The Un-Jingle Project

The Un-Jingle Project
© Lowell Forte
lowellforte.com
“I suspect,” penned Elf Printer in his nightly journal entry before
turning down the wick of his lamp and sliding into slumber, “you are
frequently perceived to be an expert not because you actually know all that
much about the topic at hand, but because you are at hand—that is,
physically close to the discussion.”
He dipped his nib into the bottle of evergreen ink on the nightstand.
“I mean,” he continued in the understated flourishes of penmanship for
which he was famous—he flew with Santa Claus on Christmas Eve and
neatly labeled the presents—“you just happen to be physically close to the
discussion, not necessarily intellectually close to the topic. It’s sometimes a
matter of being at the right place at the right time, and, sometimes, like
now, it’s a matter of being at the less right place at the less right time.”
It started during the just completed annual Christmas Eve flight.
Santa—the Boss as the elves referred to him—
brought up the idea of finding a way to mute
the jingle bells on the reindeer harnesses when
flying over urban areas, where the jingles
would likely wake people up from their
Christmas Eve slumber just as Santa was about
to start his secret business, or worse, incite a
clamorous ruckus from neighborhood animals
just as the reindeer were about to touch down
on a rooftop.
“I could just see some constable in Poughkeepsie charging us with
disturbing the peace,” said Santa.
And for those reasons, the fancy sleigh-belled harnesses were left
behind at Christmas Village, and the global Christmas Eve travels were
1 flown in silence, even on the long stretches between communities and
countries.
The Boss had looked down at him as he worked on labels in the front of
the sleigh, his stunningly white beard backgrounded against the inky
starlit sky, and said, “You know, Printer, I really miss the sound of sleigh
bells. Too bad we couldn’t come up with a way to have them jingling out
here on these long stretches of high altitude emptiness and quiet them
when we come in lower over more populated areas and communities.”
Even the reindeer jerked their antlers and grunted a simultaneous
acknowledgement and agreement to the idea. They loved the rhythm of the
bells.
Inevitably, such discussions would lead to the Boss saying—“Have any
ideas on how we might do that, Printer?” The comment would prompt
Printer’s equally inevitable response: “Well sir, as you always say, ‘where
there’s a will there’s a way.’”
Santa would say something else, but always, without failure, Printer
would end the discussion with, “I’ll check into it, Santa.” And with that, he
would jot down a few notes in his perfect penmanship—in between
writing labels for the presents about to be delivered—and a new project
would be born for him to work on in the new year.
But Printer never waited for the New Year. Practically before the
sleigh’s runners were polished upon the return home from their Christmas
Eve travels, Printer would already be deep into thought about his newest
project.
That’s just the way Printer was.
Of course, if he had any ideas, Printer would immediately share them
with Santa. If he didn’t, he would try to think of someone who might have
the expertise or at least some knowledge of the topic. Regardless, onto his
shoulders would fall the job of following up, researching, and searching for
a solution, remedy, modification—whatever was called for by the
particular problem or situation at hand.
2 Contrary to what you might think, there are limits to Santa’s magic.
Time compression and Pixie Dust, that anti-gravitation agent that enables
the reindeer and sleigh to fly, are his primary magical Christmas tools. I
guess you would have to add to his bag of tricks the ability to get down
small chimneys and flues and into places with no fireplaces at all. In
reality, Santa has a pretty impressive bag of tricks, but not included among
them was the ability to mute sleigh bells by the wave of his hand.
“Oh but if I could,” he lamented. “This challenge will require some
good old fashion ingenuity, Printer. I think we’re going to have to dust off
our thinking caps.” That of course translated thusly: “I think you’re going to
have to dust off your thinking cap, Printer.”
As intimated, given an assignment, Printer would jump into it headlong
and work on it almost obsessively until he came up with a solution. So
there he sat, propped up in his bed with a single sleigh bell that he
borrowed from Henry the Harness Maker in his hand, wondering how to
stop the little round ball inside the brass bell from colliding with the sides
to ring, and ding, and jingle.
