John Houghtaling, inventor of the Magic Fingers bed, dies at 92
On Wednesday, John Joseph Houghtaling, the inventor of the Magic Fingers bed, died in Fort Pierce, Florida. He was 92.
In their time, Houghtaling's Magic Fingers beds were a goldmine. While the vibrating bed idea had been around for centuries, Houghtaling found a way to make them pay. His Magic Fingers system, the result of years of development, was easy to install and easy to use. Houghtaling sold the machines to representatives for $25 apiece; the reps, in turn, installed and serviced them for $45 or, more often, a share of the profits. At their peak, a quarter of a million machines were in service across the United States. With average weekly revenues of $2, they generated approximately $2 million a month.
Given their later reputation, it seems worthwhile to mention that there isn't really anything particularly sleazy about Magic Fingers beds. Basically designed to provide relaxation for weary travelers, the vibration system offered fifteen minutes of mild massage in return for a measly quarter. And the beds became a common reference point in American popular culture. As one obituary notes, the vibrating bed caused a beer bottle to explode in the movie "Trains, Planes and Automobiles" and made an appearance on the "X-Files."
However, like many fads, the boxes' dated design worked against them. By the seventies, the scarred, fake-wood and brass boxes would seem to be a foundational part of the iconic sleazy motel room, as much a requirement as shag carpeting, cheap paneled walls, and unwashed comforters. Once a mark of sixties' jet-set cool, Magic Fingers transformed into evidence that your hotel probably offered hourly rates.
On the other hand, the fact that Magic Fingers was an aging fad might not be the sole reason for its slightly sleazy associations. After all, there is something a little weird about attaching a coin slot to a bed: on a fundamental level, it seems an almost deliberate symbol for the combination of sex and commerce. Taken from this angle, the Magic Fingers machine takes on the dimensions of a punch-card time clock or a taxi meter. The fact that they sometimes made beds rock like the rear car on a roller-coaster added a certain panache to the proceedings.
Added to this, vandals would often break into the coin boxes or steal the machines. By 1967, Best Western specifically noted Magic Fingers when it banned coin-operated devices, stating that they "cheapen the accomodations."
Dark associations aside, however, Magic Fingers itself was an innocent, merciful invention, a legacy that lives on in the home brand. Retailing for $80, the new Magic Fingers is basically a 25-watt motor that straps on to one's bed and offers 59 minutes of shaking.
Houghtaling's legacy extended beyond his most famous invention. In 1976, long before the advent of ATMs, he patented a device that could read magnetic strips from cards. His intention, however, was to use the debit cards on his Magic Fingers beds, a tactical flaw that seems to have doomed what might have been a very lucrative invention.
Discounting the prime place that Magic Fingers occupies in the sleaze pantheon, it's clear that Houghtaling was, in some ways, part of a dying breed of American tinkerer. Having developed his most famous invention in a basement workshop, he continued to sell various coin-operated novelties, personally driving his wares up and down the Florida coast. In an age when commerce is often conducted long distance, through phone operators and e-mail, there's something comforting about the old fashioned model of personalized service. Here's hoping that, like so many of his shaking customers, Houghtaling will rest in peace.
In their time, Houghtaling's Magic Fingers beds were a goldmine. While the vibrating bed idea had been around for centuries, Houghtaling found a way to make them pay. His Magic Fingers system, the result of years of development, was easy to install and easy to use. Houghtaling sold the machines to representatives for $25 apiece; the reps, in turn, installed and serviced them for $45 or, more often, a share of the profits. At their peak, a quarter of a million machines were in service across the United States. With average weekly revenues of $2, they generated approximately $2 million a month.
Given their later reputation, it seems worthwhile to mention that there isn't really anything particularly sleazy about Magic Fingers beds. Basically designed to provide relaxation for weary travelers, the vibration system offered fifteen minutes of mild massage in return for a measly quarter. And the beds became a common reference point in American popular culture. As one obituary notes, the vibrating bed caused a beer bottle to explode in the movie "Trains, Planes and Automobiles" and made an appearance on the "X-Files."
However, like many fads, the boxes' dated design worked against them. By the seventies, the scarred, fake-wood and brass boxes would seem to be a foundational part of the iconic sleazy motel room, as much a requirement as shag carpeting, cheap paneled walls, and unwashed comforters. Once a mark of sixties' jet-set cool, Magic Fingers transformed into evidence that your hotel probably offered hourly rates.
