“Then educate them!”
“They refuse. We have free night schools—one fifteenth of one percent attend. They won’t even go when we pay them. Claim they want relaxation at night. Do you know what the average stenographer does with her twenty-four hours?”
Dr. Billings laughingly confessed his ignorance of their special habits.
“We studied a thousand of them and made a composite picture of their daily life,” said Jerome Smith, answering his own question. “They are High School and Business College graduates, about twenty years old. They stay in bed as long as possible, dress as fast as they can, bolt an insufficient breakfast and spend about one hour in the subway, or elevated, going to the office. From 9 A. M. to noon their work is fairly correct. During the noon hour they window-shop and eat a poor lunch. They would rather spend their money on silk stockings than beefsteak. From 1 to 5 their work becomes more careless as they become more fatigued. It takes them an hour to return to their home where they eat the only hot meal of the day. At 8 their boy friends come and take them to a movie or dance hall. They usually retire between 11 and 1. On Saturday afternoons they go to Coney Island. Sundays are periods of relaxation, unless their boy friends have a Ford. After an average of two years and three months of work they marry and keep on working till the first child is born. Then they cease to work, but from the day of their marriage, they become less and less efficient. If it were not for humanitarian reasons, we would discharge every woman as soon as she is married. The capable clever ones become private secretaries, the beautiful ones marry or go into private apartments, the dull ones are discharged, and last year our turn-over was sixty-five percent. We can hardly hire and train them fast enough. Something has to be done. I engaged you with the understanding that you could solve such problems and I want you to get busy!”
Dr. Billings looked irritated as he replied:
“You talked to me about this a year ago and I gave you several models of a phono-stenic machine, invented in our laboratories. As I recall it, I advised that you have five thousand of these machines made and discharge ninety-nine percent of your stenographers. You never commented on my suggestion.”
“We gave it a trial! We are always willing to try anything! At first it looked as though it might work: it really was a beautiful piece of machinery. All our men had to do was to talk into a receiver and the sound was transmitted to the machine, transformed into mechanical activity and the letter was finished a second after the dictation ended. As I remember the details, the machine was entirely automatic, had a paper feeder and discharged the letter into one tray and the carbon into another. As a machine, it was perfect, but it could not think, consequently, there were many words that could not be used—for example, to—too—two—three different words, three different meanings, but only one sound for the three. Another difficulty was in the matter of pronunciation. In adjusting the machine you used an actor who is credited with having a wonderful voice and speaking perfect English. Unfortunately, in our office we have men from every part of the United States and many foreigners who have had to learn English. All of our men spoke English, but they all had a different accent, and none spoke as perfectly as the actor. The machine typed exactly what they spoke, but the letters it produced were certainly queer affairs. I was sufficiently interested in the proposition to invite the actor to come and dictate for us, and the letters he produced were perfect, so long as he was careful in not using words with two meanings.”
“You could have had the machines adjusted to suit the different accents,” replied Billings in a rather irritated voice.
“Certainly. I knew that! Then they would have been one man machines. If adjusted to a Pennsylvania Dutchman, it could not be used by an English-speaking Spaniard. The invention was simply not practical. What I demand is better service from more efficient stenographers!”
“I do not see hew that can be obtained!”
“You had better see! That is what I hired you for and let you write your own salary. I am a business man and not a scientist. All I know is that the stenographer is a human machine. She uses her hands to work with. The hands are connected with the brain. Brain, hands and typewriter produce letters—I must have perfect letters. It is your business to produce them. Get busy! When you have a plan, come and see me. Till then stay away from me, because the presence of inefficiency irritates me.”
The biologist lost no time in leaving the office, while Jerome Smith turned restlessly to his next task. Having given this definite problem to Dr. Billings, he promptly forgot it—for the time being. He knew, and so did Dr. Billings, that unless the problem were satisfactorily settled, there would be a new biologist employed within a few months.
* * * *
For the next month, Dr. Billings and his subordinates studied the race of stenographers. He found that practically every statement that Jerome Smith had made about them was correct. Those who were capable ceased to be mere stenographers and filled offices of trust as private secretaries. They ceased to function as mere letter writers. Many married. The dull ones remained dull. Gaps in the ranks were easily replaced by very ordinary material from business colleges. Replacements were frequent and the yearly turnover large. The average office worker was fairly capable but absolutely undependable. Most of them had ambitions and day dreams, but these did not extend in the direction of writing a perfect letter. A few grew old in the service, but most changed occupations before twenty-five. Socially, they were middle class, poorly housed, inadequately fed, but rather elegantly dressed.
Dr. Billings worked and studied and yet failed to see how the work could be more efficiently performed. His inability fretted him. His pride was hurt, and, in addition, he was faced with the loss of his position in case he failed to satisfy his employer. Worry, nervous strain and overwork produced insomnia. Finally tired, nature demanded sleep, and in this slumber came a dream from the subconscious.
