from Radio News
Solander's Radio Tomb
by Ellis Parker Butler
I first met Mr. Remington Solander shortly after I installed
my first radio set. I was going in to New York on the 8:15 A. M. train and
was sitting with my friend Murchison and, as a matter of course, we were
talking radio. I had just told Murchison that he was a lunk-headed noodle
and that for two cents I would poke him in the jaw, and that even a pin-
headed idiot ought to know that a bulb set was better than a crystal set.
To this Murchison had replied that that settled it. He said he had always
known I was a moron, and now he was sure of it.
"If you had enough brains to fill a hazel-nut shell," he said, "you
wouldn't talk that way. Anybody but a half-baked lunatic would know that
what a man wants in radio is clear, sharp reception and that's what a
crystal gives you. You're one of these halfwits that think they're classy
if they can hear some two-cent station five hundred miles away utter a few
faint squeaks. Shut up! I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to listen
to you. Go and sit somewhere else."
Of course, this was what was to be expected of Murchison. And if I did
let out a few laps of anger, I feel I was entirely justified. Radio fans
are always disputing over the relative merits of crystal and bulb sets, but
I knew I was right. I was just trying to decide whether to choke Murchison
with my bare hand and throw his lifeless body out of the car window, or
tell him a few things I had been wanting to say ever since he began
knocking my bulb set, when this Remington Solander, who was sitting behind
us, leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned quickly and saw
his long sheeplike face close to mine. He was chewing cardamon seed and
breathing the odor into my face.
"My friend," he said, "come back and sit with me; I want to ask you a
few questions about radio."
Well, I couldn't resist that, could I? No radio fan could. I did not
care much for the looks of this Remington Solander man, but for the last
few weeks my friends had seemed to be steering away from me when I drew
near, although I am sure I never said anything to bore them. All I ever
talked about was my radio set and some new hookup I was trying, but I had
noticed that men who formerly had seemed to be fond of my company now gave
startled looks when I neared them. Some even climbed over the nearest fence
and ran madly across vacant lots, looking over their shoulders with
frightened glances as they ran. For a week I had not been able to get any
man of my acquaintance to listen to one word from me, except Murchison, and
he is an utter idiot, as I think I have made clear. So I left Murchison and
sat with Remington Solander.
In one way I was proud to be invited to sit with Remington Solander,
because he was far and away the richest man in our town. When he died his
estate proved to amount to three million dollars. I had seen him often, and
I knew who he was, but he was a stand-offish old fellow and did not mix, so
I had never met him. He was a tall man and thin, somewhat flabby and he was
pale in an unhealthy sort of way, but, after all, he was a millionaire and
a member of one of the "old families" of Westcote, so I took the seat
alongside of him with considerable satisfaction.
"I gather," he said as soon as I was seated, "that you are interested in
radio."
I told him I was.
"And I'm just building a new set, using a new hook-up that I heard of
about a week ago," I said. "I think it is going to be a wonder. Now, here
is the idea: instead of using a grid --"
"Yes, yes!" the old aristocrat said hastily. "But never mind that now. I
know very little of such things. I have an electrician employed by the year
to care for my radio set and I leave all such things to him. You are a
lawyer, are you not?"
I told him I was.
"And you are chairman of the trustees of the Westcote Cemetery, are you
not?" he asked.
I told him I was that also. And I may say that the Westcote Cemetery
Association is one of the rightest and tightest little corporations in
existence. It has been in existence since 1808 and has been exceedingly
profitable to those fortunate enough to hold its stock. I inherited the
small block I own from my grandfather. Recently we trustees had bought
sixty additional acres adjoining the old cemetery and had added them to it
and we were about ready to put the new lots on the market. At $300 apiece
there promised to be a tremendous profit in the thing, for our cemetery was
a fashionable place to be buried in and the demand for the lots in the new
addition promised to be enormous.
"You have not known it," said Remington Solander in his slow drawl,
which had the effect of letting his words slide out of his mouth and drip
down his long chin like cold molasses, "but I have been making inquiries
regarding you, and I have been meaning to speak to you. I am drawing up a
new last will and testament, and I want you to draw up one of the clauses
for me."
"Why, certainly, Mr. Solander," I said with increased pride, "I'll be
glad to be of service to you."
"I am choosing you for the work," Remington Solander said, "because you
know and love radio as I do, and because you are a trustee of the cemetery
association. Are you a religious man?"
"Well," I said, a little uneasily, "some. Some, but not much."
