FIGURE 17. Digging equipment had to excavate 113 feet below the river surface to find bedrock. All this debris was hauled into the valley by rail and was spread by steam shovel. Courtesy of the SFPUC.
Cranes plopped these huge rocks into the forms, but four hoists lifted the concrete mixture to the top of a huge holding structure, 340 feet high. From that height an operator delivered the concrete by gravity pipe to whichever form workers were filling. This structure was impressive for visitors, but the cable span across the canyon drew more comments. Stretched across goo feet of space at a height of nearly 400 feet, the two-and-one-fourth-inch cable carried 15 tons and was used to lower machinery as large and heavy as a narrow-gauge locomotive to the valley floor. Employees and often guests rode the cable in a basket. It was an adrenaline-producing ride that one reporter described as "the nearest approach to airplaning [sic]."There were harrowing experiences, but the most frightening was that of George Warren. One evening, timekeeper Warren lost his balance and fell from the basket, plunging 125 feet to the earth. When horrified workers hurried down to recover his body, they were amazed to find him alive. He had the spectacular good fortune to fall into a four-foot-deep pool of water. Not all of the men were so fortunate. During the more than three years it took to complete the darn, 17 Utah Construction workers died in accidents.23
Such a death toll might seem high, but during the pouring of the cement, a period of about two years, approximately Soo workers were on the job. They worked in three shifts, around the clock. The dam site was a constant swirl of activity, much of it seemingly chaotic, with trucks, conveyor belts, trains, hoists, and whistles all adding to the tumultuous din of construction noise. What a change for a valley once praised for its solitude! Hundreds of lights and spotlights transformed the night.A reporter returning on the steep Lake Eleanor road wrote that from his vantage point the dam site appeared like a fairyland, with hundreds of lights chasing away the darkness. "The crusher plant, the hoists and conveyors, the dinky trains-everything twinkles with lights. And above the dam, the great flood lights [shone] . . . as though it were broad daylight."24
It is difficult to judge the ability of O'Shaughnessy and his corps of engineers to supervise the hundreds of workers, particularly since we have only the management viewpoint. No doubt there were disgruntled laborers, but when San Franciscan Elford Eddy, a journalist for the San Francisco Call, visited the site, he found committed men. His stories emphasized the positive, such as the one at the Hetch Hetchy mess hall: After a fine meal, one of O'Shaughnessy's guests asked if the workers received the same food. Just then a group of Utah Construction Company workers arrived, and Eddy observed that they were, indeed, enjoying the same fare, as well as "the good cigars the `Chief' had passed around.."25 Another journalist wrote of the cooperative spirit that seemed to prevail among the workers: "When a new man comes on the job, they show him every trick they know, help him do his share of the work with both speed and safety." The mentoring system extended beyond work, so that the new worker would be shown the "best method of washing his clothes," and the holes "where the best and most trout are found in the mountain streams, and how to catch them." And if he wished to augment his wages, "they show him the riffles, where, if he likes, he can go down and pan for gold." Another visitor praised the morale and commitment of the men, who apparently believed that the Hetch Hetchy project was more than a job.They had pride in their work. Waxing eloquent, he announced that no worker "will have a finer monument to his memory, a more valuable testimonial of his honesty, his ability and his public zeal."26
O'Shaughnessy often visited the construction sites to check progress, and though a tough boss, he exhibited an egalitarian streak that endeared him to many laborers. One journalist watched a worker approach O'Shaughnessy, throw his arm around his shoulder, and say "Now, Chief, I tell ye man to man.."27 If the man was working hard, O'Shaughnessy would listen hard. L. B. Cheminant, one of the Chief's valued engineers, told of a tunnel cave-in that trapped Tim Regan. His buddies forced through a pipe to provide him air. O'Shaughnessy spoke through the pipe. Regan asked, "How long?" "Oh ain['t but] two or three days," O'Shaughnessy replied. "Ain I still drawing my pay?" Tim came back. "No," said O'Shaughnessy with a grin, "you're fired."28 One can be sure that Regan got his pay and more.
