Stuck Amberol Cylinder

[Jerry B.]

Perhaps we need someone with good strong hands. Place both thumbs on the end of the mandrel and pull towards yourself with several fingers applying equal pressure on the opposite end of the cylinder. Long live Uncle Josh!

Jerry B.

[JerryVan]

Yeah, sure. And how do we know that plaster and weird early plastic expand at the same rate? We don’t.

No heat. No chemicals. Tap it.

(I can’t believe I’m expending so much effort on an uncle josh cylinder. But sacrifices must be made for the greater good, and it’s more fun than this work I’m supposed to be doing.)

Well, I beg your pardon and bow to your sarcastic insight on this...

[PeterF]

Sorry for being cranky. Was actually trying to inject a chuckle.

[JerryVan]

Sorry for being cranky. Was actually trying to inject a chuckle.

OK, no problem.

[PeterF]

And now it seems we might never hear back on whether josh was rescued, or died trying.

[soundgen]

did you get it off ? and if so how ?

[Jerry B.]

It's been over a week since this thread was started. The phono nerds have made several suggestions. Were any successful????"

Jerry Blais

[ODIE3]

heck I want to know too! It's like a 1890's cliffhanger around this place.

I have a record that will not go on all the way and I thought I got it stuck on the mandrel forever. I was having a moment of "darn it I want to hear this record"! [explicit language Cleaned] So you must really have yours stuck...

[Offtopic] Im very sad I cannot play my #949 Band, "High School Cadets". Yes I was a high school marching band geek, so back off :p [/Offtopic]

[MikeB]

I can see that this dead horse has a penchant for being beaten, and so alas, it is my sad duty to inform you that Uncle Josh has gone to the Great Beyond, Valhalla, or wherever Chuckling Hillbillies go to perform their penance.

Josh was so swollen that the cylinder has split vertically along the left seam, and plaster was vomiting out like a pregnant Twinkie. I tried everything that I could think of and that you could think of. Uncle Josh wasn't going anywhere. I imagine that he had been living on the mandrel for a very long time, and to make matters worse, the machine is a 2-minute only Edison Suitcase model with an automatic reproducer. Yea, someone had been playing a blue Amberol cylinder on this early machine, probably over and over again, and God knows how many times they had listened to Uncle Josh speak even more slowly than was absolutely necessary, as the automatic reproducer screamed in pain.

And so I did it. I got out my utility knife and operated on Uncle Josh. Mission accomplished. In my defense I'll say that at least I didn't murder Enrico Caruso, or Sousa, or Annette Hanshaw. I sent Uncle Josh to the Great Chicken Coop in the Sky.

Sorry about that.

[Roaring20s]

... and so alas, it is my sad duty to inform you that Uncle Josh has gone to the Great Beyond, Valhalla, or wherever Chuckling Hillbillies go to perform their penance.

RIP

James.