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AT the opening of the Electrical Show in New
York City in October, 1908, to celebrate
the jubilee of the Atlantic Cable and the first
quarter century of lighting with the Edison
service on Manhattan Island, the exercises
were all conducted by means of the Edison
phonograph. This included the dedicatory speech
of Governor Hughes, of New York; the modest
remarks of Mr. Edison, as president; the
congratulations of the presidents of several
national electric bodies, and a number of vocal
and instrumental selections of operatic nature.
All this was heard clearly by a very large
audience, and was repeated on other evenings.
The same speeches were used again
phonographically at the Electrical Show in
Chicago in 1909--and now the records are
preserved for reproduction a hundred or a
thousand years hence. This tour de force,
never attempted before, was merely an
exemplification of the value of the phonograph
not only in establishing at first hand the facts
of history, but in preserving the human voice.
What would we not give to listen to the very
accents and tones of the Sermon on the Mount,
the orations of Demosthenes, the first Pitt's
appeal for American liberty, the Farewell of
Washington, or the Address at Gettysburg?
Until Edison made his wonderful invention in
1877, the human race was entirely without
means for preserving or passing on to posterity
its own linguistic utterances or any other vocal
sound. We have some idea how the ancients
looked and felt and wrote; the abundant evidence
takes us back to the cave-dwellers. But all
the old languages are dead, and the literary
form is their embalmment. We do not even know
definitely how Shakespeare's and Goldsmith's
plays were pronounced on the stage in the
theatres of the time; while it is only a guess
that perhaps Chaucer would sound much more
modern than he scans.
The analysis of sound, which owes so much to
Helmholtz, was one step toward recording; and
the various means of illustrating the phenomena
of sound to the eye and ear, prior to the
phonograph, were all ingenious. One can watch
the dancing little flames of Koenig, and see a
voice expressed in tongues of fire; but the
record can only be photographic. In like
manner, the simple phonautograph of Leon
Scott, invented about 1858, records on a
revolving cylinder of blackened paper the sound
vibrations transmitted through a membrane to
which a tiny stylus is attached; so that a human
mouth uses a pen and inscribes its sign vocal.
Yet after all we are just as far away as ever
from enabling the young actors at Harvard to
give Aristophanes with all the true, subtle
intonation and inflection of the Athens of
400 B.C. The instrument is dumb.
Ingenuity has been shown also in the invention
of "talking-machines," like Faber's, based
on the reed organ pipe. These autom- ata can
be made by dexterous manipulation to jabber a
little, like a doll with its monotonous
"ma-ma," or a cuckoo clock; but they lack
even the sterile utility of the imitative art of
ventriloquism. The real great invention lies in
creating devices that shall be able to evoke from
tinfoil, wax, or composition at any time
to-day or in the future the sound that once was
as evanescent as the vibrations it made on the
air.
Contrary to the general notion, very few of the
great modern inventions have been the result of a
sudden inspiration by which, Minerva-like,
they have sprung full-fledged from their
creators' brain; but, on the contrary, they
have been evolved by slow and gradual steps, so
that frequently the final advance has been often
almost imperceptible. The Edison phonograph is
an important exception to the general rule;
not, of course, the phonograph of the present
day with all of its mechanical perfection, but
as an instrument capable of recording and
reproducing sound. Its invention has been
frequently attributed to the discovery that a
point attached to a telephone diaphragm would,
under the effect of sound-waves, vibrate with
sufficient force to prick the finger. The
story, though interesting, is not founded on
fact; but, if true, it is difficult to see how
the discovery in question could have contributed
materially to the ultimate accomplishment. To a
man of Edison's perception it is absurd to
suppose that the effect of the so-called
discovery would not have been made as a matter of
deduction long before the physical sensation was
experienced. As a matter of fact, the
invention of the phonograph was the result of
pure reason. Some time prior to 1877,
Edison had been experimenting on an automatic
telegraph in which the letters were formed by
embossing strips of paper with the proper
arrangement of dots and dashes. By drawing this
strip beneath a contact lever, the latter was
actuated so as to control the circuits and send
the desired signals over the line. It was
observed that when the strip was moved very
rapidly the vibration of the lever resulted in
the production of an audible note. With these
facts before him, Edison reasoned that if the
paper strip could be imprinted with elevations
and depressions representative of sound-waves,
they might be caused to actuate a diaphragm so as
to reproduce the corresponding sounds. The next
step in the line of development was to form the
necessary undulations on the strip, and it was
then reasoned that original sounds themselves
might be utilized to form a graphic record by
actuating a diaphragm and causing a cutting or
indenting point carried thereby to vibrate in
contact with a moving surface, so as to cut or
indent the record therein. Strange as it may
seem, therefore, and contrary to the general
belief, the phonograph was developed backward,
the production of the sounds being of prior
development to the idea of actually recording
them.
Mr. Edison's own account of the invention of
the phonograph is intensely interesting. "I
was experimenting," he says, "on an automatic
method of recording telegraph messages on a disk
of paper laid on a revolving platen, exactly the
same as the disk talking-machine of to-day.
