Tag: edward glass

I’ve been researching the life of Anthony Glass for over a year, and so far I’ve got more questions than answers. A bizarre collection of coincidences, synchronicity and luck, or are there larger forces at work?

Since the album launch I’ve had more time to start filing and organising the resources I’ve managed to lay my hands on so far. It’s a baffling jigsaw puzzle of first, second and third hand reports about a mysterious man who might never even have existed – at least in any way we would recognise. I’ve been taking copious notes in a bid to get my thoughts in order and have managed to transport a good carload of papers and documentation back to my home where I can start putting the known facts in some kind of context.

Which are the most pressing questions? Well, the death of Glass Snr. is obviously a key event – and Colonel Van Riper’s involvement in it. There’s much to learn about the lives of both men which I think could lead to some kind of answer as to how Edward Glass died and who was responsible. The machines, both full sized and portable – what happened to them? Was Anthony Glass a clever hoaxster, as his father was purported to be? And what of Anthony’s mother, Edward’s wife – the trail rapidly goes cold once Anthony is sent away following his father’s death (murder?).

And bringing us up to date – how do the cassette tape, the discovered video recording and the business cards people report finding fit in? Am I the subject of an extension of the Glass myth? Is someone mocking me, and if so – why? All I know is, I must find answers. Anthony Glass and his peculiar story are seeping into my life, my work, and the music I produce to the point where I wonder how much of it I’m in control of.

Lately I’ve been having a recurring dream, which I can only assume is in some way linked to the amount of time I have spent researching the Glass mystery.

It always starts the same way – a crack opens in my bedroom wall, and for some reason I climb through the crack and find myself in the bowels of a machine. Steam scorches my face and huge oil-slick cogs grind around me like slavering jaws, dripping their saliva on my head and back as I crawl beneath them. A continual cacophony – like every piece of music ever made played at once – assaults my ears and I am terrified.

After what seems like an age, I glimpse a sliver of light at the end of a shifting corridor and make my way towards it. The light is emanating from a crack in the machine’s wall, much like the one I used to enter it. Relieved I clamber through to find myself on my back in a huge library. I lift my head and see a man with a large moustache and a young boy. The boy looks scared and hides behind his guardian, as the man raises a shotgun, levels it at me, and with a smile on his face, pulls the trigger.

At this point, I awake.

Yesterday I received the following email, which I’m posting in full. While I obviously respect the privacy of Colonel Van Riper’s family I’ve not reported anything that I know to be untrue or isn’t part of public record. I would like to apologise to Eleanor and her family if she feels I’ve not been sufficiently thorough in quoting my sources.

Dear Mr King,

I was directed to your ‘Sound of Glass’ website by a colleague and am writing to express my concern and dismay at your public slandering of my late father, Maurice Van Riper. While I respect your right to investigate and research the Glass family I feel that to date your representation of my father is inaccurate and damaging to my family’s reputation. The most alarming aspect is that you appear to have inferred quite clearly that my father was in some way responsible for the death of Glass Sr. (Edward Glass).

While it is common knowledge that Glass and Van Riper families were acquainted around the time of Edward’s untimely death, my father was only an occasional visitor to the Glass household, and even then only at the insistence of Edward Glass. It was only when Edward’s diaries were scrutinised immediately after the shooting that my father became a suspect, despite a very solid alibi provided by my mother. Save for the rantings of an obviously very disturbed man, there was no evidence whatsoever that my father was even in the vicinity of the Glass household when Edward was fatally shot. The ensuing public scandal continued to linger long after my father cleared his name and he was never quite the same afterwards, becoming quite withdrawn and easy to temper. He forbade any mention of the Glass name in our house in fact.

It appears your interest lies mainly in Edward’s son Anthony – who according to my mother was a bright but introverted boy before being sent away after the tragedy – about which I have no comment but I would ask you please to consider my family’s reputation when reporting without comment either the fantasies of Edward Glass, a known charlatan, or his poor disturbed son as fact.

Yours Sincerely

Eleanor Teddy (nee Van Riper)
London

Firstly, apologies once again for the delay in getting this update online. Partially this has been due to my continuing computer issues – despite upgrading to an Apple Mac, any attempt to record music in my studio is crippled by this “crosstalk” or interference I’m experiencing. I’ll try and post an example so hopefully one of you might be able to shed some light on a possible solution?

My research has continued, albeit slowly. For the most part I’m trying to determine the real story behind Anthony Glass’ fathers death. A shred of newspaper I’ve found in the bottom of a suitcase seems to report that Maurice Van Riper at the time of his acquital not only claimed his innocence but also asserted that he’d never even met Glass Snr. At the moment, I’m unsure if this was just a clever defence from the Colonel, or if Edward Glass was using people he was aware of in society at the time to bolster his fantasies.

