Old Pal
Two friends invent the telephone…and a rye sipper
By Creanne Rolfush
PHILADELPHIA • 1876 — By the time Alexander Graham Bell and Thomas Watson arrived at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition to show off their new invention they were barely on speaking terms, which they both understood was ironic.
Three months had passed since they’d had their history-making conversation between two rooms in a Boston boarding house. Less a conversation than a command really, the moment between the two men changed the future of human communication. And their partnership.
“Mr. Watson, come here,” Bell had said into his end of the telegraph wire that day. “I need you.”
Watson had arched an eyebrow at Bell’s tone, but within a fraction of a second the magnitude of what had just happened overwhelmed him. He let out a yelp and Bell soon rushed into the room. “It worked!” Bell said, hugging Watson. “You heard me?!!” The men had been working tirelessly for months to get to this moment. “I heard you, Mr. Bell,” Watson said, near tears. “I heard you clearly.”
Old Pal
1 ½ ounces rye
¾ ounce dry vermouth
¾ ounce Campari
Stir ingredients in a mixing glass with ice • Serve in a coupe • Garnish with a lemon peel
But as the excitement ebbed over the next day or two, the nature of that first-ever telephonic telegraphic receiver message gnawed at him. Yes, Bell was in charge of their endeavor, but they worked as partners. Why the directive to “come here”?
And what was with the “I need you”? That part was a bit too… yearning? They were both young men in their 20s but as closely as they’d worked together over countless hours, Watson had never sensed that Bell was interested in him that way. Indeed, more than once he’d caught Bell gazing intensely at Margaret, Mr. Watson’s girlfriend.
In the following weeks, as the two men replicated their experiment across different distances, Bell's language grew odder and more aggressive. At first Bell’s messages were quite straightforward. For example, during one experiment when Bell was inside the boarding house and Watson was at the other end of the telegraph line outside, Bell asked, “Does it rain, Mr. Watson?”
But a couple of days later, Bell was in the boarding house again, and Watson positioned himself in a wealthy friend’s house across the street. “Mr. Watson, look around you,” Bell said. “Don’t you wish you could afford such beautiful things? You can’t because I pay you nearly nothing.”
Watson thought it odd that Bell was always perfectly polite and friendly in person, but that when they could no longer physically see one another, Bell became an aggressive bullyrager. Perhaps, he thought, idiosyncrasy was simply part of Bell’s Scottish nature.
“Mr. Watson,” Bell asked once over the tele-wire line, “why did God put your feet where your ears are supposed to go?”
“Mr. Watson,” he said a week later, “don’t cough on the telephonic device or it may melt because of your horrid breath.”
“Mr. Watson,” Bell said the following day, “your momma is so old she was Martin van Buren’s babysitter!”
Because he was the employee, and he could sense that together he and Bell were achieving something truly important, Watson bit his tongue after each of Bell’s attacks. But after an embarrassing demonstration in front of a reporter from the Boston Daily Advertiser, Watson became nervous that Bell was going to put their invention at risk the following week at the Philadelphia Expo. He decided he needed to confront Bell at dinner that evening.
“Mr. Bell, before we go to Philadelphia, I need to ask you something about the language you use during our experiments,” Watson said.
“Of course, Mr Watson,” said Bell. “What is it?
“Earlier this week, when we demonstrated the telegraphic wire speaking-to-each-other device…which reminds me that we need to have that conversation about a better name for the invention,” Watson said. “Anyway, you consistently and unnecessarily insult me in your messages, and it’s confusing.
“It would be one thing—though still strange—if those messages were just between us,” Watson continued. “But after our demonstration this week, the Daily Advertiser’s story was less about the miracle we’ve created than it was about the way you speak through the wire telegraphic machine thing.” He handed Bell the newspaper.
Professor Bell seemed to relish in the sound of his voice denigrating his assistant, Mr. Thomas Watson. In an example of the vituperation, Mr. Bell spoke into the wire telegraph speaker receiver and told Mr. Watson that his mother was so short that she made Martin van Buren look like Abraham Lincoln.
“I didn’t say any such thing!” Bell declared, aghast. He stormed out of the room, and for the week leading up to the Expo, the two men communicated only in nods and grunts.
Backstage at the Expo’s Machinery Hall in Philadelphia, Watson decided to try one more time. They were both nervous as they looked out at the enormous crowd assembled to see their new invention, which Bell had officially named the Carrot Hammer for reasons Watson was unclear about. The most consequential moment in either of their lives would happen in about one hour when they would unveil the Carrot Hammer to the biggest, most influential audience so far.
“Mr. Bell, I’m begging you,” Watson said. “You must agree to think before you speak when we are demonstrating the telephonic telegraphic receiver…”
“Carrot Hammer,” Bell corrected him.
“…yes, the Carrot Hammer, in front of the world,” Watson continued. “The important men in the room will be the ones to make us wealthy and famous. You have to control your urge to insult me. Even if it’s only this once.”
“I’m so embarrassed, Mr. Watson,” Bell said. He looked stricken. “I don’t know what happens to me during these experiments. I must get so excited that I black out and say terrible things to you, my friend and partner. Let’s get a quick drink to calm our nerves.”
They decamped to one of several bars inside the hall. The Italian bartender poured them a drink with a red liquor he’d brought over from his homeland to introduce to the world.
“What have you made us?” Watson asked.
“È nuovo,” the bartender replied. “Non ha nome.”
“No name yet!” Bell said, suddenly in better spirits. “Well, it’s delicious and we shall help you name it.”
The pair left the Italian barman and took their places — Bell on the stage and Watson on the other side of Machinery Hall, 1,400 feet away. Watson couldn’t hear Bell’s introduction from the stage. He listened intently into his end of what he was secretly now calling the Telephone. Then he heard Bell’s voice.
“Mr. Watson, it's an ear-shaking mystery that I wouldn’t mind schtuping your moldy gal.”
Watson dropped his end of the receiver, sprinted 1,400 feet across the hall and hurled himself at Bell, throwing punches until President Ulysses Grant, who happened to be in the audience, pulled him off.
“Why?” Watson screamed, through tears. “Why would you ruin us like this, Mr. Bell? Why mention Margaret in this way?”
The crowd gave Watson some space. He was tired, people murmured. Poor man.
“Son,” said President Grant, holding Watson’s shoulder. “Professor Bell related the following message into his end of the Carrot Hammer: ‘Mr. Watson, we’re making history, and I wouldn’t mind another cup of booze with you, old pal.’”
“Oh,” Watson said.
Editor’s Note: Fact-based cocktail historians claim the Old Pal was first mentioned in Harry Craddock’s Savoy Cocktail Book in 1930.
SOURCES:
Margaret Watson, Yelly Bell: How the Inventor of the Telephone Turned My Husband Into a Cowering Simp (New York: Froddle and Company, 1895)
Pierce Rohde Chabbles, Red Devil in the Quaker City: How a Bitter Italian Liqueur Conquered the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition (Milan: Gaspare Campari & Sons, 1912)
Rance Farnhild, The Missle Mop, the Carrot Hammer, and the Bison Screw: When Inventors of Important Things Get the Names of Those Things Wrong At First (New York: Jibbles & Howdee, 1978)
Contributors Notes:
Creanne Rolfush is co-host of “Kite Jazz!” on The Kite Channel. A tollbooth management technician by trade, she was recently awarded the Clarke F. Pikel Prize for Kite Communications and Management Arts.
Actual For Real Credits:
Next week: Inside Job • A collective good results from mixing rampant greed and tequila
HA, HA, very funny!
Well done. Congo.