Alexander Graham Bell – The Intelligent Collector Magazine

Let’s just say Julia Grant truly enjoyed her days in the White House

This cabinet card, signed by First Lady Julia D. Grant, went to auction in November 2015.

By Jim O’Neal

In May 1876, President Ulysses S. Grant and his wife Julia traveled to Philadelphia from Washington to open the Centennial Exposition in Fairmount Park. The United States was celebrating its 100th birthday and the signing of the Declaration of Independence. It was also a great opportunity to display the remarkable industrial progress that had occurred during the intervening years, especially in the 19th century. The exhibition was the result of three years of extensive planning and it was an impressive accumulation of American ingenuity.

On May 10, before an excited crowd of 186,672, Grant officially opened the fair following Wagner’s Centennial March. It was difficult to hear his speech due to crowd noise, but a flag raising and cannon volley was followed by a loud chorus of “hallelujah!” This was followed by a march to Machinery Hall, where a switch was thrown to spark the enormous Corliss electrical engine to power up all the machinery. At 50 feet tall, it was the largest in the world and powered more than 100 machines on display.

The First Lady was miffed that she wasn’t chosen to start the festivities and her pique exposed how accustomed she had grown to deference in the White House after eight years of pampering. But that honor went to Empress Teresa Cristina, wife of Emperor Dom Pedro II, the last emperor of the Brazilian empire. He had become emperor at age 5 when his father died and he reigned for an astounding 58 years (1831-1889).

Dom Pedro had visited the United States earlier and had attended one of Alexander Graham Bell’s deaf-mute classes at Boston College. Inspired by Bell’s work, he founded the first deaf-mute school in Rio de Janeiro when he returned home. Coincidently, Bell had been persuaded to exhibit his latest invention at the fair: the Bell telephone. When the affable emperor learned of Bell’s exhibit, he eagerly agreed to try the device in a demonstration for a crowd.

Placing the receiver to his ear, he was treated to Bell’s personal recitation of Hamlet’s “To be or not to be” soliloquy. Delighted and astonished, Dom Pedro exclaimed, “My God, it talks!”

However, the general public proved to be less impressed and hard to sell. As one detractor complained, “It is a scientific toy … for professors of electricity and acoustics.” After convincing his father-in-law, lawyer and financier Gardiner Hubbard, Bell and his assistant Tom Watson set out on a demonstration tour. AGB would sit on a stage, connected to Watson via leased telegraph lines several miles away. After introductory remarks, Watson would sing a repertoire of tunes, including Yankee Doodle.

As an aside, AGB’s first coherent telephone message – “Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you” – was really a plea for help. He had spilled battery acid on his pants and, instinctively, made the first emergency call in history. We know how that story progressed since we all carry around smartphones that have more computing power (and other functionality) than Apollo 11 when it made its historic manned flight to the moon in 1969.

Although Grant was cheered at the opening of the Centennial Exposition, any thoughts he had about a third term disappeared in a toxic haze of a weak economy and widespread corruption. When the Republican Convention met in Cincinnati in June, the party platform directly criticized Grant, calling the administration “a corrupt centralism … carpetbag tyranny … honeycomb federal government … with incapacity, waste and fraud.” Out of this cesspool stepped the governor of Ohio, Rutherford B. Hayes, an honest, sincere man with a commitment to limiting the presidency to a single term. Democrats picked the governor of New York, Samuel Tilden, with strong credentials having conquered Tammany Hall and the corrupt Boss Tweed ring of rogues.

Hayes won in 1876 after the most controversial presidential election in U.S. history. Grant was actually worried about a coup as Democrats, convinced the election was rigged, rallied under the cry of “Blood or Tilden.” Since March 4, 1877, was a Sunday, there was precedent to avoid having the inauguration on the Sabbath by waiting until the next day, as Presidents Monroe and Taylor had done. Grant was so paranoid about waiting an extra day that he arranged for a private ceremony on Saturday night as part of a routine dinner at the White House. Hayes was sworn in by Chief Justice Morrison Waite before the food was served.

On Monday, March 5, the ceremony was recreated (for show only) before a crowd estimated at 30,000. A teary-eyed Julia Grant was not one of them. She stayed in the White House as long as possible and I suspect she would have welcomed having another four years. She even hosted a luncheon for her successor after the inauguration. She later wrote, “How pretty the house was … in an abandon of grief, I flung myself on the lounge and wept, wept oh so bitterly.”

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is president and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as chair and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].

Here’s Why Scientists Like Joseph Lister Have Made Life Better for All of Us

A March 25, 1901, letter signed by Joseph Lister went to auction in October 2014.