He brought the bell up to his face and squinted into its slit at the little
brass ball inside. Such a tiny sphere could sure produce beautiful music, he
thought. The sphere caught the reflection from Printer’s lamp, which gave
it the appearance of an eyeball looking back at him. The eyeball, Printer
thought, had a rather determined look—not to be easily silenced.
He reached down and wrapped the edge of his bed cover around the
bell and shook it. It slightly muffled the sharp jingly tone. Holding it in the
palm of his hand tightly seemed to sufficiently deaden the timber of the
brass, but the little brass ball still clamored around the interior of the bell as
if looking for a way to ring. No way would that work unless Santa took
only a few bells and fastened them to be within easy reach. The elf rubbed
his chin. The fewer the bells the weaker the sound. So, how would he
classify this as a potential solution? Mediocre at best, he decided.
That led to the idea of putting one of Santa’s older leather mittens over
a short strap of bells as a muffler. Two mittens, two straps of bells. Hmmm.
3 Now we’re getting somewhere . . . maybe. But jingle bells were made to
jingle, he thought, not as a duet or trio or quartet but a full chorus aligned
in single rows along the long harnesses that ran the full length from the
front of the sleigh along on both sides of the reindeer team to the yokes of
the lead pair. He leaned his head back into his pillows and closed his eyes
and imagined the glittering beauty of jingle bells along both sides of the
fully harnessed reindeer. One thing became immediately clear; his idea for
two sets of maybe four or five bells each would sound . . . well, they would
sound . . . Suddenly Santa’s face popped into his image and sternly said:
“Anemic!”
Santa’s image startled him back to his immediate reality and he
dropped the bell. It jangled across his bed covers, dropped to the
hardwood floor and jingled even louder as it loped under his bed.
“For Pete’s sakes Printer,” came a voice from the other side of the elves’
sleeping hall, “we just wrapped up a long year’s effort. A little peace and
quiet please?”
It wasn’t an angry request. Elves don’t get angry as such, but there was
a bit of frustration in the elf’s voice.
“Sorry Peter,” whispered Printer. He leaned down out of his bed and
scooped the bell up and tightened his grasp around it to mute the orb’s
natural desire to ring. He set it down gently on the handkerchief he kept on
his nightstand and realized that to mute a long string of jingle bells was
like asking the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to sing “Oh Come All Ye
Faithful” silently. It just wasn’t natural.
His tiredness caught up with him. He turned down the wick of his
lamp, and as the last remnant of light sputtered onto the ceiling and faded
away he slipped into slumber, but a fitful slumber it was. Printer’s head
remained filled with vivid scenes of efforts to silence jingle bells, some
sublime, some ridiculous, others ridiculously sublime. In the background
of his dreams, the old Christmas standard the elves loved to sing as they
prepared Santa’s sleigh for its Christmas Eve journey morphed into “shush,
4 shush, shuz . . . shush, shush, shuz . . . shush, shush, shush, shush,
shuzzzzz . . .”
The week between Christmas and New Year’s was vacation time at
Christmas Village. Production was shut down and planning for the next
Christmas wouldn’t start until the arrival of January and the statistics were
in for the year just ended. Then, several elf committees would pour over
the stats and meet with Santa to begin planning for the coming year.
Children’s tastes in toys tend to be fickle and thus made it a challenge to
figure out what was going to be at the top of their Christmas lists twelve
months hence.
Santa would sometimes bemoan the loss of the slower days. “Now,” he
oft was heard to say, “toys become obsolete before the ink dries on the
boxes they’re packed in.”
Beyond his skills of penmanship, Printer was also known for his
organizational and writing competencies. He frequently met with various
Christmas Village committees to help them write their reports to Santa. A
key committee was the Prognostication Committee. Charged with
predicting children’s taste in toys months into the future, they kept a
watchful eye throughout the year on what was being purchased for
birthday presents as a predictor of what children would put on their lists as
the clock ticked toward Christmas.
With so much interaction between and amongst the elves, gossip
traveled through Christmas Village at the speed of light. When Printer
walked into the cafeteria for his Christmas Day breakfast—what the elves
dubbed the Bleary-Eyed Breakfast because so many of them were up most
of the night making Christmas Eve its annual success—the elves broke into
a resounding chorus of “Jingle Bells,” but exactly like the background
music in Printer’s dream: “Shush, shush, shuz . . . Shush, shush, shuz . . .”