The platen had a spiral groove on its surface,
like the disk. Over this was placed a circular
disk of paper; an electromagnet with the
embossing point connected to an arm travelled
over the disk; and any signals given through the
magnets were embossed on the disk of paper. If
this disk was removed from the machine and put on
a similar machine provided with a contact point,
the embossed record would cause the signals to be
repeated into another wire. The ordinary speed
of telegraphic signals is thirty-five to forty
words a minute; but with this machine several
hundred words were possible.
"From my experiments on the telephone I knew
of the power of a diaphragm to take up sound
vibrations, as I had made a little toy which,
when you recited loudly in the funnel, would
work a pawl connected to the diaphragm; and this
engaging a ratchet- wheel served to give
continuous rotation to a pulley. This pulley
was connected by a cord to a little paper toy
representing a man sawing wood. Hence, if one
shouted: `Mary had a little lamb,' etc.,
the paper man would start sawing wood. I
reached the conclusion that if I could record
the movements of the diaphragm properly, I
could cause such record to reproduce the original
movements imparted to the diaphragm by the
voice, and thus succeed in recording and
reproducing the human voice.
"Instead of using a disk I designed a little
machine using a cylinder provided with grooves
around the surface. Over this was to be placed
tinfoil, which easily received and recorded the
movements of the diaphragm. A sketch was made,
and the piece-work price, $18, was marked
on the sketch. I was in the habit of marking
the price I would pay on each sketch. If the
workman lost, I would pay his regular wages;
if he made more than the wages, he kept it.
The workman who got the sketch was John
Kruesi. I didn't have much faith that it
would work, expecting that I might possibly
hear a word or so that would give hope of a
future for the idea. Kruesi, when he had
nearly finished it, asked what it was for. I
told him I was going to record talking, and
then have the machine talk back. He thought it
absurd. However, it was finished, the foil
was put on; I then shouted `Mary had a little
lamb,' etc. I adjusted the reproducer, and
the machine reproduced it perfectly. I was
never so taken aback in my life. Everybody was
astonished. I was always afraid of things that
worked the first time. Long experience proved
that there were great drawbacks found generally
before they could be got commercial; but here
was something there was no doubt of."
No wonder that honest John Kruesi, as he
stood and listened to the marvellous performance
of the simple little machine he had himself just
finished, ejaculated in an awe-stricken tone:
"Mein Gott im Himmel!" And yet he had
already seen Edison do a few clever things. No
wonder they sat up all night fixing and adjusting
it so as to get better and better
results--reciting and singing, trying each
other's voices, and then listening with
involuntary awe as the words came back again and
again, just as long as they were willing to
revolve the little cylinder with its dotted
spiral indentations in the tinfoil under the
vibrating stylus of the reproducing diaphragm.
It took a little time to acquire the knack of
turning the crank steadily while leaning over the
recorder to talk into the machine; and there was
some deftness required also in fastening down the
tinfoil on the cylinder where it was held by a
pin running in a longitudinal slot. Paraffined
paper appears also to have been experimented with
as an impressible material. It is said that
Carman, the foreman of the machine shop, had
gone the length of wagering Edison a box of
cigars that the device would not work. All the
world knows that he lost.
The original Edison phonograph thus built by
Kruesi is preserved in the South Kensington
Museum, London. That repository can
certainly have no greater treasure of its kind.
But as to its immediate use, the inventor
says: "That morning I took it over to New
York and walked into the office of the
Scientific American, went up to Mr.
Beach's desk, and said I had something to
show him. He asked what it was. I told him I
had a machine that would record and reproduce the
human voice. I opened the package, set up the
machine and recited, `Mary had a little
lamb,' etc. Then I reproduced it so that it
could be heard all over the room. They kept me
at it until the crowd got so great Mr. Beach
was afraid the floor would collapse; and we were
compelled to stop. The papers next morning
contained columns. None of the writers seemed
to understand how it was done. I tried to
explain, it was so very simple, but the results
were so surprising they made up their minds
probably that they never would understand
it--and they didn't.
"I started immediately making several larger
and better machines, which I exhibited at
Menlo Park to crowds. The Pennsylvania
Railroad ran special trains. Washington people
telegraphed me to come on. I took a phonograph
to Washington and exhibited it in the room of
James G. Blaine's niece (Gail
Hamilton); and members of Congress and
notable people of that city came all day long
until late in the evening. I made one break.
I recited `Mary,' etc., and another
ditty:
`There was a little girl, who had a little
curl Right in the middle of her forehead; And
when she was good she was very, very good, But
when she was bad she was horrid.'
It will be remembered that Senator Roscoe
Conkling, then very prominent, had a curl of
hair on his forehead; and all the caricaturists
developed it abnormally. He was very sensitive
about the subject. When he came in he was
introduced; but being rather deaf, I didn't
catch his name, but sat down and started the
curl ditty. Everybody tittered, and I was
told that Mr. Conkling was displeased. About
11 o'clock at night word was received from
President Hayes that he would be very much
pleased if I would come up to the White
House. I was taken there, and found Mr.
