Illinois State Normal University - Index Yearbook (Normal, IL)

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The Index JOHN W. C0014 189099

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The Index My opponent, Dr. Sewall, enlarged upon the dangers to society that would follow a faith in Mother Goose. He pictured a little boy sitting on his father's doorstep eating his supper of bread and milk, but nervously clutching spoon and dish all the time, lest they run off together. Then, pulling out of his pocket a copy of Mother Goose, he read: Needles and pins, needles and pins, XVhen a man marries his trouble begins. Then he pathetically showed the dire effect of establishing faith in an author who pro- mulgated such sentiments. I do not remember which side won the debate. But the fun did much to smooth the fric- tion, and comic debates became popular. I have confined these reminiscences to a period of thirty years and more agone. Only a few can tell these old-time stories now, but there are many who can tell the stories of later times. EDXVIN C. HEWETT. 1590-1898. THE KE.-XI, INYENTOR Ulf THE PHUNOGRAPH. And you really think that you know who invented the phonograph? You suppose it to be a modern invention. XVell, it was ever thus. To have one's name spelled incorrectly in the dispatches when he fell on the tield of glory, leading the forlorn hope, is the irony of fate, and so it is to have the glories of a great invention ascribed to some presumptuous fellow who is not entitled to it at all, while the real discoverer is forgotten if indeed he is ever known. But justice has her own way of bringing to the deserving their real reward, and in this particular instance I am the humble instrument of the blind-folded Woman with the seales. It was in the early months of 1816. Gene Baldwin had just come back from the army to resume his studies in the Normal School and to manage the affairs of the Wrig-litonian Society in his inimitable way. He was the quaintest of fellows, as he still is, though now

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The Index pressing hard upon sixty. He wrote dramas in which it was my rare pleasure to star. How he ever did it was a mystery. He had a room with the janitor in the basement of the Normal School building, for in those primitive days the professor of dust and ashes was given quarters in the lower regions as a partial compensation for his services. This fact, by the way, was frequently announced by the unmistakable odors of sauerkraut that came up to us all from below. But this is of no matter now and has nothing to do with the phonograph. It was in one of those cavernous apartments that Gene's genius exercised itself and composed his laughable comedies between the setting of the sun on Friday and the rising thereof on the next day. His vein of dramatic capacity had a sudden pull-up, however, proving it to be a pocket after all, and so he betook himself to sundry other devices for the delectation of the beloved society. And thus it was that the Weekly program on a certain Friday was the sensation of the term. It was announced that the long-hoped-for speaking machine had at last material- ized and would appear in several of its choicest acts at the Wrightonian Society on the suc- ceeding Saturday evening. Expectation was on tip-toe. In those days there was a large bookcase on the north side of the partition between the two old society halls, and under it a large and not altogether uncomfortable closet. In front of the case, on the momentous Satur- day evening, stood a box mounted on four legs and hidden by a curtain. After an introduc- tory address, in which Gene retailed his frequent disappointments in endeavoring to perfect a speaking machine, he declared that he had at last been -successful and that it was his peculiar pleasure to demonstrate the fact to an expectant world. He drew the curtain, re- vealed the box, turned a crank, the operation being accompanied by a terrific clatter, and touched a spring. And the thing actually began to talk. Such a craning of necks and clamor of applause! Its speech was brief, the curtain was drawn and the scene was ended. Who was doubled up in the closet talking through the auger hole? The next time you visit Peoria and drop into the editorial rooms of the Ezfenfzzg' Slar, ask Gene. JOHN W. COOK.