Thomas Edison was 14 years old when the Civil War broke out, but already learning how to send and received telegraph messages. Which is how he began his Abraham Lincoln connection. During the Civil War, the telegraph had become a critical means of communication, both to get news from the front and to relay strategies and orders from President Lincoln and Secretary of War Stanton. A popular song of the era captured the essence of the power of the telegraph:
For our mountains, lakes and rivers, are all a blaze of fire
And we send our news by lightning, on the telegraphic wire.
Edison spent the rest of the war working the telegraph lines safely ensconced in northeastern Michigan. After the war, Edison built his own business modifying telegraphs to send and receive on multiple channels, as well as print out the messages and automatically convert the dots and dashes into text. Much of his early work was sold to Western Union, that is until its Superintendent Thomas T. Eckert – who had been in charge of Lincoln’s telegraph office during the war – jumped ship to the Atlantic & Pacific Telegraph Company and convinced Edison to sell his new quadruplex telegraph rights to them.
About ten years later Edison had moved on to invention of the tinfoil phonograph. In April 1878 he took it to Washington, D.C. for a demonstration of the National Academy of Sciences, created in 1863 by Abraham Lincoln. There he met Joseph Henry, then doing double duty as Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution and President of the National Academy. Henry had been Lincoln’s unofficial science adviser during the Civil War. The demonstration went so well that Edison was asked to bring the phonograph up the road to the White House, where he demonstrated it in a personal audience with President Rutherford B. Hayes and guests into the wee hours of the morning. Lincoln friend and now Secretary of the Interior Carl Schurz played a lively tune on the piano. Ironically, Edison was so deaf by this point that his colleague Charles Batchelor had done most of the presentation at the National Academy. At the White House, Edison chimed in with his off-yelled rendition of “Mary had a little lamb” and other ditties.
Still later, Edison invented what became the film projector. One of his most famous early films was The Life of Abraham Lincoln. A silent film (with musical soundtrack) presenting highlights from Lincoln’s life, The Life expanded the length of motion pictures and now took up two reels. The Life was a “two-part drama” that ran “from the scene in front of the log cabin to the assassination at Ford’s Theater in Washington.” The sales catalog claimed, “Nothing has been left undone to make this a consummate review of Lincoln’s life.” For the 100th anniversary of Lincoln’s birth in 1909, Wanamaker’s huge department store in lower Manhattan hosted a screening of Edison’s ten-minute film The Blue and the Grey, or the Boys of ’61, accompanied by “favorite war songs” of the era.
Edison was so enamored of Lincoln “that he placed Lincoln’s profile on his own letterhead, and wrote out this testimonial in 1880:
” … the life and character of Abraham Lincoln and his great services to this country during the war of the rebellion will stand as a monument long after the granite monuments erected to his memory have crumbled in the dust.”
The photo shown is in the collection of the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, IL.
As I think back on my own admiration of Lincoln it strikes me that there are a number of connections between the three topics of my published books – Tesla, Edison, and Lincoln. Perhaps I was destined to write about all three.
David J. Kent is an avid science traveler and the author of Lincoln: The Man Who Saved America, in Barnes and Noble stores now. His previous books include Tesla: The Wizard of Electricity and Edison: The Inventor of the Modern World and two specialty e-books: Nikola Tesla: Renewable Energy Ahead of Its Time and Abraham Lincoln and Nikola Tesla: Connected by Fate.
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Disheveled as he was when he showed up on the doorstep of the venerable Western Union Company, Edison was confident that management would see through the rough exterior into his insightful mind. The company had made a name for itself even before the Civil War, but the rampant use of telegraphy during the conflict enabled Western Union to grow immensely, swallowing up its nearest competitors and becoming a force in the industry. This was just the opportunity Edison was looking for. During his initial interview, office manager George Milliken was so impressed with the 21-year-old that he hired him immediately. Milliken asked how soon Edison would be ready to work, to which Edison replied “Now.” He was put to work on the shift that day at 5:30 p.m.
On August 31, 1897, Thomas Edison invented the movies. Or at least that was the day he patented the kinetoscope, an early motion picture projector. But as with all inventions, the story is much more complicated than just one man.
In 1882, Nikola Tesla’s time in Budapest was coming to an end. His close relationship with the Puskas brothers led him to Charles Batchelor, who was Thomas Edison’s man in Paris. Batchelor was an Englishman and mechanic supreme, having learned his trade in the textile mills of Manchester. But Batchelor was more than just a good technician; he was a natural salesman and organizer. Nearly single-handedly he had overseen the spread of Edison’s direct current system across Europe, mostly as isolated power plants for individual factories, hotels, shipyards, and railroad stations. This highlighted the big problem with direct current—it was limited to low voltages and could not be transmitted more than a short distance. Direct current power plants had to be installed every mile or so to light up a city, a logistical problem that meant despite his sales skills Batchelor was only able to install three central power stations, one each in the cities of Milan, Rotterdam, and St. Petersburg.
Although he was the last of seven children, Thomas Alva Edison was born into a largely empty household. February 11, 1847, was a cold, snowy night in the tiny village of Milan, Ohio, not far from the shores of Lake Erie. Edison’s mother, Nancy, who seemed always to be wrapped in black mourning garb, was eager to have more children to replace those who had not survived. One son, Carlile, died in 1842, when he was only 6 years old. A second son, 3-year-old Samuel Ogden, perished a year later while Nancy was pregnant with daughter Eliza. Eliza also lived only three years, passing away in late 1847, when Thomas was still an infant.
In the early morning hours of October 18, 1931, Thomas Alva Edison passed away peacefully in his Glenmont mansion in West Orange, New Jersey, not far from the laboratory where he had toiled many long days for many long years. He was 84 years old and had been inventing for seven decades. His health had been failing for months and by this time he had struggled with the cumulative effects of diabetes, Bright’s disease, stomach ulcers, and uremic poisoning, the final stages of kidney failure. His family was by his side, though he seemed only to recognize Mina, his wife of the last 42 years.
Today marks the fourth anniversary of resigning my consulting job to pursue a career 