Hayes and several others waiting. Among them
I remember Carl Schurz, who was playing the
piano when I entered the room. The exhibition
continued till about 12.30 A.M., when
Mrs. Hayes and several other ladies, who had
been induced to get up and dress, appeared. I
left at 3.30 A,M,
"For a long time some people thought there was
trickery. One morning at Menlo Park a
gentleman came to the laboratory and asked to see
the phonograph. It was Bishop Vincent, who
helped Lewis Miller found the Chautauqua I
exhibited it, and then he asked if he could
speak a few words. I put on a fresh foil and
told him to go ahead. He commenced to recite
Biblical names with immense rapidity. On
reproducing it he said: `I am satisfied,
now. There isn't a man in the United States
who could recite those names with the same
rapidity.' "
The phonograph was now fairly launched as a
world sensation, and a reference to the
newspapers of 1878 will show the extent to
which it and Edison were themes of universal
discussion. Some of the press notices of the
period were most amazing--and amusing. As
though the real achievements of this young man,
barely thirty, were not tangible and solid
enough to justify admiration of his genius, the
"yellow journalists" of the period began busily
to create an "Edison myth," with gross
absurdities of assertion and attribution from
which the modest subject of it all has not yet
ceased to suffer with unthinking people. A
brilliantly vicious example of this method of
treatment is to be found in the Paris Figaro of
that year, which under the appropriate title of
"This Astounding Eddison" lay bare before
the French public the most startling revelations
as to the inventor's life and character. "It
should be understood," said this journal,
"that Mr. Eddison does not belong to
himself. He is the property of the telegraph
company which lodges him in New York at a
superb hotel; keeps him on a luxurious footing,
and pays him a formidable salary so as to be the
one to know of and profit by his discoveries.
The company has, in the dwelling of Eddison,
men in its employ who do not quit him for a
moment, at the table, on the street, in the
laboratory. So that this wretched man, watched
more closely than ever was any malefactor,
cannot even give a moment's thought to his own
private affairs without one of his guards asking
him what he is thinking about." This foolish
"blague" was accompanied by a description of
Edison's new "aerophone," a steam machine
which carried the voice a distance of one and a
half miles. "You speak to a jet of vapor. A
friend previously advised can answer you by the
same method." Nor were American journals
backward in this wild exaggeration.
The furor had its effect in stimulating a desire
everywhere on the part of everybody to see and
hear the phonograph. A small commercial
organization was formed to build and exploit the
apparatus, and the shops at Menlo Park
laboratory were assisted by the little Bergmann
shop in New York. Offices were taken for the
new enterprise at 203 Broadway, where the
Mail and Express building now stands, and
where, in a general way, under the auspices of
a talented dwarf, C. A. Cheever, the
embryonic phonograph and the crude telephone
shared rooms and expenses. Gardiner G.
Hubbard, father-in-law of Alex. Graham
Bell, was one of the stockholders in the
Phonograph Company, which paid Edison
$10,000 cash and a 20 per cent.
royalty. This curious part- nership was
maintained for some time, even when the Bell
Telephone offices were removed to Reade
Street, New York, whither the phonograph
went also; and was perhaps explained by the fact
that just then the ability of the phonograph as a
money-maker was much more easily demonstrated
than was that of the telephone, still in its
short range magneto stage and awaiting
development with the aid of the carbon
transmitter.
The earning capacity of the phonograph then, as
largely now, lay in its exhibition qualities.
The royalties from Boston, ever intellectually
awake and ready for something new, ran as high
as $1800 a week. In New York there was a
ceaseless demand for it, and with the aid of
Hilbourne L. Roosevelt, a famous organ
builder, and uncle of ex-President
Roosevelt, concerts were given at which the
phonograph was "featured." To manage this
novel show business the services of James
Redpath were called into requisition with great
success. Redpath, famous as a friend and
biographer of John Brown, as a Civil War
correspondent, and as founder of the celebrated
Redpath Lyceum Bureau in Boston, divided the
country into territories, each section being
leased for exhibition purposes on a basis of a
percentage of the "gate money." To 203
Broadway from all over the Union flocked a
swarm of showmen, cranks, and particularly of
old operators, who, the seedier they were in
appearance, the more insistent they were that
"Tom" should give them, for the sake of
"Auld lang syne," this chance to make a
fortune for him and for themselves. At the top
of the building was a floor on which these
novices were graduated in the use and care of the
machine, and then, with an equipment of tinfoil
and other supplies, they were sent out on the
road. It was a diverting experience while it
lasted. The excitement over the phonograph was
maintained for many months, until a large
proportion of the inhabitants of the country had
seen it; and then the show receipts declined and
dwindled away. Many of the old operators,
taken on out of good-nature, were poor
exhibitors and worse accountants, and at last
they and the machines with which they had been
intrusted faded from sight. But in the mean
time Edison had learned many lessons as to this
practical side of development that were not
forgotten when the renascence of the phonograph
began a few years later, leading up to the
present enormous and steady demand for both
machines and records.
