International photographer (Jan-Dec 1934)

July, 1934 T h e I N T E RNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPH E H Three The Immortal Pal By Lewis W. Physioc I Lewis W. Physioc, who worked for Thomas A. Edison four and a half years, frequently has relieved the tedium of our editorial rooms with his reverential reminiscences of those days with "the old man," as Mr. Edison was affectionately called. Lew now calls him the GRAND old man and comments on the exalted simplicity of his nature, his beautiful attitude of comradeship with his employees, his easy ES, I worked for tin's man who, it is said, inV&m vented the moving pictures — even the talking IHH fc* picture, for his first experiments were a combinfc*i*.4Kcl atjon of his phonograph and the moving pictures. 1 believe he really did this great thing, for I have seen him do enough that is important to mankind to confirm my belief. I was engaged, with William Wardell (business manager) and Daniel Higham, an engineer, to assist in developing Mr. Edison's ideas of talking pictures, then known as The Kinetephone. He fitted us up a fine little studio in 43rd Street near 11th Avenue, New York City. It embodied every essential, even to a kitchen, dainty table service and an Italian chef. We spent many joyous days experimenting with all sorts of materials for making diaphragms for recorders, adjusting the sapphire styluses and carefully noting down the formulae. When we put together a satisfactory recorder we called in a "bunch" of actors, who showed more "horn fright" than dramatic ability, and proceeded to make a picture. Then came the great day when we were to show "the old man" something of what we had been doing. One day Wardell called John, the chef, and said: "John, the old man is coming over today . . . you know, he likes spaghetti ... so, do your stuff." John was immediately thrown into a flurry of excitement. There was much coming and going, with his arms filled with paper bags and packages of delicacies, meticulous polishing of silver and chinaware, spreading of snowy white table cloth, etc. Finally Mr. Edison arrived. He entered without any fuss or ceremony — much as any man might have done. We were suddenly aware of him standing in the center of the studio looking around at the various appointments. He was probably estimating the manner in which we had been spending his money. He asked Wardell who was the long-haired fellow and what he did. "Oh, that's Physioc," answered Wardell, calling me over and presenting me, "he does everything." "Everything?" repeated Mr. Edison, looking at me in a manner that seemed to express some doubt that a man who could do "everything" could do any one thing well. "Yes sir," continued Wardell, "he paints our scenery, runs the camera, develops the films, plays the cello — everything. " The old man" looked around and scanned some of my masterpieces, looked at me and nodded approvingly. The session opened in his favored form — a bite from his plug and a round of stories. We had an able draughtsman of whom Mr. Edison was very fond, because of his ability as a story teller. Perc) Eggleston started in : I just heard a good one," he shouted at Mr. Edison. "Let's hear it," answered the old man, putting a megaphone to his ear. The joke brought a hearty laugh. "I've got a better one than that," he said, and he told a "wow." le conceded, and we all around at Damn' and You' approachability — there was no antechamber where sat an implacable sentry to ask: "What's the nature of your business?" One had but to knock at his door and receive his cheery: "Come in." We have prevailed upon Lew to forego his aversion to that little personal pronoun and record some of those experiences.— Editor's Note.l After luncheon we showed him a picture. He sat with his elbows on his knees, holding a megaphone to his ear. His glances shifted alternately from our faces to the screen. Suddenly he said : "It's too loud !" Danny Higham coughed — an apologetic little cough — "Too loud, sir?" "Y-e-s ... If I can hear it that well, it'll drive em out of the theatre. He studied it again. "It matches all right, 'tho," felt easier. Then he squirmed ^aid: "Too many echoes . . . loo many echoes got to get rid of those echoes." We then showed him a picture in which 1 played the cello. After he had studied it for a while he turned to me and said : "That's pretty good . . . You know, that instrument is very difficult to record." But he didn't like those echoes. So one day he moved us over to West Orange, and installed us in a circus tent. We got rid of the echoes, all right, but had other troubles. It was fine in the summer time, "but oh, my! ... in the winter time." At one time, during the month of February, Danny Higham was wrapped in his fur-lined overcoat, trying to shave off one of the recording cylinders and the wax was so brittle it splintered away like glass. I shivered in everything I could get on and, endeavoring to paint a drop, the sizing in the color froze in the brush before 1 could get it to the canvas. Wardell spent most of his time hanging around the big stove in the middle of the tent. John, at his cooking stove, was the only one who could accomplish much, and this he did to the cheer and comfort of us all. And the old man kidded us . . . but encouraged us. He was an indefatigable worker. A lazy man would have been shamed by his very presence. One morning, Percy Eggleston and I had occasion to go over to his laboratory, where he had been working days and nights in intensive research. As Percy expressed it "the old man was trying to find the 'bugs' in his new Diamond Disk Phonograph." He must have found the bugs all right — he never gave up until he did, for he was stretched out on an old table whose top was covered with cold, hard zinc sheeting. He must have been fagged out before he lav down, for he slept soundly. He had on nothing but his trousers and undershirt, the latter being much bedribbled with tobacco juice. He must have been away from home for some time for his stubby gray beard stuck out in energetic bristles from his worn face. No wonder his good wife had frequently to drag him away sometimes for the comforts of a shave and the neglected breakfast, so persistent was he. No wonder this man achieved things. Men speak of working hard — let them learn from Thomas Edison. I will always remember, with reverence, "the old man" lying there on that slab of zinc sheeting. If there is anything of patience and perseverance in me it was inspired largely by m\ knowledge of his character. He always had a cheery word for everyone who passed (Turn to Page 26) Please mention The International Photographer when corresponding with advertisers.