The Strange Tale of the Refrigerator on the Beach
by Rob Lichter, inspired by a title by Amy Stabler

The ship was sinking; there was no denying that now. John Gorrie, a middle aged man of Scottish decent, was not panicking. He had spent his life telling the people of South Carolina and Florida that the warm air was killing them. They had run him out of town. He sold all his patents and possessions and bought a ticket on the first voyage back to chilly, health-filled Scotland. Now, that voyage was coming to a premature end and he was fine with it. They were in the North Atlantic Ocean and the water was close to freezing temperatures. Believing fully in his theory that heat kills and cold heals, Gorrie prepared for a dip into the healthiest part of the world he could imagine. He sat on his bunk and straightened his tie. His cufflinks were buttoned and his shoelaces were tied. His hands were folded in his lap. Beyond his closed bunk door, he could hear the whoop of alarms, the screams and stampeding feet of the other passengers.
Finally, he stood up and calmly pushed past the masses to the bow of the ship. He calmly slipped into the freezing water and paddled away from the boat. He knew that if he could just keep drawing breath, the cold water would infuse him with the strength of ten men. Ten BIG men. He gently trod water as he watched the ship go down. He waited until some of the more buoyant furniture bobbed up to the surface. He paddled over to a large wooden table that presented itself and boarded it. He sat shivering on the floating table and watched the half dozen other survivors find their own furniture and bits of floating detritus. After an hour, the survivors all regarded each other from afar. The currents kept them from nearing one another so they regarded each other in silence, occasionally waving at each other or shrugging and rolling their eyes to each other as if to say, “whaddya gonna do, right?”
After the second night at sea, the survivor awoke to see land. The current was pulling them all in to it. The survivors all landed on the beach and pulled the various pieces of furniture up, creating a surreal showroom landscape. After a few hours of repositioning of the pieces into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement, the survivors decided to introduce themselves and work on a plan for rescue.
“My name is Nikola Tesla,” said the first man. “I believe we can harness the power of the lightning to our advantage. We can create a signal using electricity.”
“My name is Thomas Alva Edison and I think Tesla should shut the hell up!” said the second man.
The third man stood up, began to speak, and then plucked a small crab from his beard. He considered it for a second, and then tossed it aside.
“My name is Bell. Alexander Graham Bell,” said the third man. “Perhaps we should mate the strongest swimmers amongst us and create a race of super-swimmers who could brave the waters and find rescue for us all!”
Elisha Gray stood up next and shouted, “I was just going to say that!” He looked pleadingly at the others and sat down.
John Gorrie stood up next. “This warm climate will mean death for us all. Surely this is the devil’s work! We were in the North Atlantic not three days ago!”
The last man spoke, “My name is Frederick Tudor. Gentlemen, this man before you, “he pointed at Gorrie, “is nothing but a low-down dirty rat! I would sooner believe the contents of my chamber pot than the ramblings of this fool!”
Soon, the beach was a din of shouts. As the sun went down, the yelling went down as well. Ce’st la vie. The group of survivors, cranky from the whole boat-sinking thing as well as being stranded with their arch-enemies, divided into two groups. They called themselves “The Smart Inventors” and “The Geniuses.” The Geniuses made camp on the beach while the Smart Inventors went round to the other side of the island, for that was what they were on, and made camp on the East side.
It was not long before the two camps had developed crude fishing gear and even cruder shelters. They ate meagerly, but it was enough to sustain them. When a week had passed, it became clear that the absence of laboratories and assistants severely reduced the collective inventors’ technical abilities. They had produced fishing sticks and fern huts and that seemed to be the limit to their innovational abilities.