Printer smiled, and when the elves finished their shushed pantomime,
he grabbed his belly in a way that mimicked the Boss, but instead of giving
a hearty “ho-ho-ho,” he said, just above a whisper, “Shush-shush-shush.”
5 The room fell silent for a few seconds, and then broke out into a
resounding chorus of laughter.
“They’re happy,” said Printer, as he and his tray—piled high with
waffles—sat down at a table of his friends: Fred, Henry, Howard, and
George. “Here it is only Christmas morning and I’m already fixated on a
project to make next Christmas Eve sound . . .”
“Jingly?” said George.
“Careful what you say, George,” said Fred. “You might create a new
song like that silly ditty about a red nose reindeer everyone starts playing
around Thanksgiving.”
George thought, then quietly started: “It’s beginning to sound a lot
more jingly, all Christmas Eve . . .”
“Someone will likely offer you a record deal for that,” chuckled
Howard.
Said George, “Don’t you think it makes the shiny nose song a little
more appealing.”
Everyone laughed.
“But in reality,” continued George, “a sleigh jingling around
neighborhoods in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve would likely be
pretty disruptive.”
“Disruptive,” repeated Printer. “A very descriptive word that defines
my challenge. How do I make a team of reindeer all decked out in jingle
bells go mute in those quiet neighborhoods to avoid disrupting all the
other tasks we have to do on the flight?”
“Been thinking about this since I heard about it,” said Henry.
“And when did you first hear about it?” asked a curious Printer.
“When I sat down here with these guys.”
“Come up with anything after such long deliberation?”
“Just now I had a flash of genius,” said Henry. “Glue the little brass
balls to the inside of each bell. They would look nice but be silent.”
6 The other elves looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Finally
Howard spoke: “Henry, Santa isn’t looking for looks but a way to turn the
bells off and back on?”
“Oh! That’s a bit more of a challenge isn’t it?” Henry rolled his own
eyes and scratched his head. “I know, just string a new set of bells.”
Printer could see a retinue of sleighs following Santa’s, each piled high
with elves and strings of new jingle bells. The countryside would be
littered with discarded harnesses with glued jingle balls inside. He could
see the news reports. It would cause an international incident.
Perhaps a similar image entered Henry’s head. “Yeah. I guess that
might create a bit of a logistics problem.”
“You think?” said Fred.
“Nightmare, would be a good word,” chuckled George.
“How’s this,” offered Henry, showing no signs of giving up. “Shove
cotton into each bell. That would certainly muffle the jingle.”
“Tweezer in, tweezer out?” said Printer. “I think that might create a
similar logistics problem.”
“We’d have to have two teams of elves,” said Howard. “The tweezer-in
group and the tweezer-out group.”
Printer tried to imagine the scene: two elves on the back of each
reindeer—one leaning down madly stuffing cotton into his assigned set of
bells, the other, as madly, tweezering the cotton out once the sleigh flew
over a more rural area. “Not sure how that might look to Santa as he
watched all that chaos taking place in front of him.”
“It would be like a ballet,” suggested Henry. “Like the sugar plum
fairies in the ‘Nutcracker.’”
“It would take millions of cotton balls,” said George.
“We’d recycle,” countered Henry.
“The solution I need,” interjected Printer, “has to be elegant in its
simplicity, and not labor intensive.”
“Like the bells themselves,” said George.
7 “Precisely. They simply jingle. We need something that as simply unjingles them.”
“So,” George continued, “bell mittens wouldn’t fill the bill?”
“Bell mittens?” asked Printer.
“You know, long fur-lined sleeves that could be slipped over the
harnesses with the bells.”
Henry spoke up. “We need to think more out of the box.”
“Oh, oh,” said Fred. “Any more out of the box and well fall on our
heads.”
“Seriously,” Henry continued, “we’re thinking of harnesses with jingle
bells fastened to them. Maybe the bells don’t have to be fastened to the
actual harnesses.” He paused and gazed off toward the crackling fire in the
big fireplace at the front of the cafeteria. “Two ideas, I have.”
