The Electric War

by Mike Winchell

  Westinghouse dynamo in Machinery Hall, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  They watched the massive Allis-Chalmers engine, collectively willing it to come to life and ease their nerves.

  And it did.

  The 2,000-horsepower monster surged with electricity, immediately pumping power into the arteries of the many Westinghouse generators. Quickly, the generators seized this new energy and spread it through the veins of wires in all directions around the fairgrounds.

  In the Court of Honor—dubbed the “White City” due to the architecture’s consistency of white plaster and “staff” (artificial stone) all around—three fountains shot streams of water into the air, signaling to Westinghouse engineers and fairgoers alike that the Fair now had been powered up with alternating current.

  1893 World’s Columbian Exposition, Court of Honor

  Statue of the Republic, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  In the Court of Honor and onstage at the gold-domed Administration Building, as well as back in Machinery Hall, cheers and applause and whoops mixed together in harmony with the boat whistles, cannon fire, foghorns, and bells that moved in waves over the Grand Basin. As flags from the many represented countries unfurled all along the Court of Honor, the boisterous mixture of celebratory sounds came together in the middle of the Grand Basin’s giant pool of water, where the “Statue of the Republic” stood with raised hands—a globe topped with a spread-winged eagle in her right hand, a staff in her left hand, topped by a laurel-encircled plaque engraved with the word “Liberty.”

  Thus, despite the fact that more than a few attractions had yet to be opened to the public, the 1893 Columbian Exposition had officially been launched by George Westinghouse. His alternating current system was now powering the entire Fair.

  The cold and rainy weather that had led up to opening day returned on day two and lingered for most of that first week. This nasty weather, in conjunction with the delayed opening of various attractions, didn’t hurt attendance. Over the six-month span of the entire exposition, over twenty-seven million visitors from all over the world would pay the fifty-cent admission fee to see a host of sights they’d never seen before.

  There was George Washington Ferris’s Wheel, 250 feet high with thirty-six cabin cars spread out in equally spaced fashion. Then there was the Intramural Elevated Railway, which shuttled visitors from one place to another; the very first moving sidewalk, which spanned some three thousand feet along the pier; and various machines of the Libby Glass Company. There was also the electric kitchen in Jackson Park, which showcased the many state-of-the-art devices being introduced to the public, and each and every one was made possible—and operational—by Westinghouse Electric and its efficient and safe alternating current.

  George Washington Ferris’s Wheel, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  Yes, everything was given life by the system that Harold P. Brown had spent so much time tearing down and forcing the public to see as the “executioner’s current.” Now, as person after person attended the Fair and saw, firsthand and up close, that this system of electricity was far from deadly, the lens through which the public saw alternating current had been changed. With the uninterrupted availability and the accident- and incident-free track record as days wore on, people began to see alternating current as a harmless, do-it-all method of powering the world.

  But George Westinghouse and his team had made sure this event was flawless, so they weren’t surprised by their success. In fact, although he had been commissioned for 92,000 bulbs, to make sure the lights would never go out—or even dim in the slightest—Westinghouse had come to the table with 250,000 bulbs to use at the exposition. Daily, 180,000 bulbs found use, leaving a rather healthy reserve of 70,000-plus bulbs. George Westinghouse had extensively planned for problems, and he had accommodated for the fact that there would be problems. Like, for example, a multitude of burned-out bulbs. As an added safeguard, Westinghouse employed a team of workers whose sole job encompassed running around the park to deliver and change bulbs whenever necessary.

  And when it came to the wire and cable that fed electricity all over the park, Westinghouse and Burnham had wisely decided to bury everything in a wide subway-style tunnel system that afforded the ability to discreetly access and fix any faulty wiring. There were 1,560 manholes all around the grounds, making it convenient to gain access just about anywhere. This underground series of tunnels also allowed the wires that the public had begun to associate with danger to be out of sight, taking the threat and fear of live wires away from passersby.

  The safety of the wire-free environment allowed fairgoers to feel at ease and unthreatened by the constant presence of electricity all around them. With this comfortability, visitors checked out the many items and inventions being introduced to the public for the first time.

  And there was much to be seen, as the 1893 World’s Fair held many brand-new inventions that would end up becoming staples of America’s future, including the zipper, Cracker Jack, Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum, spray paint, the dishwasher, and Aunt Jemima pancake mix.

  With all the attractions to visit, what impressed people most might have been the display of electric power throughout the Fair. This shouldn’t have come as a surprise, simply based on the numbers. Compared to the previous World’s Fair, in 1889 in Paris, where 3,000 horsepower had been employed, the 1893 Columbian Exposition pumped out a whopping 29,000 horsepower. In fact, the Review of Reviews concluded, “The World’s Fair probably comes as near being the electrician’s ideal city as any spot on the globe.”

  It was at night, though, that the Chicago World’s Fair enraptured fairgoers. As day gave way to day and word spread, it became known that the daytime hours were nothing compared to the prime time that was sunset and nighttime. Each day as the sun disappeared over the horizon, the brilliance of the White City mystified man and child alike.