On the other hand, the fact that Magic Fingers was an aging fad might not be the sole reason for its slightly sleazy associations. After all, there is something a little weird about attaching a coin slot to a bed: on a fundamental level, it seems an almost deliberate symbol for the combination of sex and commerce. Taken from this angle, the Magic Fingers machine takes on the dimensions of a punch-card time clock or a taxi meter. The fact that they sometimes made beds rock like the rear car on a roller-coaster added a certain panache to the proceedings.
Added to this, vandals would often break into the coin boxes or steal the machines. By 1967, Best Western specifically noted Magic Fingers when it banned coin-operated devices, stating that they "cheapen the accomodations."
Dark associations aside, however, Magic Fingers itself was an innocent, merciful invention, a legacy that lives on in the home brand. Retailing for $80, the new Magic Fingers is basically a 25-watt motor that straps on to one's bed and offers 59 minutes of shaking.
Houghtaling's legacy extended beyond his most famous invention. In 1976, long before the advent of ATMs, he patented a device that could read magnetic strips from cards. His intention, however, was to use the debit cards on his Magic Fingers beds, a tactical flaw that seems to have doomed what might have been a very lucrative invention.
Discounting the prime place that Magic Fingers occupies in the sleaze pantheon, it's clear that Houghtaling was, in some ways, part of a dying breed of American tinkerer. Having developed his most famous invention in a basement workshop, he continued to sell various coin-operated novelties, personally driving his wares up and down the Florida coast. In an age when commerce is often conducted long distance, through phone operators and e-mail, there's something comforting about the old fashioned model of personalized service. Here's hoping that, like so many of his shaking customers, Houghtaling will rest in peace.
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Reader Comments (Page 1 of 1)
6-20-2009 @ 2:34PM
Lee said...
Back in the 1940's when our family would travel, in a very old
DeSota, we would stop at motels, usually called "Dew Drop
Inn" or Piney Top Motel. There was always a "Magic Fingers"
and my brother and I would use a quarter out of our hard
earned allowance and put the quarter in the "Magic Fingers"
coin box. 9 times out of 10 had no power left and would
vibrate so slow that it was more annoying than relaxing.
But looking around the motel room always made me wonder
was there a motel with brand new furniture or bathroom
equipment. There was always just one chair with fabric in
an awful design, linoleum flooring (worn) wire hangers on
a metal devise hanging off the wall, night stand with a clock
that never worked, sink outside bathroom and the shower
stall was rusty and tinny. The bath tub was worn to metal
and the towels were thin. But the owner were always nice
and the views from the windows were pleasant. Travelling
from Illinois to Oregan was a treat in those days and seeing
tourist sites or National Parks that were uncrowded and the
wonderful "one of a kind" cafes served great food at approx.
.75 cents for a full dinner including pie and beverage.
And gas was less than .20 cents a gallon. So the non-slow-
vibrating "Magic Fingers" gave us all aditional memories.
And who knew Mr. Houghtaling gave us those memories.
May he rest in peace on a vibrating cloud.
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 2:44PM
Cindy said...
That's really sweet, Lee. You writing sounds like Garrison Keillor.
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 2:56PM
Big Johnson said...
My grandmother loved those things....she would always bring bags of quarters and get red in the face when she saw it and shoo us out of the room, locking the door behind us and telling us not to come back for an hour, that she was going to "take a nap"....my sister and I listened outside the door one time, and she said, "Sounds like Grandma's having a bad dream"...
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 3:07PM
Charity Sheehy said...
They didn't mention the Magic Fingers bed in "National Lampoons Vacation".
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 3:37PM
Judi said...
The Magic Fingers machine has a special place in my heart. My late husband was a paraplegic who, although he couldn't feel his legs, had electrical shock waves that traveled down those spindly extensions, keeping him awake frequently at night. When I saw the Magic Fingers advertised in a catalog I ordered it for him. It was like magic! Truly. The motion broke the electrical shock waves, allowing my hubby to rest in peace.
During a vacation to Palm Springs one year, we took his parents - and our Magic Fingers. During the night when hubby couldn't get any sleep, his dad donned plaid burmuda shorts over his striped pajamas and went out to the car to retrieve the Magic Fingers. I couldn't resist taking a photo as dad walked back into our room, his bed-head hair spiking, firmly grasping the box that said "Magic Fingers". We've laughed over that photo so many times. This treasured memory just flooded back to me when I learned that the inventor of this gadget had passed. I almost feel like he's a family member.
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 4:08PM
Chris said...
Lee... Don't you mean DeSoto?
Reply
6-20-2009 @ 9:26PM
Tony Occhiuzzo said...
Although I only knew John the last year or so of his life He was very kind to me as I helped move some of his belongings from his condo to a new one he had purchased on the intercoastal, I saw him just ten days ago and his passing came as a suprise to me. May you rest in peace and God bless you John...
Reply