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Author David V. Herlihy talks about cyclist Frank Lenz's failed trip around the world
Written by David Boerner
Photographs by Frank Lenz
Thursday, 22 July 2010
 In May of 1892, Frank Lenz set out from his home of Pittsburgh, PA on a new Victor “safety” bicycle to literally ride around the world. He never made it.
The Lost Cyclist by David V. Herlihy documents Lenz’s journey, his disappearance somewhere near Eastern Turkey, and his subsequent fading from American consciousness.
Entwined in Lenz’s story is the story of William Sachtelben and Thomas Allen, who successfully circumnavigated the globe by bicycle just as Lenz was starting his journey. Sachtelben and Lenz never met, but they were kindred spirits, united by their supreme self-confidence that bordered on pomposity, and by their ambition and interprise. Restless after returning from his two-year world tour to a successful but boring American life, Sachtelben took an opportunity to travel to Turkey and investigate the case of Lenz’s disappearance. He had little success in closing the case, and his trip spiraled out of control when he found himself at the center of the 1984-1986 Armenian Massacres by the Ottoman Empire.
Lost Cyclist author Herlihy is an expert on bicycle history and also the author of Bicycle: The History (Yale 2004).
He will be appearing Saturday, August 7th, 7pm, at the Bean Cycle/Matter Bookstore for a reading and discussion with a slideshow about The Lost Cyclist.
Matter Daily talked to Herlihy recently about his recent book, about the “globe girdlers,” and about how much plaudits these men actually deserve.
Matter Daily: How did you happen upon the story of Frank Lenz?
David V. Herlihy: I’ve been reading late 19th century cycling literature for about twenty years now. I would frequently come across the name of Frank Lenz. I was also aware of an article on Lenz by Irving A. Leonard in the Wheelman Magazine and entitled “Valiant Voyager.”
About twelve years ago, John Kelly of the Washington Post approached me for information on Lenz, knowing that I was a student of cycling history. He was on leave and had undertaken a project to write a book on Lenz. At the time I did not have much information to share. A few years later, after I had lost touch with John, I came across an interesting interview with Lenz in the Pall Mall Budget, conducted by a British journalist who had run across Lenz in the middle of China.
I reproduced one of the photos in that article in a museum exhibit called “The Bicycle Takes Off” which ran from 2000-2002. When it was up in Springfield Mass., I got an email from a young man in the Boston area who had noticed the Lenz photo and told me he had a scrapbook of Lenz’s photos and offered to show it to me. I made arrangements to meet him in Springfield and was very impressed with the photos (mostly of Lenz’s world tour, assembled by his buddy Charles Petticord back in Pittsburgh).
At that point I started seriously thinking of writing a book myself on Lenz. I tracked down John Kelly and learned that he had more or less abandoned his project. I was going to plunge into it, but when I consulted Lara Heimert of Yale University Press, she convinced me to write a general history of the bicycle first, to solidify my reputation as a subject expert. Since I had already done quite a bit of research on bicycle history throughout the 19th century, that plan suited me well and I followed Lara’s advice.
Following the publication and promotion of Bicycle: The History (Yale, 2004), I began to focus fulltime on the Lenz project. I soon came across encouraging new information, including another trove of Lenz photos, these ones generally pre-dating his world trip, taken during his high-wheeling days. I also began to assemble considerable information on William Sachtleben, the investigator, which led me to believe that my book should entwine both stories.
I enlisted an agent, Scott Waxman (I had not had one for the first book) and in early 2008 I signed a contract with Houghton Mifflin to write the Lost Cyclist.
I was hoping to complete the writing in a year but it took closer to two. All in all, I spent about four years focusing virtually fulltime on the Lenz/Sachtleben research (that extra year was actually very productive. I identified still more photos and documents of interest, and was able to visit Turkey).
MD: Had anyone else written a book about Lenz or Allen and Sachtelben?
DVH: No, but I came across several people who were entertaining the idea and in at least one case actively pursuing it. I felt it was a story that needed to be told and that I was the right person to do it.
MD: Certain sections of the book (a good example is Sachtelben’s investigation in Turkey) are so detailed that they feel like fiction or first-person narrative. Is this really nonfiction? Or did you have to fill in the blanks occasionally?
DVH: Actually, it really is nonfiction. I had a great deal of information to work with, much of it drawn from State Department file relating to the Lenz investigation. So I didn’t have to make up quotes. I took very little liberties when it came “filling the gaps.”
MD: You like doing this research, don't you?
DVH: Yes, I do! I love the thrill of thinking out strategies and tracking down information, and I like to travel to the sources. But it’s hard work too.
MD: Where did your research for this book take you?
