Thomas Edison's Machine to Talk to the Dead

When Thomas Edison died on October 18, 1931, he had acquired 1,039 United States patents and 1,239 worldwide for a grand total of 2,332. Nobody had ever earned that many patents in their lifetime, but what was peculiar is that just before his death, he was busy in his Menlo Park laboratory on a machine he claimed could converse with the dead. The plans for this miraculous machine became lost when he died. The reason I know this is because my Uncle Widrow told me all of this.

Uncle Widrow was my mother’s older no-good (her words) brother who was best described as a tinkerer. One day when I was taking things apart around the house just to put them back together again, he called his baby sister.

“Beth, is Jerrod there?” He asked.

“Yes, he’s in his room taking apart something important.” She rolled her eyes.

“Would you mind if I have a word with him?” He asked. She did not approve of the bond that had formed between my uncle and me, but there was little she could to about it since I had just turned sixteen.

“What is this about?” She tapped her foot annoyed that when it came to maturity, we were about the same age, “Do you have so revolutionary new gismo assembled in your basement?”

“As a matter of fact I do.” He was practically doing a jig.

She put the phone to her chest and yelled, “Jarrod! You Uncle Widrow would like to have a word with you!”

As it turned out he had found the schematic for Thomas Edison’s machine at an antique store. The proprietor had no idea what it was, but Uncle Widrow did. I went over to his place to tinker with him until we had built the machine that talks to the dead. Thomas Edison believed in the occult when he wrote the plans for this machine. It was ironic that he died before he had built one.

“Now Jerrod, what we have done is that the greatest inventor of all time was building when he died.” Uncle Widrow shoved his hands in his pocket. Taking a step back, he smiled like a proud father looking at his newborn baby.

Two months later when mom went to check on him, she found her older brother lying on his basement floor, deceased. She called the coroner and began to clean up the mess in his apartment. There wasn’t much in the way of his will. Most of what he owned was barrowed, but he did leave me Thomas Edison’s Machine to talk to the dead. He and I meticulously followed the instructions, but all we ever heard was static. He turned the machine off and never turned it back on.

“What are you going to do with this piece of junk?” Mom asked as I put it in the back seat of the car. I shrugged my answer. She shook her head, “All I can say Jarrod is one day it will be hauled to the junk yard.”

I had my own workbench in our basement and that’s where I put it. Uncle Widrow had put the instructions inside the machine. I removed them admiring the fact that Thomas Edison himself had penned it. His handwriting was a bit hard to read, but I studied it for hours. It was obvious that without Tesla, Edison’s understanding of electricity had been challenged. The inventor of the lightbulb had copped some of Telsa’s notes before achieving a successful prototype to light up his laboratory.

By moving the position of the nodes, I ran a current through the machine. Flicking the toggle switch to on, all I heard was static like we heard before. I was crestfallen. Opening the instructions, I decided to change my entire perspective. Flipping the fragile paper around, I saw the instructions suddenly begin to make sense.

“Jerrod, you have school in the morning.” Mom called down through the open basement door.

“Be up in a minute.” I shouted back as I tightened a screw. This time when I flicked the toggle switch, this is what I heard.

“Is anybody there?” A voice came through the speakers.

I dropped my screwdriver and my jaw.

“I said is there someone there?” The high-pitched voice inquired.

“Yes…yes.” I spoke into the machine.

“Who am I speaking to?” He seemed irritated.

“Jarrod…my name is Jarrod.” I gasped.

“Well, I am Thomas Edison and I want to know what you have done to my invention?”

“Holy crap.” I uttered.

“Holy what?”

“Nothing Mr. Edison.” I felt my throat become very dry.

“Who are you talking to, Tom?” Another voice asked.

“Some kid it seems, Samuel.” He was speaking to someone else. “Hey kid, I’m with Samuel Clemons. We are both in the waiting room.” He chuckled, “We are giving Alex Bell a hotfoot.” More laughter.

“Ow! You idiots!” Another voice cried out in pain.

“Hey kid, do you have a blue toggle switch?” Edison asked.

“Yeah, I do. Right here.” I found it on the control panel.

“Why don’t you toggle it?”

I did.

The dark basement filled with a blinding light. Before I knew it, Thomas Edison was standing in front of me.

“Well, you did it.” He smiled.

“I sure did.” I could not believe what I had done. I brought back Mr. Thomas Edison back through his machine.

“You see, it does more than talk to the dead.” He put his thumbs under his black suspenders. “It’s good to be back. I was bored. I’ve been sitting with Samuel for a long time. His jokes are getting a bit stale.”