  The Administration Building at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition, completely powered and lit up by AC

  Without fail, it’d grow silent as the sky grew dark, people waiting in earnest, staring at their surroundings. As it began, the gold-domed Administration Building lit up like a mushroom on fire, followed by the white buildings all around the Court, which were riddled with bulbs that went off one after another like silent fireworks. Thousands of bluish arc lights lined the walkways all over the grounds, while gondolas and boats in the Basin added to the light extravaganza with bobbing, rocking bulbs that flicked on at night. Then there was the Ferris Wheel, covered with three thousand lights, rotating slowly like a grounded moon engulfed in flames.

  Then, from the highest rooftops, four huge searchlights shone different-colored lights into the black sky. Green, red, white, and blue barbs of light danced in the air. The colors changed in uniform fashion to the delight of the audience, who oohed and ahhed. As if that wasn’t enough, every night soon after the searchlights lit up the sky with the colorful light show, everything went dark once again. From bright light all over to sudden …

  Darkness.

  People all around turned their attention to the darkened Basin, where the MacMonnies fountain loomed. Murmurs and whispers from the crowd could be heard as “the great electric fountains lifted their gushing and gleaming waters … one on either side of the MacMonnies fountain, and through all their many changes each was the counterpart of the other, alike in color and form.” Different lines and shapes and colors came together in the spraying water as people stood in awe.

  For the first month of operation, as new attractions slowly opened almost daily, people rushed to the Fair to pay witness to the power of the White City. And each night at nine thirty p.m. when the Fair closed, people left with a smile on their faces, eyes wide in disbelief.

  But it was one month into the Fair’s existence that the true draw of the exposition opened: the Electricity Building.

  Electricity Building, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  On June 1, 1893, amid a steady down
pour, people flocked to the newly opened Electricity Building. Everyone wanted a glimpse inside this crystal ball of the technological future.

  Just outside the entrance, visitors were welcomed by an enormous statue of Benjamin Franklin, all decked out in full colonial garb, his historic kite in hand.

  Inside, a three-acre exhibition hall was lit up with thirty thousand bulbs, which forced fairgoers to adjust their eyes to the brilliant display. Flags and ceremonial bunting lined the second-story balcony all around the hall, the colorful drapery catching the light in welcoming fashion.

  Once their eyes adjusted to the bright light, people rushed from exhibition to exhibition, each attraction even better than the one before.

  And though the 1893 World’s Fair was powered by George Westinghouse’s alternating current, Charles Coffin had made sure the Electricity Building was teeming with all things Edison, including an eighty-foot Columbian column covered with hundreds of Edison light fixtures. Atop this column was an eight-foot-tall half-ton Edison bulb shining with sparkling magnificence through some five thousand small prisms. In rhythm and time with the music playing in the hall, the lights changed colors and twinkled as though the column itself were moving and interacting with the music. A less-than-subtle jab at Westinghouse was made in the fact that the full seven-volume, seven-thousand-page record of the light bulb case was at the base of the column for everyone to read at their leisure.

  Charles Coffin and General Electric used Edison’s name to remind fairgoers of General Electric’s presence, since even though Edison’s name had been removed from the company’s title and banner, everyone still associated Thomas Edison with the GE brand.

  As such, Thomas Edison’s Kinetoscope was featured as well, the new invention that displayed the first motion pictures. On the screen of the Kinetoscope, Prime Minister William Gladstone of Great Britain delivered a speech in the House of Commons, forcing people to do a double take at the reality that this was only a recorded production and not the real thing.

  The main floor of the Electricity Building drew excited visitors in droves, as the major inventors of the time were present to display their latest discoveries. Front and center, headlining the inventor docket was none other than Nikola Tesla.

  One display that impressed those in the electric fraternity more than the average person was the Tesla/Westinghouse model of the alternating current system, which covered a long table. While the common man and woman walked right past without a glance, the electricians and inventors in attendance stopped and studied the intricate detail spread out on the table, as if they were staring at a scene from the future through a time machine.

  Tesla AC model demonstration, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  Electricity Building, 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition

  Nikola Tesla himself was a hot-ticket item. The Serbian immigrant dressed to impress. For this show he had an ostrich-sized copper egg surrounded by an array of smaller copper eggs which served as planets, a simulation of the Milky Way galaxy on display. Just as the onlookers began to nod and clap, the eccentric inventor let them know this was just the beginning.

  For his next act, Nikola Tesla took to a darkened room with a crackling “Westinghouse” sign lit up and pulsing with energy just outside the entryway. Thunder boomed inside the dark room as two rubber plates lined with tinfoil—about fifteen feet apart, serving as terminals—hung suspended above the gaunt inventor. When the current was turned on, empty bulbs and tubes around the room lit up. These bulbs were not connected to wires and seemingly not connected to the terminals, yet they were illuminated just the same. In various areas of the dark room, glass tubing lit up and formed the names of famous electricians, Tesla’s way of paying homage to his esteemed colleagues. Excluding Thomas Edison, of course. Amid the glowing tubes, sparks and daggers of light blanketed the aluminum-covered surface all around the “electrified” room.