DVH:
I traveled all around the US, and also spent time in the UK, France, Italy, and Turkey. Mostly I went to libraries (looking through newspapers from the period published in the cities and towns through which Lenz had passed). But I also visited other repositories that potentially had information of interest, and also met with people who were related to my key characters in hopes of finding additional information. I supplemented my findings with a good deal of internet-based research and also used the Internet to enlist the help of others around the world who had access to sources of potential interest to me.
MD: How did you get into writing about bicycle history?
DVH: I did some writing in the mid-1980s for Bicycle Guide. They got me started on some historical inquiries; I wrote several articles about early derailleurs, researched in France and Italy. Then I discovered that the original bicycle patentee, a Frenchman named Pierre Lallement, was buried in Boston. I understood that the French had disowned him, dismissing him as some sort of imposter, despite his 1866 US patent. So I got intrigued because I had never heard of him and had no idea that such a bicycle pioneer was buried in my city. I began to research the origins of the basic bicycle, then gradually extended my research to the high-wheel era and beyond.
MD: The language maintains a remarkable old-timey consistency (e.g. "Sachtelben suddenly felt the thumping of snowballs on his back. He wheeled around and identified the mischievous hurler: Chambers's precocious daughter Kate." (240)). Where do you channel this language from?
DVH: Although I didn’t consciously try to write in the style of the day I was probably influenced by the many period accounts I read, invoking some of the same terms and expressions.
MD: You concede in the "Reflections" chapter that Lenz and Sachtelben were sometimes foolhardy and pompous. I'd add that they strike me as culturally insensitive and arrogant (at least by today’s standards). Yet you treat both men with reverence throughout the novel. Was it a conscious decision to hold these men in high regard throughout the narrative, withholding judgments until the end? Or do you truly respect these men this much, as the majority of the book has the reader believe?
DVH: I would say that Lenz was more the foolhardy one and Sachtleben the pompous one. I’m also inclined to think that Sachtleben was more culturally insensitive than Lenz. I think it’s unfair to judge these men by contemporary standards of cultural sensitivity. Yes, they did frequently use expressions that would be considered non-p.c. today, and they do show strains of ethnocentricity. But I think you have to credit them with the willingness to explore other lands and cultures. They had to have a basic faith in the common goodness of humanity to embark on such tours, and certain adaptability and curiosity. I just received an email the other day from someone I hadn’t spoken to in 25 years. He wrote:
It’s a fascinating story and I thought very well written. I especially liked the even-handed and objective treatment of how imperfections in Lenz’ and Sachtleben’s personality and demeanor may have contributed to various sub-optimal outcomes.
So I think I presented these two fairly, warts and all, without passing unfair judgments.
MD: It is a great story, and as a cyclist I couldn't stop myself from dreaming about setting off on my own tour. Has the process of researching and writing this book inspired you to tour by bicycle yourself?
DVH: I did cycle around Greece one summer when I was Lenz’s age and loved it. I would have kept going if I had had a sponsor. I would definitely be open to a long bicycle tour at some point.
MD: Any stories about your own adventures while researching this book?
DVH: I had lots of interesting adventures. One that stands out was my visit to East Liverpool, Ohio, in the summer of 2008. I met Wink Smith, the great-grandson of John J. Purinton, the attorney who notified the State Department that Lenz was missing. Wink and his wife Dorothea were extremely accommodating. We had hoped to find Lenz's trunk (the Smiths live on the same estate where JJP lived) and maybe a trove of his letters home. Unfortunately nothing turned up.
Perhaps to cheer me up, the Smiths graciously took me to a posh country club for lunch. Wink casually mentioned that he was going hunting the next week. This being a few days after Dick Cheney's infamous hunting accident, I thought I'd be funny and cracked: "That's great. Just don't invite Dick Cheney." Dead Silence. I started to squirm, fearing that I had been politically insensitive. After a few moments of awkward silence, Wink cleared his throat and said matter-of-factly, "Well, actually....he's coming!" I probably should have guessed that Cheney might be visiting that remote region to hunt for votes, Ohio being such a swing state, and bit my tongue.
Another interesting experience was visiting the Bonnycroft estate in Wesport, New York, formerly the summer residence of James H. Worman, the Outing editor who sent Lenz off on his world tour. At the invitation of the realtor who's selling the place, William McHone, I got to spend a night in Worman's bedroom. Oh, the questions I would liked to have asked…
Visiting the Yildiz palace in Istanbul was also a thrill. I could just picture Terrell and the Sultan seated in the reception room, discussing the Lenz case. And I got to see the train station where the Orient Express arrived carrying Sachtleben, and the American Bible House, where he consulted with the missionaries. And interviewing several elderly ladies from Ohio who had actually met Sachtleben was mind-boggling.
MD: Is this a book for cyclists?
DVH: Yes, I think so. Lenz was, after all, a pioneer of the new safety bicycle. He was, as he himself noted, an avid cyclist first and foremost. But I also think the book will appeal to non-cyclists who can relate to Lenz's ambitions or who simply like a good story. |
