The bedroom window was cracked open beckoning in the sound of roaring bull frogs by the far off pond with the distinct thud of a woodpecker driving into an oak tree in the distance. Gusts of wind howled and rushed down the narrow streets of Lakehurst, New Jersey carrying ominous darkened clouds along with them. Overhead the sky opened up and let down an ocean's worth of rain. Water droplets formed along the frame of the window sill and began to fall onto the worn and dusty wood floor. The noise of each drop roused a man from his slumber.
The floor creaked as he rose from his bed and brought his feet to the cold floor. As he stood up, a sharp pain shot through his back causing him to wince in discomfort. Walking to the bathroom to comb his short and slick black hair back he stopped in front of the mirror that hung above his dresser. He examined his coarse and stubble beard and decided it best to shave it off because of the day’s significance. His features consisted of freckles on the tip of his short and pointy nose from the previous hot and brutally dry summer of 1936 (caused by the Dust Bowl), a pair of sharp emerald green eyes that were always behind simple brown framed glasses, and skin that held many wrinkles from years worth of laughter. In the mirror stood the owner of these features: James William Robertson, a news reporter born and raised in Lakehurst.
He had grown up in the town under a very supportive family, including a father that pushed him to do his best. Because of this he always excelled in school, academically and socially. When he graduated at the top of his class he had his mind set on becoming either an author or a journalist. His family and friends thought this was odd because he was gifted in the fields of math and science. Nonetheless, he set course for Lafayette College. Graduating from Lafayette College in 1933 at the height of the Depression, he found work in Trenton, New Jersey. Trenton, being only 35 miles away from Lakehurst, gave Robertson the chance to visit his family often. He worked as a columnist for Trenton’s daily newspaper for about two years before being approached about a reporting job in his hometown. He jumped at the opportunity and made a living off reporting local stories.
James was content living in his small house alone, a two story eggshell painted home near the border of town. It was not until he met his future wife while traveling to New York City that he considered moving, for his mother and father had passed away soon after he had moved back. He met her on a train one night traveling back to his hotel after seeing a performance at Carnegie Hall. Her name, Virginia Rose Campbell, suited her. She was the definition of beautiful. She had long chocolate brown hair and freckles scattered across the tan skin on her face. Virginia caught James’s attention the moment that he stepped foot on board the train. He fell for her and they married a year and a half later.
They decided it best to move to New York City so that each of them could find better work. He was preparing to move in with Virginia when news of the breathtaking Hindenburg’s arrival was brought to him by his boss. He was told that if he stayed an extra week until the Hindenburg arrived and report one last story, his boss would pay for James and Virginia’s honeymoon. This would mean he would have an extra week to finish packing up all of his belongings from home, and he would move out the day the Hindenburg arrived. He accepted gratefully, and had stayed the extra week until the day of his last report. This day had finally come, and it was today.
As he shaved off his stubbled beard, he couldn’t help but think about how incredible his final report would be. He was about to report on one of the biggest stories of the decade, and his voice would be broadcasted across the country for everyone to hear. He dressed in his best clothes, a navy blue suit that fit his lanky six foot three frame and a solid dark brown tie. The maple colored shoes he wore were a gift sent to him by Virginia, who couldn’t wait for him to arrive later that evening by train to the city. Before he walked out the door of his home, he took one last look around the downstairs to see if he had forgotten anything.
His calendar lay on the floor next to the brick fireplace that he had enjoyed sitting next to each evening for the last few years so that he could read his favorite novels in peace. James often decided to read the same book several times in one month. The sound of wind moving through the trees and their branches brushing up against neighboring vegetation was soothing to him, creating the perfect environment to become trapped in his imagination. He loved to read sophisticated works of literature as well as adventurous works. His favorites books were The Great Gatsby and Peter Pan; or, the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow up. He often read poetry as well, his favorite poet being Shakespeare.
He picked up the calendar which was opened to today’s date, May 6th, 1937. He grabbed his umbrella that was waiting for him at the front steps to his house and walked out the door. When James started his car, he looked at his home and had a flashback to when he had just graduated from high school and was heading off to college. He suddenly felt the same sadness that he had experienced that day so many years before while looking at his childhood home one last time through the eyes of a not yet fully grown man. This familiar feeling was one that he had hoped would never return again. That day in which he had first experienced this feeling was when he arrived at Lafayette and his parents had finished helping him unpack his things in his dorm room. The moment that their car drove out of view of his room's window, he broke down crying. As James backed out of the driveway and drove away towards downtown, he felt in every way the same as he had that day so many years before. He watched his home grow gradually smaller in his rearview mirror.