"No matter," said Mr. Solander, placing a hand on my arm. "I am. I have
always been. From my earliest youth my mind has been on serious things. As
a matter of fact, sir, I have compiled a manuscript collection of religious
quotations, hymns, sermons and uplifting thoughts which now fill fourteen
volumes, all in my own handwriting. Fortunately, I inherited money, and
this collection is my gift to the world."
"And a noble one, I'm sure," I said.
"Most noble," said Mr. Solander. "But, sir, I have not confined my
activities to the study chair. I have kept my eye on the progress of the
world. And it seems to me that radio, this new and wonderful invention, is
the greatest discovery of all ages and imperishable. But, sir, it is being
twisted to cheap uses. Jazz! Cheap songs! Worldly words and music! That I
mean to remedy."
"Well," I said, "it might be done. Of course, people like what they
like."
"Some nobler souls like better things," said Remington Solander
solemnly. "Some more worthy men and women will welcome nobler radio
broadcasting. In my will I am putting aside one million dollars to
establish and maintain a broadcasting station that will broadcast only my
fourteen volumes of hymns and uplifting material. Every day this matter
will go forth -- sermons, lectures on prohibition, noble thoughts and
religious poems."
I assured him that some people might be glad to get that -- that a lot
of people might, in fact, and that I could write that into his will without
any trouble.
"Ah!" said Remington Solander. "But that is already in my will. What I
want you to write for my will is another clause. I mean to build, in your
cemetery, a high-class and imperishable granite tomb for myself. I mean to
place it on that knoll -- that high knoll -- the highest spot in your
cemetery. What I want you to write into my will is a clause providing for
the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. I want to set aside five
hundred thousand dollars for that purpose."
"Well," I said to the sheep-faced millionaire, "I can do that, too."
"Yes," he agreed. "And I want to give to my family and relations the
remaining million and a half dollars, provided," he said, accenting the
"provided," "they carry out faithfully the provisions of the clause
providing for the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. If they don't
care and maintain," he said, giving me a hard look, "that million and a
half is to go to the Home for Flea-Bitten Dogs."
"They'll care and maintain, all right!" I laughed.
"I think so," said Remington Solander gravely. "I do think so, indeed!
And now, sir, we come to the important part. You, as I know, are a trustee
of the cemetery."
"Yes," I said, "I am."
"For drawing this clause of my will, if you can draw it," said Remington
Solander, looking me full in the eye with both his own, which were like the
eyes of a salt mackerel. "I shall pay you five thousand dollars."
Well, I almost gasped. It was a big lot of money for drawing one clause
of a will, and I began to smell a rat right there. But, I may say, the
proposition Remington Solander made to me was one I was able, after quite a
little talk with my fellow trustees of the cemetery, to carry out. What
Remington Solander wanted was to be permitted to put a radio loudspeaking
outfit in his granite tomb -- a radio loudspeaking outfit permanently set
at 327 meters wavelength, which was to be the wavelength of his endowed
broadcasting station. I don't know how Remington Solander first got this
remarkable idea, but about that time an undertaker in New York had rigged
up a hearse with a phonograph so that the hearse would loudspeak suitable
hymns on the way to the cemetery, and that may have suggested the
loudspeaking tomb to Remington Solander, but it is not important where he
got the idea. He had it, and he was set on having it carried out.
"Think," he said, "of the uplifting effect of it! On the highest spot in
the cemetery will stand my noble tomb, loudspeaking in all directions the
solemn and holy words and music I have collected in my fourteen volumes.
All who enter the cemetery will hear; all will be ennobled and
uplifted."
That was so, too. I saw that at once. I said so. So Remington Solander
went on to explain that the income from the five hundred thousand dollars
would be set aside to keep "A" batteries and "B" batteries supplied, to
keep the outfit in repair, and so on. So I tackled the job rather
enthusiastically. I don't say the five thousand dollar fee did not interest
me, but I did think Remington Solander had a grand idea. It would make our
cemetery stand out. People would come from everywhere to see and listen.
The lots in the new addition would sell like hot cakes.
But I did have a little trouble with the other trustees. They balked
when I explained that Remington Solander wanted the sole radio loudspeaking
rights of our cemetery, but someone finally suggested that if Remington
Solander put up a new and artistic iron fence around the whole cemetery it
might be all right. They made him submit his fourteen volumes so they could
see what sort of matter he meant to broadcast from his high-class station,
and they agreed it was solemn enough; it was all solemn and sad and gloomy,
just the stuff for a cemetery. So when Remington Solander agreed to build
the new iron fence they made a formal contract with him, and I drew up the
clause for the will, and he bought six lots on top of the high knoll and
began erecting his marble mausoleum.
