by Terry, Mark
“It took me four years, but I saved enough money to buy passage on an ocean liner. When I got here, I went directly to Mr. Edison’s laboratory to ask him to reconsider. Mr. Edison came out to meet me straightaway and asked, ‘What took you so long?’”
Dickson laughed silently for a moment, his shoulders quivering. “There isn’t a day that goes by that the great man doesn’t make a contribution to every project in his business.” One side of his mouth smirked. “And everyone who works for him hates the son-of-a-bitch.”
Looking out over Gravesend Bay, the carriage moved swiftly along General Lee Avenue. The vast clearing that stretched as far as the eye could see to Dead Horse Bay on the other side of the peninsula had a scattering of men and vehicles in sight. On a field of brown grass, sat an unusual vehicle. There were several crowds of soldiers in uniform and businessmen, in scattered groups around the periphery.
As Edison’s carriage pulled up just yards from the crowds, Ida and W.K.L. craned their necks out their windows. Ida leaned against Edison, which caused him to look up. When he realized they had stopped moving, he closed his notebook.
“Excellent!” he said excitedly and opened the carriage door nearest the plane. As he stepped to the ground, he extended his hand behind him to Miss Tarbell. She took his hand, but her eyes immediately moved back to the autogiro.
Ida had never seen anything like it, but then, no one had ever witnessed such a thing before. Inventors had labored long and hard in many areas of flight development. What had stymied them for years had proved insurmountable, yet time and again, the greatest minds concluded it would work. Models were designed that inventors had succeeded in taking off and even successfully landing, but the breakthrough would have to come in the dynamics of creating an engine with enough ratio of lift to mass for a full-sized airplane to take flight. Unfortunately, they just couldn’t create an engine light enough. The engines were proving literally too heavy to fly.
Thus Thomas Edison became the first American to research the helicopter. Edison, however, found that the same barriers which stymied airplane inventors also confronted the helicopter. Engines that were powerful enough to rotate the rotors and achieve lift were too large. Most early configurations of the autogiro involved the “push” model where the engine and rotor were behind the pilot in order to circumvent some of the power limitations.
Similarly, the position of the pilot’s nest had been built identical to the plane. Some placed the cockpit a bit further back towards the tail. Others positioned it closer to the wing struts. Edison had also gone one step further and built a second engine behind the first. The front engine powered the front propeller, again like that of a normal plane. The second engine powered the rotor blades. Edison tested and ran dozens of calculations but the goal of achieving enough power for effective lift eluded him. The answer, Edison surmised, might be found in the electric motor.
Edison strode to a group of soldiers, one of whom appeared to be wearing a number of medals and ribbons. Brigadier General Henry Clay Wood served as the highest ranking general in the U.S. Army. He had a tall, athletic appearance. His hair thinned back over the top of his head, but only slightly. He possessed a gentle face, with a long angular nose and close-set eyes. His face almost occupied a smaller portion of his head than a normal man, but only at a glance.
The U.S. Army operated as a small, blue-clad force and was just beginning to grasp its own importance. It had not yet grown much beyond a hundred thousand standing soldiers, and severely lacked materials. The Navy protected the country from invasion and claimed the lion’s share of the military budget. Most soldiers were still using the .45/70 black powder single shot that Americans had used against one another in the Civil War almost thirty years earlier.
Edison’s latest invention was interesting and possibly important to the Army. Everyone knew it would not be long before an operating autogiro would lift a man into the skies. An armed air force was appearing on the horizon, and the Army had decided that the only natural place for offensive and defensive air weapons would be with the Army.
Edison strode over to the general standing amongst his men. “Good afternoon General.”
General Wood nodded to Edison and then glanced at several of his men in turn. “This is the man I’ve been telling you about. Thomas Edison. He is going to build us a flying machine that will take us over the battlefield, gentlemen, into the heart of our country’s enemy, wherever they might be.” There were several murmurings around the group.