From a high balcony he overlooked in his dream an office where, several hundred stenographers were working at noiseless machines. He could tell from the continued intensity of their labor and the satisfied expression on their faces that they were happy in their work. Someone put an opera glass in his hands, and he focused on one individual after another. He was at once impressed with the intelligent faces and the enormous, capable hands—large strong hands; long, and wonderful fingers, racing surely over the keyboards. In his dream he watched them, hour after hour, as they wrote letters—and he knew, without reading, that they were writing perfect letters at a terrific speed.
Waking with a start and shivering, he turned on the light. Unable to forget those hands, he placed his own between the light and the calcined wall, making huge extremities appear as shadows with twisting menacing fingers. Then he went to sleep, and the next morning, after shaving more carefully than usual, he called to see Jerome Smith; and in spite of his efforts, it was the scientist who was excited this time and not the capitalist.
Without preamble or delay, he blurted out the marvelous solution, which had come to him after his dream.
“We will secure better stenographers by breeding them!”
The astonished leader of finance could only stammer, “W—w—what?”
“Breed them!” repeated the scientist. “When man wanted to develop the carrier pigeon for speed, the trotting horse for racing, the pointer dog for hunting and the cow for increased milk production, he bred them. Burbank bred a spineless cactus—we will breed errorless stenographers!”
“You must be insane, Doctor!”
“Not at all, but I cannot blame you for thinking so. The students of developmental neurology, headed by Frederick Tilney and Dr. Huntington, organized the Galton Society of America. They have for years studied the growth of the brain, and they have shown that the development of certain areas in the cerebral cortex is directly controlled by the use made of the hand. They believe that there are certain undeveloped areas in the brain, especially in the frontal lobes, and that, as the use of the hand inc
reases, these lobes will correspondingly be developed to greater usefulness.
“You spoke of human machines: you said that the perfect stenographer would have wonderful hands and an acute brain. That made me think. Stenography and typewriting are highly specialized uses of the hand, controlled by certain brain centers. The more expert the hand, the more highly developed will be the brain: the finer the cerebral growth, the more wonderful will the hand be in its accuracy. If we can develop new sections of the cortex, deepen the grooves between the convolutions, we can produce stenographers who are more nearly errorless. If we can breed them for accuracy and speed, we will have creatures as highly specialized as the racing horse or the bird-dog. These stenographers will remain faithful to their work, because they will be so bred that they will never want to do anything else, even if they are able.
“They will be perfect human machines, capable of doing one kind of mento-physical work and unable and unwilling to do anything else. By a process of selective breeding, we will increase their speed and decrease their errors. That is the solution to your question.”
Jerome Smith remained silent for many seconds. Even though he was accustomed to tremendous problems, this was almost too much for his intellect to grasp. Finally he asked, almost in a whisper:
“But how can you breed them?”
“That is simply a matter of detail, technique, something for your experimental station to work out. I give you a fact—‘Breed them.’ The rest can be left to your subordinates. Yet, I will give you the main outline of my plan. You appreciate the fact that most of your stenographers are women. When they marry, they mate with artisans, salesmen, street car conductors, occasionally with a business man, but never with another stenographer. I understand you have about ten thousand stenographers in your employ; gradually replace five thousand of the dull ones with five thousand male typists, the best you can find in the entire world. Build a suburban center with comfortable homes—and offer to every male stenographer who marries one of your office a home, rent free, and complete maintenance. Do not let them marry unless they both pass certain examinations for speed and perfection of copy. Give an extra bonus for every child born. Have a community hospital, day nursery, kindergarten, and school. Thus the mothers can soon return to their office, but the children will remain under your control. From their youth they will be taught stenography and typewriting: they will be made to live with their machines. As soon as they are efficient enough, put them to work in your offices. Make them independent of their families. From the first; control their twenty-four hours’ activity. Always they will be stenographers—encourage them to marry stenographers—and breed stenographers. I believe that in ten generations you will be able to produce office workers that will turn out perfect letters and be glad to do it.”
“Nonsense!!” shouted Jerome Smith, springing from his chair and walking excitedly up and down the room. “Ten generations would take two hundred years. You and I would be worm’s food long before even a start was made.”
“Under ordinary circumstances, your criticism would be warranted,” replied the biologist, soothingly, “but wait till you hear the rest of my plan. In this special colony, we will have complete control of the food supply. The food will be part of the salary. We will furnish three meals a day—the nourishment of the babies will be completely under the control of our dieticians. With these foods we will incorporate certain chemicals, especially some obtained from the ductless glands. Thus, the growth of the babies will be accelerated. They will mature more rapidly than the average children. The first generation will be ready to marry at sixteen, whereas, the next generation will be working at ten and marrying at fourteen. Eventually, these specially bred stenographers will be doing full duty at six and marrying at eight. I do not believe we should force nature beyond that point. In fifty years, sufficient results will be obtained to make the experiment profitable. I thoroughly believe that five generations of such intensive breeding will yield a race of stenographers who are able to produce the finest of work and absolutely incapable of doing anything else.”
Jerome Smith shivered. The idea, for some reason, was distasteful to him—and he said so.
“I admit that the average stenographer is rather poor material, but they are human beings, Dr. Billings: I can hardly reconcile myself to your idea.”
The scientist, however, was unable to brook opposition. “But it is for their own good, Mr. Smith! If you were just selfish in the matter, it would be different. You said yourself that their life was unhappy and unsatisfactory. You insisted that they had no future that was worth while—that few of them could advance. Your idea was that they were poorly fed, badly housed and that their sexual life was inadequate and unsatisfactory. If you follow my plan, you can make them comfortable and happy. Once they are bred to be capable stenographers, they will not want to do anything else. They will be able to attain the greatest satisfaction in their work. They will only be happy when taking dictation, and transposing it into type. Their motto will be, ‘Efficiency plus Contentment.’ No doubt, the time will come when we can have a new generation born every ten years; and every child will be born with the inherited desire to become a perfect stenographer. If it works, you can follow out the same plan with your other workers, but that is for the future to decide. You will be able to secure a great advantage over your competitors. In fifty years, Universal Utilities will control the market of the world—in two hundred years, you can have a specially bred line of workers. I can see that finally your organization could so breed workers that they would be willing to work for no other reason than the pleasure they had in it, or because they were forced to by the inherited urge. That is the picture of the future. We need only make a start.”
“But won’t they object? Can they be controlled?”
“Certainly! At first they won’t realize what is happening—all they will know is that they are being well housed, excellently fed and beautifully clothed. The changes in the generations will come gradually. When the realization comes, it will be too late to resist. They will have only one ambition then—one primitive urge—to write perfect letters. Then they will only want to sleep and eat and work. All initiative will be gone except the desire to take dictation and write perfect letters. They will be machines, but human—they will know the difference between to and too and two. Can they be controlled? Why, Mr. Smith, the only strike you will ever have will come when you are unable to supply them with work!”
And Jerome Smith, President of Universal Utilities, was finally convinced. He was big enough to see that he was only a small part of an organization that might some day control the destinies of the world, that would hold in its grip the commerce of a universe. A small man might plan for a generation, but a big man would arrange a programme that would carry on in every detail a thousand years after his death. Alexander might make Macedonia famous for a generation, but William the Conqueror would found an Empire that would grow greater for a thousand years.
Jerome Smith looked into the future. He saw an organization, an office force that functioned perfectly, a sales organization of five thousand trained men, dictating to ten thousand errorless stenographers. He envisioned a constant flow of perfect, beautiful letters, streaming in every direction from the central offices to all parts of the world, bringing in a volume of business that was the envy and despair of his rapidly weakening competitors. But he saw more than this. In his factories he saw specially bred workers, working rapidly with skilled hands, perfectly coordinated with highly developed brains. He wondered if the same principle could be applied to other departments of Universal Utilities—if salesmen could be bred to trail the uninterested customer with the unflagging interest of a blood-hound. Whether even the higher executive offices could not be filled with specially bred managers.
Realizing that time meant nothing, if only in the end the results were satisfactory, he gradually thought in terms of Universal Utilities, rather than in units of isolated humanity. Everything must be sacrif
iced for the organization. The individuals were of no value. In fact, he considered them simply as pawns on his chess board, things hardly human, living in human shape but somehow not worthy of sympathetic regard. The more he thought about the breeding of capable stenographers, the more he felt that the end result justified the means employed. He even reached the point where, in his grandiose pride, he felt that, like a true creator, he was changing something useless into a thing of beautiful utility. Without further delay, he gave the necessary orders. The final arrangements were made easily.
Universal Utilities manufactured everything necessary for the building and equipment of the suburban homes; the arrangement of a new salary scale and system of bonuses was also easy. The hard part was to find five thousand competent unmarried male stenographers to take the place of the five thousand incapable females who were to be discharged. Yet, even this was finally done—social centers were organized—every opportunity was given the ten thousand young people to spend their spare time with each other, thus encouraging matrimonial possibilities in every way. As a result, six thousand of the stenographers were married within a year and another two thousand at the end of eighteen months. Those who refused to marry were discharged and their places filled by younger and more socially inclined typists. As fast as they married, each couple was given a comfortable home in one of the apartments in the new community centers. The generous system of bonuses made the birth of a child an unqualified pleasure rather than a foreboding of disastrous poverty.
Such a programme could not be kept a secret. In fact, Universal Utilities used it as one of their most striking advertisements—not only to bring their firm into world renowned fame as unselfish philanthropists, but also to attract to their employ the most skillful office workers from all over the business world. For several Sundays the leading newspapers ran long advertisements in their Magazine section. One was headed:
The Golden Age of Weird Fiction Megapack, Volume 5 Page 20