Grantville Gazette, Volume 7 Read online

  Maria gripped the shirt by the collar. She flapped it, opening the entire shirt and smiled. "Now see how dry it is? How much is it worth to you to have a shirt, dress or apron almost dry without wearing yourself out before you hang it to dry? Not only that but putting it through the wringer does not twist apart the fabric. I warn you, the Laughing Laundress wringer is not cheap but you will be able to double, triple the amount of laundry you do. How? First, your arms don't get nearly as tired. Second, the clothing will dry much faster. Your customers or the mistress of the house will appreciate how clothing lasts longer because you won't be twisting it, breaking its threads bit by bit. Well?"

  From the back of the room Mathilde called, "Hanna, try it for yourself."

  Hanna, the woman to whom Maria had first given the shirt stood up slowly and walked over to the wringer. She took a shirt from the bucket and leaned forward. As she began to crank she ignored her hair on as it came unpinned. Until suddenly she cried out. "Awk! My hair's caught! I don't want my hair chopped off!" She began struggling, squawking as her hair pulled, caught in the wringer. Chad stepped forward and then stopped. He stepped back, leaned against the wall again and made another note.

  "Stop. Don't move." Maria gently put her hand on the top of Hanna's head before turning the handle in the opposite direction. "It's not the first time hair has wound itself around a wringer, including mine. All you have to do is turn the handle the opposite direction. There, see? Just something to watch out for, just as when you stand in front of the fireplace, you keep your skirts away from the fire."

  Once Hanna was released she stood well back and looked at the wringer with a deeply suspicious frown on her mature face, her arms crossing her chest. "Now you all know how to get yourself out of this problem." Maria looked over to the audience and smiled. "As you can see, I do cover my hair. I also keep it well away from the wringer works." She looked at Chad and he nodded. Time for the close.

  Glancing at the notes on the paper before her, she began. "Today only, all of you are invited to purchase one of these new Laughing Laundress wringers at a very fair fixed price of two talers. We have a limited number, far less that we could sell here in Jena but you're getting to an opportunity to purchase one today, right now, because a Committee member specifically invited each one of you or someone in your household. If you want to purchase one tomorrow, you may have to bargain for it. It is highly unlikely that you will obtain a lower price. In fact, I can guarantee you will pay more because there is going to be so much demand once the word gets out. Possibly a lot more because these are the last wringers that will be in Jena for a while. The ironwork is by a master blacksmith and you can see the quality.

  "You can pay in cash right now and take it home with you. Or you can place your order with a deposit and come back soon with the rest of the money. Or if you really, really want it but won't have enough money available soon, the Committee's credit bank is standing by to loan the amount at the incredibly low interest rate of ten percent. Please, try it now. Assure yourself of the ease of this wringer before it's too late and all the wringers are sold."

  Another older laundress, skepticism written across her face, walked over to the wringer, pulled out a shirt from the bucket. After a couple of false starts, she began to crank the shirt through it. After she finished the laundress frowned severely, her hands on her hips. "Well, I will admit, for as much as it costs, it does seem to work. My hands and arms ache as the day goes on. It's not magic but it's easier to turn the handle rather than wring by hand. Yes, I'll buy one."

  Soon all the laundresses were standing in front of Maria and a couple other Committee women while they wrote sales contracts and took deposits. Meanwhile the maids were running home to get deposit money from the mistress of the house or the housekeeper. According to Mathilde, all the city council members, including the burgermeister had a senior maid in attendance. Sebastian Moser from the Committee Credit Bank was joyfully smiling while he took applications for loans, the type of small business loans the credit bank had been set up to make.

  * * *

  Three days later, Chad left the city with a box full of talers and an empty wagon. Empty, that is of wringers, the carter having picked up a wagonload of merchandise for sale in Grantville. Chad had extended the "sale" until the last wringer was sold. The market having been flooded for the moment, there would be no one to buy any wringers that anyone in Jena fabricated. Which was exactly what Chad wanted. He had nothing against a wringer monopoly as long as he was the man with the monopoly. Larger cities such as Leipzig would require a lot more preliminary work. He'd get Chip to arrange his introduction to the head of the Leipzig Committee of Correspondence well before he brought a wagon-full of wringers. The next batches were going to Rudolstadt, then Weimar and Erfurt, then the whole NUS.

  Naturally, Chad left a few talers behind. The city government wanted a few just to let him sell in the city. Maria was delighted to receive two for her three days of work. Chad also made a significant contribution to the Jena CoC for its assistance and donated a wringer to their laundry. The first laundress to announce she'd buy a wringer purchased hers significantly below cost once her previously agreed "rebate" was figured in. Hanna, the woman who'd gotten her hair caught, also received a discount for her suffering. Chad hadn't taken many chances. He left Jena with orders for thirty more wringers.

  He named Maria the local Laughing Laundress agent. The finished wringers would be sent up to her for distribution and collection of the balance of the purchase price. He was undecided if he wanted her to demonstrate in Rudolstadt as well. Perhaps Fraulein Mitdorff might be interested. He'd definitely arrange for a laundress to get her hair "accidentally" caught. Good, useful theater.

  He considered the involvement of the Jena CoC and smiled. Just to buy a wringer, you had to come into contact with a member. Since most wealthy and middle class households had their clothes washed by a maid or a laundress, the Committee had access to, at least indirectly, everyone in the city. The poor came into contact with the Committee in so many other ways.

  * * *

  "East of Halle?" Chad gasped in shock. Ulrich had finally told him where he'd hidden his money. "I know what I said, Ulrich, but no way can we go that far right now. Even the NUS government couldn't send out a party without serious questions being asked by whoever's currently in charge of those lands. If someone else doesn't find them first."

  Ulrich was enormously disappointed and it showed. "But I thought . . ."

  "I know. I'm sorry. You wanted to have your money right now to start investing and become rich. Right? We'll do it. I promise." He slapped Ulrich's back affectionately. "In the meantime, let's get rich the old-fashioned way, making and selling a lot more wringers. I brought back orders for thirty more and our next city will be Rudolstadt."

  May, 1632

  "Honey, I hate to ask you about your business," Debbie began one evening at dinner a month later. "I mean, our washer and dryer are still working."

  "Go on." Chad put down his knife and fork. He rested his forearms on the arms of his chair and looked at his wife.

  "I was just thinking. Now that you have the wringer, did you ever think about making washboards? I mean, wringers are fine but you can watch German women who can't afford to go to the laundromat down on the banks of the Buffalo doing their laundry on the rocks. I've seen a few makeshifts around town. I think there were at least two companies who tried to make them and went broke. There's even been a few old washboards hauled out from wherever but nobody's really making any right now. Like the men can't be bothered to make a product only women use. Make washboards at a reasonable price and I guarantee you won't be able to keep up with the demand once the word gets out."

  "Hmm." Chad picked up his silverware again. Leaning forward, his mind worked quickly while he ate. "Hardest part will have to be getting the tin rolled. Well, that and getting enough tin to begin with," he thought aloud, his eyes unfocused. "Don't have the zinc to galvanize at a reasonable price.
Ceramics, glass, brass. Could even make them with grooved wood, I guess. Might have a problem with splinters which would tear up the fabric, not to mention fingers. If it's tin, Ulrich can soften the tin and then it's only a question of rolling it to the proper thickness. Crimp the sheet tin between two star-shaped rollers to corrugate it. We'll have to get iron billets from USE Steel, then use either Nat Davis or Dave Marcantonio's shops to make the rollers. The wood is easy. Have to set up a new assembly line."

  Tin was possible and impossible. It'd work but was both expensive and needed wood to back it. Glass was possible but in general too fragile. So it was back to easily worked wood, Chad thought reluctantly. It was too damned easy to copy so he'd have to go for saturation marketing and stress quality. But once he could hot dip galvanize . . .

  * * *

  Four days after Chad and Denny Reilly finished working out the kinks of washboard assembly, Chad began hiring.

  "Easy work." Bernhard Kosberger, the supervisor for the wringer operation looked at the four German men standing around the table. In front of him were five narrow ribbed boards, a thin rectangular board and several sturdy lengths of wood.

  "Watch closely or I'll be done before you know it." Bernhard grabbed one of the two long pieces, fixed it into the bottom of a jig, then in succession began fitting in the other pieces of wood, lightly tapping them together into the groove of the long piece. He next fitted the matching long piece of wood on the opposite side then clamped the entire assembly together, leaving one short length of wood on the table. He flipped the assembly onto its bottom and fitted the short length across the top.

  Bernhard smiled. "Right now, I could take the whole thing apart." He took two short thin nails and lightly tapped each into the top immediately over each leg piece. He flipped the assembly on one side. Taking two short dowels, he dipped them in glue then tapped them into the holes above and below the pieces of ribbed wood. He flipped the assembly over and repeated the process.

  "That's it." He unclamped the finished assembly. "Except for stenciling the name 'Laughing Laundress' on the top panel. Took, what, two minutes? Easy, right?"

  "What's it do?" The man asking wore a slight frown, his arms folded across his chest.

  "It's a washboard. Take a shirt, put it in a bucket with soapy water, rub it against the ribbed wood to loosen dirt and remove any stains. Rinse it and run it through the wringer before hanging it up to finish drying. Much easier than rubbing the cloth between your hands, beating it with a stick or hitting it against a rock. Understood?"

  Another man scowled and looked at the man next to him. "Doesn't seem to be real work to make these. I mean, man's work. Where's the skill, the need for strength? There's no craftsmanship, no pride in your work, just mindless assembly. Well, except for cutting and grooving all the pieces of wood precisely. Now that takes skill."

  Bernhard looked at the two men impassively. "We buy the pieces of wood already cut and grooved. Using a hydraulic press to put the ribs into damp wood is the only woodworking we do here. No reason you have to do assembly if you don't want to. We're not paying for highly skilled work. So if you want to find other work, it won't bother me."

  Ten minutes later, Bernhard walked into Chad's office. "Mein Gott! This is so stupid. Easy work and all of them say it's too easy, like it's unmanly. The wringers they do because it's at least mechanical and has moving parts."

