Football? Dancing? Canceling Our Most Beloved Form of Music? Enter The Typewriter's Collage Time Machine As We Explore Two Forgotten Pastimes and the Near Destruction of Our Cultural Heritage
Once again let us travel back to a bygone era where unseamly fads gyrated with wild abandon while a clandestine society staged scurrilous assaults on musical genius.
It’s a tough world these days. It seems like everything we hold dear is under siege. How wonderful it must have been in the past. If only we could make America great aga….. Okay, scratch that.
But if we continue to look at those bygone days through the gossamery nylon stocking stretched over our human movie camera lens, we don’t see the darkened crevices which plagued our forebearers. As William Faulkner so wisely opined, life isn’t a box of Cheerios. It’s not even a box of store brand Cheerios.
The Typewriter’s Collage fired up its mighty engines and traveled back to the years betwixt 1900 and 1905 (with a couple of diversions into later years) where we learned of debased comportments fomenting throughout the civilized world and burnished with foul modus operandi by wicked-minded rapscallions determined to sully all that is pure and decent. Thank heavens for crusading moral guardians and upstanding government leaders who stamped their collective feet upon these transgressions
And yet, not all of these champions of social salubrity girded their loins with prudent solicitousness. Indeed, the dearest sounds to ever caress our collective cochleas came perilously close as to be rendered into useless scraps of aural confetti by the paper shredder of history.
And so, let us consult the archives of that erstewhile source of breaking news, The Chicago Tribune, circa 1900 to 1905 (plus the aforementioned diversions).
First up: a strange game known as as “football.”
Our first stop is October 25, 1901. A month, day, and year when men were men, boys were boys, and high school students risked their privileges in extracurricular sporting matches should they not maintain a 75 percent average in all studies, as determined by the most stellar of educational standards set forth by Chicago Public Schools Superintendent Edwin Gilbert Cooley.
Making forward progress into this story we tackle another item on this genteel game of “football,” as one educational official displays his grit by comparing Superintendent Cooley’s new edicts of “football” requirements to those at the esteemed University of Chicago:
Would Superintendent Cooley’s iron-willed demands take hold? Would the high school boy of 1901 live to see the progeny of his progeny continue to engage in this barmy competiton? The Time Machine beckons us to December 22, 1939, a month, day, and year that will live in infamy for any fan of this peaky divertissement known by the sobriquet “football.”
As goes the University of Chicago, so goes the nation. “Football” was sounded the death knell. Yet some of its terminology still rings true in our modern lexicon, ablbeit with different interpretations. We know not what were the “gridiron commitments” referred to in this sub headline. In our contemporary concordance it goes without saying1 that a gridiron rends the bumpy roads of today’s modern living into smooth and seamless thoroughfares for happy commuters. Also, a gridiron makes spectacular waffles.
Let us continue our exploratory examination of extinct extremes. Next up, something primogenitors of yore referred to as “dancing.” To our latter-day sensibilities “dancing” consists of unclassifiable unfettered undulations. The libertine elements which engendered this “dancing” most assuredly corrupted our youth with sordid deportment. I am to blush over this headline from February 12, 1906.
Dear Creator of All Creatures Great and Small! What could all of this lead to? Dare I say, the downfall of Rome had less kindling that burned its moral fiber into ash. And yet, this is only the beginning. I shall continue, though with overwhelming trepidation that I might offend the most sensitive of my vast readership. We spin our Time Machine dials forward some two years and several odd months to November 29, 1908, wherein this “dancing,” deploying its deepest depths of depravity, spreads like a creeping specter into Germany, potentially casting gloom upon the usually jovial and carefree Teutonic mindset.
Egads! Headlines alone do not do justice to this harrowing harumph on the historically heroic Hänsels and Hildegards of German society. Let us continue
Fräulein Olga Desmond, that trimly built young female person, “dancing” whilst befrocked in alternating diaphanous gauze and cincture of coins? Followed by a “dance” in which she is accoutred in nothing but her all-togethers? With a sword as her partner? One can only ask: how did the most upstanding and exceptionally righteous Deutsche herrs and fraus maintain personal decorum in the face of such wanton display?
We all know the answer to that rhetorical question. If anyone can prevent decadence and preserve the finest of societal order, it is our dear friends within the venerated and versatile German völkerbund.
Yes, both “football” and “dancing” are two pastimes most deservedly consigned to the epochal garbage disposal of history. But in our trip back through the decades we also learn that nearly 125 years ago, our most beloved form of musical enjoyment nearly came to a cataclysmic conclusion. I promise that you will be shocked, given the global adoration for this universally acclaimed form of melodious mirth and merriment, one that is ubiquitous in orchestra halls, rock concerts, rap battles, state funerals of presidents and royalty alike, the canonical liturgy that unites the three Abrahamic faiths with every other religion on this good earth, and, of course, the birthday parties of delightful tykes everywhere. Hard as this is to fathom, the dark side of humanity nearly extinguished the music which unites today’s world in an enternal flame of jubilation, exultation, radiance, jocundity, and joi de vivre.
Yes, my dear friends. At the dawn of the 20th century, we came perilously close to mellifluous misfortune which would have laid to waste our propitious destiny. I beg of you, my faint-hearted readers, have your smelling salts at the ready for what I am about to reveal.
Yes, my friends. There was a moment in yesteryear when we came periliously close to the banishment of the most precious of all musos: our beloved organ grinders.
I know this comes as a shock to every single one of you. And yet it is horrifyingly true. In the dawn of the new century, the soundtrack of our contemporary lives was deemed nothing less than a public nuisance at best and an abomination to the human ear at its worst.
