Cheaper by the Dozen (Cheaper by the Dozen, #1)

by Frank B. Gilbreth Jr.

Well-directed curiosity is a blessing beyond price, to be encouraged always in oneself and in others now and forever?

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.

It was regimentation, all right. But bear in mind the trouble most parents have in getting just one child off to school, and multiply it by twelve. Some regimentation was necessary to prevent bedlam. Of course there were times when a child would initial the charts without actually having fulfilled the requirements. However, Dad had a gimlet eye and a terrible swift sword. The combined effect was that truth usually went marching on.

Some people used to say that Dad had so many children he couldn’t keep track of them. Dad himself used to tell a story about one time when Mother went off to fill a lecture engagement and left him in charge at home. When Mother returned, she asked him if everything had run smoothly. “Didn’t have any trouble except with that one over there,” he replied. “But a spanking brought him into line.” Mother could handle any crisis without losing her composure. “That’s not one of ours, dear,” she said. “He belongs next door.”

Besides getting himself ready, each older child was responsible for one of the younger ones. Anne was in charge of Dan, Ern in charge of Jack, and Mart in charge of Bob. This applied not only to rides in the car but all the time. The older sister was supposed to help her particular charge get dressed in the morning, to see that he made his bed, to put clean clothes on when he needed them, to see that he was washed and on time for meals, and to see that his process charts were duly initialed.

As we’d roll along, we’d sing three-and four-part harmony, with Mother and Dad joining in as soprano and bass. “Bobolink Swinging on the Bow,” “Love’s Old Sweet Song,” “Our Highland Goat,” “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” “What do only children do with themselves?” we’d think. Dad would lean back against the seat and cock his hat on the side of his head. Mother would snuggle up against him as if she were cold. The babies were asleep now. Sometimes Mother turned around between songs and said to us: “Right now is the happiest time in the world.” And perhaps it was.

LIKE MOST OF DAD’S and Mother’s ideas, the Family Council was basically sound and, although it verged sometimes on the hysterical, brought results. Family purchasing committees, duly elected, bought the food, clothes, furniture, and athletic equipment. A utilities committee levied one-cent fines on wasters of water and electricity. A projects committee saw that work was completed as scheduled. Allowances were decided by the Council, which also meted out rewards and punishment. Despite Dad’s forebodings, there were no ponies or roadsters. One purchasing committee found a large department store which gave us wholesale rates on everything from underwear to baseball gloves. Another bought canned goods directly from a manufacturer, in truckload lots. It was the Council, too, which worked out the system of submitting bids for unusual jobs to be done.

“I’ll admit, Gilbreth, that your children don’t get sick very often,” Dr. Burton said, “but when they do it messes up the public health statistics for the entire state of New Jersey.” “How come, Mr. Bones?” Dad asked. “I have to turn in a report every week on the number of contagious diseases I handle. Ordinarily, I handle a couple of cases of measles a week. When I report that I had eleven cases in a single day, they’re liable to quarantine the whole town of Montclair and close up every school in Essex County.” “Well, they’re probably exceptionally light cases,” Dad said. “Pioneer stock, you know.” “As far as I’m concerned, measles is measles, and they’ve got the measles.”

“We’re going to have a wonderful life, Lillie. A wonderful life and a wonderful family. A great big family.” “We’ll have children all over the house,” Mother smiled. “From the basement to the attic.” “From the floorboards to the chandelier.” “When we go for our Sunday walk we’ll look like Mr. and Mrs. Pied Piper.” “Mr. Piper, shake hands with Mrs. Piper. Mrs. Piper, meet Mr. Piper.” Mother put the magazine on the seat between her and Dad, and they held hands beneath it. “How many would you say we should have, just as an estimate?” Mother asked. “Just as an estimate, many.” “Lots and lots.” “We’ll sell out for an even dozen,” said Dad. “No less. What do you say to that?” “I say,” said Mother, “a dozen would be just right. No less.” “That’s the minimum.” “Boys or girls?” “Well, boys would be fine,” Dad whispered. “A dozen boys would be just right. But … well, girls would be all right, too. Sure. I guess.” “I’d like to have half boys and half girls. Do you think it would be all right to have half girls?” “If that’s what you want,” Dad said, “we’ll plan it that way. Excuse me a minute while I make a note of it.” He took out his memorandum book and solemnly wrote: “Don’t forget to have six boys and six girls.” They had a dozen children, six boys and six girls, in seventeen years. Somewhat to Dad’s disappointment, there were no twins or other multiple births. There was no doubt in his mind that the most efficient way to rear a large family would be to have one huge litter and ge...

Experience has established the fact that a person cannot move from a small, peaceful home into a family of a dozen without having something finally snap. We saw this happen time after time with Dad’s stenographers and with the cooks who followed Mrs. Cunningham. In order to reside with a family of a dozen it is necessary either (1) to be brought up from birth in such a family, as we were; or (2) to become accustomed to it as it grew, as Dad, Mother, and Tom Grieves did.

The bad heart was one of the principal reasons for Dad’s home instruction programs. It was also why he had organized the house on an efficiency basis, so that it would operate smoothly without supervision; so that the older children would be responsible for the younger ones. He knew a load was going to be thrown on Mother, and he wanted to lessen it as much as he could.

While Dad lived, Mother was afraid of fast driving, of airplanes, of walking alone at night. When there was lightning, she went in a dark closet and held her ears. When things went wrong at dinner, she sometimes burst into tears and had to leave the table. She made public speeches, but she dreaded them. Now, suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore, because there was nothing to be afraid of. Now nothing could upset her because the thing that mattered most had been upset. None of us ever saw her weep again.

Someone once asked Dad: “But what do you want to save time for? What are you going to do with it?” “For work, if you love that best,” said Dad. “For education, for beauty, for art, for pleasure.” He looked over the top of his pince-nez. “For mumblety-peg, if that’s where your heart lies.”