Edison, The Father
- Dillion Liskai
- 2 days ago
- 6 min read
In his 84 amazing years of life, Thomas Alva Edison was a lot of things to many people. He was a chemist, scientist, inventor, businessman, luminary, humanitarian, and a trailblazer. He was endlessly curious about people, nature, the arts, and the world. The number of titles bestowed upon Thomas during his lifetime is endless, and a whole article could be dedicated to listing every one of them. However, there is one title that Thomas may have cherished above all of the rest: father. I could do my best to write an article on Thomas as a father, but no matter how eloquent or flawless it could be, it would never be genuine. He was not my father. To learn about who he was as a dad, you can only get a true and accurate picture by hearing from one of his six children.
In 1940, our first President of the Edison Birthplace Association and daughter of Thomas and Mina Edison, Madeleine Edison Sloane, published the following article about her father. Together with her mother, Mina, Madeleine opened the Thomas A. Edison Birthplace Museum to the world on February 11, 1947, with the hope that the next Thomas Edison would one day walk through the side door of the Edison Birthplace and be inspired by something they saw or heard to change the world just like her father. She and her mother wanted to show that Thomas was an ordinary guy who did extraordinary things. As you read the rest of this article, you may realize similarities between Thomas and your father or grandfather. Madeleine led the Edison Birthplace for over three decades, and her outstanding leadership and insight cannot be overstated. She was like her dad in many ways: she, too, changed the world. I will step aside and let her tell you about the man she called “Dad”.
“One question asked of me many times in childhood by effervescent elders, always brought me up standing—in open mouthed bewilderment. The question was ‘What does it feel like to have Thomas A. Edison for a father?’ I never found an adequate answer to it; no little girl stops to think about what having a father feels like, it seemed to me, and I couldn’t imagine why they wanted to know. I supposed it might be on account of his business—which seemed to interest most people—but, after all, that apparently well-known person who invented phonographs and electric lights and things was not my father; my father was the man who drew pictures for me of beautiful if slightly angular ladies, which I did my best to copy; who thought a spectacular thunderstorm or a brilliant rainbow sufficient excuse to wake us from our first sleep and bundle us out of our cribs to see it; he was the man who telephoned Mother almost every evening from the ‘Lab’ to ‘send down lunch for seven—we’ll be working all night’; the man who played Parchesi with us strictly according to his own rules—now there was an invention for you!—and who had remarkably efficient attacks of indigestion whenever there was a party. The remarkable part was that they always occurred before, and not after the festivities.
“On Sunday afternoons, he was the tall figure in a black overcoat buttoned to the chin and surmounted usually by a ‘derby’ hat—(what the well dressed men should wear in the country) who rambled about the fields with us collecting specimens of flowers and leaves in a sort of botanical marathon, and who gave us exciting oral examinations at supper on every conceivable subject in order to see if by chance we were learning anything at school—while we, in turn, used him as sort of ever ready reference library which never failed to furnish correct information with the minimum of trouble to us. “That was my father—come to think of it, having him was quite a wonderful feeling! “There was a later period, of course, a time when I knew far more than he did, and feelings were mixed. Fathers who insisted that they could dress in two and one-half minutes flat, and expected daughters to do likewise; who disapproved vociferously of one’s treasured jewelry as indicating one’s barbarian instincts, and who persisted in referring disparagingly to one’s favorite English classic as ‘Dorna Lorn’ instead of ‘Lorna Doone’ had their trying side. As a shield against his love of teasing, I wrapped myself in adolescent dignity, but all it earned for me was the nickname ‘Brooding Buddha’—shortned to ‘Brooding Bud’. Dignified withdrawal was not tolerated in our family. We were expected to ‘take it’ with a smile.
“Though opportunities were rather rare, naturally we never missed one of getting some of our own back. When the King and Queen of Siam were to visit us, I remember getting a beautiful reaction from Father by pointing out to him that etiquette required that he kiss Her Majesty’s hand. His expression of terror was most satisfactory, and I could almost see a super attack of ‘indigestion’ dawning in his eyes. Unfortunately Her Majesty was ill and could not accompany the King, so full marks were denied me on this occasion. “Another time on one of our motor trips, we had stopped at a mountain inn and were all sitting near the hotel piano one Sunday afternoon with Father quietly asleep in his chair. Suddenly our haven was invaded by numerous guests bent on a Sunday ‘Sing’. Seeing our moment, we gracefully retired to vantage positions on the porch where we could watch developments, leaving Father blissfully unconscious among the earnest vocalists. His deafness made him hard to rouse, so that he was completely surrounded and the hymns were going lustily, before, on a particularly soul stirring passage, he opened his eyes. The look on his face for the instant before he shot out of his chair and leaped for obscurity made up to us for many things. “I think that Father’s deafness was a great loss to us because he could not share with us the overtones of life, but he managed it in a remarkable way. At my wedding, I remember being very much worried because he could not hear the music and the bridal procession had to negotiate a flight of stairs and two long rooms before reaching the altar. He assured me, however, that he could keep time as well as any bridesmaid—which he proceeded to do—faultlessly.
“He himself always stoutly maintained that his deafness was a blessing—it spared him many things he did not want to hear and helped concentration—but it seemed to me that in later life he missed his hearing more and more. It was a tragic day for him when the first talking pictures replaced the old silent films. He had done much to make them possible, but they closed for him an avenue of relaxation which he had been able to enjoy with all of us. As time went on he became more and more dependent on that inexhaustible reference library he carried in his head, his books, the motor trips in which he delighted, and of course fishing—a never failing pleasure. “I never saw him bored; I never saw him angry for more than half an hour—his courage, his optimism, and his wisdom in all the business of living, I have never known to fail. “He was the pivot about which the lives of all of us revolved, and the brightest day is just a shade less bright since he is gone. “This was the father that I knew, and how I feel.”
Sources Used and Encouraged for Further Reading
Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of American History. n.d. “American Samplers | National Museum of American History.” National Museum of American History. Accessed June 25, 2025. https://americanhistory.si.edu/collections/object-groups/american-samplers
The Victoria And Albert Museum. n.d. “Embroidery – A History of Needlework Samplers.” The Victoria and Albert Museum. Accessed June 25, 2025. https://www.vam.ac.uk/articles/embroidery-a-history-of-needlework-samplers?srsltid=AfmBOopKOCCn11B5x1pxLDD3dRbMmisWiftzG0aociSldIz3Yr0T2LPg
Dillon Liskai, a native of Clyde, Ohio, is a Bowling Green State University junior. He is pursuing a degree in Adolescent to Young Adult (AYA) Integrated Social Studies Education, specializing in History.
Dillon has been a Thomas A. Edison Birthplace Museum tour guide for three years. When not at school or the museum, he enjoys cheering on the Bowling Green Falcons, spending time with friends and family, and exploring local history.
Have a question for Dillon? Reach out via email at dliskai@tomedison.org!