It deserves to be pointed out that the
phonograph has changed little in the intervening
years from the first crude instruments of
1877-78. It has simply been refined and
made more perfect in a mechanical sense. Edison
was immensely impressed with its possibilities,
and greatly inclined to work upon it, but the
coming of the electric light compelled him to
throw all his energies for a time into the vast
new field awaiting conquest. The original
phonograph, as briefly noted above, was rotated
by hand, and the cylinder was fed slowly
longitudinally by means of a nut engaging a screw
thread on the cylinder shaft. Wrapped around
the cylinder was a sheet of tinfoil, with which
engaged a small chisel-like recording needle,
connected adhesively with the centre of an iron
diaphragm. Obviously, as the cylinder was
turned, the needle followed a spiral path whose
pitch depended upon that of the feed screw.
Along this path a thread was cut in the cylinder
so as to permit the needle to indent the foil
readily as the diaphragm vibrated. By rotating
the cylinder and by causing the diaphragm to
vibrate under the effect of vocal or musical
sounds, the needle-like point would form a
series of indentations in the foil corresponding
to and characteristic of the sound-waves. By
now engaging the point with the beginning of the
grooved record so formed, and by again rotating
the cylinder, the undulations of the record
would cause the needle and its attached diaphragm
to vibrate so as to effect the reproduction.
Such an apparatus was necessarily undeveloped,
and was interesting only from a scientific point
of view. It had many mechanical defects which
prevented its use as a practical apparatus.
Since the cylinder was rotated by hand, the
speed at which the record was formed would vary
considerably, even with the same manipulator,
so that it would have been impossible to record
and reproduce music satisfactorily; in doing
which exact uniformity of speed is essential.
The formation of the record in tinfoil was also
objectionable from a practical standpoint, since
such a record was faint and would be
substantially obliterated after two or three
reproductions. Furthermore, the foil could not
be easily removed from and replaced upon the
instrument, and consequently the reproduction
had to follow the recording immediately, and the
successive tinfoils were thrown away. The
instrument was also heavy and bulky.
Notwithstanding these objections the original
phonograph created, as already remarked, an
enormous popular excitement, and the exhibitions
were considered by many sceptical persons as
nothing more than clever ventriloquism. The
possibilities of the instrument as a commercial
apparatus were recognized from the very first,
and some of the fields in which it was predicted
that the phonograph would be used are now fully
occupied. Some have not yet been realized.
Writing in 1878 in the North
American-Review, Mr. Edison thus summed up
his own ideas as to the future applications of
the new invention:
"Among the many uses to which the phonograph
will be applied are the following:
1. Letter writing and all kinds of dictation
without the aid of a stenographer.
2. Phonographic books, which will speak to
blind people without effort on their part.
3. The teaching of elocution.
4. Reproduction of music.
5. The `Family Record'--a registry of
sayings, reminiscences, etc., by members of a
family in their own voices, and of the last
words of dying persons.
6. Music-boxes and toys.
7. Clocks that should announce in articulate
speech the time for going home, going to meals,
etc.
8. The preservation of languages by exact
reproduction of the manner of pronouncing.
9. Educational purposes; such as preserving
the explanations made by a teacher, so that the
pupil can refer to them at any moment, and
spelling or other lessons placed upon the
phonograph for convenience in committing to
memory.
10. Connection with the telephone, so as to
make that instrument an auxiliary in the
transmission of permanent and invaluable
records, instead of being the recipient of
momentary and fleeting communication."
Of the above fields of usefulness in which it
was expected that the phonograph might be
applied, only three have been commercially
realized--namely, the reproduction of
musical, including vaudeville or talking
selections, for which purpose a very large
proportion of the phonographs now made is used;
the employment of the machine as a mechanical
stenographer, which field has been taken up
actively only within the past few years; and the
utilization of the device for the teaching of
languages, for which purpose it has been
successfully employed, for example, by the
International Correspondence Schools of
Scranton, Pennsylvania, for several years.
The other uses, however, which were early
predicted for the phonograph have not as yet been
worked out practically, although the time seems
not far distant when its general utility will be
widely enlarged. Both dolls and clocks have
been made, but thus far the world has not taken
them seriously.
The original phonograph, as invented by
Edison, remained in its crude and immature
state for almost ten years--still the object of
philosophical interest, and as a convenient
text-book illustration of the effect of sound
vibration. It continued to be a theme of
curious interest to the imaginative, and the
subject of much fiction, while its neglected
commercial possibilities were still more or less
vaguely referred to. During this period of
arrested development, Edison was continuously
working on the invention and commercial
exploitation of the incandescent lamp. In
1887 his time was comparatively free, and
the phonograph was then taken up with renewed
energy, and the effort made to overcome its
mechanical defects and to furnish a commercial
instrument, so that its early promise might be
realized. The important changes made from that
time up to 1890 converted the phonograph from
a scientific toy into a successful industrial
apparatus. The idea of forming the record on
tinfoil had been early abandoned, and in its
stead was substituted a cylinder of wax-like
material, in which the record was cut by a
minute chisel-like gouging tool. Such a record
or phonogram, as it was then called, could be
removed from the machine or replaced at any
time, many reproductions could be obtained
without wearing out the record, and whenever
desired the record could be shaved off by a
turning-tool so as to present a fresh surface on
which a new record could be formed, something
like an ancient palimpsest. A wax cylinder
having walls less than one-quarter of an inch in
thickness could be used for receiving a large
number of records, since the maximum depth of
the record groove is hardly ever greater than one
one-thousandth of an inch. Later on, and as
the crowning achievement in the phonograph
field, from a commercial point of view, came
the duplication of records to the extent of many
thousands from a single "master." This work
was actively developed between the years 1890
and 1898, and its difficulties may be
appreciated when the problem is stated; the
copying from a single master of many millions of
excessively minute sound-waves having a maximum
width of one hundredth of an inch, and a maximum
depth of one thousandth of an inch, or less than
the thickness of a sheet of tissue-paper.
