Back in the 90s ― the 1890s that is ― the telegraph was the Internet of its day. This remarkable invention was capable of sending complex, encrypted messages all over the world in fractions of a second. Unlike the Internet, however, th
e telegraph was primarily an auditory instrument. Only a finely tuned ear could key into its lightning-fast code of dots and dashes to accurately interpret the sender’s message.
Those who acquired this skill in the late 1800s could make a decent living as a Morse code operator. But the competition was fierce. The companies that paid well always had long lines of applicants waiting for a chance to prove their skills.
There’s a story of one such company that had an opening for a Morse code operator. Because the company was a leader in its industry, it could afford to find and hire the best.
On the day that the position was announced, about 20 young men showed up at the huge, noisy office to be tested. On top of all the telegraphs operating in the background, there were several typists banging on their machines. The receptionist practically had to shout her instructions to the candidates. After filling out their applications, they were told to take a seat and wait to be called in for an interview.
Several hours passed, and no one was called in. At around noon, a latecomer approached the receptionist for an application. When he was about halfway through the form, he suddenly got up and told the receptionist that he had to speak to the hiring manager right away. Surprisingly, she let him in. The other can