Cheaper by the dozen - Chapter 1+2+3

FRAN BUNKER GILBRETH, Jr. CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN, - CHAPTER THREE SCANNED BY THẨM TÂM VY, Feb 29th, 2020

CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN By Frank Bunker Gilbreth, Jr.

Back in the days when the "horseless carriage" was a novelty, there were twelve red-headed Gilbreth children, and they had more fun than a traveling circus. They lived in a great, big, wonderful house in the country, with all kinds of pets, and a large, gray Pierce-Arrow that Dad Gilbreth called "Foolish Carriage." When Dad took the family for a ride, someone was sure to ask,"How do you feed all those kids?" And Dad would reply:" Well, you know, they come cheaper by the dozen." “Gay and light-hearted…one of the most amusing books of the season.” CHICAGO SUN

Frank Bunker Gilbreth Jr. (March 17, 1911–February 18, 2001) was an American journalist and author. He co-authored, with his sister Ernestine, the autobiographical bestsellers Cheaper by the Dozen (1948; which was adapted as a 1950 film) and Belles on Their Toes (1950; which was adapted as a 1952 film). Under his own name, he wrote multiple additional books, such as Time Out for Happiness and Ancestors of the Dozen, and a long-running newspaper column.

CHAPTER 1 Whistles and Shaving Bristles

Dad was a tall man, with a large head, jowls, and a Herbert Hoover collar. He was no longer slim; he had passed the two-hundred-pound mark during his early thirties, and left it so far behind that there were times when he had to resort to railway baggage scales to ascertain his displacement. But he carried himself with the self-assurance of a successful gentleman who was proud of his wife, proud of his family, and proud of his business accomplishments. Dad had enough gall to be divided into three parts, and the ability and poise to backstop the front he placed before the world. He'd walk into a factory like the Zeiss works in Germany or the Pierce Arrow plant in this country and announce that he could speed up production by one-fourth. He'd do it, too. One reason he had so many children—there were twelve of us—was that he was convinced anything he and Mother teamed up on was sure to be a success. Dad always practiced what he preached, and it was just about impossible to tell where his scientific management company ended and his family life began. His office was always full of children, and he often took two or three of us, and sometimes all twelve, on business trips. Frequently, we'd tag along at his side, pencils and notebooks in our hands, when Dad toured a factory which had hired him as an efficiency expert. On the other hand, our house at Montdair, New Jersey, was a sort of school for scientific management and the elimination of wasted motions—or "motion study," as Dad and Mother named it. Dad took moving pictures of us children washing dishes, so that he could figure out how we could reduce our motions and thus hurry through the task. Irregular jobs, such as painting the back porch or removing a stump from the front lawn, were awarded on a low-bid basis. Each child who wanted extra pocket money submitted a sealed bid saying what he would do the job for. The lowest bidder got the contract. Dad installed process and work charts in the bathrooms. Every child old enough to write—and Dad expected his off-spring to start writing at a tender age—was required to initial the charts in the morning after he had brushed his teeth, taken a bath, combed his hair, and made his bed. At night, each child had to weigh himself, plot the figure on a graph, and initial the process charts again after he had done his homework, washed his hands and face, and brushed his teeth. Mother wanted to have a place on the charts for saying prayers, but Dad said as far as he was concerned prayers were voluntary.

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