pretty hungry. Have you had lunch yet, Mister…? I asked the old man. I hadn’t even asked him his name yet, although I guessed that it was Bowman. Well, you know who I am, but I haven’t asked you your name yet.

Bowman, Peter Bowman, he groaned. I don’t eat lunch much these days, but I’ll join you if that’s what you’d like. I’m really more of a breakfast person. He struggled to get up, and I decided that I was not that hungry.

Why don’t we just stay here? I’ll eat later. I really want to hear your story.

He responded, Are you sure? I don’t mind.

No, it’s fine. Go ahead and sit back down. Do you mind if I record our conversation? I always carry a recorder just in case of contacts like this.

I suppose that’d be fine. It’s probably about time that this story got told, he said as he gingerly sat back in the chair.

He settled in, unbuttoned his vest, and loosened his tie. That’s more like it. Do you mind if I take off my coat? he politely asked in a faded British accent.

Sure. No problem. I got up and helped him with the coat. Can I get you some water or something else to drink? I was surprised by his response.

He reached back into his inside coat pocket and brought out a silver flask. He opened it and took a gulp. Want a shot? he asked.

No, none for me, but can I see your flask? He pushed the stopper back into the spigot and handed it to me. There was a single seam running down the side. The flask looked old and hand beaten. How old is this flask? I asked truly interested.

Pretty old, he said. It also belonged to my great-great-great grandfather. There’s a mark on the bottom. Can you read it?

I turned the flask over and barely made out the initials ‘PR’ along with the silver weight. Was this made by who I think it was? I excitedly asked.

Correct. This is original Paul Revere silver work. Like the cane, it’s been in the family since it was commissioned back in the 1780s.

I’m sure my jaw dropped without knowing it. This is real history, I gasped.

Yes, it is, he said with a smile in his voice. Now what would you like to know about Bowman’s Bazaar and all the Bowmans? he asked. He looked eager to hear and answer my questions.

After all the research I had done on the business, all I could think of to say was, There’s so much I want to know. Where do I begin?

The old man slouched back in the chair and simply said, The beginning’s a good place.

I took a deep breath, Right, right, I said. Before I continued, I turned on my recorder.

When was the first store built, and by whom? I took out my notepad and was prepared to write notes along with the recording.

Peter Bowman cleared his throat and began. First of all, everything I’m going to tell you is purely oral history passed down to me by my father, from his father, and so on and so on. None of us ever wrote down our personal or company history. Don’t ask me why not, it just is what it is.

I must have looked disappointed or something. I’ve been told that my emotions can be easily read by others. He started to get up.

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Seems like my story isn’t going to be good enough for you. He finished standing and began buttoning his vest.

What? No, no! I was just surprised that we’re going to be talking about over 200 years of history, and it will all be oral history. Have you ever heard of an African griot? Each tribe has a historian who tells the history of the tribe from as far back as the story begins. Seems like that’s what you are. Please sit. I’m all ears and can’t wait to hear your story.

He looked at me and assessed what he saw. A griot, huh? I guess that’s what I am. Okay, here goes. He sat back down and began to answer my first question.

Where It All Began

Bob Bowman came to the colonies in the late 1760s from England to escape poverty and hunger. He had no money but knew he could sign on for passage to the colonies if he pledged to work seven years for an owner. He didn’t know who, but it didn’t matter. He was young, and he felt that he could learn a lot in seven years of indentured servitude. And learn a lot he did.

I interrupted and asked for more. Who did Bob work for when he got to America and which colony did he land in?

Like most indentured servants of those years, he landed in Plymouth. It used to be its own colony until the late 1600s when it was absorbed into the Massachusetts Bay Colony. His owner was a Squire Trammell. He owned about a quarter of the colony as chartered by King George III. There was always a lot of work to do on the plantations. Bob worked his way up from field hand to Squire Trammell’s personal accountant.

What did Squire Trammell grow on his property? Was that all that he did?

The good Squire grew many different vegetables as cash crops. Most of his land was filled with corn, pumpkin, squash, and potatoes, but that wasn’t all he was interested in. Before coming to the colonies in the mid-1700s, Squire Trammell owned a shop on the outskirts of London that sold all kinds of goods to the peasants working for local landowners.

It sounds something like our general stores. Did he make a go of it? I thought that maybe I could use Squire Trammell in my paper.