Considering the difficulty of providing food and shelter in an isolated mountain environment, San Francisco provided well for its employees and those of the Utah Construction Company. Certainly the men knew they had not joined a country club, but the kitchen staffs at the various camps took pride in preparing wholesome and sufficient meals. Electricity, good water, and plenty of wood in the winter characterized the various construction camps-amenities often lacking on other work projects. Workers were satisfied with conditions. Hetch Hetchy, with a construction period of nearly 20 years, faced no strikes, although there were a few labor organizers in the camps. A good number of the workers, particularly those who toiled in tunneling, worked for O'Shaughnessy from the beginning in 1915 through to the completion in 1934.
Wages varied somewhat according to a worker's skill and the danger involved. An average might be $4.5o a day, with $1.25 subtracted for room and board. However, a laborer had every chance of earning a bonus of 12 to 30 percent of wages as determined by the progress and effort of his work gang. For instance, the city engineers set the base for tunneling at 300 feet per day, and if the three crews working 24-hour days accomplished more, then a bonus could be expected. Working at least six days a week, a laborer could accumulate a stake if he so wished.
Although the city tried to avoid labor strife, O'Shaughnessy was not altogether successful. In the summer of 1922 unidentified men began to show up in the camps. Strike notices appeared, tacked on trees and surreptitiously distributed, asking workers to stay away from all camps until management met their demands. The strike committee called for better wages, food, lodging, and for various other concessions.29 The city did not budge, and the strike never got off the ground. City engineers and foremen fired some workers, claiming that those released were lazy rather than militant. But the reasons for work slowdowns were not always easy to determine, especially for city supervisors and engineers who had little desire to talk with workers or entertain their complaints. Engineer N. A. Eckart reported in 1922 that "the effect of the LW.W strike and the tendency to slow up some part of the work were still apparent and it will be necessary to fire a number of men who had come on the job apparently with no intention of doing any hard work."30 How many International Workers of the World organizers lived in the camps was unknown, but there were enough that City Engineer C. R. Rankin wrote the superintendent of Yosemite that he wished ranger assistance to prevent labor agitators from stirring up trouble.3' Also, O'Shaughnessy noted two "Carpenters' Union" delegates who demanded that the city raise the scale from $6 to $9. O'Shaughnessy brushed aside their demand, and the strike effort soon evaporated. Throughout construction the Chief had no sympathy for labor agitators, especially those of IV/-W persuasion. He was not alone in the early 1920s, for as one historian has noted, "no state pursued its [labor] radicals more remorselessly that did California during this period."32
FIGURE 18. Various vehicles were used for transportation, some fitted to run on the railroad or, like this Packard truck, to operate on rough, muddy roads. "Chief" O'Shaughnessy is in the passenger seat. Courtesy of the SFPUC.
FIGURE i9. During the height of dam construction in 1921 and 1922, the workers labored around the clock, creating dramatic night views of the construction site. Courtesy of the SFPUC.
