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THE BROOMBA
Sep. 24th, 2014 09:14 amSeason 9, Week 22
“Sweep the Leg”
We all make honest mistakes, so we are usually generous with our forgiveness. Certain errors do not receive this kindness, such as stupid mistakes, which often wind up as internet videos involving the phrase “dude, hold my beer and watch this!” Scientists are understandably held to a higher standard. No one wants to hear “Oops! Run for it!” during any experiment involving radioactive materials.
It is also different for pulp historians, where a mistake can ruin a career – or make it. Just ask William K. Shepherd, dean of pulp historians and author of Dance, Johnny, Dance: The True History of the Broomba.
Dance, Johnny, Dance was a sensation when it was first published, almost making the New York Post’s list of unusual books, previously unheard-of for pulp history. In it, Mr. Shepherd told the mesmerizing story of Jonathan (“Johnny”) Warren, the early 20th century inventor of the Broomba.
The Broomba was destined to revolutionize housecleaning. It was a small broom strapped to a housewife’s leg with its bristles touching the floor. As Mrs. John Q. Public went about her normal duties, the Broomba would clean the floor, freeing her from the drudgery of sweeping.
Mr. Warren was also a marketing pioneer, inventing both “2 for the price of 1” and “But wait, there’s more!” The lucky little woman whose husband bought her a Broomba would receive two of the sweeping miracles, one for each leg, doubling her cleaning efficiency for the same low price. One could only imagine the gratitude of the woman whose thoughtful husband gave her a Broomba for her birthday.
Mr. Warren introduced the Broomba in 1910 at the annual Inventors’ Ball, a prestigious event attended by the cream of New York’s inventing society. During the waltz, the crowd watched in astonishment as Mr. Warren spun his proud wife around the dance floor, a pair of Broombas tied to her legs. They marveled at the re-distribution of the dirt.
Unfortunately for the American housewife, the Broomba never made it to market. It was the victim of a mysterious conspiracy headed by William Henry Hoover, who was marketing his early domestic vacuum cleaner (a noisier and much less fun alternative, since it was impossible to waltz with a vacuum cleaner). Nonetheless, the Hoover conspiracy prevailed, depriving the world of the Broomba.
The only problem with the Broomba’s fascinating history was that it never happened. According to “Johnny Never Danced,” an exposé in History Tomorrow Weekly, the Broomba existed only in the imagination of William Shepherd.
Mr. Shepherd was the author of many popular pulp histories, including such classics as What You Don’t Know about America’s Vice-Presidents (“rollicking good fun!” -- Pulp History Gazette) and Barbed Wire (“Shepherd at his most entertaining” -- American Fences Quarterly). Unfortunately, Mr. Shepherd was suffering from a severe creative dry spell and he had not published a book in over five years, due to his deepening fear of failure. The more famous he became, the harder it was for Mr. Shepherd to write, until the phobia became reality and he could not write at all.
During a small speaking tour, he found his salvation, or so he hoped. In response to a question, Mr. Shepherd publicly revealed his fear of failure. A sympathetic young woman asked simply, “Why not write fiction?” Angels danced in Mr. Shepherd’s head, accompanied by the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Historical fiction would be the key to escaping from his prison!
And so Dance, Johnny, Dance was born, but with one problem: it read like pulp history. After all those years, Mr. Shepherd just couldn’t get it out of his head, and because of his prodigious writing skills, the book was utterly convincing. No one reading it would suspect that this unknown event never happened, especially Mr. Shepherd’s readers, who preferred pulp fiction’s action, romance, and short sentences to the dull, lengthy tomes of less-entertaining actual history.
But then William K. Shepherd did the unthinkable. He published his book as history, not fiction, to critical and public acclaim. Readers loved the book, and his dry spell was over.
Of course, it did not take long for someone to discover that Jonathan Warren never lived, the Broomba never existed, and there was no such thing as the Inventors' Ball. “Johnny Never Danced” was the first article to reveal the truth, and others soon followed. It was clear to Mr. Shepherd that his career was over.
At heart, he was an honorable man, and he felt he had to explain himself to his readers, no matter how angry the crowd would be. He scheduled a press conference, expecting a modest crowd. He was not disappointed, but Mr. Shepherd was not expecting their reaction when he appeared on stage. Many in the audience were holding brooms, others carried “We Love You” signs, and when Mr. Shepherd started to speak, the crowd began chanting “Broomba! Broomba! Broomba!” Tears ran down Mr. Shepherd’s face; the crowd still would not let him speak. Overwhelmed by their forgiveness, he left the stage.
Despite the earlier scandal, Dance, Johnny, Dance was reissued, this time clearly labeled as fiction. The first printing sold out in a week.
While he was no longer afraid of failing, Mr. Shepherd never wrote pulp history again, becoming a highly successful writer of historical fiction instead. He also became famous as a generous and forgiving person, as long as nothing radioactive exploded. Some mistakes just should not be forgiven.
**********
The Roomba was part of the “inspiration” for this story. For those of you not familiar with the Roomba robotic vacuum cleaner, here is a link to a video of the Roomba being ridden by a cat dressed in a shark costume: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Of2HU3LGdbo.
