THE BOYHOOD OF A GENIUS
The class had assembled again in Professor Gray's study and all were
eager to hear the second talk on Edison. There was a delay of many
minutes past the hour stated, but the anticipation was such that the
time was hardly noticed. During the interim, Professor Gray came to
where Bill and Gus sat.
"I hear that you boys intend to go to work in the mills next week," he
said. "Well, now, I have some news and a proposition, so do not be
disappointed if the beginning sounds discouraging. In the first place I
saw Mr. Deering, superintendent of the mills, again and he told me that
while he would make good his promise to take you on, there would hardly
be more than a few weeks' work. Orders are scarce and they expect to lay
off men in August, though there is likely to be a resumption of business
in the early fall when you are getting back into school work. So
wouldn't it be better to forego the mill work,--there goes the
announcement! I'll talk with you before you leave."
"But we need the money; don't we, Gus?"
"We do," said Gus.
"I wonder if the Professor thinks we're millionaires." Bill was plainly
disappointed.
"Oh, well, he didn't finish what he was saying to us. Let's listen to
the weather report," demanded Gus, ever optimistic and joyful.
The words came clearer than ever out of that wonderful horn. There was
to be rain that afternoon--local thunderstorms, followed by clearing and
cooler. On the morrow it would be cloudy and unsettled.
Bill felt as though that prediction suited his mental state! Gus was
never the kind to worry; he sat smiling at the horn and he received with
added pleasure the music of a band which followed. And then came the
second talk on the boyhood of the master of invention.
"It has been said," spouted the horn, "that high mental characteristics
are accompanied by heroic traits. Whether true or not generally, it was
demonstrated in young Edison and it governed his learning telegraphy and
the manner thereof. The story is told by the telegraph operator at Mt.
Clemens, where the red-headed conductor threw the train boy and his
laboratory off the train.
"'Young Edison,' says the station agent, 'had endeared himself to the
station agents, operators and their families all along the line. As the
mixed train did the way-freight work and the switching at Mt. Clemens,
it usually consumed not less than thirty minutes, during which time Al
would play with my little two-and-a-half-year old son, Jimmy.
"'It was at 9:30 on a lovely summer morning. The train had arrived,
leaving its passenger coach and baggage car standing on the main track
at the north end of the station platform, the pin between the baggage
and the first box car having been pulled out. There were about a dozen
freight cars, which had pulled ahead and backed in upon the
freight-house siding. The train men had taken out a box car and pushed
it with force enough to reach the baggage car without a brakeman
controlling it.
"'At this moment Al turned and saw little Jimmy on the main track,
throwing pebbles over his head in the sunshine, all unconscious of
danger. Dashing his papers and cap on the platform he plunged to the
rescue.
"'The train baggage man was the only eyewitness. He told me that when he
saw Al jump toward Jimmy he thought sure both boys would be crushed.
Seizing Jimmy in his arms just as the box car was about to strike them,
young Edison threw himself off the track. There wasn't a tenth of a
second to lose. By this instinctive act he saved his own life, for if he
had thrown the little chap first and then himself, he would have been
crushed under the wheels.
"'As it was, the front wheel struck the heel of the newsboy's boot and
he and Jimmy fell, face downward on the sharp, fresh-gravel ballast so
hard that they were both bleeding and the baggage man thought sure the
wheel had gone over them. To his surprise their injuries proved to be
only skin deep.
"'I was in the ticket office when I heard the shriek and ran out in time
to see the train hands carrying the two boys to the platform. My first
thought was: 'How can I, a poor man, reward the dear lad for risking his
life to save my child's?' Then it came to me, 'I can teach him
telegraphy.' When I offered to do this, he smiled and said, 'I'd like to
learn,' and learn he did. I never saw any one pick it up so fast. It was
a sort of second nature with him. After the conductor treated him so
badly, throwing off his apparatus, boxing his ears and making him hard
of hearing, Al seemed to lose his interest in his business as train boy.
"'Some days Al would stop at my station at half past nine in the morning
and stay all day while the train went on to Detroit and returned to Mt.
Clemens in the evening. The train baggage man who saw Al rescue Jimmy
would get the papers in Detroit and bring them up to Mt. Clemens for
him. During these long hours the Edison boy made rapid progress in
learning. And every day he made the most of the half hour or more of
practice he had while the train stopped at Mt. Clemens each way.
"'At the end of a couple of weeks I missed him for several days. Next
time he dropped off he showed me a set of telegraph instruments he had
made in a gunshop in Detroit, where the stationer who had sold him goods
had told the owner of the machine shop the story of the printing press.'
"The first place young Edison worked after he was graduated from the Mt.
Clemens private school of telegraphy was in Port Huron, his home town.
Here he had too many boy friends to let him keep on the job as a
youthful telegrapher should. Besides, he had a laboratory in his home
and found it too fascinating to take enough sleep. Between too much side
work and mischief, young Edison sometimes found himself in trouble. Some
of his escapades he has described to his friend and assistant, William
H. Meadowcroft.
"'About every night we could hear the soldiers stationed at Fort
Gratiot. One would call out: "Corporal of Guard Number One!" This was
repeated from one sentry to another till it reached the barracks and
"No. 1" came out to see what was wanted. The Dutch boy (who used to help
me with the papers) and I thought we would try our hand in military
matters.
"'So one dark night I called, "Corporal of the Guard Number One!" The
second sentry, thinking it had come from the man stationed at the end,
repeated this, and the words went down the line as usual. This reached
Corporal Number One, and brought him back to our end only to find out
that he had been tricked by someone.
"'We did this three times, but on the third night they were watching.
They caught the Dutch boy and locked him up in the fort. Several
soldiers chased me home. I ran down cellar where there were two barrels
of potatoes and a third which was almost empty. I dumped the contents of
three barrels into two, sat down, pulled the empty barrel over my head,
bottom upwards. The soldiers woke my father, and they all came hunting
for me with lanterns and candles.
"'The corporal was perfectly sure I had come down cellar. He couldn't
see how I had got away, and asked father if there wasn't a secret place
for me to hide in the cellar. When father said "No," he exclaimed,
"Well, that's very strange!"
"'You can understand how glad I was when they left, for I was in a
cramped position, and as there had been rotten potatoes in that barrel,
I was beginning to feel sick.
"'The next morning father found me in bed and gave me a good switching
on my legs--the only whipping I ever received from him, though mother
kept behind the old clock a switch which had the bark well worn off! My
mother's ideas differed somewhat from mine, most of all when I mussed up
the house with my experiments.
"'The Dutch boy was released the next morning.'
"Another escapade described by Edison was pulled off on the Canada side
of the St. Clair, in Port Sarnia, opposite Port Huron.
"'In 1860 the Prince of Wales (afterward King Edward) visited Canada.
Nearly every lad in Port Huron, including myself, went over to Sarnia to
see the celebration. The town was profusely draped in flags--there were
arches over some streets--and carpets were laid on the crossings for the
prince to walk on.
"'A stand was built where the prince was to be received by the mayor.
Seeing all these arrangements raised my idea of the prince very high.
But when he finally came I mistook the Duke of Newcastle for Albert
Edward. The duke was a very fine-looking man. When I discovered my
mistake--the Prince of Wales being a mere stripling--I was so
disappointed that I couldn't help mentioning the fact. Then several of
us American boys expressed our belief that a prince wasn't much after
all! One boy got well whipped for this and there was a free-for-all
fight. The Canucks attacked the Yankee boys and, as they greatly
outnumbered us, we were all badly licked and I got a black eye. This
always prejudiced me against that kind of ceremonial and folly.'"