The red-and-white checkerboard on a bag of Purina pet food once stood for something much stranger than wholesome home cooking. Before it sold kibble, it sold hot cereal to the followers of Albert Webster Edgerly, a guru who promised his disciples mind control and a crazy-long lifespan, invented a new alphabet, and dreamed of a world with no one in it who wasn't white.
His story surfaced again because a schoolteacher named Brenna Ralston, browsing Black Swan Books in Richmond, pulled an antique book called Operations of the Other Mind off the shelf. It was printed by Ralston University Press. She had two graduate degrees and a father who spent his career in higher education, and neither of them had ever heard of such a place. There was a good reason for that. Edgerly made it up, just like he made up almost everything else.
A health club with no address
Edgerly was born in 1852 and founded the Ralston Health Club the same year he finished law school. Overachiever, except the club had no physical address. It existed entirely in his head. At first he said he'd built the name from his mother's, Rhoda Lucinda Stone. Later he claimed it was an acronym for regime, activity, light, strength, temperation, oxygen and nature. Temperation isn't a word, but when you're inventing a philosophy, why not invent the vocabulary too?
An imaginary club earned no money, so Edgerly turned his ideas into books. Under the pen name Edmund Shaftesbury he wrote more than a hundred of them, doorstops declaring that "proneness to laziness is a disease" and that one whole class of humanity "is not teachable." He was a believer in eugenics, the movement to improve humanity by letting only chosen groups breed, and he went further than most: he wanted non-Caucasian males castrated at birth and non-Caucasians put to death. He also persuaded his followers that white people were allergic to watermelon.
Then there was Adam-Man Tongue, his replacement for English. It added 17 letters to the alphabet, and it was meant to spread from English speakers to every nation on earth as the permanent language of the human race.
Marbles, broom handles and glame
In 1894 Edgerly started buying farmland in Hopewell, New Jersey, and pictured a whole city of Ralstonites: 400 homes, half a dozen farms, and for himself a 27,000-square-foot Victorian mansion called Ralston Manor. He imported trees from China and Japan and handed out homegrown produce to win over the neighbors. He launched the Magnetism Club of America. "Membership is grand," the pitch went. "Will you become a Ralstonite now?"
The right food and exercise, Edgerly swore, would build a member's personal magnetism and ultimately give them "the power of mind control." Every movement had to be gentle and circular, made on the balls of the feet, with no sudden stops or sharp angles. That went for bathing, talking, sleeping and sex. Followers drilled by scooping up marbles laid in circles on the floor, again and again, until the graceful arc became habit.
All of it protected glame, the vital electricity he named with the first letters of five words he ranked as the most important in English, starting with God and life. Glame's enemies were everywhere: dusty curtains, gasoline fumes, even a stubbed toe. In one cautionary tale, a young suitor jammed his corn under a table leg on the way to propose, and "the pain made him as limp as a moist fabric." The lady was repulsed.
The remedy was a glame stick, a length of broom handle about six inches long for a man and five for a woman. First you shook your hand until it was "as limp as a damp rag," then you reached for the stick without ever gripping it the way you'd grip anything useful. By Edgerly's count, 800,000 people signed on.
Wheat Chex started out as Shredded Ralston, a people chow for followers of a guru who wanted non-Caucasian men castrated at birth. Purina's founder admired him so much that he put the guru's name first on the company.
Enter the checkerboard
One of them was William H. Danforth, a Missouri businessman born in 1870 with his own wellness creed. In his self-help book I Dare You, life rested on four squares (physical, mental, social and religious) that had to stay in balance. He pictured them as the red-and-white checkered cloth his mother once sewed into clothes for her children, and he made that checkerboard the logo of Purina Mills, founded in St. Louis in 1894. Purina fed livestock a blend of grains, molasses and salt, and borrowed the soldiers' word chow for it: pig chow, horse chow, monkey chow.
Danforth was hungry for the lucrative breakfast market, and Edgerly came with a built-in customer base. When Edgerly urged his followers to eat Purina cereals, the partnership followed, and Danforth was devoted enough to put the guru's name first: Ralston Purina. The line ran from Ralston breakfast food to "whole wheat brain bread." Shredded Ralston, the flagship people chow, eventually carried Elizabeth Taylor on the box to promote Father of the Bride. In the 1950s it was renamed Wheat Chex, a nod to Danforth's checkerboard, and Rice Chex and Chex Mix followed.
To catch up with Kellogg and Post, the company sent schoolboys door to door in Trenton, New Jersey, with checkerboard satchels and free breakfasts. The boys were paid with "a beautiful set of Brazilian beetle cufflinks and stick pin."
A cracked tank, a quiet obituary
The utopia fizzled. Hopewell was pricey and jobs were scarce, so only 25 of the 400 lots sold. Edgerly installed a big water tank on his property to serve the whole area, and when it cracked and fouled the water, his neighbors turned on him for good. He moved to Trenton and died two years later, on November 5, 1926, at 74. His obituaries called him "an expert in the control of the will" and said nothing about the castration plans, the eugenics or Adam-Man Tongue.
Ralston Purina kept growing. It sold its cereal business to General Mills, and in 2001 Nestlé bought the company for $10.3 billion and renamed it Nestlé Purina PetCare. Edgerly disappeared from the company's history, as if Purina had adopted the strategy "new phone who dis." When the researcher Janet Six asked about the Ralston name, company staff seemed baffled and credited a Dr. Everett Ralston. The checkerboard stayed on the bag.
