The most famous predecessor was the . No, not a sleepy waiter. The Lazy Walter was a type of rotating dumbwaiter—a tiered tray on a pedestal that sat in the middle of a dining table. It allowed diners to help themselves without ringing for a servant.
So next time you give that platter of dumplings a spin, raise a glass to Susan. She’s not lazy. She’s the hardest working spinner at the table. She just doesn’t like to pass the potatoes.
But have you ever stopped to wonder: Why “Lazy”? And why “Susan”?
In 1917, a inventor named George H. O’Leary filed a patent for a “Self-Waiting Table.” The patent drawing shows a revolving circular tray with a central handle. While the patent number exists, historians have never found a primary source that explicitly names the device a “Lazy Susan” in O’Leary’s original documentation. The prevailing theory is that manufacturers simply needed a catchy, feminine name to sell the product to housewives. “Susan” was a common, friendly, all-American name—like “Aunt Jemima” or “Betty Crocker.” It was branding.
The name is a historical relic—a snapshot of early 20th-century humor that poked fun at convenience. It turns out, we’ve always been a little guilty about wanting things to be easier.
Theories abound, but three are the most popular:
The most famous predecessor was the . No, not a sleepy waiter. The Lazy Walter was a type of rotating dumbwaiter—a tiered tray on a pedestal that sat in the middle of a dining table. It allowed diners to help themselves without ringing for a servant.
So next time you give that platter of dumplings a spin, raise a glass to Susan. She’s not lazy. She’s the hardest working spinner at the table. She just doesn’t like to pass the potatoes.
But have you ever stopped to wonder: Why “Lazy”? And why “Susan”?
In 1917, a inventor named George H. O’Leary filed a patent for a “Self-Waiting Table.” The patent drawing shows a revolving circular tray with a central handle. While the patent number exists, historians have never found a primary source that explicitly names the device a “Lazy Susan” in O’Leary’s original documentation. The prevailing theory is that manufacturers simply needed a catchy, feminine name to sell the product to housewives. “Susan” was a common, friendly, all-American name—like “Aunt Jemima” or “Betty Crocker.” It was branding.
The name is a historical relic—a snapshot of early 20th-century humor that poked fun at convenience. It turns out, we’ve always been a little guilty about wanting things to be easier.
Theories abound, but three are the most popular: