As the daughter of a man who took money sorely needed for tedious amenities like insurance premiums, mortgage payments and taxes, and used it instead to take out patents on the children of his mind, I say with great pride: My father was an inventor.
Not only did he march to the tune of a different drummer, he reorganized, retooled and reinvented the drum.
And when he was finished, not only was it a better drum, it had become a more interesting one.
One for which he would apply for a patent, inspire others to perceive its pragmatic potency, and just as he was ready to manufacture and market it, whatever it might be…lose interest.
Then he would drift towards something else. Something new, about which he could muse, “Wouldn’t it be interesting if…”
Or: “I wonder if I could make…”
Or: “Why hasn’t anyone else ever thought of…”
He got a new idea! For a new invention!
Samuel Reuben’s world was a merry array of spools, batteries, metal clasps, perforated brass sheets, plugs, dials, gaskets and switches.
Or, as Victor Herbert would say of Toyland:
Childhood’s Joy land, Mystic, merry Toyland,
While you dwell within it, you are ever happy then.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish