It's Nice to Get Up in the Mornin' When You've Got a Talking Clock!

1920

There's an epidemic of talking clocks in the country. Chicago and Philadelphia are the first to be afflicted and it's said that the disease may spread.

Vincent Pinto of Philadelphia has what, to all appearances, is a staid old grandfather's clock, but at times it does things that would surprise, if not shock, all of the younger clocks.

During the early morning hours, it behaves as other clocks have from the time of the first grandfather's. But at 6 it changes. First it booms out the hours — Bong — bong — bong — bong — bong — bong — then it shouts, being heard thruout the house:

"Six o'clock and time to get up."

Mrs. Vincent and her daughter Rose obey and an hour later the clock shouts up the stairs to Pinto and his son: "Breakfast is ready. Hurry down."

Warns Men of Their Work.

"Off to work, now it's time," the clock warns the men of the family at 7:30 and at 9 a. m. it informs Mrs. Pinto, "It's time to go to your marketing."

And so it goes, all day long, that nobody in the house may forget any duties. At 11 o'clock at night the clock, imitating Pinto's voice in its deepest and sternest tones, says:

"Time to go home, young man, it's 11 o'clock; time to go home."

Miss Rose's "young man" gets his hat and goes.

Pinto and his son built the clock and installed the talking apparatus after eleven months' work. Pinto made his own records, and he can change the clock's conversation whenever he wishes. It is rumored he sometimes stops the talking apparatus on Sundays and other days when he is at home.

Here's the Chicago Edition.

But Oscar Lindholm of Chicago, a machinist, declares that the Philadelphia clock is an infringement on a patent that he obtained six months ago. Lindholm has patented an alarm clock that yells instead of ringing.

The invention can be adjusted to an ordinary phonograph and the record is made to wake you in the manner that best suits your tastes and nationality.

If you're an ex-service man you may be delighted to hear the old familiar strains of "You gotta get up, you gotta get up, you gotta get up in the morning."

Or if you happen to be Scotch you can have the song that Harry Lauder made famous — "Oh, it's nice to get up in the mor-r-rning, but it's better to lie a-bed!"

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Aug. 7, 1920, p. 5.

Uncle Sam Makes a Profit Minting Pennies

1896

Little Copper Coin Has New Lease on Life

The long despised copper cent has entered upon a new era of usefulness according to the authorities of the Mint at Philadelphia. The Mint has been turning out pennies lately at an astonishing rate, says the New York Journal. Ever since September 1 three presses have been working eight hours a day stamping Uncle Sam's design upon little disks of bright new copper. The average daily output has been 150,000 cents. This represents a profit to the Government per diem of a trifle over $130.

There is money in minting cents from the Government's point of view. The copper "blanks" are not made by the Treasury, but are bought under contract. They are turned out by a firm in Waterbury, Conn., and they cost Uncle Sam only $7300 per million. In other words, for seven and three-tenths cents he obtains material which by a simple process of stamping is transformed into the worth of $1. The profit on each 1,000,000 cents issued is $870.

Until within the last few years the blanks for cents and nickels were made at the Philadelphia Mint, but it was found to be more convenient and about as cheap to purchase them from private parties. The contract for producing them is awarded annually to the lowest bidder, and on this account their cost varies somewhat from year to year. These coins are considered merely as tokens, and their intrinsic value is of no consequence whatever. They are neither counted nor tested by assaying at the Mint, being weighed in bulk only.

One pound avoirdupois of the blanks for cents costs the Government twenty cents, and makes $1.40 worth of pennies when coined. In other words, there are 146 blanks to the pound. The blanks are shipped to the Mint in strong wooden boxes. They are extremely pretty, looking like so much gold when bright and new. In fact, visitors to the Mint frequently mistake the contents of boxes that stand open for gold, and it is a common thing for them to say that they wished they could be permitted to take away all that they can carry. This oft-repeated remark always excites a smile, inasmuch as the strongest man could not carry $100 worth of the blanks without great difficulty.

All of the United States cents are made at the Philadelphia Mint. During the last fiscal year 26,044,277 of them were minted. The production of cents rose three years ago to nearly 100,000,000 for a twelve-month. A steady stream of these little coins flow from Philadelphia to most parts of the country, though in some localities they are not circulated at all. But it often happens, as at present, that the demand exceeds the supply.

The odd prices fixed by dry goods firms nowadays have something to do with the unusual demand, inasmuch as they require the making of small change on nearly every purchase. Such prices seem to have an attraction for the public, and particularly for women, who are apt to buy an article for $1.98 when they would not pay $2. Then, again, the slot machines absorb an immense number of pennies. But after all the movement in favor of cheaper newspapers has done more to place the little old red cent on a plane of respectability than any other agency.

Very few pennies come back to the Mint for remelting. The stream of coppers flows out continually, but its history is like that of many rivers in Western deserts, which are lost finally in the sand. Nobody knows what becomes of the millions on millions of cents that are minted annually; they simply vanish out of sight and are gone forever. The phenomenon seems a strange one, but it is easily accounted for. Pennies are subject to more accidents than any other coins; they change hands ten times as often as dimes, it is reckoned, and being of small value, they are not cared for. People say: "What becomes of all the pins?" The answer is the same in both cases.