“They say Europe is building something called a dirigible. It’s basically a balloon the Austrians and the Germans have cooked up.” The general’s head snapped around at snickers from a couple of the other officers. ‘”It could drop bombs over the battlefield, but we have something that will be fast and maneuverable. Right, Mr. Edison?”
Edison gestured emphatically. “Precisely! Now, the demonstration we’re having today is with a modified internal combustion engine. We’ve actually put two distinct engines in this model. One runs the propeller in front. The second runs the horizontal rotors for lift.”
A solitary man in a brown leather jacket and a helmet strode confidently across the field from a small Quonset hut on the far side.
Ida stood beside Edison as the soldiers moved closer to the flying vehicle prototype, leaving Ida, Edison and Dickson out of earshot.
Edison leaned over to Dickson. “That damned Tesla embarrassed me. He promised to have delivered his new engine last week, and he never did it. Now I have no progress to show. Just this damned feeble attempt I came up with at the last minute. Two motors. It will probably be too heavy.”
“Sir, if I might remind you,” Dickson spoke under his breath, “you did break your word to Mr. Tesla.”
Edison bristled. “I did no such thing. He said he would produce something and he didn’t produce it. There’s no excuse for that.”
The horizontal rotors started with the clanging and sputtering of the churning motor. Then the fore engine coughed to life and the vessel trembled with power.
“You’re letting them test it even though you know it won’t work?” Ida asked.
Edison looked aghast. “I didn’t say I know it won’t work. I said it will probably be too heavy, Miss Tarbell. This is why it’s called an experiment.”
By now, the full throttled hum and clank of the modified Otto engines drowned out most other sound as they roared. Both rotors kicked and churned. The autogiro bounced intermittently, as if it were trying to achieve lift. It rattled for several breathless moments before its landing gear rattled. The autogiro bounced side to side, one tire coming off the ground and landing again, before the next tire lifted. Then both wheels were off the ground, if only a few inches.
That’s when things went wrong. The craft wobbled wildly in the air, rocking the pilot in his seat. Then as it pitched violently back and forth, the autogiro spun uncontrollably counterclockwise. It nearly completed a full three-hundred-sixty-degree spin before its tail careened into the earth. The craft tilted, its lift rotors smashing into the ground one by one, breaking and spinning off into the air. The autogiro came to a rest on its side with dark smoke belching from its motors.
Edison turned without a word and walked back to his carriage. Ida followed, but looked back to see the pilot get pulled from the smoking wreckage. W.K.L. Dickson lent his hand to her in assistance as she climbed the steps into the carriage, and then boarded behind her. Without instruction, the carriage departed.
Inside the carriage, Edison wrote in his notebook. He glanced up at Dickson. “No control once it achieved lift. We only got a few inches and the pitch became completely unmanageable. We need to be able to control the pitch. And there’s something else.” He scribbled, muttering. “The wild spin of the tail convinces me that a tail rotor is what we’re looking for. Counter rotate the main rotors, change the cyclical pitch and install a tail rotor instead of a front rotor and we just might have something.”
Dickson glanced at Ida an
d smiled crookedly with a shrug. “All in a day with Thomas Edison,” he whispered.
Interlude 20
Monday, March 13, 1893, 3:20 p.m.
Grand Central Station, New York City
The carriage carrying Thomas Edison, Ida Tarbell and W.K.L. Dickson arrived at the main entrance of Grand Central Station. Throngs of curious onlookers surrounded the gleaming, shining beast they had come to ride. The Exposition Flyer from New York to Chicago had been built specifically to take passengers to the Chicago World’s Fair. It had been fitted with a specially designed, thirty-seven-foot, 4-4-0 steam locomotive leading four Wagner Palace Cars.
W.K.L. Dickson emerged from the carriage first, and held out a hand for Ida Tarbell. She politely waved him off and paused to observe the massive engine before them. She stepped down without looking, unable to take her eyes from the train. Edison emerged behind her and stopped, himself, to admire the miracle of modern engineering. The trim and pipes were highly polished, and the boiler and smokestack had a high gloss finish. The words “Empire State Express” could be read in two-foot high, gold leaf lettering across the firebox. The balconies of the depot and the bridges overlooking the tracks were a mass of spectators.