The Broomba The Roomba Shark Cat Riding Roomba
“Sweep the Leg”
We all make honest mistakes, so we are usually generous with our forgiveness. Certain errors do not receive this kindness, such as stupid mistakes, which often wind up as internet videos involving the phrase “dude, hold my beer and watch this!” Scientists are understandably held to a higher standard. No one wants to hear “Oops! Run for it!” during any experiment involving radioactive materials.
It is also different for pulp historians, where a mistake can ruin a career – or make it. Just ask William K. Shepherd, dean of pulp historians and author of Dance, Johnny, Dance: The True History of the Broomba.
Dance, Johnny, Dance was a sensation when it was first published, almost making the New York Post’s list of unusual books, previously unheard-of for pulp history. In it, Mr. Shepherd told the mesmerizing story of Jonathan (“Johnny”) Warren, the early 20th century inventor of the Broomba.
The Broomba was destined to revolutionize housecleaning. It was a small broom strapped to a housewife’s leg with its bristles touching the floor. As Mrs. John Q. Public went about her normal duties, the Broomba would clean the floor, freeing her from the drudgery of sweeping.
Mr. Warren was also a marketing pioneer, inventing both “2 for the price of 1” and “But wait, there’s more!” The lucky little woman whose husband bought her a Broomba would receive two of the sweeping miracles, one for each leg, doubling her cleaning efficiency for the same low price. One could only imagine the gratitude of the woman whose thoughtful husband gave her a Broomba for her birthday.
Mr. Warren introduced the Broomba in 1910 at the annual Inventors’ Ball, a prestigious event attended by the cream of New York’s inventing society. During the waltz, the crowd watched in astonishment as Mr. Warren spun his proud wife around the dance floor, a pair of Broombas tied to her legs. They marveled at the re-distribution of the dirt.
Unfortunately for the American housewife, the Broomba never made it to market. It was the victim of a mysterious conspiracy headed by William Henry Hoover, who was marketing his early domestic vacuum cleaner (a noisier and much less fun alternative, since it was impossible to waltz with a vacuum cleaner). Nonetheless, the Hoover conspiracy prevailed, depriving the world of the Broomba.
The only problem with the Broomba’s fascinating history was that it never happened. According to “Johnny Never Danced,” an exposé in History Tomorrow Weekly, the Broomba existed only in the imagination of William Shepherd.
Mr. Shepherd was the author of many popular pulp histories, including such classics as What You Don’t Know about America’s Vice-Presidents (“rollicking good fun!” -- Pulp History Gazette) and Barbed Wire (“Shepherd at his most entertaining” -- American Fences Quarterly). Unfortunately, Mr. Shepherd was suffering from a severe creative dry spell and he had not published a book in over five years, due to his deepening fear of failure. The more famous he became, the harder it was for Mr. Shepherd to write, until the phobia became reality and he could not write at all.
During a small speaking tour, he found his salvation, or so he hoped. In response to a question, Mr. Shepherd publicly revealed his fear of failure. A sympathetic young woman asked simply, “Why not write fiction?” Angels danced in Mr. Shepherd’s head, accompanied by the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Historical fiction would be the key to escaping from his prison!
And so Dance, Johnny, Dance was born, but with one problem: it read like pulp history. After all those years, Mr. Shepherd just couldn’t get it out of his head, and because of his prodigious writing skills, the book was utterly convincing. No one reading it would suspect that this unknown event never happened, especially Mr. Shepherd’s readers, who preferred pulp fiction’s action, romance, and short sentences to the dull, lengthy tomes of less-entertaining actual history.
But then William K. Shepherd did the unthinkable. He published his book as history, not fiction, to critical and public acclaim. Readers loved the book, and his dry spell was over.
Of course, it did not take long for someone to discover that Jonathan Warren never lived, the Broomba never existed, and there was no such thing as the Inventors' Ball. “Johnny Never Danced” was the first article to reveal the truth, and others soon followed. It was clear to Mr. Shepherd that his career was over.
At heart, he was an honorable man, and he felt he had to explain himself to his readers, no matter how angry the crowd would be. He scheduled a press conference, expecting a modest crowd. He was not disappointed, but Mr. Shepherd was not expecting their reaction when he appeared on stage. Many in the audience were holding brooms, others carried “We Love You” signs, and when Mr. Shepherd started to speak, the crowd began chanting “Broomba! Broomba! Broomba!” Tears ran down Mr. Shepherd’s face; the crowd still would not let him speak. Overwhelmed by their forgiveness, he left the stage.
Despite the earlier scandal, Dance, Johnny, Dance was reissued, this time clearly labeled as fiction. The first printing sold out in a week.
While he was no longer afraid of failing, Mr. Shepherd never wrote pulp history again, becoming a highly successful writer of historical fiction instead. He also became famous as a generous and forgiving person, as long as nothing radioactive exploded. Some mistakes just should not be forgiven.
**********
The Roomba was part of the “inspiration” for this story. For those of you not familiar with the Roomba robotic vacuum cleaner, here is a link to a video of the Roomba being ridden by a cat dressed in a shark costume: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Of2HU3LGdbo.
The Broomba The Roomba Shark Cat Riding Roomba