Many laborers saved a portion of their paychecks, but others spent whatever they made. In the work camps and on the job, San Francisco enforced strict rules. Workers caught drinking could expect to be fired with no fuss or appeal. Often they were "escorted" to one of the San Joaquin Valley cities to look for a new job. At one camp, named the Second Garrotte, an off-duty miner stumbled onto a bootlegger's hideout, took all the jugs he could carry back to camp,
and offered the hooch to his buddies. Soon most of the men of the morning shift and the swing shift were drunk. In Groveland Supervisor Charlie Baird received a distress phone call. In short order he arrived unannounced at the Second Garrotte. He piled the besotted miners into two trucks, drove them to Stockton, and paid them off in cash.33
Yet in Groveland, project headquarters, no such rigid policies existed. The town loved to entertain the construction workers, especially when they arrived with paychecks in hand. It was wide open, and even though the American nation had begun its experiment with prohibition, there was never a shortage of liquor, either the real stuff or locally distilled "jackass whiskey." The day after payday, according to one witness, "drunks would be lying all over the streets of Groveland." The men did not limit their entertainment to drinking. Such establishments as the Groveland Hotel featured gambling in the lobby and rooms in the back known as the "bull pen." Prostitution was widespread, to the point that much later a Groveland resident believed that there "were only about two places that weren't at one time or another whorehouses-the post office and the church.."34
San Francisco authorities turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to Groveland's rather unsavory reputation. Although the town served as the headquarters for the whole Hetch Hetchy project, the bars, hotels, bawdy houses, and the sheriff's office had no official connection with San Francisco. A visit to Groveland could blow off steam, and later the broke worker was happy to retreat back to the mountains. If a drinking worker stayed in the area, no harm was done, and he would be back on the job on Monday and not off in Sonora, Stockton, or San Francisco.35 The Chief appeared to worry about Groveland, particularly when seasoned workers were involved. In 1922 John Burkland ended up in the hospital as a result of "bootleg stimulant celebrating his birthday." O'Shaughnessy was also concerned that "there were 15 or 16 men intoxicated riding up the line from Groveland in the bus." He advised that "steps should be taken" to check the use of bootleg in Grove- land.36 But the Chief was a decisive man, and if he had meant to reform the town, he would have done so.
Later, as workers laid the aqueduct pipe across the more populated San Joaquin Valley, O'Shaughnessy was less sympathetic to carousing. The Chief received an anonymous letter informing him that at certain construction camps fully half of his crews were drunk all the time. The letter singled out the Indian Creek camp as one of prostitution and endless supplies of bootleg whiskey. "Every pay day prostitutes are summoned from San Francisco and Livermore and Pleasanton, they pitch their tents outside of camp and pass as tourists." The informant warned, "We will watch and see, the press will certainly get this information if nothing is done."37 The tough boss quickly investigated and corrected the situation. O'Shaughnessy never allowed the Hetch Hetchy project to be sullied by improper conduct by any of his men, especially if the San Francisco press, always looking for a story, might be lurking. Aside from the press, O'Shaughnessy understood the danger of liquor on the job. Speaking to the San Francisco Down Town Association in 1925, he said that from the beginning of construction,"there has been no booze on the job, and I am not aVolstead [prohibition] man, but booze and derricks do not work together.You have to have one or the other, and we have the other."38
By the spring of 1923 the Utah Construction workers were nearing completion of the massive concrete dam. It was time for the dedication. In a tribute to the talent and hard work of the Chief, in April the San Francisco supervisors voted to name the structure O'Shaughnessy Dam. On July 7, 1923, a large group of visitors from the towns of Priest, Sonora, Groveland, and of course, San Francisco assembled on the lawn in front of the bungalow where the chief engineer often stayed. It was a warm afternoon, although a breeze swept up the canyon, whirling clouds of spray from the spillway water. City employees clustered chairs under trees before the cabin for the occasion. Shade would be needed, for it was hot and the number of politicians in attendance guaranteed a long afternoon of speeches.39
First, William Wattis of the Utah Construction Company formally turned over the dam to Timothy Reardon of the San Francisco Board of Public Works. Then Mayor Rolfe addressed the crowd, praising the Chief and patting himself on the back for having the wisdom to hire him. Then, turning toward O'Shaughnessy, he mentioned that an admirer had suggested a fund of $ioo,ooo be raised "as a testimonial of appreciation from a grateful people." There is no record that the generous gesture ever came to fruition. James Phelan spoke next. Although the voters of California had recently turned him out of the Senate along with most Democrats, he was in good spirits. He reviewed the long struggle, expressing an undisguised scorn for the politicians, secretaries of interior, and environmentalists who fought against the city.