By Jim O’Neal

In the 1880s, American physicist Albert Michelson embarked on a series of experiments that undermined a long-held belief in a luminiferous ether that was thought to permeate the universe and affect the speed of light ever so slightly. Embraced by Isaac Newton (and almost venerated by all others), the ether theory was considered an absolute certainty in 19th century physics in explaining how light traveled across the universe.

However, Michelson’s experiments (partially funded by Alexander Graham Bell) proved the exact opposite of the theory. In the words of author William Cropper, “It was probably the most famous negative result in the history of physics.” The fact was that the speed of light was the same in all directions and in every season – reversing Newton’s law that had been thought to be a constant for the past 200 years. But, not everyone agreed for a long time.

The more modern scientist Max Planck (1858-1947) helped explain the resistance to accept new facts in a rather novel way: “A scientific truth does not triumph by convincing its opponents and making them see the light, but rather because its opponents eventually die and a new generation grows up that is familiar with it.”

Even if true, it still makes it no less easy to accept the fact that the United States was the only nation “that remained unconvinced of the merits of Joseph Lister’s methods of modern antiseptic medicine.” In fact, Henry Jacob Bigelow (1818-1890), the esteemed Harvard professor of surgery and a fellow of the Academy of Arts and Sciences, derided antisepsis as “medical hocus-pocus.” This is even more remarkable when one considers he was the leading surgeon in New England and his contributions to orthopedic and urologic surgery are legendary.

But this short story begins with a sleight of hand by asking: In the 19th century, what do you think was the most dangerous place in the vast territories of the British Empire? The frozen wastes of the Northwest Passage or the treacherous savannas of Zululand? Or perhaps the dangerous passes of Hindu Kush? The surprising answer is almost undoubtedly the Victorian teaching hospital, where patients entered with a trauma and exited to a cemetery after a deadly case of “hospital gangrene.”

Victorian hospitals were described as factories of death, reeking with an unmistakable stench resembling rotting fish, cheerfully described as “hospital stink.” Infectious wounds were considered normal or beneficial to recovery. Stories abound of surgeons operating on a continuous flow of patients, and bloody smocks were badges of honor or evidence of their dedication to saving lives. The eminent surgeon Sir Frederick Treves (1853-1923) recalled, “There was one sponge to a ward. With this putrid article and a basin of once clear water, all the wounds in the ward were washed twice a day. By this ritual, any chance that a patient had of recovery was eliminated.”

Fortunately, Joseph Lister was born in 1827 and chose the lowly, mechanical profession of surgery over the more prestigious practice of internal medicine. In 1851, he was appointed one of four residents of surgery at London’s University College Hospital. The head of surgery was wrongfully convinced that infections came from miasma, a peculiar type of noxious air that emanated from the rot and decay.

Ever skeptical, Lister scoured out rotten tissue from gangrene wounds using mercury pernitrate on the healthy tissue. Thus began Lister’s lifelong journey to investigate the cause of infection and prevention through modern techniques. He spent the next 25 years in Scotland, becoming the Regius Professor of Surgery at the University of Glasgow. After Louis Pasteur confirmed germs caused infections rather than bad air, Lister discovered that carbolic acid (a derivative of coal tar) could prevent many amputations by cleaning the skin and wounds.

He then went on the road, advocating his gospel of antisepsis, which was eagerly adopted by the scientific Germans and some Scots, but plodding and practical English surgeons took much longer. Thus left were the isolated Americans who, like Dr. Bigelow, were too stubborn and unwilling to admit the obvious.

Planck was right all along. It would take a new generation, but we are the generation that has derived the greatest benefits from the astonishing advances in 20th century medical breakthroughs, which only seem to be accelerating. It is a good time to be alive.

So enjoy it!

Bell’s Influence on National Geographic Society Often Overlooked

An archive of documents from the early days of Bell Telephone Company – including correspondence by Gardiner G. Hubbard, Alexander Graham Bell’s father-in-law – sold for $10,157 at an October 2012 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In 2013, Nancy and I took a cruise from New York City to Montreal. On Sept. 23, we had the great pleasure of touring the Alexander Graham Bell museum in Baddeck, Nova Scotia. We were struck by its unusual design, which is based on the tetrahedron form used in his many flight experiments with kites. There were also numerous original artifacts, photographs and exhibits of his groundbreaking scientific accomplishments.

Bell (1847-1922) was awarded patent #174465 just four days after his 29th birthday for the first practical telephone – “the most valuable single patent ever issued” in any country. Our guide informed us that Bell would not allow a telephone in his study or laboratory since he considered it a distraction to his reading and experiments. I was aware that both his mother and wife were deaf and this had a profound effect on his passion for working on sound, speech and hearing. What surprised me was the breadth of his scientific achievements. He was awarded 18 patents and collaborated on another 12 in medicine, aeronautics, genetics, electricity, sound and marine engineering.