The first salvo was hurled on August 20, 1900
A decided curtailment? No! This barbaric butchery of our beloved hand-organ-and-monkey men is nothing less than the most egregious assault upon the First Amendment of the United States Constitution. To continue:
Such a Machiavellian monstrosity could only have been conjured by villianous scoundrels of the most decadent of umbrage. Can you imagine a world silenced of our international song of camraderie, one that has unilaterally engendered peace and tranquility to all races, creeds, and nationalities? It is incomprehensible to contemplate a world where our beloved organ grinders have never tickled the ears of humanity with their beloved renditions of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”
As we learn the following day, the stolid character traits of organ grinders were pushed to their limits by the most oppresive goverment action since the Take Up The Tacks Before You Take Up the Carpet Tax Act imposed by King George III on the thirteen colonies in 1772.
Despondency permeated the brotherhood of organ grindery. Their finest tunes echoed mournful refrains. The darkness of this hour was best conveyed by the words of virtuoso Giuseppi Nassi, a reflection so dire as to induce desperate actions from his simian associate:
Horrifying as this is, the fiendish plan to elminate organ grinders from the cultural landscape spiraled further downward to the very depths of Hades. When these scoundrels could not break the backs of our beloved organ grinders nor twist the tails of our equally beloved organ grinders’ monkeys (save one and his unfortuate entaglement with a clothes line), they manipulated the courts in a desperate attempt to wipe out organ grindery forever. Our Time Machine journey turned into an even more gut-wrenching nightmare when we discovered what clearly was a concocted turn of events secretly developed in the cloak rooms and smoke rooms of what most certainly was an antipathetic alliance within a Star Chamber of organ grinder anhilaists.
The Typewriter’s Collage Time Machine Captain and Chief Coffee Cream Stirrer entered the Halls of Justice on December 2, 1904, where he was cut to the quick upon viewing what these the fiends hoped would be the final blow via an opprobrious inculpation that amounts to nothing less than a heinous malefaction upon our collective destiny:
Zounds! The very Devil himself transformed himself into the Illuminati-installed interlocetor Justice Timothy D. Hurley. Such base perversions on display in Justice Hurley’s judicature! Children do not go to school! A wife replacing her husband as head of the family! A diabolical confederacy of an organized band of organ grinders transforming human male urchins into monkeys !
It was more than we at The Typewriter’s Collage could bear. What lay ahead for our beloved organ grinders? Hoping against hope, we forwarded our time traveling to June 16, 1912. There, we learned, that not only were our high-toned musicians vindicated: they selflessly partook in a cutting edge study resulting in bold new discoveries within the medical sciences. To wit, from the groundbreaking story “Music to Cure Your Ills.”
Said article magnified the medicinal mightiness of melodies and motiffs miraculously mending malignant maladies. A Strauss waltz curing a London business man of meloncholia. A Russian child alleviated from night terrors by a lyre. A harp solo relieving a fading young lass of what was surely a fatal illness. And, most important of all, our lionhearted organ grinders relieved the collective mental anguishes and desolations plaguing the tortured psyches of insane asylum inmates.
Neither governmental edicts nor Mephistophelian kangaroo courts could quash the inner strengh and artistic granduer of our cherished maestros of the hurdy-gurdy (and their primate compeers). Stout-hearted pluck persevered. Healing the manias of our desperate lunatics was just one short step for organ grinders taking their rightful mantle as the all-embracing panecia for humanities’ ills.
With bottomless gratitude we pay hosannas to Dr. G. Alder Blumer for his courage and foresight. This far-sighted alienist ennobled generations of organ grinders to their well-deserved zenith as the demiurges of musical éclatence. But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow those brave men, living and dead, who struggled and consecrated their eminence, far above our poor power to add or detract or grind an organ.
So let us return to the present day, where love of humankind is universal, where the foolish notions of “football” and “dancing” are nothing more than archaic answers for obscure questions on “Jeopardy,” and, best of all, the carefree notes of “Pop Goes the Weasel” are combined with the beautiful screeches of monkeys to create an enduring world harmony.
No doubt this post has brought forth in your memory the stellar documentary that audiences, critics, and historians have rightfully declared “the greatest film of all time.” Of course, you, my discerning audience, are in complete agreement on this cinematic masterpiece. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the 1955 opus of all opuses: The Monkey and The Organ Grinder, directed by none other than the stellar cinematic auteur Orson Welles.2
Story links:
The forgotten history of the University of Chicago’s Big Ten “football” team, The Chicago Maroons. While U of C doesn’t have any Big Ten championships they sure have racked up an impressive array of Nobel Prize Winners.
Wikpiedia’s saucy entry on Olga Desmond.
Wikipiedia’s less than saucy entry on Dr. George Adler Blumer (no mention of his organ grinder therapy, however).
Lots of good information on our favorite musical instrument and its esteemed practitioners at the websites of Organ Grinder Lola and Terry Bender, Organ Grinder.
Thanks for reading The Typewriter's Collage. Connect with me at Twitter/X, Bluesky, Threads, and Instagram at the handle @RealArnieB. I’m on LinkedIn and Facebook under my real name. While you’re at it, be sure to take a peek at my website, www.arniebernstein.com.
Who can resist adding their two cents to the tin cup that is my comment section? Certainly not you. Comment away.
And because you’ve made it this far, here is an educational demonstration of “football” as reenacted by a frisky squirrel.
And because you’ve made it even further, here is a most wholesome salute to our favorite musical form, the demure “Violet the Organ Grinder” by everyone’s favorite chaste performer, Prince. Gather the kids, grandma, and those church-going neighbors from next door, make a fresh batch of peanut butter cookies, and have yourself a good old fashioned family-friendly viewing party.
Yet, in an ironic twist of chirographical composing I did indeed say it.
Jean-Luc Goddard is said to have wept upon first encountering this masterpiece.