The Wizard's roots, better than ever: the Thomas Edison Center at Menlo Park

With multiple stories already written on Thomas Edison and features on his lab and home in West Orange, it's remarkable that we haven't yet made a proper visit to the town that proudly bears his name. Specifically, I'm talking about the site where he built his first invention factory, the community that led to his famed sobriquet: the Wizard of Menlo Park.

The Thomas Edison Center, also known as the Menlo Park Museum, sits modestly on a side street off Route 27, honoring a man whose inventions changed the world. Long-time readers might recall that we've gone there a few times before, notably to find the site of the first electric railroad and get lost in the adjacent woods and trail in what's officially Thomas Edison State Park. The two most notable historic aspects of the park, the museum and the memorial tower, were closed for renovation during those earlier visits.

The great news is that while the tower is still mired in the restoration process, the small museum is open again, and better than ever. Housed in what was originally built to be the tower's visitors center, the pre-renovation museum was cramped with enough artifacts to qualify it for the world record for most history per square foot. While it gave a good representation of his work at Menlo Park, there were so many display cases that it was difficult for a tour of more than a handful of people at one time to visit comfortably.

Now, visitors are welcomed with an overview of Edison's work, not just in Menlo Park, but throughout his career. A timeline in the entry area indicates the start of his career as an itinerant telegraph operator and follows him to the East Coast, to Newark, Menlo Park, New York and West Orange. Additional panels illustrate the brief history of Menlo Park as a failed residential development that Edison saw as an ideal setting to build his invention factory. And a corridor into the main display area is lined with copies of a small selection of the 400 patents he was granted for new technologies developed on site.

While half of his 1093 patents were derived from work done at the West Orange labs, Edison is best remembered for two Menlo Park inventions: the phonograph and the perfected incandescent light bulb. The newly-curated exhibit gives ample attention to both but also highlights other lesser-known yet still very recognizable innovations. A rusted rail and spike represent the electric railroad he built on the property, while a motorized pen, printers' roller and tube of mimeograph ink introduce the electric duplicating system he invented in Newark and patented in Menlo Park. Another part of the room includes the carbon button microphone Edison developed in 1877 as an improvement to the telephone Alexander Graham Bell had patented a year earlier. Various equipment represent the machine shop where workers made parts that would be assembled into inventions.

The best part of a visit to Menlo Park hasn't changed much: the storytelling ability of the Thomas Edison Center's volunteer museum guides. A visitor could definitely learn a lot just by studying the interpretive text around the exhibit, but the volunteers give life to Edison's persistence and belief in the process of invention.

Once you've heard the stories and seen the artifacts, you're hungry to explore the places where Edison walked, thought and toiled. Regrettably, very little remains to represent his physical presence on the site, as the lab and other structures were taken down in 1929 and reconstructed at Henry Ford's Greenfield Village in Michigan. If you go to the edge of the Menlo Park property and look carefully atop the rise at the corner of Christie Street and Tower Road, you'll find the sunken foundation of the building that housed the inventor's office, plus another, smaller building. A gnarled, barely-recognizable portion of the doorstep remains, giving visitors the chance to step, literally, where Edison did.

The 129-foot high Memorial Tower stands over the actual site where Edison lit the first long-lasting (14 hours) incandescent bulb. A gift from early associates who dubbed themselves the Edison Pioneers, it was constructed of 13 different mosaic mixes of Edison Portland cement, from dark at the base to light at the top, and topped with a 13 foot, 8 inch high Pyrex light bulb. The ongoing restoration includes repair work on the exterior cement and the installation of 21st century lighting and sound systems that Edison surely would have approved of. It's expected to open sometime this summer.

The Thomas Edison Center is open from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Thursday through Saturday, making it the perfect starting point for an Edison exploration day. It's close enough to the Parkway that you could easily spend an hour or two there and then zip up to Thomas Edison National Historical Park to learn more about his later years.

Menlo Park Ink? Edison's hidden link to body art.

What does Thomas Edison have in common with L.A. Ink's Kat Von D, a gazillion bikers and legions of hipster Brooklynites?

If you guessed they all have tattoos, you'd be close. Edison most likely didn't sport ink (I could be wrong), but he invented the electric pen, which was later adapted into the precursor of the instrument used to apply permanent skin artwork today.

