Belles on Their Toes
Read Belles on Their Toes Online
Authors: Frank B. Gilbreth
Belles on Their Toes
Frank B. Gilbreth Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
Contents
A Biography of Frank B. Gilbreth Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey
TO MOTHER
who deserves better treatment
1.
Something for Dad
M
OTHER WAS GOING TO
Europe and leave us by ourselves. It was not an easy thing, but it was something she had to do for Dad. For us, too.
Frank carried her suitcases down the front steps to a taxicab parked under the porte-cochere of our house in Montclair, New Jersey. The driver climbed out of his air-cooled Franklin, and gave a hand.
“You the oldest boy?” he asked Frank.
Frank told him he was. Frank was thirteen.
“It’s going to be tough on your Mother. All you kids, and you the oldest boy.”
Everyone knew it was going to be tough. There wasn’t any use talking about that.
“I’ll put them on the train myself,” said the driver, pointing his head at the suitcases. “I heard about your father.”
Frank climbed the stairs and joined the rest of us on the porch, just outside the front door. That was where we usually said good-by when Dad went away on trips.
Dad had died three days before, on June 14, 1924. It seemed longer. He had had a heart attack at the railroad station in Montclair. It had happened in a telephone booth, while he was talking with Mother over the phone.
Dad liked regimentation and liked everything to be done by a system. He even had assigned each of us a number, which he used for routing intra-family correspondence and memoranda.
Mother wasn’t that way. But from habit we lined up on the porch as we would have for Dad—by ages and in a sort of company front formation.
Anne, the oldest—she was eighteen—was at the tall end of the line. Jane, the youngest—not quite two—was at the short end. In between were Ernestine, Martha, Frank, Bill, Lillian, Fred, Dan, Jack, and Bob.
Anne told us to “dress right” on her. Dad always liked the line to be straight. We waited there for Mother.
We still weren’t accustomed to seeing her in black. She looked tense and alone as she pushed open the screen door and came to the head of the steps. We wished she’d let some of us go with her to the boat, or at least to the Montclair station.
Mother stood there, tall, slim, and quite beautiful. Her figure never even whispered that she had had a dozen children.
*
Her veil was pushed back over her hat, and her face was white and taut.
A few strands of red hair, the only part of Mother’s person that wouldn’t do her bidding, curled defiantly from under her hat. Everything else was black and white.
Whenever Dad said good-by there on the porch, he always made believe we were secretly glad to get rid of him. Nothing could have been further from the truth, because we worshiped him, and he knew it. But he’d say we were only waiting for him to get out of earshot, before we’d start a wild celebration that would run far into the night. He’d tell us our long faces didn’t fool
him
any, and that some day he was going to ride around the block and come back and catch us decking the halls with boughs of holly, building a bonfire, burning him in effigy, and—the biggest sin of all—even using one of his Durham-Duplex razors.
Mother didn’t want us to know how she felt about leaving, so she smiled and tried to act like Dad.
“Those long faces don’t fool me any,” she boomed as heartily as she could. “Just as soon as I’m out of sight …” The boom dropped to a whisper, and then she couldn’t go on at all. She held out her arms and we broke ranks and burrowed into them.
She didn’t trust herself to talk for a while, and neither did we. Finally she pulled herself loose and started down the stairs. Just before she got to the cab, she turned and looked at us—at each one of us.
Mother has a way of making each child know he means something very special to her. Not just as one of the group, but as an individual person who has his own special claim on her heart.
“I love you so,” she said quietly. “I would never leave you, if it didn’t seem the only way we can stay together later on. You know that, don’t you?”
We knew it, all right. Most of Dad’s money had gone back into his business. Mother was going to try to operate the business herself—that was one reason the trip to Europe was necessary. If she failed, the family might have to be divided or to move in on Mother’s relatives on the West Coast.
Mother’s mother had invited all of us to come and live with her, in Oakland, California. Since there were so many of us, Mother thought it would be a bit of an imposition—more, in fact, than she was willing to impose on anyone, even her own mother. Several of Dad’s friends had offered to adopt some of us. None of us wanted that.
“Don’t worry about us,” Anne assured Mother now. “Every thing will be hotsy, honest!”
“I’m sure it will, dear,” Mother smiled. “Not only hotsy, but totsy, too.”
The driver started to help her into the cab.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said.
“Thank you very much.” Now Mother’s voice sounded far away
“I talked to a fellow that saw it happen. It must have been an awful shock for you.”
“Shut up,” Frank whispered fiercely. “Why can’t he just shut up?”
Anne nudged Frank sharply, and he was quiet.
We got back into line as the cab started down the driveway. We could see Mother waving from the window in the back.
Lillian, who was ten, burst into tears.
“I want to go with Mother,” she sobbed. “Tell her to come back.”
Anne took two steps and stood in front of Lill, blocking her from view.
“I told you not to do that,” Anne said between her teeth. “I told you the first one who did that before Mother left I’m going to murder.”
Anne sounded as if she meant it, too.
“I can’t help it,” Lill cried. “She’s got to come back.”
All the way up Eagle Rock Way, we could see Mother waving. We smiled and waved back. Lill stopped crying before the car was out of sight, and Anne stepped aside, so that Lill could wave too.