John F. Randolph stood on the platform next to the train. Upon their arrival, he waved. Mr. Chauncey Depew, President of the New York Central Railroad, member of Skull and Bones, co-founder of the Pilgrim Society, and one of the most powerful men in New York, stood next to the bookkeeper.
John Randolph stepped forward as Mr. Edison, Mr. Dickson and Miss Tarbell approached. Several train employees moved quickly past the trio and began unloading their baggage from the carriage and onto the train.
“Mr. Edison, allow me to introduce Mr. Chauncey Depew, President of the New York Central Railroad. Mr. Depew, may I introduce Thomas Edison, his Chief Assistant W.K.L. Dickson, and the lovely journalist, Miss Ida Tarbell.”
Depew grinned and extended his hand in greeting to Edison.
“Mr. Depew, I sincerely appreciate your making an allowance for us this evening.”
Chauncey Depew shrugged dismissively. “As it turns out, it’s a perfect opportunity for the Flyer. We’ve made some modifications, and we’ve been waiting for the chance to try them out.”
Ida raised an eyebrow. “What modifications?”
The group turned to look at the shining, steel behemoth. It represented the golden age of the railroad. Speed records were being broken year after year. People were travelling farther and farther in comfort equal, if not superior, to their own homes.
Depew turned. “Well, madam, besides evening the grades between here and Chicago, the new Flyer is fitted with eighty-six-inch wheels, and is the first of its kind to have front mounted brakes which means we can maintain a higher rate of speed. There have been other fundamental improvements. Suffice it to say, we are looking to break the current New York to Chicago record tonight.”
Edison smiled. “By how much, sir?”
“The record run to Chicago is twenty hours. We’re going to reduce that to eighteen.”
“Is that possible?” Ida asked skeptically.
A soft whistle came from W.K.L. Dickson.
“Madam, the enjoyment of life would be instantly gone if you removed the possibility of doing something.”
“How many miles is that?” She pulled out her notebook.
Depew took a deep breath to ponder a moment.
“New York to Albany, Albany to Syracuse, Syracuse to East Buffalo and East Buffalo to Chicago, is a total of nine hundred fifty-nine miles.” He grinned. “Give or take a tenth of a mile.”
“Eighteen hours,” Ida said softly.
“And I am quite certain that having such a lovely woman aboard will prove to be neither an inconvenience nor a bore, Miss Tarbell,” Depew said, grinning even more broadly.
“Mr. Depew, I am an investigative journalist. I have neither the inclination for frivolity nor the patience for male lasciviousness.”
Depew laughed softly and Dickson looked away for a moment.
But Ida misunderstood if she thought she had intimidated the President of the Railroad.
“Madam, a pessimist is one who thinks that all women are bad. An optimist is one who hopes they are.”
With a wink and a nod, he led the group towards a stepladder for the rear palace car. Ida rolled her eyes as she followed the men.
John Randolph put a hand on Edison’s shirt and the master inventor turned. “Mr. Edison, I need to speak with you a moment. It is a very urgent matter.”
Edison smiled like a tolerant parent.
“Not now, Randolph, we must get on board. Everyone is waiting for us.” He turned to his assistant and said, “Dickson, you’re in charge of the laboratory until I get back. Send a telegram on to Chicago telling them when we will be arriving. Then contact the Army and tell them we need six more months on the autogiro. And tell the engineers I want a rotating kiln for the concrete started immediately.”
“Mr. Dickson is not joining us? I had hoped to speak to him about life with the great Thomas Edison,” Ida said, surprised.
Edison shook his head. “I have too many other matters which require a precise hand. Mr. Dickson is my most trusted aide. He stands in my stead while I am away, but don’t worry you will have Mr. Randolph to interrogate, Miss Tarbell.”
John Randolph smiled sheepishly and shrugged. Dickson nodded and, with a tip of his hat to Ida, turned and headed back to the carriage. Edison turned and was first to climb the stepladder onto the palace car.
