The Rube Behind Goldberg's Machine
Written jointly with Dan Gutenberg
Since 1912 Rube couldn’t leave the house without being asked about shoeboxes. Before he patented the concept, millions of Americans had two options at the shoe store: wear them home, or tie the laces together and drape the shoes over their shoulders. Occasionally shoppers would slip one pair on their thumbs, the old pair on their forefingers and walk home barefoot to reduce wear.
Rube changed all that. The “shoebox” was an ingenious innovation in consumer experience. It allowed people to simply put the shoes in a box as they left the store.
Rube knew he had the Midas touch. He had been inventing since he could remember and it had been hit after hit. The shoebox was huge and sometimes he resented all the attention it took away from his earlier work: The paper cleaner, the ball box, the automobile.
He barely remembered last night. He had woken up on a lounge chair near the pool and hadn’t moved all morning. His mouth was dry and still tasted vaguely of Absinthe. This wasn’t unusual for Rube. The shoebox royalties had started rolling in two years ago and never stopped.
“Mr. Goldberg you’ve that meeting at 2 this afternoon. With the patent office, remember?” Chimed in his butler Stewart, who he hadn’t even heard enter the room.
“What meeting, Stewart?” He asked. Annoyed at the interruption.
“Sir you promised Bugsby from the patent office a new idea. Last night, over Brandy, don’t you remember?”
“Obviously I don’t remember, Stewart. Why the blast would you schedule a meeting organized during drunken banter? You oaf!”
“My apologies sir. You made the plan with such conviction. You sounded of right mind. I apologize. Shall I cancel? I’m sure you have some ideas you can present. Or, sir I’ve also have been batting around some ideas. You could look at my notebook if it would be helpful. I drew a rough preliminary schematic for an aviation craft with propellers on top. It would be highly maneuverable. More so than the aeroplane even.”
“Stewart you daft knob. You think I want to see your notebook? Who would use a fairytale vehicle with wings on top? My God you’re a dope.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“No, no, I’ll go. I can invent something on the fly. Ready the car.”
Rube arrived at the meeting looking disheveled. His tie was loose and his hair tousled, but the folks at the patent office were so excited to see him they didn’t seem to notice.
“Mr. Goldberg! We’re so thrilled to have you in! Bugsby told us all about your conversation last night and none of us could sleep. We’ve got all hands on deck for your pitch today, our whole staff will be there. We’re just ecstatic!”
“Well. That’s great. To make my newest idea reality we’re going to need every man we can find.”
Rube wiped the sleep out of his eyes, yawned and plopped down into a big cushioned chair at the head of the conference table. 45 eager patent office employees filled the room. Sitting at chairs, on the radiator, or the floor—wherever they could find space. They all stared at him with awe and excitement. Bugsby sat at the other end of the table and broke the silence.
“Whenever you’re ready, Rube.”
“Alright.” He said as he exhaled.
“So, here it is. Imagine. Just picture for a second. Let’s start with a marble.” He said, the room erupting into a cacophony of whispers and scribbling. A couple muffled “oohs” emanating from the back corner.
“Then what sir?” Asked a doe eyed intern, unable to contain his curiousity. Bugsby immediately shot the rookie a glare. Interns take notes. They don’t talk to inventors like Rube Goldberg during pitch meetings.
“I’m sorry about that Rube. But…. then what?” Asked Bugsby.
“Well. The marble rolls obviously. As marbles do. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course, sir!” Answered Bugsby, the room murmuring in agreement.
“Well it rolls…..” Rube glanced around the room, noticing the bottle of water in front of him.
“And it hits a glass of water.”
“Does the glass shatter?” Asked Bugsby, with a tone of concern.
“No Bugsby….. It spills.” Bugsby gasps.
“Go on sir!”
“Well then the next part I think you’ll find quite interesting. The glass spills and the water fills a bowl. In that bowl? A toy boat. And what happens when you add water to a bowl where there lies a toy boat?” Rube asks the room with one eyebrow raised.
“It floats sir! It floats!” Yelped the intern, too giddy to keep quiet.
“Not another word, Porter. I mean it.” Added Bugsby sternly.
“Mr. Goldberg the boat would float now wouldn’t it.” Said Bugsby.
“Quite right. Stay sharp Bugsby.”
“Now this boat. We all agree it’s floating now. So the next thing would happen. And that would be that the boat would fall out of the bowl. Is that the end? Why no! There’s a string tied to the boat! And that string is attached to a balloon. Which, now, has been pulled right into a razor-sharp needle. It pops, scaring the sleeping tabby cat which scampers across the floor, in turn knocking over a domino.”
“Sir! Genius! It's a domino knocking machine!” Shouted the intern.
“Escort Porter off the premises.” Said Bugsby to no one in particular.
“Correct me if I’m wrong sir, but it seems like you’re describing a highly sophisticated domino-knocking machine.” Said Bugsby with wonderment.
“Not quite. The tabby knocks over a domino, that’s correct. But so does that domino.” The employees stopped writing, unsure if they’d heard correctly. They quickly looked up from their notes. Hanging on every word Goldberg added.
“And the one after that,” he continued. “And the one after that. One hundred times! There are 100 dominos and they all fall in a beautiful sequence so mesmerizing and rhythmic. Creating an effect!” Goldberg said, growing more and more excited as he explained. When he paused the room was silent. Mouths lay agape and eyes were wide.
In a hushed tone Goldberg continued.
“The final domino falls. ‘Clink’. It pushes ever so gently on a box car. The car rolls slowly, but gains speed. It rolls and rolls and rolls and then….. ‘Splash’. It tenderly thrusts the sugar cube into the piping-hot cup of coffee. Not too bitter, not too sweet,” he said in a whisper. “Just right.”
The room was quiet. Then Bugsby slowly removed his glasses and shook his head in amazement. In an instant, the room erupted into raucous applause. The hooting and hollering was punctuated with hugs and sobs of joy. This was that patent that every patent office dreamed of. The one that put them on the map.
“Alright, everybody. Settle down. Settle.” Said Bugsby, wiping a tear from his cheek and placing his glasses back on his nose.
“Sir, there's only one question left to ask. What do we call this…Rube Goldberg Machine?”
Rube looked down at his feet thoughtfully. Then he craned his neck and gazed out of the 44th floor window on the vast metropolis below. As the sun began to peek through the clouds, it cast a ray of light across his face and he smiled.