“What were you doing?” I dared to ask.

“We were in the Waiting Room.” He answered, “When they call your name, you follow the angel to wherever they take you. There are two options you know.”

I knew. I wanted to ask if Uncle Widrow was there, but I was afraid to hear the answer.

“I don’t sleep.” He told me shaking his head. “I can walk through walls.”

“You’re a ghost.” I affirmed.

“So you say.” He smiled. “Samuel likes to sneak up on people and pop out at them. I’m afraid I don’t share his love of humor.”

His head turns completely around, “You have a nice set up down here.”

“Thank you, Mr. Edison.”

“You are welcome.” He shrugged as he looked at the machine on my workbench. “You are also talented. Your name is Jarrod?”

“Yes sir.”

“Please do not call me sir. Call me Tom.” He smiled. How many guys my age have had Thomas Edison smile at them. I’m pretty sure the answer is none. “I would like to go for a stroll.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” He shook his head.

“My mom will see me and it’s my bedtime.” I explained.

“Put my jacket on.” He removed his jacket and put it over me. I disappeared.

“Where is the door?”

“Up those stairs, Tom.” I pointed even though I was invisible.

He began to walk up the steps.

“Jerrod, it’s time for bed.” Mom opened the door, but Tom walked right by her. I figured I’d give it a try. Wearing his jacket, I walked right past my mother and through the door without opening it.

“That was easy.” He nodded, “May I have my jacket back now that we are talking a stroll.”

“Certainly.” I reappeared as I handed him the jacket.

Unaware Mr. Simpson was watching us from his porch; I was now visible to him. Known for his religious zealousness, he opened his eyes wide when I appeared.

“Jerrod? Jerrod, is that you?” He asked. At first my heart was given a start, but I knew if I played it cool, I could get away with it.

“Yes Mr. Simpson, it’s me.” I waved as I passed his house.

“What are you doing?” He squinted. “Who is that?”

Mr. Simpson could see him. He could see Thomas Edison’s ghost. My Uncle Widrow told me there was some unknown reason why some people could see ghosts, but I never asked him for any details. I wished I had at this moment.

“Are you some kind of creep?” Mr. Simpson pointed a crooked finger at Tom.

“Afraid not.” He chuckled.

“Jarrod, he is Satan.” Mr. Simpson shook as he stood on his porch. “Be gone, Satan.”

“I take it he’s a few cards short of a full deck.” Thomas uttered to me under his breath.

“He’s our neighbor.” I uttered back.

“I am sorry.” He coughed into his hand. “There were people who would carry picket signs outside my laboratory back at Menlo Park. The said my electric lightbulb was an instrument of the devil. I cannot believe that some people believed that my light to a dark world would be something the devil would concoct. Good to know insanity has not gone out of style.”

“Want to get an ice cream at the store on the corner?” I asked Tom.

Mr. Simpson was still yelling, but I could not longer hear him.

“I’m afraid I can’t partake of things from this world.” He shook his head.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No Jarrod, you enjoy what makes you happy.” He stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “You only have so much time to enjoy them.”

“I guess you’re right.” I stuck my hands in my pockets.

“Yes. I worked hard all my life and for what?” He shrugged, “Now I am sitting in the Waiting Room cracking jokes with Samuel. If I had to do it all over again, I would have taken the time to smell more roses.”

I had heard that before somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where.

“This is the best ice cream I’ve ever had.” I pointed to Lucky’s Ice Cream Stand.

“I will take your word for it.” He smiled, “They won’t be able to see me in there. Perhaps I’ll stay out there.”

“No, no, come in with me. I am enjoying your company.” I winked at him.

“If you insist.” He shrugged one shoulder, “I may have to go soon. Sam doesn’t know what to do when I’m not there.”

“Alright.” I pushed the door with a bell attached.

“Jerrod, good to see you.” Mr. Parducci greeted me with an apron smeared with several different flavors. “What can I get you?”

“A cone with one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of chocolate.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out some money to pay for my treat.

“Nice night, eh?” He picked up the scoop. Using it, he plopped a scoop of vanilla on top of a waffle cone. With another quick move, he put a scoop of chocolate on top of the vanilla and handed it to me. “There ya go. Enjoy.”

“This is my favorite.” I slurped the chocolate.

“I enjoyed a good ice cream when I was still alive.” He told me. “There are lots of things I miss.”

“Like what?” I asked as I swallowed the last of my cone,

“Like a walk along the New Jersey shore in my bare feet.” He smiled as he walked with me. “Especially on a moonless night.”

