At Home - Bill Bryson [123]
Bell was born in 1847, the same year as Thomas Edison, and grew up in Edinburgh, but emigrated to Canada* with his parents in 1870 partly in response to a family tragedy after his two brothers died just three years apart from tuberculosis. While his parents settled on a farm in Ontario, Bell took up the post of professor of vocal physiology at the recently founded Boston University—a rather surprising appointment, for he had no training in vocal physiology and no university degree of his own. All he had, really, was a sympathetic interest in communications and a long-standing family attachment to the field. His mother was deaf and his father was a world expert on speech and elocution at a time when elocution was regarded with something close to awe. The senior Bell’s book The Standard Elocutionist had recently sold 250,000 copies in the United States alone. In any case, Bell’s position at BU was not quite as grand as it sounds. He was employed to give just five hours of lectures a week at a salary of $25. Luckily, this suited Bell because it gave him time to get on with his experimental work.
Bell sought ways to amplify sounds electrically as an aid to the hard of hearing. Soon it occurred to him that this work could equally be used to send voices across distances to make “speaking telegraphs,” as he termed them. To assist in this new line of development, he hired a young man named Thomas A. Watson. Together the two threw themselves at the problem in early 1875. Just over a year later, on March 10, 1876, a week to the day after Bell’s twenty-ninth birthday, the most famous moment in telecommunications history occurred in a small lab at 5 Exeter Place in Boston, when Bell spilled some acid on his lap and sputtered, “Mr. Watson, come here, I want to see you,” and an astonished Watson in a separate room heard the message clearly. At least that was the story Watson related fifty years later in a series of anniversary advertisements commemorating the telephone’s invention. Bell, who had died four years before the anniversary, had never actually mentioned spilled acid in any of his own recollections, and it would be odd, when you think about it, for a person startled by a searing pain in his lap to voice such a calm request, at normal volume, to someone who was not in fact present. Moreover, because of the prototype phone’s primitiveness, Watson could hear a message only when his ear was pressed to a vibrating reed, and it seems a touch unlikely that he would have had an ear cocked to a listening device on the off chance that Bell, seized by acidic pain, would call out to him. Whatever the precise circumstances, Bell’s notes confirmed that he did ask Watson to come to him and that Watson, in a separate room, heard the request clearly. History’s first telephone call had been made.
Watson deserves more attention than history has given him. Born in Salem, Massachusetts, in 1854, seven years after Bell was born in Scotland, Watson left school at fourteen and worked in various undistinguished jobs before hooking up with Bell. The two men were bound by the deepest feelings of respect and even affection, yet they never progressed to first-name terms, despite half a century’s friendship. It is impossible to say exactly how vital Watson’s role was in the invention of the phone, but he was certainly far more than a mere assistant. During the seven years he worked for Bell, he secured sixty patents in his own name, including one for the distinctive ringing bell that was for decades an invariable part of every phone call made. Remarkably, before this, the only way to know if someone was trying to get through to you was to pick up the phone from time to time and see if anyone was there.
For most people the telephone was such an incomprehensible novelty that Bell had to