The Edison phonograph monthly (Jan-Dec 1916)

The Edison Phonograph Monthly Volume XIV NOVEMBER, 1916 Number 11 "AMBEROLA ANDY" He Converts the Parson's Wife {We here introduce "Amberola Andy," a fictitious character, who, under the guise of entertainment, will drive home to all dealers some good, hard, sound facts that are the foundation of successful Amberola merchandising. Like most successful men, Andy is modest, but as soon as we can induce him to fur." his picture taken we will publish it in these columns.) D'Y know thet a Amberola dealer, even in a little one-hoss place like Littleburg, hez a chance to get'a lot'a entertainment out'a his store and to do whut might be called a good merchandisin' in a big place. I don't pat myself on the back much fur my dealin's, but once in a while I kind'a put a good one over, as the feller says. I kind'a enjoy figurin' out how to get people int'rested in Amberolas and Blue Amberols 'cause I know thet if I once gets 'em to see somethin' in the insterments or records thet strikes 'em in the right way, I've as good ez made a sale. Y'h can't get a'quainted with a person by seein' 'm and you can't get a'quainted with goods by just lookin' at 'em. Fur ten years I walked up and down the streets of Littleburg only noddin' to Sim Davis. Akchully, I thought, most'a the time, thet he wuz sort'a stuck on hisself and, though I try not to hate nobody, I couldn't alius conceal my dislike fur Sim. And I never knew nothin' about 'im ! Then one time we both went to the Democrats' Barb'cue and got set side by side. Well, we hed a good dinner and some refreshments and th' fust thing y'h know we wuz talkin' and chatterin' away ez though we alius hed been the best'a friends. I found he wuz int'rested in the same things I wuz and thet he was just t'e kind'a feller I had been wantin' fur a friend. Thet's the way it goes. I hed alius looked at the bad side of Sim, but arter I got to know 'im, darned if I could see any bad side. Thought Rag Devil's Music Th'other day the parson's wife come in to get some records. I knew just what she would want. It would be some sacred solos or quartets or somethin' like that. I ain't sayin' thet that ain't good music and thet there ain't a lot'a pleasure in listenin' to it. I like it myself. But that wuz the only kind that the parson and his missus ever bought and I alius hate to see people hev records all of the same kind. To me all kinds'a music are good and beautiful and t'seems to me that everybody should try to hear and enjoy all kinds of it. Listenin' to one kind'a music is like eatin' one kind'a grub. It ain't natchral and it's goin' to make anybody tired of music mighty quick. I kind'a felt that the parson and his wife wuz gettin' tired of their Amb'rola 'cause they hadn't been buyin' many records. I wuz really 'sprised to see her comin' in at all. It struck me all of a sudden thet if I only could sell her some good lively rags, whut a change it would make in her and the parson. But I knew thet both of 'em thought thet rag-time wuz the invention of the Devil. Rag-time wuz the music thet people danced to, and that alone would'a kept it out'a the pars'nage. The Rev. Ebenezer Larkin wuz the kind'a parson who believed in gettin' his parishioners into heaven by scarrin' 'em away from 'tother place and anything thet was lively or enjoyable seemed to him to have some connection with the Devil. Self Punishment He wanted old hymns along with his old religion and he and the missus wouldn't even buy records of the latest Billy Sunday hits. Said thet they sounded like saloon songs. All they bought wuz the slowest and most saintly songs they could pick out and when they played 'em they would run the Amb'rola at the slowest speed they could. Then they'ed set with solemn faces list'nin to the music. The way they looked, you'd think it wuz punishment fur them — and I guess it wuz. But some people enjoy inflictin' sufrerin' on themselves and I guess thet must'a been the way with Parson Larkin and his missus. How I did long to fix up some deal on 'um so thet when they thought they hed some slow old hymn on the Amberola, it would start and play some snappy rag that would make 'em get up and do one of these rag-time dances. I used to think about such a thing until it made me most die lafFin', but I knew I could never do it.