The Social Side Of Edison -1

The Social Side Of Edison -1

THE title of this chapter might imply that there is an unsocial side to Edison. In a sense

this is true, for no one is more impatient or intolerant of interruption when deeply

engaged in some line of experiment. Then the caller, no matter how important or what his

mission, is likely to realize his utter insignificance and be sent away without

accomplishing his object. But, generally speaking, Edison is easy tolerance itself, with a

peculiar weakness toward those who have the least right to make any demands on his

time. Man is a social animal, and that describes Edison; but it does not describe

accurately the inventor asking to be let alone.

Edison never sought Society; but "Society" has never ceased to seek him, and to-day, as

ever, the pressure upon him to give up his work and receive honors, meet distinguished

people, or attend public functions, is intense. Only two or three years ago, a flattering

invitation came from one of the great English universities to receive a degree, but at that

moment he was deep in experiments on his new storage battery, and nothing could budge

him. He would not drop the work, and while highly appreciative of the proposed honor,

let it go by rather than quit for a week or two the stern drudgery of probing for the fact

and the truth. Whether one approves or not, it is at least admirable stoicism, of which the

world has too little. A similar instance is that of a visit paid to the laboratory by some one

bringing a gold medal from a foreign society. It was a very hot day in summer, the visitor

was in full social regalia of silk hat and frock-coat, and insisted that he could deliver the

medal only into Edison's hands. At that moment Edison, stripped pretty nearly down to

the buff, was at the very crisis of an important experiment, and refused absolutely to be

interrupted. He had neither sought nor expected the medal; and if the delegate didn't care

to leave it he could take it away. At last Edison was overpersuaded, and, all dirty and

perspiring as he was, received the medal rather than cause the visitor to come again. On

one occasion, receiving a medal in New York, Edison forgot it on the ferry-boat and left

it behind him. A few years ago, when Edison had received the Albert medal of the Royal

Society of Arts, one of the present authors called at the laboratory to see it. Nobody knew

where it was; hours passed before it could be found; and when at last the accompanying

letter was produced, it had an office date stamp right over the signature of the royal

president. A visitor to the laboratory with one of these medallic awards asked Edison if

he had any others. "Oh yes," he said, "I have a couple of quarts more up at the house!"

All this sounds like lack of appreciation, but it is anything else than that. While in Paris,

in 1889, he wore the decoration of the Legion of Honor whenever occasion required, but

at all other times turned the badge under his lapel "because he hated to have fellow-

Americans think he was showing off." And any one who knows Edison will bear

testimony to his utter absence of ostentation. It may be added that, in addition to the two

quarts of medals up at the house, there will be found at Glenmont many other signal

tokens of esteem and good-will--a beautiful cigar-case from the late Tsar of Russia,

bronzes from the Government of Japan, steel trophies from Krupp, and a host of other

mementos, to one of which he thus refers: "When the experiments with the light were

going on at Menlo Park, Sarah Bernhardt came to America. One evening, Robert L.

Cutting, of New York, brought her out to see the light. She was a terrific `rubberneck.'

She jumped all over the machinery, and I had one man especially to guard her dress. She

wanted to know everything. She would speak in French, and Cutting would translate into

English. She stayed there about an hour and a half. Bernhardt gave me two pictures,

painted by herself, which she sent me from Paris."