THE AMERICAN DREAM

1.10 ▫︎ MARCH, 1934 ↦ HOWARD

"Where are you going, son?" Walker asked his now 16-year-old son as he took a muffin and started out the door.

"Manfredi's" Howard revealed casually. Walter sighed and put down the newspaper.

"You know what they say about the Manfredi's. I don't know if I want you working for them any longer." His father's lips twitched as he waited for Howard's response.

"Pops, I don't work for him. I help him from some errands in thanks for him educating me."

Walter scoffed. "Educating you. I'd rather you go too that public school than to receive any more of that education."

Howard sighed. "Sorry, Pops. I'll see you tonight for supper."

"Fine."

Howard hurried to the Manfredi residence where the driver was waiting. Howard leaned in the window. "What have we got today, Carl?"

"Mr. Manfredi needs us to pick up some money and deliver some messages." Howard nodded.

"Where's the big guy?"

"In the car already," Carl said, his New York accent heavy. Howard did not see the man in the back through the window tint. Howard got in the car and shook the muscle's hand.

"Ready, Burner?" Burner nodded and handed him a pistol. Howard eyes it for a second before taking it and attacking it away in his jacket. He always hesitated. He wasn't afraid of carrying again, but he was afraid of having to use it.

The errands they ran for Mr. Manfredi were not always safe. There were other gangs in the area. At the territory lines, thugs could get nearly. They have before, but never with Howard.

They drove through Mandfredi's part of New York, going into businesses and collecting the money that they owed them on for "protection". Burner followed Howard everywhere he went for protection and intimidation while Howard did all the talking and convincing. Then they were to deliver a message to the new restaurant on the block.

Howard entered the Italian diner, Burner, just behind him. He asked the waitress for the owner. An older, short man came out of the back, wiping his hands on his apron, and offered it to Howard. Howard shook it. "May we speak in your office, Mr..."

"Mr. Willows. May I ask who you are first, sir?"

"I work for Mr. Manfredi," Howard said. Mr. Willows' eyes grew wide with fear.

"I see you recognize the name. Can we talk?" The young boy asked.

"O-Of course," he stammered, leading Howard and Burner to the back. Mr. Willows looked back at the burner with uneasy eyes.

When the sat down, Howard smiled. "As a business owner, you should be familiar that this area is quite overrun with mob activity."

Mr. Willows frowned. "No sir, I didn't."

Howard crossed his legs and smiled again. "Well, I am here to tell you that you won't have to worry about any such interruptions if you can trust Mr. Manfredi's organization."

"What is the catch?" Mr. Willow's asked.

Howard chuckled, sitting up in his chair and poured his finger at the diner owner. "Smart man. I suppose you can assume that such indefinite protection requires indefinite payment. Otherwise, why should Mr. Manfredi help you like that?"

Mr. Willows looked to Burner and back to Howard and sighed. He must know what would happen if he refused. The diner owner agreed to the deal, and Howard then ordered a quick lunch in the diner. They ate and headed back to the Manfredi residence.

Joe greeted him at the door. "How did it go?"

"Everything ran smoothly," Howard told him.

"As always with you. Can I tell you one more time that you would make a great addition to the family business?" Joe asked.

Howard chuckled and patted him on the back. "You can keep tell me as much as you want, but you're not going to get me. I don't mind helping out here and there, but no full-time work. My parents would flip, and truthfully, I don't think it would be too good for me to join the mob."

Joe sighed and they headed down to the study where they were supposed to meet with their tutor. The lesson did not last long. Howard was out of there in no time.

Howard then made his way to the Institute of Modern Industry in Manhattan where he was assigned to work on a project. Howard had been bugging them for years for a space to experiment and build. It took more effort than he thought it would, but the day he turned 15, he decided that the only way to get in was to patent something. All the other adult engineers there either had published findings or patented inventions.

Howard found that's his mothers home sewing machine could earn him a place at the Institute. But he would have to build a clean one. One with real part instead of car scraps.

So he lied. He had already gotten quite good at it, working for the Manfredi's. But he truly put his skills to the test in the search for cheap or free supplies. Fake ID's, fake titles, and fake urgency for him a place on the Lower East Side to work. He accumulated tools and supplies and eventually, his sewing machine was finished, and soon patented.

And the institute allowed him a position. They paid him to work on an assigned project, which he was the bottom feeder for. When he tried to make a suggestion he was shut down. When he tried fox something, he was shut up. It was rerouting electricity circuits. He didn't understand why they had been working on it for so long. He stayed late one night and finished it completely. He received a stern talking to, but was eventually put on a better project. He was helping to develop television.

"Make sure you write down each frequency you use and the outcomes, Doctor," Howard ordered the young intern as he hung up his lab coat and headed out the door. It was about 7 pm and he was ready to head home. But the supervising doctor of not only the project Howard was working on, but of the entire Institute stopped him on the way out.

"Howard," he said. "I want to to come with me to International Sciences Association Conference."

Howard looked at him funny. "Doctor, May I remind you, respectively, that you're talking to Mr. Howard Stark, a penniless 16 year old to attend a conference where only men with Noble Prizes go to? Sorry, but it just doesn't make sense to me."

Doctor Franks pulled Howard aside to the rest of the scientists could leave. "Howard you have proved time and time again that you are the smartest man in the room, where ever you go. You have a team of experienced doctors working beneath you. Your work has powered entire facilities. You've saved money, lives, and energy in nearly every seeing factory in New England with your sewing machine. All the movie pictures are coming home because of you. And you're sixteen. Howard you're a genius and I'd like you to come to Geneva with me to meet other geniuses."

Howard smiled. "When are we going?"