“The first,” said Printer.
“Just string the bells . . . you know, put them on a string and pull them
back into a fur-lined bag to turn them off, as it were, and pull them back
out. Use some sort of pulley system.”
“That actually has possibilities,” said Printer. “The second?”
“Use the bells that orchestras use.”
“What bells are those?” inquired George.
“Bells on a stick,” said Henry, “at least that’s what they look like.”
“I know the ones he’s talking about,” said Fred. “They are sort of like a
shaker of bells.”
“Just mount them on the front of the sleigh,” said Henry.
“Won’t work,” said George, immediately.
“And why not?” said Henry, sounding a tiny bit hurt.
“It’s the movement of the reindeer that causes the bells to jingle. The
sleigh rides along very smoothly.
“He’s right,” said Printer. “I’m able to write out the labels with nary
and wiggle or jiggle.”
“No big deal. Mount the sticks with the bells on them on the reindeers’
halters.”
8 “Well,” offered Howard, “you can’t have the elves playing bag toss to
cover them up.”
“No, they’d have to climb out and bag them and unbag them.”
“I have a confession,” Printer piped up.
All eyes turn to him.
“I’m a bit afraid of heights. I’m not sure I want to be climbing out
bagging and unbagging clusters of jingle bells at the heights we fly. One
slip and . . .”
The others all grimaced.
“And elves don’t bounce,” added Printer.
The group grimaced again.
“Pixie Dust,” said Henry. “Put on some Pixie Dust. If you fell off Santa
could circle around and pick you up.”
Printer didn’t care for the image that flashed across his mind and
ignored Henry’s comment. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “These are
some very basic good ideas here, and maybe they just need to be thought
through a little more to find a way to make one of them work simply and
elegantly and without a lot of labor associated with them. We’re already
pretty busy up there.”
“Hey, Printer.”
Printer looked up at the approaching Hillary who handed him a small
envelope. “For you.”
“I’d recognized that handwriting anywhere,” said Fred. “It’s from the
Boss.”
Printer quickly broke the seal and pulled out the card. In Santa’s hand
was written: “J. Jingle Jones.” He held the card up for all to see. “Who is J.
Jingle Jones?”
“Wow,” said Howard, the oldest elf at the table. “I haven’t heard that
name in a while.”
“Who is he?” said Printer.
“None other than the inventor of jingle bells.”
“I thought they’d been around . . . well, like forever.”
9 “They have,” confirmed Howard, “and so has J. Jingle Jones. You know
they’re supposedly named after him.”
“And I thought jingle bells were called jingle bells because they jingle,”
said Henry.
“Where does he live?”
“Mostly retired now,” said Howard. “Lives out on the north edge of the
village. As insulated as his operation is, melting brass creates a lot of heat,
so he’s in a place where he won’t melt too much snow.
“Gee,” said George. “We need to stay in better touch with our elders.”
“I think J. Jingle Jones doesn’t mine being alone,” offered Howard.
“He’s a bit of an eccentric. So I’ve been told.”
“I know his place,” said Henry. “He’s the only elf who actually has a
small yard of green grass.”
“But he keeps a snowman in it,” said Howard.
“The grass grows around the little building that houses his casting
operations. There’s a big furnace in there.”
“Just how hot does brass have to be to melt, Howard?”
“Right around seventeen hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”
“That’s pretty warm,” said Henry. Too bad there isn’t a metal that has a
lower temperature, then Jones could live closer to the village near the rest
of us.”
“Well, there is,” said Howard. “Lead melts at a bit above six hundred
degrees.”
“He should use that instead of brass for his bells,” said Henry.
“Well, we certainly wouldn’t be talking about how to kill the jingle.
Lead bells would thud rather than ring.”
Fred and George launched into a duet. “Thud, thud, thud . . . Thud,
thud, thud . . . Thud, thud, thud, thud, thuuuuddd.”
“Argh,” said Printer. “Then we’d be talking about the lead section of an
orchestra rather than the brass section.”
That won him a round of quiet applause.
10 “So what do you suppose the Boss is saying by his note, Printer?”
Henry asked.
