Dear Subscriber:
Here is an artist’s approximation of a multipermicrotelicona-rayoscope.
The one pictures is the only machine of its kind extant.
It was designed and built by a Prof. Dr. Xanathope Johnson, whom you can see sitting at the extreme left or eyepiece end of the multi-perimicxxxxxxxxxxxxxx the machine.
Dr. Johnson, even when he was a small boy, had but one great, all-consuming passion: he wanted to see everything of interest all over the world. “I want to see everything of interest all over the world!” he would lisp, toddling about rapidly and peering under tables and into old trunks and out of windows. Fortunately, little Xanathope’s parents were very rich, and shielded him from the world so the world wouldn’t nab him and put him away.
So he grew up, and acquired a splendid scientific education, and learned to keep quiet about his great passion when among rough strangers, and inherited all his parents’ money.
And went to work…
For thirty years he secluded himself in a great hilltop-laboratory, planning, experimenting, building for he was making a machine which would see everything of interest, all over the world!
He spent $2,374,298.03…and labored 3,022 twelve hour days just grinding lenses, not to mention the months and months of bolting, boring, binding, etc…and grew older and some said a little eccentric…
But finally the multiperxxxxxx the machine was finished.
Trembling, triumphant, his eye glued to the eyepiece (see drawing) Xanathope turned the starter switch, adjusted the selector dials to “War Mediterranean;” and saw
–A fuzzy reflection of his eyebrow, and an adverturesome potato bug which had landed on a convex mirror at station number 6 D.
Disturbed, Xanathope switched the dials to “Science, forefront of.” The bug skidded on the glass of the mirror, and bumped its nose.
Frantically, Xanathope twirled the dials “Vacation spots, beautiful and/or cheap:” “U.S. National Defense, results of efforts;” “Dogs, friendly, etc;” Religion and Peace;” “China, condition of;” “Politicians, worthy, and others;” “Drama, stage and screen;” “Beauty and Art;” “People, great and small, some funny”…
The bug felt its nose gingerly, and frowned.
Pale and muttering, Xanathope played his ace: he threw the huge master switch designed to let him actually see all the important happenings in the whole world for one week, all at once!
I don’t have to tell you what happened. Nothing happened…
Unless you count the bug. It took off into the wind, holding its nose. * * * The finest medical talent available was hired to work on Xanathope, to no avail. He just sat in his comfortably padded room ,weeping quietly except on Friday. On Friday, he stood in the middle of the room and whirled on his heels from dawn to dusk, his eyes wide open, trying to see everything all at once. Then he’d sit down on the padded rug and weep quietly for another week…
…Until one special Friday. That Friday his trained nurse was keeping an eye on him from one corner of the room, lazily letting the breeze from Xanathope’s whirling turn the pages of her copy of the latest LIFE.
At 9:00 A.M., when the nurse had come on duty, Xanathope was ticking off a steady 146 revolutions per minute breathing easily, vibrationless apparently well off to a good day’s spin.
At 9:15 he was revolving jerkily, slowing as his wide open eyes whizzed by the pages of LIFE.
By 10 A.M. he was idling 15 r.p.m.
At high noon he was motionless, with one hand stretched out toward the magazine. The nurse, who was an unselfish girl, gave it to him.
All after noon he read that copy of LIFE clear through, three times, and he spent the next month going through every old copy the rest-home staff could dig up, never saying a word except to murmur over and over, “O boyoboyoboy!”
For Xanathope had what he’s always wanted.
Of course, Xanathope was perhaps exceptional pretty slow about catching on. I know I needn’t bother to tell you about LIFE, because during your year of LIFE just ending you’ve seen for yourself how it serves as your own window to the world your high hill view of the history, fun, art and science of today.
But unless you renew your expiring LIFE subscription very soon…you may have to start building your own version of a multiperimicrotelicona-rayascope. So I’m sure you’ll prefer the much simpler, wiser procedure of checking the enclosed postpaid card and mailing it back to me today.
Sincerely,
F.D. Pratt
This renewal letter for LIFE allegedly was Frank Johnson’s first. In a 1988 note, Johnson wrote that he entered the letter in a contest held by Fran Pratt, circulation director of Time Inc. in early 1940. “I’d never written any direct mail before,” he continued.
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