SOLANDER'S RADIO TOMB By ELLIS PARKER BUTLER _"Pigs Is Pigs" Butler quite surpasses himself in this story. The intricacies in radio are so great, and the changes occur so quickly that no one can afford to make a will wherein a radio provision figures. Once we thought of having a radio loud speaker installed in our coffin to keep us company and make it less lonesome. After reading this story we quickly changed our mind. The possibilities are too various. _ I first met Mr. Remington Solander shortly after I installed my firstradio set. I was going in to New York on the 8:15 A. M. Train and wassitting with my friend Murchison and, as a matter of course, we weretalking radio. I had just told Murchison that he was a lunkheaded noodleand that for two cents I would poke him in the jaw, and that even apin-headed idiot ought to know that a tube set was better than a crystalset. To this Murchison had replied that that settled it. He said he hadalways known I was a moron, and now he was sure of it. "If you had enough brains to fill a hazelnut shell, " he said, "youwouldn't talk that way. Anybody but a half-baked lunatic would know thatwhat a man wants in radio is clear, sharp reception and that's what acrystal gives you. You're one of these half-wits that think they'reclassy if they can hear some two-cent station five hundred miles awayutter a few faint squeaks. Shut up! I don't want to talk to you. I don'twant to listen to you. Go and sit somewhere else. " Of course, this was what was to be expected of Murchison. And if I didlet out a few laps of anger, I feel I was entirely justified. Radio fansare always disputing over the relative merits of crystal and tube sets, but I knew I was right. I was just trying to decide whether to chokeMurchison with my bare hand and throw his lifeless body out of the carwindow, or tell him a few things I had been wanting to say ever since hebegan knocking my tube set, when this Remington Solander, who wassitting behind us, leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. Iturned quickly and saw his long sheeplike face close to mine. He waschewing cardamon seed and breathing the odor into my face. [Illustration: Outraged citizens were removing their dead. ] "My friend, " he said, "come back and sit with me; I want to ask you afew questions about radio. " Well, I couldn't resist that, could I? No radio fan could. I did notcare much for the looks of this Remington Solander man, but for a fewweeks my friends had seemed to be steering away from me when I drewnear, although I am sure I never said anything to bore them. All I evertalked about was my radio set and some new hook-ups I was trying, but Ihad noticed that men who formerly had seemed to be fond of my companynow gave startled looks when I neared them. Some even climbed over thenearest fence and ran madly across vacant lots, looking over theirshoulders with frightened glances as they ran. For a week I had not beenable to get any man of my acquaintance to listen to one word from me, except Murchison, and he is an utter idiot, as I think I have madeclear. So I left Murchison and sat with Remington Solander. * * * * * In one way I was proud to be invited to sit with Remington Solander, because he was far and away the richest man in our town. When he died, his estate proved to amount to three million dollars. I had seen himoften, and I knew who he was, but he was a stand-offish old fellow anddid not mix, so I had never met him. He was a tall man and thin, somewhat flabby and he was pale in an unhealthy sort of way. But, afterall, he was a millionaire and a member of one of the "old families" ofWestcote, so I took the seat alongside of him with considerablesatisfaction. "I gather, " he said as soon as I was seated, "that you are interested inradio. " I told him I was. "And I'm just building a new set, using a new hook-up that I heard of aweek ago, " I said. "I think it is going to be a wonder. Now, here is theidea: instead of using a grid----" "Yes, yes!" the old aristocrat said hastily. "But never mind that now. Iknow very little of such things. I have an electrician employed by theyear to care for my radio set and I leave all such things to him. Youare a lawyer, are you not?" I told him I was. "And you are chairman of the trustees of the Westcote Cemetery, are younot?" he asked. I told him I was that also. And I may say that the Westcote CemeteryAssociation is one of the rightest and tightest little corporations inexistence. It has been in existence since 1808 and has been exceedinglyprofitable to those fortunate enough to hold its stock. I inherited thesmall block I own from my grandfather. Recently we trustees had boughtsixty additional acres adjoining the old cemetery and had added them toit, and we were about ready to put the new lots on the market. At $300apiece there promised to be a tremendous profit in the thing, for ourcemetery was a fashionable place to be buried in and the demand for thelots in the new addition promised to be enormous. * * * * * "You have not known it, " said Remington Solander in his slow drawl, which had the effect of letting his words slide out of his mouth anddrip down his long chin like cold molasses, "but I have been makinginquiries about you, and I have been meaning to speak to you. I amdrawing up a new last will and testament, and I want you to draw up oneof the clauses for me without delay. " "Why, certainly, Mr. Solander, " I said with increased pride. "I'll beglad to be of service to you. " "I am choosing you for the work, " Remington Solander said, "because youknow