Peter answered, Squire Trammell never failed at anything he put his mind to. His store was a success and when he decided to come to the colonies, he sold his store instead of just closing it. And here’s the connection with my ancestor and Squire Trammell. Bob Bowman worked for Squire Trammell in his store.

So Bob knew Squire Trammell. What happened to him after the good Squire left for the colonies? I was interested in everything that ‘griot’ Bowman had to say.

The new owner of the shop kept Bob on for a little while, but after a year or so, the new owner let Bob go so that he could hire his own nephew to work in the store. Bob couldn’t find any work and became homeless. He slept in the streets and begged for his existence. This went on for almost a year.

What happened to get him to apply for a berth to the colonies? I’m guessing his homelessness, but tell me if I’m correct.

Peter seemed a little miffed that I kept interrupting him, but he continued anyway. Well, one day while he was looking for work and begging for his supper at the same time, he recognized a man walking down the street. It was Squire Trammell. At first, the Squire didn’t recognize his former employee. Bob approached him with a friendly greeting. Squire Trammell didn’t recognize him, but Bob reminded him of their relationship and the Squire invited Bob to dine with him. After a meal in the local pub, the Squire offered Bob an opportunity that would change his life.

I cut in again. He offered him a job in the colonies. Is that right?

Yes, that’s right. He offered to pay for his transport to the colonies and take him on as a field hand for five years. At the end of the five years, the Squire committed to giving Bob a piece of land and five years’ wages to start a new life. Now this was unheard of. Most land owners paid for transport and paid a pittance each month to their workers for a period of seven years.

Why do you think that Squire Trammell made such a good deal with your ancestor? I asked.

Good deal? What are you talking about? Bob worked at backbreaking field jobs for three years before he ever saw the Squire again. He never put a ha’penny in his pocket the whole time. Then, one day, Squire Trammell came looking for him in the fields. It was unusual for the Squire to enter the fields so he sought out his field manager, Mr. Jones, who directed the daily work activities and made sure that all his field hands worked the full day.

What did the Squire want with Bob? I could guess, but it was Peter’s story to tell.

Mr. Jones directed the Squire to where Bob should be working to harvest the potatoes. He rode through the field on his horse and stopped in the middle of the potato patch looking for Bob. It didn’t take long. Bob saw him first but didn’t want to approach him. He didn’t want to seem too familiar with him in front of the other workers. The Squire called his name and rode right up to him. After their conversation, Bob put down his basket of potatoes and followed Squire Trammell to Mr. Jones. From that day on, Bob was no longer a field hand.

So what happened next? Bob still had two years left on his contract with Squire Trammell.

Hold on. Let me take a nip. I’m getting a might parched with all this talking, he said as he opened the Paul Revere flask.

I knew that he was getting thirsty because his voice was even raspier than it had been when he started. Is that gonna be enough? Can I get you some water or something before we continue?

He slouched his shoulders down and looked at the table. He slowly raised his head and looked at me. I’m kinda tired now. Can we get together tomorrow? It’s a long story, and I’ll better remember it when I’m rested. Can we meet for breakfast somewhere? he asked.

Sure, sure. Can I buy you dinner and drop you off at home? I was looking for any reason to continue talking to the old man. His story was fascinating, and I was anxious to hear more.

No, that’s okay, he said as he stumbled out of the chair. He almost fell, but I caught his arm and gave him some support until he got his cane.

Where can I pick you up for breakfast tomorrow?

How about if we just meet at the diner on Linden just outside the campus gate around nine o’clock? Does that work for you?

I nodded and responded at the same time. Nine is fine. I’ll see you there. Do you need any help getting to your car? I asked.

No, no. I’ll be just fine, he said as he put on his bowler and walked away with the ‘clip’ of his cane fading in the distance.

I stayed behind to review and revise my notes. After about an hour, I packed up all my papers and left. I couldn’t wait to get home to listen to the story Peter Bowman was unfolding to me. His voice helped to make it real for me. I spent three hours transcribing his story. I had a feeling that it would take longer than a day to complete, so I wanted to get started.

I woke up the next morning eager to get to Penny’s Diner. I actually woke up before the alarm went off at 7:00 am. I jumped out of bed, did my morning business, took a shower, and got dressed in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt. I dug around in a few dresser drawers looking for the one tie I owned. I finally found it, put it on, grabbed my satchel, and headed out the door. It was 8:00 am. I had a whole hour to drive the 15 minutes to Penny’s. I entered the diner and selected a booth tucked