Among the interesting developments of this
process was the coating of the original or master
record with a homogeneous film of gold so thin
that three hundred thousand of these piled one on
top of the other would present a thickness of
only one inch!
Another important change was in the nature of a
reversal of the original arrangement, the
cylinder or mandrel carrying the record being
mounted in fixed bearings, and the recording or
reproducing device being fed lengthwise, like
the cutting-tool of a lathe, as the blank or
record was rotated. It was early recognized
that a single needle for forming the record and
the reproduction therefrom was an undesirable
arrangement, since the formation of the record
required a very sharp cutting-tool, while
satisfactory and repeated reproduction suggested
the use of a stylus which would result in the
minimum wear. After many experiments and the
production of a number of types of machines, the
present recorders and reproducers were evolved,
the former consisting of a very small cylindrical
gouging tool having a diameter of about forty
thousandths of an inch, and the latter a ball or
button-shaped stylus with a diameter of about
thirty-five thousandths of an inch. By using
an incisor of this sort, the record is formed of
a series of connected gouges with rounded sides,
varying in depth and width, and with which the
reproducer automatically engages and maintains
its engagement. Another difficulty encountered
in the commercial development of the phonograph
was the adjustment of the recording stylus so as
to enter the wax-like surface to a very slight
depth, and of the reproducer so as to engage
exactly the record when formed. The earlier
types of machines were provided with separate
screws for effecting these adjustments; but
considerable skill was required to obtain good
results, and great difficulty was experienced in
meeting the variations in the wax-like
cylinders, due to the warping under atmospheric
changes. Consequently, with the early types of
commercial phonographs, it was first necessary
to shave off the blank accurately before a record
was formed thereon, in order that an absolutely
true surface might be presented. To overcome
these troubles, the very ingenious suggestion
was then made and adopted, of connecting the
recording and reproducing styluses to their
respective diaphragms through the instrumentality
of a compensating weight, which acted
practically as a fixed support under the very
rapid sound vibrations, but which yielded
readily to distortions or variations in the
wax-like cylinders. By reason of this
improvement, it became possible to do away with
all adjustments, the mass of the compensating
weight causing the recorder to engage the blank
automatically to the required depth, and to
maintain the reproducing stylus always with the
desired pressure on the record when formed.
These automatic adjustments were maintained even
though the blank or record might be so much out
of true as an eighth of an inch, equal to more
than two hundred times the maximum depth of the
record groove.
Another improvement that followed along the
lines adopted by Edison for the commercial
development of the phonograph was making the
recording and reproducing styluses of sapphire,
an extremely hard, non-oxidizable jewel, so
that those tiny instruments would always retain
their true form and effectively resist wear. Of
course, in this work many other things were done
that may still be found on the perfected
phonograph as it stands to-day, and many other
suggestions were made which were
contemporaneously adopted, but which were later
abandoned. For the curious-minded, reference
is made to the records in the Patent Office,
which will show that up to 1893 Edison had
obtained upward of sixty-five patents in this
art, from which his line of thought can be very
closely traced. The phonograph of to-day,
except for the perfection of its mechanical
features, in its beauty of manufacture and
design, and in small details, may be considered
identical with the machine of 1889, with the
exception that with the latter the rotation of
the record cylinder was effected by an electric
motor.
Its essential use as then contemplated was as a
substitute for stenographers, and the most
extravagant fancies were indulged in as to
utility in that field. To exploit the device
commercially, the patents were sold to
Philadelphia capitalists, who organized the
North American Phonograph Company, through
which leases for limited periods were granted to
local companies doing business in special
territories, gen- erally within the confines of
a single State. Under that plan, resembling
the methods of 1878, the machines and blank
cylinders were manufactured by the Edison
Phonograph Works, which still retains its
factories at Orange, New Jersey. The
marketing enterprise was early doomed to
failure, principally because the instruments
were not well understood, and did not possess
the necessary refinements that would fit them for
the special field in which they were to be used.
At first the instruments were leased; but it
was found that the leases were seldom renewed.
Efforts were then made to sell them, but the
prices were high--from $100 to $150.