and love radio as I do, and because you are a trustee of thecemetery association. Are you a religious man?" "Well, " I said, a little uneasily, "some. Some, but not much. " "No matter, " said Mr. Solander, placing a hand on my arm. "I am. I havealways been. From my earliest youth my mind has been on serious things. As a matter of fact, sir, I have compiled a manuscript collection ofreligious quotations, hymns, sermons and uplifting thoughts which nowfill fourteen volumes, all in my own handwriting. Fortunately, Iinherited money, and this collection is my gift to the world. " "And a noble one, I'm sure, " I said. "Most noble, " said Mr. Solander. "But, sir, I have not confined myactivities to the study chair. I have kept my eye on the progress of theworld. And it seems to me that radio, this new and wonderful invention, is the greatest discovery of all ages and imperishable. But, sir, it isbeing twisted to cheap uses. Jazz! Cheap songs! Worldly words and music!That I mean to remedy. " "Well, " I said, "it might be done. Of course, people like what theylike. " "Some nobler souls like better things, " said Remington Solandersolemnly. "Some more worthy men and women will welcome nobler radiobroadcasting. In my will I am putting aside one million dollars toestablish and maintain a broadcasting station that will broadcast onlymy fourteen volumes of hymns and uplifting material. Every day thismatter will go forth--sermons, lectures on prohibition, noble thoughtsand religious poems. " * * * * * I assured him that some people might be glad to get that--that a lot ofpeople might, in fact, and that I could write that into his will withoutany trouble at all. "Ah!" said Remington Solander. "But that is already in my will. What Iwant you to write for my will, is another clause. I mean to build, inyour cemetery, a high-class and imperishable granite tomb for myself. Imean to place it on that knoll--that high knoll--the highest spot inyour cemetery. What I want you to write into my will is a clauseproviding for the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. I want toset aside five hundred thousand dollars for that purpose. " "Well, " I said to the sheep-faced millionaire, "I can do that, too. " "Yes, " he agreed. "And I want to give my family and relations theremaining million and a half dollars, provided, " he said, accenting the'provided, ' "they carry out faithfully the provisions of the clauseproviding for the perpetual care and maintenance of my tomb. If theydon't care and maintain, " he said, giving me a hard look, "that millionand a half is to go to the Home for Flea-Bitten Dogs. " "They'll care and maintain, all right!" I laughed. "I think so, " said Remington Solander gravely. "I do think so, indeed!And now, sir, we come to the important part. You, as I know, are atrustee of the cemetery. " "Yes, " I said, "I am. " "For drawing this clause of my will, if you can draw it, " said RemingtonSolander, looking me full in the eye with both his own, which were likethe eyes of a salt mackerel, "I shall pay you five thousand dollars. " Well, I almost gasped. It was a big lot of money for drawing one clauseof a will, and I began to smell a rat right there. But, I may say, theproposition Remington Solander made to me was one I was able, afterquite a little talk with my fellow trustees of the cemetery, to carryout. What Remington Solander wanted was to be permitted to put a radioloud-speaking outfit in his granite tomb--a radio loud-speaking outfitpermanently set at 327 meters wave-length, which was to be thewave-length of his endowed broadcasting station. I don't know howRemington Solander first got his remarkable idea, but just about thattime an undertaker in New York had rigged up a hearse with a phonographso that the hearse would loud-speak suitable hymns on the way to thecemetery, and that may have suggested the loud-speaking tomb toRemington Solander, but it is not important where he got the idea. Hehad it, and he was set on having it carried out. * * * * * "Think, " he said, "of the uplifting effect of it! On the highest spot inthe cemetery will stand my noble tomb, loud-speaking in all directionsthe solemn and holy words and music I have collected in my fourteenvolumes. All who enter the cemetery will hear; all will be ennobled anduplifted. " That was so, too. I saw that at once. I said so. So Remington Solanderwent on to explain that the income from the five hundred thousanddollars would be set aside to keep "A" batteries and "B" batteriessupplied, to keep the outfit in repair, and so on. So I tackled the jobrather enthusiastically. I don't say that the five-thousand-dollar feedid not interest me, but I did think Remington Solander had a grandidea. It would make our cemetery stand out. People would come fromeverywhere to see and listen. The lots in the new addition would selllike hot cakes. But I did have a little trouble with the other trustees. They balkedwhen I explained that Remington Solander wanted the sole radioloud-speaking rights of our cemetery, but some one finally suggestedthat if Remington Solander put up a new and artistic iron fence aroundthe whole cemetery it might be all right. They made him submit hisfourteen volumes so they could see what sort of matter he meant tobroadcast from his high-class station, and they agreed it was solemnenough; it was all solemn and sad and gloomy, just the stuff for acemetery. So when Remington Solander agreed to build the new iron fencethey made a formal contract with him, and I drew up the clause for thewill, and he bought six lots