One clear morning, Gorrie woke to find another miserably warm day. He stretched and went for a walk. About halfway round the island, he saw something shining in the distance. Keeping his on this faraway object, he approached slowly. As he got closer, he could tell it was some sort of box, but none like he’d ever seen before. Eventually he came right up to it. It was a white box, about 6 feet tall, 4 feet wide and 5 feet deep. As he rounded it, he saw that it had a handle on it, like a door. Looking around suspiciously, he called out, “I know it’s you, Tudor!” but there was no response. He was alone. He was sweating now. Was it the heat? Probably. He reached out a hand and risked a quick touch and pulled back quickly in case it was hot. It was not. He lightly stroked the surface of the monolithic box. It was vibrating. He watched as his own hand involuntarily reached for the handle. He gripped it and, summoning all his courage, pulled.
Gorrie was immediately enveloped in the coldest, sweetest air he had ever felt. He looked inside the box and could see no source of the arctic air.
“’Tis magic!” he ejaculated.
Gorrie went back to his beach and called the rest of the Smart Inventors together. He told them what he had seen and felt and beckoned them to examine it with him. They dutifully followed him around the shoreline to the box. Only, this time they were not alone. The Geniuses were huddled around it, apparently too afraid to touch it. The Smart Inventors renewed their determination and strode onward, determined to claim the box as their own.
“Get away from the icebox!” ordered Gorrie. He had just come up with the word. It seemed appropriate.
Tudor stood up. Speaking for the Geniuses, he said, “Ice box? Puh-LEEZ! We’re in some sort of tropical island in the North Atlantic. There’s no ice here, bub! This thing’s ours, whatever it is.”
“What?” called Alexander Graham Bell from the back.
Gorrie stepped forward. He and Tudor had the entire colony’s attention.
“This box was sent by God himself. I have devoted my life to the promotion of cold for the well being of his children and he has rewarded me with this, “ he glowered at Tudor and pronounced his next word very distinctly, “Ice. BOX!”
Edison stood up behind Tudor.
“No way. We must create our own way of life here. God has forsaken us. That is why I have spend the last week developing….THIS!” Edison whipped out a coconut from behind his back. It was glowing.
“I have harnessed the power of the lightning into this small, portable container!” he crowed.
“It’s upside down, you dolt!” called out Tesla from the other side. They were soon at each other’s throats again. The beach erupted into chaos.
Tudor spoke up again, “Think about it, fellows. We are on the beach. There is no escape from the constant heat. We are in constant risk of dehydration and sun exposure. How could this possibly be what the Scotsman says? It makes no sense. Plus, if there IS ice in there, it’s probably sour. Let’s go boys. Let the losers have their box!”
Laughing, the Geniuses walked back to their beach, deriding the Smart Inventors over their shoulders all the way.
Gorrie turned to his fellows, who were all looking around sheepishly.
“Alright, lads! It’s ours alone! God’s divine gift is ours to do with as we see fit! This device could change the world. We are the brightest minds of the late 1800s! Let’s take a look, shall we?”
“Er…um…” the other Smart Inventors were visibly uncomfortable, looking down, rubbing the backs of their necks and so on.
“Yeah, look, John, “ started Tesla, “It’s not hat we don’t believe you…because we do! Don’t we boys?” The others murmured their agreement that yes, they sure as shootin’ did believe him.
“What are ye talking about?” shouted Gorrie. He opened the icebox door. “Look! Feel that cold air! Touch it!”
“That’s great, John,” patronized Bell, “But I gotta go get back to the beach. I’m waiting for a call…or …something…”
The others quickly followed Bell down the coast back to the camp, mumbling to each other and catching backwards glances at Gorrie.
“But…But…” Gorrie stammered. He couldn’t believe what was happening.
He stood there alone with the opened box on the beach. He sat down and cried. He sat on the beach all afternoon, looking out to sea. He had no home. Neither group of inventors wanted him and, truth be told, he didn’t want them. As dusk came and the sky grew dark, Gorrie noticed a faint glow to his right. He looked and saw Edison’s glowing lightnut. He had forgotten it. Gorrie picked it up and stared into its hypnotizing glow. It suddenly became clear. He tied the lightnut to a long stick and slung it over his shoulder.
Fifteen minutes later, John Gorrie had pushed the box onto its side, slid it into the water and gotten inside it, the lightnut guiding his way. It was in this way that John Gorrie was able to sail back to civilization.