In the midst of these difficulties, the chief
promoter of the enterprise, Mr. Lippincott,
died; and it was soon found that the roseate
dreams of success entertained by the sanguine
promoters were not to be realized. The North
American Phonograph Company failed, its
principal creditor being Mr. Edison, who,
having acquired the assets of the defunct
concern, organized the National Phonograph
Company, to which he turned over the patents;
and with characteristic energy he attempted again
to build up a business with which his favorite
and, to him, most interesting invention might
be successfully identified. The National
Phonograph Company from the very start
determined to retire at least temporarily from
the field of stenographic use, and to exploit
the phonograph for musical purposes as a
competitor of the music-box. Hence it was
necessary that for such work the relatively heavy
and expensive electric motor should be
discarded, and a simple spring motor constructed
with a sufficiently sensitive governor to permit
accurate musical reproduction. Such a motor was
designed, and is now used on all phonographs
except on such special instruments as may be made
with electric motors, as well as on the
successful apparatus that has more recently been
designed and introduced for stenographic use.
Improved factory facilities were introduced;
new tools were made, and various types of
machines were designed so that phonographs can
now be bought at prices ranging from $10 to
$200. Even with the changes which were thus
made in the two machines, the work of developing
the business was slow, as a demand had to be
created; and the early prejudice of the public
against the phonograph, due to its failure as a
stenographic apparatus, had to be overcome.
The story of the phonograph as an industrial
enterprise, from this point of departure, is
itself full of interest, but embraces so many
details that it is necessarily given in a
separate later chapter. We must return to the
days of 1878, when Edison, with at least
three first-class inventions to his
credit--the quadruplex, the carbon telephone,
and the phonograph --had become a man of mark
and a "world character."
The invention of the phonograph was immediately
followed, as usual, by the appearance of
several other incidental and auxiliary devices,
some patented, and others remaining simply the
application of the principles of apparatus that
had been worked out. One of these was the
telephonograph, a combination of a telephone at
a distant station with a phonograph. The
diaphragm of the phonograph mouthpiece is
actuated by an electromagnet in the same way as
that of an ordinary telephone receiver, and in
this manner a record of the message spoken from a
distance can be obtained and turned into sound at
will. Evidently such a process is reversible,
and the phonograph can send a message to the
distant receiver.
This idea was brilliantly demonstrated in
practice in February, 1889, by Mr. W.
J. Hammer, one of Edison's earliest and
most capable associates, who carried on
telephonographic communication between New York
and an audience in Philadelphia. The record
made in New York on the Edison phonograph was
repeated into an Edison carbon transmitter,
sent over one hundred and three miles of
circuit, including six miles of underground
cable; received by an Edison motograph;
repeated by that on to a phonograph; transferred
from the phonograph to an Edison carbon
transmitter, and by that delivered to the
Edison motograph receiver in the enthusiastic
lecture-hall, where every one could hear each
sound and syllable distinctly. In real practice
this spectacular playing with sound vibrations,
as if they were lacrosse balls to toss around
between the goals, could be materially
simplified.
The modern megaphone, now used universally in
making announcements to large crowds,
particularly at sporting events, is also due to
this period as a perfection by Edison of many
antecedent devices going back, perhaps, much
further than the legendary funnels through which
Alexander the Great is said to have sent
commands to his outlying forces. The improved
Edison megaphone for long-distance work
comprised two horns of wood or metal about six
feet long, tapering from a diameter of two feet
six inches at the mouth to a small aperture
provided with ear- tubes. These converging
horns or funnels, with a large speaking-trumpet
in between them, are mounted on a tripod, and
the megaphone is complete. Conversation can be
carried on with this megaphone at a distance of
over two miles, as with a ship or the balloon.
The modern megaphone now employs the receiver
form thus introduced as its very effective
transmitter, with which the old-fashioned
speaking- trumpet cannot possibly compete; and
the word "megaphone" is universally applied to
the single, side-flaring horn.
A further step in this line brought Edison to
the "aerophone," around which the Figaro
weaved its fanciful description. In the
construction of the aerophone the same kind of
tympanum is used as in the phonograph, but the
imitation of the human voice, or the
transmission of sound, is effected by the quick
opening and closing of valves placed within a
steam- whistle or an organ-pipe. The
vibrations of the diaphragm communicated to the
valves cause them to operate in synchronism, so
that the vibrations are thrown upon the escaping
air or steam; and the result is an instrument
with a capacity of magnifying the sounds two
hundred times, and of hurling them to great
distances intelligibly, like a huge fog-siren,
but with immense clearness and penetration. All
this study of sound transmission over long
distances without wires led up to the
consideration and inven- tion of pioneer
apparatus for wireless telegraphy-- but that
also is another chapter.
Yet one more ingenious device of this period
must be noted--Edison's vocal engine, the
patent application for which was executed in
August, 1878, the patent being granted the
following December. Reference to this by
Edison himself has already been quoted. The
"voice-engine," or "phonomotor," converts
the vibrations of the voice or of music, acting
on the diaphragm, into motion which is utilized
to drive some secondary appliance, whether as a
toy or for some useful purpose. Thus a man can
actually talk a hole through a board.