Another surprise was that his wife Mabel was the daughter of Gardiner Greene Hubbard, founder and first president of the National Geographic Society (founded in 1888) and also the first president of Bell Telephone Company (later AT&T). Although AGB (he got a middle name only after constantly nagging his father) was not a founder of National Geographic, he was its second president, following his father-in-law. This was organizational incest on a scale that rivaled the British monarchy.

But the result was an organization that has given several generations a certain sense of where we are and where we want to go. Commanders-in-chief, explorers, schoolchildren and even daydreamers have put their full trust in the splendid maps of the National Geographic Society and their brilliant cartographers. The elegant and clearly legible typefaces for place names, one source of the map’s mystique, were designed by the magazine’s staff in the 1930s.

It was founded in Washington, D.C., at the Cosmos Club, another venerable organization founded in 1878 and boasting of membership by three presidents, two vice presidents, 12 Supreme Court justices, and 36 Nobel and 61 Pulitzer Prize winners (they don’t bother with ordinary U.S. senators).

During World War II, National Geographic maps were at the epicenter of the action, thanks in part to a U.S. president who was deeply interested in geography. The society had furnished Franklin D. Roosevelt with a cabinet that was mounted on the wall behind the desk in his private White House study. Maps of continents and oceans could be pulled down by the president like window shades; they were in constant use throughout the war.

In the early winter of 1942, President Roosevelt urged the American people to have a world map available for his next fireside chat, scheduled for the evening of Feb. 23. FDR told his aides, “I’m going to speak about strange places that many have never heard of – places that are now the battleground for civilization. … I want to explain to the people something about geography – what our problem is and what the overall strategy of the war has to be. I want to tell it to them in simple terms of ABC so that they will understand what is going on and how each battle fits into the picture. … If they understand the problem and what we are driving at, I am sure that they can take any kind of news on the chin.”

There was an unprecedented run on maps and atlases. The audience, more than 80 percent of the country’s adult population, was the largest for any geography lesson in history.

The National Geographic Society went on, expanding the scope of its focus – with maps for the amazing Mount Everest to outer space and the ocean floor. As the Society’s former chief cartographer put it: “I like to think that National Geographic maps are the crown jewels of the mapping world.”

He was right, until Google maps created a new technology in need of its own headware.

Bell’s Invention Had Rocky Start, But Has Conquered Nearly 7 Billion People

A letter from Alexander Graham Bell, on Volta Laboratory letterhead, sent to Joseph Stanley-Brown, private secretary to President James Garfield, and dated Aug. 2, 1881, sold for nearly $6,000 at an April 2014 Heritage auction.

By Jim O’Neal

In 1861, a German schoolmaster named Johann Philipp Reis built a device he called a telephone. Apparently, many Germans tend to credit him with the invention instead of Alexander Graham Bell.

The one thing that Reis’ device didn’t do was work. It only produced a series of clicks like a telegraph might. After his death, it was discovered that when the device got dusty or dirty, the contact points were able to transmit speech with remarkably clear fidelity. Reis had kept his equipment impeccably shiny and clean in the finest Teutonic tradition.

Three other men, including American Elisha Gray, were close to perfecting their versions of a telephone when Bell made his famous “Mr. Watson—Come here—I want to see you” breakthrough in 1876. Gray actually filed a patent caveat (a sort of holding claim) on the exact same day Bell filed for his patent. Alas, it was a few hours too late and Bell prevailed.

Bell displayed his invention at the 1876 Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia, but it did not attract much attention. Most people considered it a novelty with no real understanding of its purpose.

Bell tried to explain what it did by writing: “The telephone may be briefly described as an electrical contrivance for reproducing in different places the tones and articulation of a speaker’s voice so that conversation can be carried on by word of mouth between persons in different rooms, in different streets or in different towns. … The great advantage it possesses over every other form of electrical apparatus is that it requires no skill to operate the instrument.”

Say what?

It is not clear how much this helped, but some expect cellphone subscriptions to soon exceed 7 billion – or more than the total population of Earth.

Reach out and touch someone.

P.S. An interesting obscure fact is that Thomas A. Watson had about 40 patents himself and one was for the bell that rang with a call. For the first seven years, people had to pick up the phone occasionally to see if anyone was on the line.

Intelligent Collector blogger JIM O’NEAL is an avid collector and history buff. He is President and CEO of Frito-Lay International [retired] and earlier served as Chairman and CEO of PepsiCo Restaurants International [KFC Pizza Hut and Taco Bell].