Way back in the olden days, say... around the 1890s, there lived an eccentric young man by the name of Benjamin Fergus. Now, one of the things Ben loved to do was tinker with gears, levers, switches, and sprockets. If it was mechanical, Ben was working on it, putting it together, or taking it apart. The other thing he loved to do was use his wild and wonderful imagination to create whatever came into his brilliant mind.

One dreary and rainy day, Benjamin was tinkering in his cluttered workshop, as he almost always did on dreary and rainy days. On this particular day, he had found an old tin breadbox, out behind the old textile factory, where his workshop was located.

He decided he would make something out of it... but what, exactly, would he make? First, he thought of building a talking and singing box-a box that people would gather around and listen to, but that was a silly idea. Who would ever want to sit around and listen to a box that made sound or played music? Then, he thought about building a box that would show pictures to people who would sit around and look at it, but that was even sillier than the talking box. Fergus tried all kinds of ideas. He used wires and tubes that snaked from here to there. He took the bread box apart... and he put it back together again.

Finally, after many, many weeks of tireless work and sleepless nights, Ben stood before an odd looking contraption that consisted of the old tin bread box, hooked up to a few old stove pipes, a couple of sprockets, and a few useless buttons and switches. Two small buttons near the edge of the box were marked on and off.

He was very disappointed.

He had worked so hard, but had come up with so little. Dejected, he sat on a nearby stool, staring contemptuously at the infernal thing he had created. He sighed and muttered to himself, "Well, I imagine I'll just build a nice wooden table instead."

Suddenly, the odd little bread box contraption began to sputter, shake, and chug, spewing tendrils of steam and smoke into the air. Then the steam and smoke began to swirl into a circle, spinning around the little workshop like a tornado. Finally, a blinding flash at the center of the smoke tornado and... a beautifully crafted wooden table appeared in the center of the room-the very table that Ben had just mentioned.

He stood in dumbfounded silence.

What just happened? "All I said was, 'I imagine I'll build a nice wooded table,'" he mumbled again. The contraption began to shake and chug again, smoke and steam, tornado, a flash... and another table, just like the first.

What on earth had Benjamin Fergus created?

It seemed to be some kind of magical genie machine. You spoke your wish and poof, the thing you wished for appeared before you. Ben decided to try it once more.

"I wish for a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs," he ordered.

Silence.

He waited and he waited, but nothing happened. He tapped the little machine on the top, then on the sides... "I wish for a plate of spaghetti and meatballs," he said even louder this time.

Still nothing.

"Hmm," he grunted with frustration. "Imagine that."

There it went again. Sputtering and chugging, smoke and steam. The tornado, and... flash... four large wooden blocks, each in the shape of a letter. T - H - A - T appeared before him, standing on one of the wooden tables.

Now he understood.

This contraption Ben had created wasn't a wishing machine at all. It was an imagination machine. A wonderful, magnificent, magical imagination machine. But how in the world had he done it? All he did was combine and old tin bread box, some stove pipes, old sprockets, and a few wires, switches, and buttons. Ben was both confounded and ecstatic by the his new little miracle machine.

The world had to know about this.

More to Come