I never knew. Who would have ever guessed that the most famous inventor of all time would miss something like that. He sat down on a bench near the sidewalk and leaned back.

“I miss Mina.” He leaned his head back and looked up at the stars.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“She was my wife.” He said as if it was a prayer. “The most beautiful women I have ever known. I spent so much time working on inventions in my laboratory that she was my house executive. My first wife Mary died when she was twenty-nine. We had three children together. I taught Mina Morse Code so we could talk in secret.”

I sat there in rapt attention as I listened to him tell his story.

“Mina was much younger than I was, but she was quite a firebrand. Yes she was indeed.” He laughed, “She owned the house because I was struggling with my finances and if I had to go bankrupt, I did not want to lose the house. She raised the children I had with my first wife Mary and then we had three children of our own. I felt like we had all the time in the world, but I was foolish to believe that. I did seek the advice of several well-known mediums hoping to find the secrets to comminating with those who had passed from this world.”

He sat there looking at the night sky.

“That’s why I built that contraption.” He turned his head squinting at me. “I wanted to talk to people I miss. I just never got to finish it.”

“My Uncle Widrow finished it.” I sat next to him on the bench.

When he opened his eyes there was a twinkle in them.

“Don’t be like me.” He sighed that is if ghosts can sigh. “Don’t waste your life on tinkering with useless things.”

“That machine is not a useless thing.” I argued.

“Oh I think it is.” He nodded as he leaned back once again, “Mina told me it was just one more thing to dust.”

“I’d better be getting home.” I said after an uneasy silence.

“You may be right. It’s getting late.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth, “Of course when you’re a ghost, time is no longer a factor.”

“That sounds like a good thing.” I stood up and rubbed my hands together.

“Is it?” He raised one of his bushy eyebrows as he looked at me.

“I have to be a school by eight which means I have to get up early in oder to be ready on time to catch the bus.” I explained as we walked back home.

“Time moves slow when you are young.” He put his hands on his trouser pockets, “You have the illusion that you have all the time in the world.”

“Sometimes it seems like I’ve been going to school all my life.” I complained.

“Sure, but then when you get to be an old man, the time seems to move too fast and before you know it, it’s time to say goodbye.” He chuckled.

As we walked up the driveway, Mr. Simpson held the machine over his head. Somehow he managed to get into our basement without anyone knowing. Mom must have fallen asleep watching television with dad.

“No, put that down.” I waved my hand in Mr. Simpon’s direction.

“This machine is from the devil.” He shook his head with this mad look in his eye. Ever since his wife Geraldine passed away two years ago, he had become even more fanatical about things.

“No, the machine is mine.” I put my hand up to prevent him from smashing it as he held it over his head. His arms and legs were trembling since the machine was not light.

“It will be okay.” Tom assured me. He pulled me back a step.

“No, you won’t be able to go back if he breaks it.” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

“It will be alright Jerrod.” He whispered back. “You don’t happen to know Morse Code do you?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Who the hell are you?” Mr. Simpson asked Tom.

“I sir am Mr. Thomas Edison.” He threw his head back.

“The hell you are!” He bellowed as he tossed the machine down on the driveway with force. The machine hit the pavement and exploded into a thousand pieces. “There I have done the lord’ work.”

“You…!” I could not find the words. If I used the words my dad used in times like this, I’d be in big trouble. When I looked at Tom, he was smiling.

“Why are you smiling?” I was trembling as I spoe.

“Yes dear, I took care of it, Geraldine.” Mr. Simpson said to someone who wasn’t there. “I took care of it, dear.”

He walked back into his house alone leaving Tom and me standing there.

“Now what?” I bowed my head.

“I guess you’re stuck with me.” He shrugged.

“It’s alright with me.” I nodded.

He put his ghost hand on my shoulder and laughed. There was a swirl of color as if we hand been thrown into a washing machine. I had to close my eyes or I feel like Dorothy Gaile in the middle of a tornado. When everything stopped swirling around, Thomas Edison wasn’t there anymore. I was alone.

I picked up the broken pieces of the machine to talk to the dead and brought them into the basement. It was hopeless even with the instructions. I would never be able to fix it. The one person who could fix it wasn’t around anymore.

Tears began to roll down my cheek as I looked at the machine Mr. Simpson had destroyed.

“Hey Jerrod, don’t sweat it, okay.” A voice spoke to me. It was a familiar voice.

“Uncle Widrow?”

“Hey.” Walking out of the shadows of a dark corner of the basement was the ghost of Uncle Widrow. “I’m sure we can put it back together again.”

As soon as I saw him, I knew we would be able to repair Thomas Edison’s machine to talk to the dead.