Born in Edison's Newark lab in 1876 and patented after his move to Menlo Park, the electric pen was conceived with business uses in mind. His invention was actually a stencil maker, a battery-operated pen whose tip had a stylus that rapidly perforated the paper as the user wrote. The finished document would then be run through a press that forced ink through the perforations onto another piece of paper, printing an exact duplicate of the original document.

Edison believed that document-dependent businesses like banks, law firms and insurance companies would be quick to grasp the time- and labor-saving benefits of his invention, and many did, despite the challenges presented by the device's sometimes temperamental battery arrangement. Not surprisingly, enthusiasm was a bit more muted from clerks whose work was being severely curtailed as a result of the machine's prodigious output. The business soon expanded worldwide.

Other manufacturers soon devised ways around the battery issues, and Edison lost his dominant share in the electric pen market. He sold the patent to Western Electric, then reacquired it and sold it to A.B. Dick, who reverently proclaimed Edison the "father of mimeography." Eventually the whole industry declined with the increasing use of typewriters, though A.B. Dick profitably adapted the printing concept into the mimeograph press many of us recall from the 60's and 70's. (Remember those blue 'ditto' sheets and the chemical smell when they were fresh off the press?)

What does this have to do with tattoos? In 1891 a New York tattoo artist named Samuel O'Reilly realized that with the addition of tubing and an ink reservoir, Edison's pen could quickly and efficiently deposit ink into the skin, saving both time for the artist and probably a lot of pain for the recipient. Other artists later experimented with electromagnetic motors, reducing the pen's weight and allowing for greater dexterity.

Regardless, Edison had inadvertently spurred innovation in a field in which he likely had absolutely no interest. I do wonder, though: if he had gotten a tattoo, what would it be of?

Edison and the electric railroad

Today marks the 166th anniversary of the birth of Thomas Edison, the Wizard of Menlo Park and the most interesting of Jersey guys. Bring a kid to the Thomas Edison State Park off Route 27 and ask him or her to name a few inventions developed on the site, and I'll bet you that "light bulb" will be the first answer. Ask the kid about the trains, and I'll bet that all you'll get is a quizzical stare.

Most people don't realize this, but Edison was one of many innovators whose work and patents influenced the electric railways we know today. In fact, he built Menlo Park's first electric train system back in 1880, long before the Pennsylvania Railroad erected the catenary wires that power the trains that now stop at the nearby Metropark Station.

Edison's connection with railroads stretches back to his childhood, when he sold sundries on the Grand Trunk lines in his native Michigan. His interest in using electricity as a power source for trains, however, seems to have come more from his desire to make electric distribution economical. With the perfection of the light bulb came the need for electricity to power it, and by extension, a distribution system to bring electricity from a central generator to the customer. Lighting would be used mostly at night, meaning that generation and distribution equipment would go mostly unused during the day.

The route of Edison's Menlo Park railroad

As a canny businessman, Edison realized he needed to explore ways to balance the demand, or load, on the electrical system. Years earlier, he'd theorized that electric trains could serve well in bringing grain to market, and in fact, other innovators had already shown that battery- and dynamo-powered railroads could work at short distances. Surely he could create a more efficient system. Edison had one of his Menlo Park muckers oversee the construction of a half-mile long U-shaped track across Christie Street from the lab, capitalizing on the topography to test the locomotive's uphill pulling strength. The rails were electrified by direct current, one positive and one negatively charged.

The maiden run of the Edison railroad took place on May 13, 1880, when the Old Man himself took control of the locomotive. As Francis Jehl, one of Edison's assistants, later recalled in Menlo Park Reminiscences, many of the muckers gathered onto the bench-laden open-air passenger car to be part of the history-making trip.

"... [A]s many of the 'boys' as could find foothold crowded on -- about twenty in all... The current was switched on, and amid cheers, hurrahs and the waving of hats and handkerchiefs, the little train started up.... The locomotive picked up speed and we all glided along to the end of the line with excitement and buoyant hopes." 

The locomotive ran well in drive but the return trip faced some glitches. "When the order 'all aboard' was given for the return trip," Jehl recounted, "Batchelor applied the lever so violently that one of the friction wheels burst and disabled the locomotive." Edison ordered design adjustments to the transmission and the team began work anew. By the time the second run took place, the train included two additional cars to carry freight and a newly-patented braking system. The train's generator was the first of its kind to work at 90 percent efficiency.

The railroad 'right of way' in 2013,
now the site of homes, lawns
and woods.