O'Shaughnessy came last and spoke longest. He introduced his engineers and reviewed the history of the project and the dimensions of the great dam. But in his concluding remark he returned to the old issue, seemingly tucked away in the recesses of his mind:
The O'Shaughnessy Dam and Hetch Hetchy reservoir stand as a refutation to so-called "Nature lovers," who opposed its construction. Here, spreading for seven miles up the valley, lies a placid lake which is destined to become a magnet to all real nature lovers. Caught between two mountains and trapped by the barrier of stone and steel, it is a sight that would warm the hearts of those who delight in natural beauty. In the distance two waterfalls, like two immaculate ribbons, streak down the side of the canyon and are reflected in the huge man-made mirror. None have more accurately expressed the scene than the caption writer of a San Francisco newspaper, who placed the words over a photograph of the dam and reservoir: "Where Beauty and Utility Wedded."40
FIGURE 20. The 1923 dedication of the O'Shaughnessy Dam featured cowboys, park officials, bathing beauties, Indian maidens, and a child. Courtesy of the SFPUC.
FIGURE 21. Workers completed the dam in 1923, and here it is in operation. In 1938 San Francisco raised the dam and doubled the holding capacity of the reservoir, so that the current structure does not resemble the one in this photo. Courtesy of the SFPUC.
With this peroration O'Shaughnessy, Phelan, Rolfe, and the city politicians buried any lingering doubts regarding the transformation of the valley. On that sunny day the participants would have appreciated a journalist who wrote of Huntington Lake, to the south of Hetch Hetchy, that "nature must have designed this spot to cradle a lake. As she made the sheltered valleys and wide alluvial plains, and invited man to make them fruitful by his labors, so she hollowed out these great spaces in the granite hills and waited patiently for the men of wide vision and vast resources to wall up the narrow outlets with their titanic buttresses of steel and concrete."41 So it seemed to those in attendance at Hetch Hetchy: A city of imperial vision had, through wealth, human toil, and technology, achieved a perfect example of the technological sublime-the marriage of creative engineering and nature. The reservoir, following the contours of the valley, had waited patiently for creation, and now the engineers of San Francisco had fathered a "second nature" through transformation of a remarkable valley.42
It was a great day for Michael O'Shaughnessy. He must have been amused at Berkeley mayor Beverly Hodghead's comment that the Chief would probably not need a tombstone for a great many years, "but you may some time, and I think this is a pretty substantial one."43 His engineering friend Clifford Holland wrote a congratulatory note from NewYork. MiltYoung, a colleague from Ohio, summed up how O'Shaughnessy was feeling when he wrote that "your satisfaction in accomplishing this great work in the face of legal obstacles, governmental red tape, petty politicians and the Lord knows what, must be greater by far than any pecuniary reward or words of praise."44
As O'Shaughnessy accepted such praise, he was well aware that 23 miles downstream an equally important project was nearing completion: the Moccasin Creek Power House. By early 1922 city carpenters had erected a tent city adjacent to the site to provide rude housing for 300 men. Soon workers poured a massive foundation and a large powerhouse took shape. As with the darn site, the men worked rou
nd the clock, seven days a week, through the hot summer of 1922 and on into the winter. Although architectural perfection is not usually associated with powerhouses, this 285-foot-long building designed by architect H. A. Minton came close. It featured fifteen Spanish mission-style arches on each side and a tile roof, giving it a California flare. From up the hillside four penstocks dropped 1,300 feet, assuring a powerful head of water that in turn rotated and whirled eight Pelton waterwheels and four 20,000-kilowatt generators.
By June of 1923 workers finished the construction and the installation of the generating machinery. Also, city engineers tested the penstocks and the turbines. Everything seemed ready for full voltage. Only an accident can make one realize the fearful power of water if released where it should not be. On the morning of June 30, an employee testing the system forgot to open the bypass valve, creating a surge of tremendous pressure. Both the number i and the number 4 penstocks burst, sending a wall of water down the mountain, washing away soil, gravel, and rock as if it were confectionary sugar. The water and debris slammed into the tent city, and a number of wood frame houses, destroying everything in their path. The powerhouse sustained little permanent damage, but the basement filled with 15 feet of mud and debris. The cleanup took six weeks. Finally, in August, production commenced, activating the 98-mile electrical transmission line to San Francisco Bay.45
The Battle over Hetch Hetchy: America's Most Controversial Dam and the Birth of Modern Environmentalism Page 20