“Go visit J. Jingle Jones.”
“Like I always say,” said Henry, and he left the comment hanging
there.
“What is it you always say, Henry?” asked George.
“There’s no aberration like collaboration.”
Everyone looked at each other. No one asked for clarification.
The remainder of the week sped by in a blur. Printer barely had time to
think about the “Un-Jingle Project,” which he labeled it, but did follow up
and arrange a meeting with J. Jingle Jones.
Turned out that J. Jingle Jones wasn’t an elf at all. Plenty short, mind
you, but after Printer pulled the rope with the brass disk tied to its end
with the etched instructions, “Pull for Admittance,” the door opened to the
sound of jingle bells and Printer found himself looking up at a fellow twice
his height and dressed in bright red from head to toe. Inside, the décor of
the quaint looking cottage was as red as J. Jingle Jones’ attire. Were it not
for his white beard and bushy eyebrows and bright teeth that gleamed
through what appeared to be a perpetual smile, he might have blended
into the décor to the point of becoming invisible, Printer thought.
“Come in, come in,” came a greeting soaked in an English accent. “So
nice of you to come for a visit, Printer. This way.” J. Jingle Jones pointed
toward his parlor. “Let me get a couple of issues out of the way
immediately,” he said as he motioned Printer to very comfortable red
leather wing chair. “I’m not an elf at all, just a rather short Englishman. Mr.
Claus and I met in London a very long time ago when he was in search of
replacement bells. No bell makers left in America so he came to the city of
traditions. In those days I had a shop up near Piccadilly. Well, one thing
led to another and here I am, the first non-elf elf. And, like Mr. Claus, I do
love the color red.”
11 Printer said he figured out the preference for red on his own, to which J.
Jingle Jones responded with a hearty laugh.
“I also really love brass. You probably figured that out, too, eh?”
“I suspected it. But why brass.”
“It’s beautiful—the color of gold—and it has such wonderful tonal
qualities. But first, let me get you a refreshment,” and, before Printer could
say don’t bother, J. Jingle Jones disappeared, only to return in two and a
half instants with a tray holding a large cup of hot chocolate appropriately
drowned under a thick layer of whipped cream—Printer’s favorite
indulgence.
“My oh my, Mr. Jones. This is a delight.”
Whereupon J. Jingle Jones held up a container of sprinkles—the always
perfect finished touch to a cup of hot chocolate.
Printer issued another oh my.
“You sip and I’ll talk,” said J. Jingle Jones.
“You understand why I’m here?”
“The Boss, as you elves call him, sent me a note about working with
you to come up with a way to mute the jingle bells so he could let them
jingle free when cruising the wide open spaces and silence them in urban
areas.”
“A perfectly succinct description,” said Printer, between sips and
wiping a dab of whip cream peppered with sprinkles from the end of his
elfin nose. He then backgrounded J. Jingle Jones with the ideas that had
been floated and discussed to mute the jingle bells.
“Nothing very practical there, except for the idea to cluster them on a
stick and let you elves shake them.”
“The problem with that is that we need that time when we’re flying
over the open areas to prepare for the next
stops.”
“There’s another problem.” “Oh dear.”
“Oh, nothing serious, but might result in
12 disappointment for Mr. Claus.”
Printer cocked his head quizzically.
“The bells don’t sound as good when they’re clustered like that on a
stick. The notes bang up against each other. And the wood, it swallows
some of the resonance. Just the opposite problem with string the bells and
pulling into and out of the bag idea. They have no resonance. Those are my
theories, anyway. The bells simply have a better sound when separated
and attached to a longer leather harness. The rhythm of the reindeer
transfers through the harness to the bells and they sound more melodic.
The leather helps, too, by limiting the reverberations—like on a piano. Give
something less than that to Mr. Claus, Printer, and he’s simply going to be
disappointed.”
“Can’t have that.”
“Indeed,” he said. “Let me show you what I’m talking about.” With
that J. Jingles Jones reached over and picked an aged harness with bells
from the end table and gently shook it.”
The sound was magical. In an instant Printer
was riding in a sleigh pulled by two horses with
jingle bell harnesses along a forested road in
gentle snow. “Magical,” he said. His own
comment brought him back to reality and J.