Somewhat weary of all this work and excitement,
and not having enjoyed any cessation from toil,
or period of rest, for ten years, Edison
jumped eagerly at the opportunity afforded him in
the summer of 1878 of making a westward
trip. Just thirty years later, on a similar
trip over the same ground, he jotted down for
this volume some of his reminiscences. The lure
of 1878 was the opportunity to try the
ability of his delicate tasimeter during the
total eclipse of the sun, July 29. His
admiring friend, Prof. George F. Barker,
of the University of Pennsylvania, with whom
he had now been on terms of intimacy for some
years, suggested the holiday, and was himself a
member of the excursion party that made its
rendezvous at Rawlins, Wyoming Territory.
Edison had tested his tasimeter, and was
satisfied that it would measure down to the
millionth part of a degree Fahrenheit. It was
just ten years since he had left the West in
poverty and obscurity, a penni- less operator
in search of a job; but now he was a great
inventor and famous, a welcome addition to the
band of astronomers and physicists assembled to
observe the eclipse and the corona.
"There were astronomers from nearly every
nation," says Mr. Edison. "We had a
special car. The country at that time was
rather new; game was in great abundance, and
could be seen all day long from the car window,
especially antelope. We arrived at Rawlins
about 4 P.M. It had a small machine shop,
and was the point where locomotives were changed
for the next section. The hotel was a very
small one, and by doubling up we were barely
accommodated. My room-mate was Fox, the
correspondent of the New York Herald. After
we retired and were asleep a thundering knock on
the door awakened us. Upon opening the door a
tall, handsome man with flowing hair dressed in
western style entered the room. His eyes were
bloodshot, and he was somewhat inebriated. He
introduced himself as `Texas Jack'--Joe
Chromondo--and said he wanted to see Edison,
as he had read about me in the newspapers. Both
Fox and I were rather scared, and didn't know
what was to be the result of the interview. The
landlord requested him not to make so much
noise, and was thrown out into the hall. Jack
explained that he had just come in with a party
which had been hunting, and that he felt fine.
He explained, also, that he was the boss
pistol-shot of the West; that it was he who
taught the celebrated
Doctor Carver how to shoot. Then suddenly
pointing to a weather-vane on the freight
depot, he pulled out a Colt revolver and fired
through the window, hitting the vane. The shot
awakened all the people, and they rushed in to
see who was killed. It was only after I told
him I was tired and would see him in the morning
that he left. Both Fox and I were so nervous
we didn't sleep any that night.
"We were told in the morning that Jack was a
pretty good fellow, and was not one of the `bad
men,' of whom they had a good supply. They
had one in the jail, and Fox and I went over
to see him. A few days before he had held up a
Union Pacific train and robbed all the
passengers. In the jail also was a half-breed
horse-thief. We interviewed the bad man
through bars as big as railroad rails. He
looked like a `bad man.' The rim of his ear
all around came to a sharp edge and was
serrated. His eyes were nearly white, and
appeared as if made of glass and set in wrong,
like the life-size figures of Indians in the
Smithsonian Institution. His face was also
extremely irregular. He wouldn't answer a
single question. I learned afterward that he
got seven years in prison, while the
horse-thief was hanged. As horses ran wild,
and there was no protection, it meant death to
steal one."
This was one interlude among others. "The
first thing the astronomers did was to determine
with precision their exact locality upon the
earth. A number of observations were made, and
Watson, of Michigan University, with two
others, worked all night computing, until they
agreed. They said they were not in error more
than one hundred feet, and that the station was
twelve miles out of the position given on the
maps. It seemed to take an immense amount of
mathematics. I preserved one of the sheets,
which looked like the time-table of a Chinese
railroad. The instruments of the various
parties were then set up in different parts of
the little town, and got ready for the eclipse
which was to occur in three or four days. Two
days before the event we all got together, and
obtaining an engine and car, went twelve miles
farther west to visit the United States
Government astronomers at a place called
Separation, the apex of the Great Divide,
where the waters run east to the Mississippi and
west to the Pacific. Fox and I took our
Winchester rifles with an idea of doing a little
shooting. After calling on the Government
people we started to interview the telegraph
operator at this most lonely and desolate spot.
After talking over old acquaintances I asked
him if there was any game around. He said,
`Plenty of jack-rabbits.' These
jack-rabbits are a very peculiar species. They
have ears about six inches long and very slender
legs, about three times as long as those of an
ordinary rabbit, and travel at a great speed by
a series of jumps, each about thirty feet long,
as near as I could judge. The local people
called them `narrow-gauge mules.' Asking the
operator the best direction, he pointed west,
and noticing a rabbit in a clear space in the
sage bushes, I said, `There is one now.'