For eight months or so Remington Solander was busier than be had ever
been in his life. He superintended the building of the tomb and he had on
hand the job of getting his endowed radio station going -- it was given the
letters WZZZ -- and hiring artists to sing and play and speechify his
fourteen volumes of gloom and uplift at 327 meters, and it was too much for
the old codger. The very night the test of the WZZZ outfit was made he
passed away and was no more on earth.
His funeral was one of the biggest we ever had in Westcote. I should
judge that five thousand people attended his remains to the cemetery, for
it had become widely known that the first WZZZ program would be received
and loudspoken from Remington Solander's tomb that afternoon, the first
selection on the program -- his favorite hymn -- beginning as the funeral
cortege left the church and the program continuing until dark.
I'll say it was one of the most affecting occasions I have ever
witnessed. As the body was being carried into the tomb the loudspeaker gave
us a sermon by Rev. Peter L. Ruggus, full of sob stuff, and every one of
the five thousand present wept. And when the funeral was really finished,
over two thousand remained to hear the rest of the program, which consisted
of hymns, missionary reports, static and recitations of religious poems. We
increased the price of the lots in the new addition one hundred dollars per
lot immediately, and we sold four lots that afternoon and two the next
morning. The big metropolitan newspapers all gave the Westcote Cemetery
full-page illustrated articles the next Sunday, and we received during the
next week over three hundred letters, mostly from ministers, praising what
we had done.
But that was not the best of it. Requests for lots began to come in by
mail. Not only people in Westcote wrote for prices, but people away over in
New Jersey and up in Westchester County, and even from as far away as
Poughkeepsie and Delaware. We had twice as many requests for lots as there
were lots to sell, and we decided we would have an auction and let them go
to the highest bidders. You see, Remington Solander's Talking Tomb was
becoming nationally famous. We began to negotiate with the owners of six
farms adjacent to our cemetery; we figured on buying them and making more
new additions to the cemetery. And then we found we could not use three of
the farms.
The reason was that the loud speaker in Remington Solander's tomb would
not carry that far, it was not strong enough. So we went to the executors
of his estate and ran up against another snag -- nothing in the radio
outfit in the tomb could be altered in any way whatever. That was in the
will. The same loud speaker had to be maintained, the same wavelength had
to be kept, the same makes of batteries had to be used, the same style of
tubes had to be used. Remington Solander had thought of all that. So we
decided to let well enough alone -- it was all we could do anyway. We
bought the farms that were reached by the loudspeaker and had them surveyed
and laid out in lots -- and then the thing happened!
Yes, sir, I'll sell my cemetery stock for two cents on the dollar, if
anybody will bid that much for it. For what do you think happened? Along
came the Government of the United States, regulating this radio thing, and
assigned new wavelengths to all the broadcasting stations. It gave
Remington Solander's endowed broadcasting station WZZZ an 855-meter
wavelength, and it gave that station at Dodwood -- station PKX -- the 327-
meter wavelength, and the next day poor old Remington Solander's tomb
poured forth "Yes, We Ain't Got No Bananas" and the "Hot Dog" jazz and "If
You Don't See Mama Every Night, You Can't See Mama At All," and Hink Tubbs
in his funny stories, like "Well, one day an Irishman and a Swede were
walking down Broadway and they see a flapper coming towards them. And she
had on one of them short skirts they was wearing, see? So Mike he says
'Gee, be jabers, Ole, I see a peach.' So the Swede he says, lookin' at the
silk stockings, 'Mebby you ban see a peach, Mike, but I ban see one mighty
nice pair.' Well, the other day I went to see my mother-in-law --"
You know the sort of program. I don't say that the people who like them
are not entitled to them, but I do say they are not the sort of programs to
loudspeak from a tomb in a cemetery. I expect old Remington Solander turned
clear over in his tomb when those programs began to come through. I know
our board of trustees went right up in the air, but there was not a thing
we could do about it. The newspapers gave us double pages the next Sunday -
- "Remington Solander's Jazz Tomb" and "Westcote's Two-Step Cemetery." And
within a week the inmates of our cemetery began to move out. Friends of
people who had been buried there over a hundred years came and moved them
to other cemeteries and took the headstones and monuments with them, and in
a month our cemetery looked like one of those Great War battlefields --
like a lot of shell-holes. Not a man, woman or child was left in the place
-- except Remington Solander in his granite tomb on the top of the high
knoll. What we've got on our hands is a deserted cemetery.
They all blame me, but I can't do anything about it. All I can do is
groan -- every morning I grab the paper and look for the PKX program and
then I groan. Remington Solander is the lucky man -- he's dead.