Downtown was packed with people when James pulled into his parking space in front of the tall brick building where he had spent the last few years working. Seeing him pull in, a young boy by the nickname Scotty who handed out newspapers for the Lakehurst Daily called out to him.
“Mornin’ Mr. Robertson. Shall I run in and grab Mister Charlie for you?”
“That's quite alright Scotty, I can manage. I’d like the chance to say goodbye to everyone before I leave for good,” James shouted back.
With that he walked into the building and was immediately greeted by 13 of his fellow employees. They had all decorated the office in a way similar to how you would decorate for a birthday party. Red and blue streamers were streaked across the walls and 13 wrapped gifts lay on his desk with a card from each of them that said things such as Congratulations and Good luck. It was already hard to have to leave behind his hometown and friends, but this made it even more difficult to say goodbye. He thanked each of them for everything over the past few years and told them he promised to thank each of them by name at the end of the broadcast in return for their kindness, if time permitted. After everyone had gotten a chance to say goodbye to James, his boss George walked over to shake his hand. As he did so, he brought into view a long and thin wrapped box and handed it to him.
“Charlie is waiting for you in the car and he’s got the camera all set for the broadcast,” he said in his low and booming voice. “This present isn’t much, but I thought my best reporter might need a little something for his next job.”
James opened the box and found inside a wooden name tag with Mr. Robertson engraved on it. He smiled while placing the name tag back in its box and putting it in his pocket.
“I don’t know how to thank you for this gift and all the other acts of kindness that you’ve shown me over the years. This will be the first thing I put in my new office,” James beamed while motioning to the gift in his pocket.
“It was actually Scotty’s idea,” George admitted. “He greeted you every morning with ‘hello Mr. Robertson’ so he thought it would remind you of him.” James laughed.
With that, they said their farewells and James quickly headed out the door to where Charlie seemed to be having trouble starting his car. He was turning the key furiously, but without success. The way the steam was spilling out from under the hood gave the impression the car was on fire.

Charlie Jones was the Lakehurst Daily’s lone camera and recording man. He was twenty three years of age and had short black hair that was always underneath a worn gray Gatsby. If one was to look closely they could see patches all around the hat that blended in covering its many rips and tears. He patched up all of his clothing this way because he couldn’t afford to purchase more. The many patches made it look like all of his clothes were in plaid, giving him the nickname “Checkered Charlie”.
However, being a cameraman often presented conflicts for Jones because he was six and a half feet tall. If he set up the camera in front of where he could look into it, he would have to angle it down in order to capture most of the reporters. By doing this, all interviews that were recorded seemed to be a few degrees away from a bird’s eye view. He decided it best to do most jobs while kneeling down on the ground, often resulting in the further destruction of the one pair of pants he owned.
James arrived next to what sounded like a lawn mower that desperately needed oil.
“By the looks of it, I’d say she needs a new carburetor,” James shouted over the noise of the hissing engine. “The more you try to start it, the worse it seems to sound. Careful you don’t completely blow the engine.” Charlie finally stopped and looked up at James.
“Had her ever since the day I turned old enough to drive,” Charlie answered. “You know it’s a real shame, I had been planning on teaching my younger brother to drive in it next year just like our old man taught me back when he was still with us.” He looked up to the sky for a brief moment and then continued what he was saying. “Not much point in trying to scrape together enough money for a new engine with the Depression and all. The real hard part would be finding someone to fix it that’s still in business,” he complained.
James couldn’t do anything but agree. “It has hit us all hard Charlie, in fact it’s probably for the best that I’m leaving after today. George was most likely going to start letting people go anyway.”
“Nonsense,” Charlie disagreed. “He’d never get rid of you. You’re practically the best at what you do, not to mention that we’re all sad to see you leave.”
“I wouldn’t worry about myself being let go. I’d be worried about someone else being let go. These times are hard on everybody, but I’ve been fortunate in that I haven’t lost much. Everyone else that works at the Daily needs their paycheck at the end of each week much more than I do.”      