Once the system was shown to work reliably, Edison put his legendary promotional skills to work to attract attention from the press. Reporters, investors and executives flocked to Menlo Park to see his latest invention, some even riding the rails themselves and getting a bit more then they bargained for. The narrow-gauged U-shaped track had been designed on an incline with sharp curves, a dangerous combination once the locomotive gained its top speed of 40 miles an hour. Add to that the natural curiosity and mischievousness of Edison and many of his muckers, and you can imagine how many accidents the little train suffered. While no one was seriously injured, Edison's personal secretary Samuel Insull later recalled that his first trip "about scared the life out of me."

Brilliant though Edison was, his railroad was yet another example of where he neglected to explore other possible applications of his ideas. He was so focused on his original concept -- moving freight -- that it took a long time before he saw the benefits of applying electric power to passenger transportation like streetcars. While we can't look on Edison as the father of the electric railway, his improvements led to several patents and innovations like an electrified third rail to power underground systems.

The tracks of Edison's Menlo Park railway are long gone, but an informative wayside display across from the Christie Street museum and memorial tower offers perspective on the events that took place there. The trucks (or wheels) of the second electric locomotive are on view on the Main Street side of the Thomas Edison National Historical Park in West Orange.

Pranked by the Wizard of Menlo Park

With Ivan away on a multi-day, out-of-state bird chase (it's migration season, after all), I was left to my own devices for Hidden New Jersey travels this past weekend. I decided to get on the Parkway and see where serendipity led me.

How'd you like to change this bulb?

The sign for the Route 27 exit led me to wonder how the renovation of the Edison memorial and museum in Menlo Park is doing. When I last looked, the website claimed the museum, at least, would be open this fall. It's worth a quick look, right? I got off the highway and made my way to Christie Street, site of TAE's first real lab, where the incandescent bulb was perfected.

Nope, the museum isn't open yet, and the building is virtually empty, so I guess it will be several weeks, at least, before they cut the ribbon. The memorial tower, cast from 1200 barrels of Edison Portland Cement, is still surrounded by a chain link fence and appears not to have much repair work done to it. No truth to the rumor, though, that the big bulb up top is being replaced with a compact fluorescent model.

What's an Edisonian explorer to do? Hmm... across the street there's a marker with lots of information on the electric railway that was tested there, but reading that only takes a few minutes. There's always the Edison Information Trail, leading into the woods behind the museum. I'd ignored it on earlier visits, and the explanatory posting was missing, but there was a big sign over the entrance. Apparently it was a youngster's Eagle Scout project. It's worth a shot, and I'll get a nice nature stroll in at the same time. Good enough.

I tromped into the woods, expecting to find little plaques or something along the way. No. I did find a yellow disk emblazoned with a light bulb, nailed to a tree. A marker, perhaps? Good enough... I'll keep going. The trail seemed obvious enough. But still, I wasn't seeing any of the data that one would assume would come on an information trail.

Abandon all hope. There is no information here.

Then I came to a spot where there was no undergrowth. The trail disappeared until I saw the start of a path across the open area. I expected to loop back, but I ended up at a ballfield that, from the road sounds, was probably separated from Route 27 by a barrier of trees. Okay, I guess I made a wrong turn somewhere.

Backtracking shouldn't have been that difficult. The wooded tract can't be any more than 10 acres, and there are houses nearby. How hard could it be?

Well, plenty hard. There were, of course, no markers, and finding the other end of the trail on that big bare spot wasn't as easy going as it was coming. I made several wrong turns and ended up bushwacking through some underbrush. Joking to myself, I figured I didn't have to worry about ticks because there were no deer around. And then, as if on cue, I saw two deer. Great.

I was close enough to some backyards that I could have taken them as an escape route, but I didn't want to deal with the embarrassment (or the police, if the homeowners were peeved). Instead, I pulled out my cell phone GPS and got a sense of where I was on the property. Fortunately the maps accurately showed where the museum and parking area are, and I was able to find my way back to the established trail after a few minutes.

No harm, no foul, but I have to admit I'm a little annoyed with the Boy Scouts, specifically the Eagle Scout program. This project was well thought out, and if this Flickr stream is any indication, it came out very nicely, but unlike others I've seen, it wasn't kept up. I guess I should have known better -- caveat emptor and all that.

Or maybe it was all planned ... like one of Edison's notorious practical jokes.