  These two acts became regular features at the Fair, satisfying all who witnessed them. But what everyone really wanted to see—what they’d heard about in mythical manner—was how the great Nikola Tesla could pass electricity through his body without being harmed. It was something he’d done in Paris years prior, and word had spread that he was aiming to do it again at the Fair.

  * * *

  August 25, 1893

  World’s Columbian Exposition, Chicago, Illinois

  Over a thousand electrical engineers and scientists along with a host of common fairgoers crammed into Assembly Hall in the Agricultural Building. Today was the day, and the hour was upon them. Nikola Tesla was about to pass 250,000 volts of current through his body.

  Inventor Elisha Gray stood on a platform and addressed the crowd and introduced Tesla as the “Wizard of Physics,” handing over the stage to the guest of honor.

  Nikola Tesla addressed the eager onlookers. He was standing on a platform wearing a tailored four-button brown suit. To his sides were small cylinders of heavy steel mounted on steel pedestals, each held up by an insulated wooden base. A wooden table was to one side of Tesla, small electrical appliances stacked and piled up high.

  Tesla joked about his frail frame and informed the audience he was about to lecture on “Mechanical and Electrical Oscillators.” He detailed the fact that oscillators could transmit information or electric energy and he could create pulsations through objects of various kinds. He then explained that he had designed steam generators that were so small he could fit them in a derby hat.

  Then talk gave way to action. Tesla knew it was time to mystify the audience.

  Without delay, Tesla made objects light up, spark, and seemingly glow with electric flame, and he lit up protofluorescent lights of varying sizes and shapes. The crowd watched with delight.

  With a flourish, Tesla engulfed himself in a pool of pulsating light that passed in waves around his body. Tesla was surrounded by a storm of white flame. The current of light subsided and Tesla stood for the successive minutes amid a halo of sparking light that seemed to cling to his brown suit.

  What the public didn’t quite understand was that Nikola Tesla was never really in danger. He understood the science of electricity, and this knowledge is what kept him safe. The alternating current that flowed from the oscillator didn’t pass through his body but instead traveled around the outside of his gaunt frame. Though it looked like electricity was slicing through Tesla, in reality this high-voltage current was moving along the surface of his skin and his pristine brown suit. His internal organs, like his heart and lungs, were protected by the science that Nikola Tesla understood completely.

  After the final sparks danced on the floor like grease on a frying pan, everything stopped. No one moved as that final spark disappeared.

  At once, the audience hopped to their feet and let loose in applause. Nikola Tesla bowed gracefully and grinned. The stage was his, and he owned it.

  And while Tesla owned the moment, when the Fair closed shop on October 30, George Westinghouse owned the War of the Currents.

  Despite their profit of just under twenty thousand dollars, the six months of publicity for alternating current and Westinghouse Electric was priceless. Prior to the exhibition, alternating current had been a stranger to the average citizen, linked to death and danger more than anything else. Now, as the fair came to an end, both alternating current and Westinghouse Electric were welcomed by mainstream society, like trusted friends. George Westinghouse and alternating current had won over the public. Completely.

  16 ONE RISES, ONE FALLS

  The 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition was a major victory for Westinghouse, Tesla, and alternating current, but a war isn’t over until one side either surrenders or is no longer standing. Direct current and General Electric—with Thomas Edison barely in the fold—still had their legs beneath them. True, General Electric and direct current might have been wobbly and wounded, but they had some fight left.

  Fittingly, the final round of the vicious war of electricity would be fought straddling a l
ine. But unlike most of the battles of the War of the Currents, which had tilted one way or the other on a line separating the ethical from the unethical, this final showdown would take place on a geographical line between the US and Canada: Niagara Falls.

  That same natural marvel that had captured a teenage Nikola Tesla upon reading about it and seeing breathtaking images in books was now the setting of the climactic battle in the epic war. That “flash of light” of a giant wheel being turned continually by the powerful water had dominated his mind from adolescence to adulthood. And that vow he had made to his uncle to make that vision a reality was now in focus. It was a chance to make his dream come true.

  This battle had actually started years before, in 1886, when Thomas Evershed—Erie Canal engineer—had a magnificent idea after learning of the Niagara Reservation, which was a series of mandates and restrictions passed by the New York State government forbidding any and all man-made waterways on its four-hundred-acre plot of state land. Evershed’s mind had focused on the restrictions—the sacred and protected four-hundred-acre limit—and this triggered his idea: the Niagara Project, a plan to capture the natural power of the falls by creating a canal waterwheel power system set up a mile above the falls, keeping it beyond the restricted area.

  In sum, his plan was to redirect Niagara River water into a canal that would feed into a complex mill of two hundred waterwheels. After working its way from the river to the canal and through the wheels, the water would be sent down a long tailrace tunnel far underground beneath the town of Niagara. This useful water that’d set the wheels in perpetual motion would travel through the tailrace and then reenter the Niagara downriver of the falls.