on top of the high knoll and began erectinghis marble mausoleum. * * * * * For eight months or so Remington Solander was busier than he had everbeen in his life. He superintended the building of the tomb and he hadon hand the job of getting his endowed radio station going--it was giventhe letters WZZZ--and hiring artists to sing and play and speechify hisfourteen volumes of gloom and uplift at 327 meters, and it was too muchfor the old codger. The very night the test of the WZZZ outfit was madehe passed away and was no more on earth. His funeral was one of the biggest we ever had in Westcote. I shouldjudge that five thousand people attended his remains to the cemetery, for it had become widely known that the first WZZZ program would bereceived and loud-spoken from Remington Solander's tomb that afternoon, the first selection on the program--his favorite hymn--beginning as thefuneral cortege left the church and the program continuing until dark. I'll say it was one of the most affecting occasions I have everwitnessed. As the body was being carried into the tomb the loud speakergave us a sermon by Rev. Peter L. Ruggus, full of sob stuff, and everyone of the five thousand present wept. And when the funeral was reallyfinished, over two thousand remained to hear the rest of the program, which consisted of hymns, missionary reports, static and recitations ofreligious poems. We increased the price of the lots in the new additionone hundred dollars per lot immediately, and we sold four lots thatafternoon and two the next morning. The big metropolitan newspapers allgave the Westcote Cemetery full page illustrated articles the nextSunday, and we received during the next week over three hundred letters, mostly from ministers, praising what we had done. * * * * * But that was not the best of it. Requests for lots began to come in bymail. Not only people in Westcote wrote for prices, but people away overin New Jersey and up in Westchester Country, and even from as far awayas Poughkeepsie and Delaware. We had twice as many requests for lots asthere were lots to sell, and we decided we would have an auction and letthem go to the highest bidders. You see Remington Solander's TalkingTomb was becoming nationally famous. We began to negotiate with theowners of six farms adjacent to our cemetery; we figured on buying themand making more new additions to the cemetery. And then we found wecould not use three of the farms. The reason was that the loud speaker in Remington Solander's tomb wouldnot carry that far; it was not strong enough. So we went to theexecutors of his estate and ran up against another snag--nothing in theradio outfit in the tomb could be altered in any way whatever. That wasin the will. The same loud speaker had to be maintained, the samewave-length had to be kept, the same makes of batteries had to be used, the same style of tubes had to be used. Remington Solander had thoughtof all that. So we decided to let well enough alone--it was all we coulddo anyway. We bought the farms that were reached by the loud speaker andhad them surveyed and laid out in lots--and then the thing happened! * * * * * Yes, sir, I'll sell my cemetery stock for two cents on the dollar, ifanybody will bid that much for it. For what do you think happened? Alongcame the Government of the United States, regulating this radio thing, and assigned new wave-lengths to all the broadcasting stations. It gaveRemington Solander's endowed broadcasting station WZZZ an 855-meterwave-length, and it gave that station at Dodwood--station PKX--the327-meter wave-length, and the next day poor old Remington Solander'stomb poured fourth "Yes, We Ain't Got No Bananas" and the "Hot Dog"jazz and "If You Don't See Mama Every Night, You Can't See Mama At All, "and Hink Tubbs in his funny stories, like "Well, one day an Irishman anda Swede were walking down Broadway and they see a flapper coming towardsthem. And she had on one of them short skirts they was wearing, see? SoMike he says 'Gee be jabbers, Ole, I see a peach. ' So the Swede he sayslookin' at the silk stockings, 'Mebby you ban see a peach, Mike, but Iban see one mighty nice pair. ' Well, the other day I went to see mymother-in-law--" You know the sort of program. I don't say that the people who like themare not entitled to them, but I do say they are not the sort of programsto loud-speak from a tomb in a cemetery. I expect old Remington Solanderturned clear over in his tomb when those programs began to come through. I know our board of trustees went right up in the air, but there was nota thing we could do about it. The newspapers gave us double pages thenext Sunday--"Remington Solander's Jazz Tomb" and "Westcote's Two-StepCemetery. " And within a week the inmates of our cemetery began to moveout. Friends of people who had been buried over a hundred years came andmoved them to other cemeteries and took the headstones and monumentswith them, and in a month our cemetery looked like one of those GreatWar battlefields--like a lot of shell-holes. Not a man, woman or childwas left in the place--except Remington Solander in his granite tomb ontop of the high knoll. What we've got on our hands is a desertedcemetery. They all blame me, but I can't do anything about it. All I can do isgroan--every morning I grab the paper and look for the PKX program andthen I groan. Remington Solander is the lucky man--he's dead. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ April 1956 and was first published in _Amazing Stories_ June 1927. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.