  Chad leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile. "Would it be better if we hired only women to do the assembly? After all, it's a product made for women." Bernhard's face showed how uncomfortable he was with the idea.

  "I'll have someone else, a woman, as their supervisor. You know, the more I think about women doing the assembly, the better I like it." Chad saw Bernhard relax. Then he gave a quick grunt of laughter. "We'll have word of mouth working for us even before the first washboard is sold."

  Finding women to do the assembly proved to be remarkably easy. In no time the number of washboards sold was twice that of wringers.

  August, 1633

  Chad wished he could go back to bed. After all, being shot in the lower back, even by an almost spent ball from a wheel-lock does not heal in a day or two, no matter how fast it appeared in the old westerns. Chad made a trip to Magdeburg a week after the Croat raid and came back with a lead souvenir. Doc Adams removed it with appropriate derisive comments.

  No sooner was he home from that procedure than Debbie came to him. "There's trouble down at the shop. I received calls yesterday afternoon from Bernhard and Dorothea that the men and the women were yelling at each other. At least that's all they were admitting. Frankly, I think there was some minor pushing and shoving as well." Her lips were tightly pressed. "I thought it was over but Dorothea called here while you were gone, saying nothing had changed."

  Chad gritted his teeth and looked at his watch. "Call up Bernhard and Dorothea. Tell them I want to see them here at eleven o'clock. They're also to tell their crews that I'm shutting down production until we get whatever the problem is resolved. A day or two without pay ought to cool down the hotheads."

  * * *

  "Okay, what's the problem?" Chad looked at his two supervisors, Bernhard for the wringer operation and Dorothea Bischoff for the washboard operation. "Dorothea, tell me your side of the argument first."

  Dorothea was a stocky mature woman with a ruddy face whose auburn hair was held in place by a colorful headscarf. "Chad, it's these men. It's bad enough that we women have to work in the same shop with them without them trying to put their hands on us or make suggestive comments all day long. Besides, there's nothing that they do that we women couldn't do at least as quickly." She would have expanded on the theme but Chad held up his palm to stop her comments.

  "Okay, Bernhard, what's the argument that the men have against the women?" Chad was rapidly tiring even if his head was propped up with pillows and the footrest of the recliner was up.

  "It's like this, Chad. Those women, they don't understand mechanics, how things are supposed to go together. But they are always coming over to our end of the shop, making comments about how they could do the entire operation more efficiently. Besides, they refuse to sweep the floor in our area, even though that's part of the written procedure even if we crate the finished washboards."

  "We wouldn't mind doing it if you men would do a decent job of crating the washboards and didn't just throw all your scrap onto the floor rather than in the waste barrels!" Dorothea interjected.

  "Yeah? You women just want us to do the work that you're supposed to be doing!"

  "Stop, stop, stop." Chad held up his hands wearily. "It's clear that the swapping of sweeping and crating duties isn't working. So from now on, the men will sweep their own shop and the women will crate their own washboards."

  Both supervisors looked slightly mollified but Dorothea was still angry. "Tell him that we're decent women, not floozies for their convenience. If they want that kind of women, they can be found elsewhere. Keep your damn hands off us. Understood?"

  Bernhard looked rebellious. "You just keep to your side of the shop," he spat back. "Nobody asked you to come over to our side and tell us you could do just as good a job as we do! Those women who come over to our side are just looking for attention from my guys and then complain because they get it."

  "That doesn't explain your men coming over to where we're working, saying what baby work it is!" Dorothea snarled.

  "Enough!" Chad could barely keep his eyes open. "Debbie! Get me the phone."

  A moment later, Denny Reilly of Denny's Lumber was on the other end. "Denny, this is Chad. Yeah, it is a real pain but better than getting shot in the butt. Reason I called was that I need a wall built right across the middle of the shop, about eight feet high. I need it done as soon as possible. How much will that cost? Uh-huh. Okay, who does that kind of work? Johann Muelpfort's the master carpenter you recommend? Thanks. Could you contact him and tell him I want to see him as soon as possible? I'll be at home for at least a couple more
days. Thanks."

  "Okay, here's the deal." Chad was breathing heavily, his face slightly pale. "First of all, Debbie will meet you back at the shop. She'll draw a chalk line across the middle of the concrete floor dividing it equally. You two discipline your own people, keeping them on their own side of the shop until the wall is finished. Or all of you can spend your time at home without pay until it's done. Clear? Anyone who can't manage to stay on their side of the line will suddenly be switched to that work unit. One of that group will become a member of the other work unit. Also as of today, the men sweep their own shop and the women crate their own washboards.

  "I'm also going to split up the lunch breaks. Bernhard, you've got a taler on you, right? You flip the coin and Dorothea will call it. Winner picks which lunch hour they want this week. Then the following week, the lunch hour will switch between groups. I'm going to keep both crews apart as much as possible until you learn to play together."

  Dorothea won the toss and chose the later time because the week was almost over. Then the following week, her team would go to lunch earlier.