“But, sir, I—” Randolph’s voice trailed off as he fell in behind.
Once aboard, Edison dropped his hat on a table. A middle-aged, black porter stood with a tray of ice water. Mr. Edison, Mr. Randolph, and Miss Tarbell each took a glass.
The paneling and furniture within the cabin resembled the Astor Hotel or the magnificent buildings on Fifth Avenue. Frescos adorned the ceiling. Books and magazines were placed upon the tables and in cubby shelves. The three found themselves in a completely air-conditioned deluxe train, with bar lounge and observation deck. In its run, its crew comprised eight enginemen, eight firemen, three conductors, six brakemen, a barber, a tailor, a maid, and a Pullman porter for every sleeper. Additionally, the diner cars had a total of twenty-four porters.
“It is a rather leisurely journey until you reach Buffalo,” Depew said with a gesture to the ornately decorated travel car. “By that time, you should all be pleasantly tucked into your beds. The final half of the journey is the real speed test, and you will wake up in the morning somewhere in Illinois.” Depew checked his pocket watch. “With just enough time for breakfast and some nice sightseeing, I should imagine. I recommend the boiled eggs and the ham. The cook is superb at breakfast. They have a nice selection of breakfast wines, as well.”
From the far door, three more black porters appeared, all middle aged with crisp white uniforms.
“These gentlemen will direct you to your assigned cabins and one of them will be on call for your service the entire journey. You will find the sheets turned down and fresh water beside your beds. You will find the temperature stays comfortable due to the hot water pipes running beneath the floorboards. George, show them one of the rooms.”
One of the porters opened a room compartment and stepped inside. The four travelers crowded around the door. Two easy chairs sat next to the window with a table in the corner and a sofa on the opposite side. In a series of quick movements by the porter, the legs of the table folded in and it disappeared into the corner. The easy chairs laid flat and were pushed together to make one sleeping berth, and the couch rotated to make another.
“As you can see,” Depew went on, “each compartment transfers easily and quickly into a sleeping cabin and then transforms back in the morning. Your sheets are changed and your compartment aired while you are enjoying breakfast,” he paused, “or before, if you are early risers.”
Setting her coat on the back of a chair, Ida moved her head about, a
dmiring the decorative walls, the paintings, and the elegant furniture, before setting her eyes on the president of the railroad.
“Mr. Depew, in light of the stock market panic earlier this year which led to the failure of over a hundred banks, hundreds of companies, and may yet see the failure of hundreds more, where do you stand on the threat of the government to break up the strikes?”
“Madam, the New York Central Railroad is a sound entity. We pay our workers above average wages. We do not concern ourselves with Mr. Pullman. However, as President Cleveland is a good friend of mine, I must add that his instinct to allow a company to replace disruptive and destructive workers with effective ones is a good one to have.”
With that, Chauncey Depew stalked from the car. One last, long pull of the whistle and the train moved slowly down the tracks. Onward to Chicago!
Interlude 21
Monday, March 13, 1893, 6:04 p.m.
Grand Central Station, New York City
Ida sat back in the lounger and sighed, taking a long drink from the glass of ice water.
Edison took off his jacket as a porter came by to gather it and the hat he had placed on the table. “Thank you George, take them to the first drawing room on the left. That will be my cabin for the evening. Miss Tarbell can have the one you’ve already prepared.”
“Yes, sir,” the porter said.
After the porter left, Ida cocked an eyebrow at Edison. “Why did you call him George? He isn’t George. I’m certain of it.”
Edison smiled. “Miss Tarbell, you haven’t been on a cross country rail before have you?”
“No. But what does that have to do with it?”
“On a train, every porter is called George. After George Pullman, the man who invented these sleeper cars.”
Ida made a small sound in her throat and took another drink of her ice water.
John Randolph looked out the window at New York City passing by.
The bookkeeper turned and removed his glasses to clean them off with a handkerchief. “Does the designate of a train porter bother you, Miss Tarbell?”