The car disappeared around a curve, and Lill burst into tears again.
“I didn’t mean to,” she sobbed. “Honest, I didn’t.”
“It’s all right,” Anne told her. “We know you didn’t.”
“Do you think she could see me at the end, when I was waving?”
“I’m sure she could,” Anne said. “Of course she could, honey.” Anne burst into tears herself.
We went back into the house, and suddenly we didn’t feel so depressed any more. Perhaps it was the saying good-by we had dreaded, even more than being without Mother. Mother had gone on trips before, and we had lived through them. And she’d be back in a little more than a month.
“Everybody,” said Anne, drying her tears, “did fine. I think Mother was proud of us.”
“We’ll get things running like clockwork around here,” Ernestine told us. “Mother won’t know us when she gets back.”
We began to see that what seemed the end of everything might really be just a beginning. There was even a certain exhilaration in knowing that Mother had had enough confidence in us to leave us by ourselves.
“Yes, sir,” said Anne, almost gaily, “everything went so well that, for the first time, I think we’re going to make a go of it.” She was fairly beaming now. “Everybody behaved so well I could kiss you all.”
“I knew it,” said Bill, ducking. “The minute Mother leaves, you start making threats.”
Anne grabbed him, and planted a resounding, moist smack on the side of his neck. Bill struggled, giggled, and hollered. The noise sounded fine after three days of whispers. The tension began to drain out of us.
“I know we’re going to be able to stay together,” Ernestine said. “I’m so sure of it now that I could almost go build that bonfire Dad always talked about.”
“Let’s see,” Anne grinned. “Where’s the nearest holly tree?”
“You keep away from his razors, though,” Frank warned. “I’ll be needing those one day.”
Ernestine and Martha hooted. Bill mentioned something about how the cat would be fully competent to lick off any whiskers that Frank had at present or might produce for years to come. Anne kissed Bill loudly again, and he hollered some more.
Frank ran an exploratory hand across his chin, but there was no sound of sandpaper.
MOTHER SAILED
with the tide that morning aboard the
Scythia
for England.
Dad had been scheduled to speak at the London Power Conference, and to preside over a session of the World Congress of Scientific Management, at the Masaryk Academy, in Prague, Czechoslovakia.
Those two honors meant that his work in motion study and the elimination of fatigue in industry were being recognized internationally.
Dad had been a consulting engineer and efficiency expert, specializing in big industry. He was the creator of motion study, which as one skeptic alleged—and Dad never denied—was designed to “make it easy to work hard.”
Dad’s method was to study a worker’s motions, and then to cut down those motions, often by redesigning the machinery that the man operated. Mother was his business partner. She had given him a dozen children and had written with him a half dozen books explaining motion study.
Now she wanted to make certain that he received the recognition the European meetings would bring. And so did we.
She had been invited to substitute for him at the two sessions. At first, it seemed out of the question to accept. And then it seemed to be the one opportunity of keeping the family together. Engineering was, and still is, a man’s field. Mother knew there would be difficulties in trying to continue Dad’s business. But if she made a success of her two speeches in Europe, before some of the biggest engineers in the world, she might have an easier time in convincing Dad’s clients that she could do the work.
Mother wasn’t accustomed to making decisions. Those, in the past, had been left to Dad. He had set the pattern, and she had followed it. Even the idea of twelve children had been his originally. But if Dad thought an idea was good, Mother was convinced it was marvelous.
There was a time when Mother wept easily, when she was afraid of walking alone at night, when a lightning storm would send her shuddering into a dark closet.
All that ended the day Dad died. It ended because it
had
to end. It ended because of the realization that what she really feared was that something would separate them.
Well, what she had feared had happened, and tears would not wash out a word of it. So she gave his speech in London and presided for him in Prague. And she was not afraid any more.
*
Mary, the next to the oldest, died of diphtheria in 1912.
2.
Austerity Budget
D
AD USED TO COMPLAIN
that if the Bureau of Standards in Washington ever needed a precise definition or an exact measurement of a Jack of All Trades Who Was Master of None, all it would have to do was to build a glass cage, create a vacuum therein, chill to zero degrees centigrade, and send for Tom.
Tom had been with the family for seventeen years as Dad’s handy man. The title should not be taken too literally. In a house-hold whose routine was bound by a chain of efficiency, Tom was unquestionably the weakest link.
Tom knew a little something about everything. Not enough to fix it if it were broken, but enough to think he could. He was unwilling to concede that any job was too big for him, or that he had not done a similar, but infinitely more difficult, job before.
He never forgot a mistake, either, and so was able to keep making the same errors over and over again.
Tom was of Irish descent, small, light footed, and tough. Although no longer young even when he first came to work for us, he still clung to the belief that the bigger they came the harder they fell. As a result, he sometimes presented a battered and swollen appearance, and would walk around the house announcing darkly:
“I don’t take nothing from nobody, unnerstand? Nothing from nobody.”
He was always evasive when asked how he had received the bruises, but would manage to leave the impression that the six club-swinging bullies who sprang on him in the dark, when his back was turned, would be released from the hospital in a fortnight or so.