Jingle Jones’ toothy grin. “I see what you mean.
We can’t use bells on a stick, that’s for sure. The
only problem is that the better the sound, the
tougher the challenge.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” J. Jingle Jones winked. His teeth sparkled.
“Once you’ve finished your hot chocolate, let’s say we pop into my shop
and see what we might come up with.”
Having never been in a metallurgical shop before, Printer found it
amazingly different from the shops where the elves made toys. It was
13 plenty warm and J. Jingle Jones suggested he leave his winter coat on the
chair by the door.
“This is casting day,” started J. Jingle Jones. “It’s when we pour molten
brass into molds to make the bells.”
“Jingle bells?”
“Actually, bells of all kinds.” He picked up a bell with an ebony handle
and handed it to Printer. “This,” he said with great pride, “is the model
that teachers in country school houses have used for decades to call
children in from recess in practically every country in the world.”
He handed the bell to Printer.
“Give it a shake.”
When Printer did the sound reminded him of his own childhood. It had
such a graceful design. He turned it over and inspected the ringer attached
by a ring to a metal loop at the top of the bell. Printer held the bell and
shook it gently to produce a tiny ring. The harder he shook it the louder the
ring. “Simplicity and elegance,” he said.
“Precisely,” agreed J. Jingle Jones. “And note that the ringer is
proportioned to the size of the bell.”
Printer set the bell down. “This won’t summon everybody away from
their work?” He looked around. “Where is everybody?”
“In the formulation room, mixing ingredients.”
“Ingredients?”
“There is no natural metal as brass, my dear boy. We have to cook it up
as it were—seventy percent copper, twenty-five percent tin and dash each
of lead, zinc, gold and silver, and a little arsenic, believe it or not. That is
very similar to the recipe that went into what the American’s refer to as the
Liberty Bell.”
“That didn’t work out very well,” said Printer. “The Liberty Bell
cracked.”
J. Jingle Jones grew suddenly defensive.
“I haven’t said something to offend you?” inquired Printer.
14 “I’ve taken a lot of heat for that over the years,” he said, “but in my
own defense I do not think it was the formula but the design of the bell
itself.” He shook his head. “Those Americans. You know they cracked two
previous bells before they broke the third one.” He rolled his eyes. “Plus, I
don’t think they followed my suggestion for the proper size and weight
ratio between the bell’s thickness and the ringer. You don’t strike a tack
with a sledge hammer, do you?”
“Indeed not,” said Printer, who just realized that the old boy apparently
had something to do with the famous Liberty Bell.
J. Jingle Jones’ finger shot up into the air, “And, they didn’t let the brass
properly cool after casting. You don’t can a jar of pickles only to open them
immediately. They have to set and settle and the flavors and ingredients
have to mingle. Same with brass.”
“Even pickles need the proper jingle?” said Printer.
The comment stopped the old man in his tracks and he looked down at
Printer, who now thought he had insulted J. Jingle Jones even more. A few
silent seconds passed and a smile spread across the man’s face followed by
a laughter sufficient to vibrate the ringers in the bells hanging from the
rafters of the shop, curing.
“You’re splendid! Just splendid, Printer. A very clever thought, that.”
Printer was relieved that his comment at least
got J. Jingle Jones off the topic of the Liberty Bell.
But, when he thought about it, had the Liberty
Bell not cracked it would have faded into history,
along with all the other bells of the time. The
crack is what made it famous. He took the risk
and shared that thought with J. Jingle Jones.
“Very insightful, Printer. Puts a whole new perspective on it, doesn’t it?
Thank you. Now let’s see what we have here.”
Several clusters of bells populated the top of the workbench.
“It’s here where I do my designing and etching.”
“Etching?”
15 “To add a little personality to some of the bells.”
Printer picked one up and inspected it. “It’s beautiful, but I have to ask
the stupid question, Mr. Jones. How do you get the little ringer ball inside
the jingle bell?”