I advanced cautiously to within one hundred feet
and shot. The rabbit paid no attention. I
then advanced to within ten feet and shot
again--the rabbit was still immovable. On
looking around, the whole crowd at the station
were watching--and then I knew the rabbit was
stuffed! However, we did shoot a number of
live ones until Fox ran out of cartridges. On
returning to the station I passed away the time
shooting at cans set on a pile of tins. Finally
the operator said to Fox: `I have a fine
Springfield musket, suppose you try it!' So
Fox took the musket and fired. It knocked him
nearly over. It seems that the musket had been
run over by a handcar, which slightly bent the
long barrel, but not sufficiently for an amateur
like Fox to notice. After Fox had his
shoulder treated with arnica at the Government
hospital tent, we returned to Rawlins."
The eclipse was, however, the prime
consideration, and Edison followed the example
of his colleagues in making ready. The place
which he secured for setting up his tasimeter was
an enclosure hardly suitable for the purpose,
and he describes the results as follows:
"I had my apparatus in a small yard enclosed by
a board fence six feet high, at one end there
was a house for hens. I noticed that they all
went to roost just before totality. At the same
time a slight wind arose, and at the moment of
totality the atmosphere was filled with
thistle-down and other light articles. I
noticed one feather, whose weight was at least
one hundred and fifty milligrams, rise
perpendicularly to the top of the fence, where
it floated away on the wind. My apparatus was
entirely too sensitive, and I got no
results." It was found that the heat from the
corona of the sun was ten times the index
capacity of the instrument; but this result did
not leave the value of the device in doubt. The
Scientific American remarked;
"Seeing that the tasimeter is affected by a
wider range of etheric undulations than the eye
can take cognizance of, and is withal far more
acutely sensitive, the probabilities are that it
will open up hitherto inaccessible regions of
space, and possibly extend the range of aerial
knowledge as far beyond the limit obtained by the
telescope as that is beyond the narrow reach of
unaided vision."
The eclipse over, Edison, with Professor
Barker, Major Thornberg, several soldiers,
and a number of railroad officials, went hunting
about one hundred miles south of the railroad in
the Ute country. A few months later the Major
and thirty soldiers were ambushed near the spot
at which the hunting-party had camped, and all
were killed. Through an introduction from Mr.
Jay Gould, who then controlled the Union
Pacific, Edison was allowed to ride on the
cow-catchers of the locomotives. "The
different engineers gave me a small cushion, and
every day I rode in this manner, from Omaha to
the Sacramento Valley, except through the
snow-shed on the summit of the Sierras,
without dust or anything else to obstruct the
view. Only once was I in danger when the
locomotive struck an animal about the size of a
small cub bear--which I think was a badger.
This animal struck the front of the locomotive
just under the headlight with great violence,
and was then thrown off by the rebound. I was
sitting to one side grasping the angle brace, so
no harm was done."
This welcome vacation lasted nearly two months;
but Edison was back in his laboratory and hard
at work before the end of August, gathering up
many loose ends, and trying out many thoughts
and ideas that had accumulated on the trip. One
hot afternoon --August 30th, as shown by
the document in the case--Mr. Edison was
found by one of the authors of this biography
employed most busily in making a mysterious
series of tests on paper, using for ink acids
that corrugated and blistered the paper where
written upon. When interrogated as to his
object, he stated that the plan was to afford
blind people the means of writing directly to
each other, especially if they were also deaf
and could not hear a message on the phonograph.
The characters which he was thus forming on the
paper were high enough in relief to be legible to
the delicate touch of a blind man's fingers,
and with simple apparatus letters could be thus
written, sent, and read. There was certainly
no question as to the result obtained at the
moment, which was all that was asked; but the
Edison autograph thus and then written now shows
the paper eaten out by the acid used, although
covered with glass for many years. Mr. Edison
does not remember that he ever recurred to this
very interesting test.
He was, however, ready for anything new or
novel, and no record can ever be made or
presented that would do justice to a tithe of the
thoughts and fancies daily and hourly put upon
the rack. The famous note-books, to which
reference will be made later, were not begun as
a regular series, as it was only the profusion
of these ideas that suggested the vital value of
such systematic registration. Then as now, the
propositions brought to Edison ranged over every
conceivable subject, but the years have taught
him caution in grappling with them. He tells an
amusing story of one dilemma into which his
good-nature led him at this period: "At
Menlo Park one day, a farmer came in and asked
if I knew any way to kill potato- bugs. He
had twenty acres of potatoes, and the vines were
being destroyed. I sent men out and culled two
quarts of bugs, and tried every chemical I had
to destroy them. Bisulphide of carbon was found
to do it instantly. I got a drum and went over
to the potato farm and sprinkled it on the vines
with a pot. Every bug dropped dead. The next
morning the farmer came in very excited and
reported that the stuff had killed the vines as
well. I had to pay $300 for not
experimenting properly."
During this year, 1878, the phonograph
made its way also to Europe, and various sums
of money were paid there to secure the rights to
its manufacture and exploitation. In England,
for example, the Microscopic Company paid
$7500 down and agreed to a royalty, while
arrangements were effected also in France,
Russia, and other countries. In every
instance, as in this country, the commercial
development had to wait several years, for in
the mean time another great art had been brought
into existence, demanding exclusive attention
and exhaustive toil. And when the work was done
the reward was a new heaven and a new earth--in
the art of illumination.
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