After hearing this, Charlie considered it for a moment and agreed with what James had said before saying that “this was a happy occasion and that they should forget about the reality they were living in.” Both men hauled all the gear out of Charlie’s car and placed it in the back of James’s car. As they drove to the lake that was at the center of town, James noticed that it had stopped raining. However, he found it rather odd that more clouds had covered the sky. These clouds were much different from the overcast ones that had been there that morning. A large front of thunderous night stained storm clouds had found its way close to where the landing area for airships was. The deafening sound of thunder came roaring down like freight trains, crashing into James’s eardrums, yet there was no rain that followed.
He suddenly felt uneasy and shifted around in his seat until he was comfortable again. A chill had snaked back and forth down his spine when he had looked up at the incoming storm. The crisp cool morning air sent another chill down his arms and stayed put in his hands for a few moments before disappearing altogether. He pondered what Charlie had said to him, and wondered how happy of a day it was really going to be. James looked over at Charlie who was staring at the sky through the car’s open window.
“You know that old saying ‘the calm before the storm?’” He asked Charlie who seemed startled by his question.
“I certainly do. I know it all too well,” Charlie replied while turning the handle to close his window.
“How’s that?” James questioned him again.
“When I was nineteen years old, my dad, being a ship captain and all, was out off the coast of Nova Scotia onboard a tanker on his way home. A storm a lot like this one had rolled in quickly right overhead, but no one thought it was necessary to radio in. Rain started pouring down and the waves began to pick up, resulting in swells of about eighty feet, much too high for a tanker let alone any ship. The ship began to rock back and forth and the cargo started to shift to the left side of the ship.” Charlie suddenly paused and looked down.
“What happened to the ship?” James interrupted the silence. 
Charlie looked up again, his eyes watery. “She sank.”

When all of the equipment had been unloaded from the car and put into position at the edge of the airfield for filming the Hindenburg, Charlie walked over to James to make sure he was ready.
“I know there will be thousands of people listening to your broadcast when the Hindenburg gets here and I realize that this is the largest audience you’ve ever had, but considering you’re headed to New York City after this is done, I’d say this is pretty great practice.” James relaxed a little bit and felt better having heard these words.
“Thanks Charlie, that helps but I’ll be alright. Nothing to it. It’s just another report after all.” As James said this he instantly thought back to the car ride over and the eery feeling that he had received from the brewing storm. Bright flashes of electric charged blue lightning were followed by the same ear-splitting thunder, but still no rain fell. The Hindenburg was set to arrive any minute so Charlie turned on the camera and aimed it at the sky instead of James.
“Go ahead and start in a minute,” Charlie told James while pointing to his watch. “I’ll film the ship when it comes through the clouds, while you start the broadcast.” James took a deep breath and spent a moment reminiscing about all the work that he had put in to get a job like this one. He suddenly heard a distant humming coming from the clouds. A few raindrops began to fall from the sky forcing him to open his umbrella before talking into the recording device next to him. The humming grew louder and louder until it was obvious to him what the source of it was. A large dark shadow cast itself over the airfield as the Hindenburg descended into view. The sound of its motors drowned out the thunder. Charlie pointed at James signaling him to begin.
As James began his broadcast, practically yelling into the recorder trying to make his voice audible, the rain began to pick up.
“Hello Ladies and Gentlemen and good afternoon. I am James William Robertson reporting from where the brilliant German blimp, the Hindenburg, is coming in to land.”
He went on with his typical beginning to his reports as the Hindenburg lowered itself closer to the ground. The wind began to pick up and one particular gust blew the hat off Charlie’s head and carried it away. James continued with his report.
“The back motors of the ship are just keeping it in the air.” Minutes passed and the Hindenburg was still not attached to the ground. The Heavens suddenly seemed to have released all of the water they could possibly hold. Rain came pouring down.
“The blimp seems to be releasing water to try and steady itself for the wind also seems to have picked up,” James stated.
A particularly bright flash of lightning caught his attention, making him look up at the blimp. He was about to finish a sentence when he stopped and his eyes widened in disbelief. A chill ran through his entire body as he watched in terror.
“It burst into flames!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. He kept talking, but with each passing sentence he ran out of words to say. When his vocabulary and voice were officially about to give out altogether, he pulled himself together just enough to announce the only thing left in his mind.

“Oh, the humanity!”