“Simple. When you cast the bell you leave a gap. Drop in the ringer and
tap the gap. Usually you do it while the bell is still plenty hot, but it works
when they’re cold. Like this.” He reached over at picked up a bell with an
enlarged gap. He set the bell into an indented piece of hard wood that held
it bottoms up. He dropped in a ringer ball, then carefully tapped the gap
several times with a wooden mallet to close the opening. “See,” he said as
he picked it up. He held the bell by the protrusion used to attach it to a
harness and gently shook it to produce the familiar throaty sound. He
handed the bell to Printer, who inspected it very carefully.
“Perfect.”
“Always.”
A light suddenly went off in Printer’s head. “You know, Mr. Jones,
perhaps I’ve been coming at this challenge the wrong way.
“Really?”
“I’ve been thinking about coming up with a way to mute the ring by
applying something to or against the ringer, when all we have to do is
control the ringer itself.” He picked up the school bell. “What would
happen if you could pull the ringer up into the handle?”
J. Jingles Jones leaned over and stared into the upright bottom of the
school bell with Printer. “Silence. It couldn’t ring.”
“The question is how to do that with a jingle bell?”
Printer was stumped, but J. Jingle Jones was not.
“Simple,” he announced. “We keep the jingle but change the ringer.
Make it more like the ones used in a regular bell and in some way control
that.“
The two looked at each other and smiled. Actually they grinned.
“Precisely,” said Printer.
16 “Make it a mechanical solution—keep the ringer from moving and you
un-ring the bell! By jove,” said an excited J. Jingle Jones, “And I know just
how to do that. Stop the dangle, stop the ring!” He opened a drawer and
pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil and quickly sketched his idea.
Printer inspected the drawing, asked to use the pencil and made a slight
modification to J. Jingle Jones’ detail.
“Brilliant!” said J. Jingle Jones. “Will it work, you think?”
“One way to find out,” said J. Jingle
Jones. “Make one.”
“We’ll use these,” said J. Jingle Jones.
“They have nice wide holders.”
Over the next few hours, the pair worked side-by-side making
modifications that involved drilling a small hole through the ringer ball
and one side of the bell’s holder. By attaching a thin wire through the
ringer, then slipping the wire through the hole in the top of the bell they
could control the ringer ball—let it dangle to ring or pull it up against the
top of the bell to silence the jingle. That also pulled the bell tight against the
harness leather to further mute the bell’s tendency to ring.
Pleased with the result, they decided to make a prototype using a footlong strap of harness leather and ten bells spaced an inch apart. J. Jingle
Jones cleverly attached eyelets to the harness through which he could pass
a single string. To it they attached the wires from the bells’ ringers. When
the string was pulled the ringers tightened against the top of the bell and
the top of the bell snugged up against the leather of the harness. The bells
went completely silent. Give the wire some slack and the bells would jingle
again.
“Ha, ha,” said J. Jingles Jones. “And they say you can’t un-ring a bell.”
“First you invent the jingle and now you’ve invented the un-jingle, Mr.
Jones,” said Printer, extending the full credit for the invention to J. Jingle
Jones.
17 “Un-jingle bells,” repeated J. Jingle Jones. “Somehow I don’t think that
song will make the Hit Parade.”
The shared another hearty laugh. Then J. Jingle Jones leaned down and
said, “You know, Printer, I didn’t really invent the jingle bell.” With that he
climbed off his stool and walked over to a cabinet in the corner. He
returned with a small wooden box and opened it. Printer looked inside.
“What is it?”
“A jingle bell from Roman times. Discovered it near Bath in Western
England many, many years ago.”
Printer smiled. “Well Mr. Jones, sometimes legend seeps into the truth
and sometimes truth seeps into the legend. I’ll go with the legend.”
No effort was ever made to turn the un-jingle bells into a legend, let
alone even a footnote in history. This is, in fact, the first time the story has
been told. It was a simple effort to provide a little Christmas enjoyment for
Santa Claus, his traveling elves, and beloved reindeer on Christmas Eve.
Still, the solution was not perfectly perfect. It’s said that people residing
in those areas where country morphs into city and vice versa—just beyond
the edge of towns everywhere—many have claimed to have heard the
sound of jingle bells on Christmas Eve, only to have the sound suddenly
disappear when they cocked their ear.
18