My second main avenue of investigation concerns the machine itself – I’m assuming it must have actually existed as Anthony Glass mentions it in his journals throughout his life, even in his published “confessions”, when he would undertake speaking engagements with the sham portable version of the contraption.

Thirdly, I’m desperate to find out about the incident in York, UK where a routine execution of the portable machine somehow malfunctioned with what I take to be very grave circumstances. The original journal entry (posted here a few weeks ago) infuriatingly cuts off before AP Glass can give specifics, but so far I’ve not found any documentation after that date that mentions speaking engagements, or any public activity at all. I believe Glass did spend a considerable portion of his life in seclusion, it’s possible that the “York Incident” is what triggered this.

I’m continuing my fact-finding to the best of my ability, but I would appreciate any help the readers of this site could give me. Any clues, no matter how small and insignificant they seem, may be crucial.

My name is Anthony Philip Glass. Many years ago I was the unwitting participant in a cruel hoax, perpetrated by my father Edward Glass.

Perhaps my name is familiar with you, over the years it has been appropriated for many tall tales, fantastic stories and outright lies but in this journal I intend to set the record straight and do what I can to regain my good reputation.

But let me start at the beginning. My father was always a terribly ambitious man, and was possessed of a keen intellect and no small amount of charisma. However, he always seemed to fall short of his own high expectations. In fact, if it weren’t for a large inheritance that included our family house, I doubt whether he could have kept a roof over our heads at all. It’s not that he was workshy, or without skills, but I always got the impression that he felt “work” in itself was beneath him, something that other people did while he contemplated the best way to leave his mark on the world.

I think I must have been about 10 years old when he decided that I would be his legacy, his “gift to the world” so to speak. My father had always been fascinated with what came to be known as Science Fiction and would read all the pulp magazines of the day voraciously, in much the same way as most other fathers would devour the Times, my father ploughed through piles of histrionic nonsense like Weird Tales and The Argosy.

And so it transpired, my father set about formulating a scheme that would guarantee his infamy, with me as the key player. He devised meticulous plans for a machine that he claimed would transmit music and other forms of art through time to some future recipient – the purpose of which was never really explained. Over the course of three years I was regularly administered a weak tincture of what I now assume to be laudanum which kept me in a permanently bewildered state. Every night I was dragged from my bed and taken to my father’s library where work would continue on building the vast orange-brown behemoth.

I must confess, the sheer scale of my father’s deception was impressive. By the time we were undertaking the first “tests” the machine filled almost every corner of my father’s large basement library. It huffed and puffed, glowed and groaned in a most impressive manner, and some of it’s malfunctions were terrible and magnificent to behold. By the time I was sent away to live with Aunt Sophie at age 14, the machine seemed as much a part of the house as a heart is to the human body.

I will write further tomorrow.

Colonel,

Firstly please forgive me the brevity of this missive. You know I have always respected you but I fear you are testing the boundaries of our friendship with your continual insistence on my son’s participation in your military research. My reasons for denying your request remain unchanged. The boy has no inkling at all of the scope of his skills. Indeed, I still convince him that it was I that supplied the plans for the great machine. If he were to realise that he himself drew them while in some kind of mesmeric stupor, I fear he may start to lose his mind. Anthony is remarkably mature and well-balanced in his demeanour considering how uncommon his daily life has turned out to be and I do not want to jeopardise his mental welfare further.

I hope you do not take me for less of a patriot or proud Englishman, rather a concerned and loving father attempting to nurture and protect his only son at a very crucial stage in his development.

I would welcome a visit from you to discuss this face-to-face but I implore you not to bring your “security” personnel. Their presence during your last visit was unnecessarily distressing to my wife and most intimidating.

Once again I hope you can understand my position in this matter.

Yours Sincerely,

Edward Glass

Dear Edward,

My sincere apologies for not writing sooner. As you know my recent trip overseas encountered complications and I was not able to board my planned ship in return. I will keep this missive brief, and as always I’m afraid it is with regard to your son Anthony.

I appreciate that you do not wish to divulge the full nature of your current work with the boy, but regardless it is clear to me that he is a vital “component”, if you will, in your endeavours. And with good reason! Precocious does not describe the lad, rather a genius, a protege, an otherworldly mind on such young shoulders.

While I realise from our previous conversations on the subject you are most opposed to his use in a military capacity, I must once again strongly recommend that you begin talks straight away with my superiors in order to get him all the requisite help and support if he is to be useful to his country and the development of our weaponry against the myriad external forces who seek to take our liberty.

I have always considered you a friend, Peter, but know this – such is the vigour with which my superiors are pursuing your child’s mind and talents, it could soon be a matter taken out of your hands. Let us not forget the tragic end of [illegible] there could be little time left.

I will be in London next week, and will [illegible] I trust you will not [illegible] again.

Yours Sincerely,

Col. Maurice Von Riper (retd)