by Bill Blowers
Conveniently setting aside the fact that he and Viko had agreed that Viko would handle all financial matters and agreements, Tesla reverted to the same twisted logic that had plagued him for years. “I do not expect compensation for my patents; I am willing to accept income as a royalty from the sale of the lamps.” With that statement, Tesla turned down an offer worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. He continued, “As regards the percentage, I will accept no more than 49 percent ownership. It is you who should have control, not I.”
Morgan was taken aback. He had just put forth a dream offer. Tesla could realize huge profits from this and remain in control. “Are you sure of that position? My advice is that you discuss this with your banker friend Johnson, or your nephew Viktor.”
“No, these are my lamps. I will make this decision, and I will take no more than 49 percent and no compensation for the patents.”
As Morgan put on his hat, his parting words to Tesla were, “Nikola, you are the strangest man I have ever met.”
Three days later, Tesla was at the Johnsons’ for dinner. Robert asked, “How was the meeting with Morgan? Is he interested?”
Smiling like a Cheshire cat, Tesla replied, “Interested? He certainly is. Tomorrow we sign a contract.”
“What does Viko think of the deal?”
“He knows nothing of it. I’ll tell him when he gets back from Niagara Falls.”
Robert was stunned. Tesla had no one to advise him on contract terms. His predilection to sign away valuable patents and concepts was legendary. Once again he was going to sabotage himself.
Robert excused himself and raced to his office. He had to contact Viko. Robert knew that Viko would not let Tesla be taken advantage of. Such a deal could not be signed without Viko’s approval, a fact conveniently or naïvely overlooked by Tesla, but unknown to Morgan. He rushed to the bank. Locking himself inside, he sat in front of the telegraph set and tapped out an urgent message:
COME TO NEW YORK URGENT UNCLE NIK IS IN TROUBLE
The telegram didn’t reach Viko until late the next afternoon. He came back to New York as fast as possible. He and Robert went directly to Tesla’s facility. But it was too late. Tesla, giving everything to Morgan, including all future patents for improvements, had signed an ironclad contract. Viko collapsed into a chair. His desire to help Tesla seemed to evaporate. Why try? It was an impossible situation—Tesla was on a permanent course of self-destruction. He had just given up control to a notorious despot.
Robert heaved a deep sigh. “All right, Nik, give us the contract. Let’s see how much damage has been done.”
It took Robert and Viko two days to read and digest the entire contract, and when they were finished they realized it was worse than they could have imagined. Not only had Tesla given Morgan operational control, he signed over the rights to all of the lamp patents and all future patents pertaining to illumination, lamp design, and power distribution to lighting. Morgan’s attorneys had thought of everything.
Robert arranged a meeting with Morgan. He went right to the heart of the matter, explaining that any contracts involving funding of the Tesla Electric Company, or its patents, needed joint approval from both Tesla and Viko.
That’s as far as he got.
Morgan raised his hand, as if to say “Just a minute,” and turned to his attorneys, who obviously had been prepared for this. The contract was between Nikola Tesla and J.P. Morgan as individuals; there was no mention of the Tesla Electric Company. Morgan, taking advantage of Tesla’s naiveté and childlike excitement about having his lamps manufactured, had created a contract that demonstrated once again why he was one of the richest men in America. He looked out for just one person, J.P. Morgan.
A thorough review of the contract by Robert Johnson’s attorney confirmed their worst fears. As Robert and Viko watched, he asked Tesla, “Why would you agree to something like this? Just a few more days and we could have rewritten this to give you ownership of your patents with conditional assignment to Morgan, much more in your favor. Why didn’t you let someone see this before signing, at least your good friend Johnson here?”
Without saying a word Tesla slowly got up and put on his coat. At the door, he turned and said, “What’s done is done.”
After Tesla left, Robert asked, “Is there any chance of overturning this contract in court?”
“Possibly,” the attorney responded, “but Morgan will tie this up for years. He will drive you into bankruptcy and sue Tesla for not producing the lamps.”
The attorney continued: “Let me tell you a story about Morgan. I was a young attorney, just out of law school, when I first heard it. I dismissed it out of hand. A senior partner took me aside and assured me that it is true.
“During the Civil War, Morgan financed a scheme, the Hall Carbine Affair. He arranged the purchase of several thousand defective rifles that were being liquidated by the government at a cost of three dollars and fifty cents each. He then sold them back to the government, supposedly repaired, at twenty-two dollars each. The carbines were not repaired, had never even left the government warehouse where they were stored. The scheme existed only on paper. Morgan netted a ninety-two-thousand-dollar profit. The guns, which could misfire, killing or maiming a soldier, were put back into service. Morgan professed complete innocence of the defect in the weapons, a claim that only the most naïve of the day could swallow. There was never an investigation.”
The lawyer paused. “Do you want my advice, Viko? Find a way to be cooperative with Morgan and proceed with the production plans. You and your uncle will realize a substantial income for a long time. It is not as good as it could have been, but an envious position nonetheless.”
The following Monday, Viko went to Morgan’s office alone. “Mr. Morgan, I came here this morning to ask you not to exploit my uncle. I will do all I can to see that the lamps are manufactured properly. Also, I assure you of something else: if you attempt to harm my uncle in any way, you will have to contend with me. My family means more to me than any amount of money or possessions.”
Morgan said, “Please be assured, Viko, that I am serious about manufacturing your uncle’s lamps. These new lamps will be in demand everywhere, and I intend to sell millions of them. I have no desire to harm your famous uncle in any way.”
They shook hands and parted.
Morgan had not expected a threat from such a little person. He smiled. He feared no man and quickly dismissed Viko’s warning.
Morgan made few mistakes. But he had just committed his biggest one. Viko, a mild-mannered Serbian immigrant, would one day bring Morgan’s largest business venture to its knees.
Viko left New York to return to Niagara Falls, his work there not yet completed. With well-founded apprehension, he left the work of getting lamp production underway in the hands of Nikola Tesla. He could not begin to imagine the catastrophic mess that would be waiting for him upon his return to New York weeks later.
As part of the agreement, Tesla sent a small crew to Morgan’s office to install fluorescent lamps. Morgan wanted firsthand experience with the lamps, and to demonstrate them to raise additional funds as the need for larger manufacturing facilities developed. But Morgan always had more than one reason for his actions.
As soon as the installation was complete, Morgan invited another famous inventor to see the lamps, Thomas Edison. Morgan considered Edison to be a vulgar, unkempt, smelly, loudmouthed braggart. He never enjoyed visits from Edison, but he endured them, unable to ignore the millions he was reaping from Edison’s electrical work.
Edison arrived in his usual rumpled black suit, his hair disheveled and his hands stained with filth from whatever he had worked on the night before. He slapped Morgan on the back, leaving a blotched stain on his shoulder. “Good to see you, JP. Why did you call me? Got some new way to print money?” He paused, looked around. “What is this lighting you have here?
Morgan explained to Edison about his dealings with Tesla. After a slew of colorful outbursts from Ediso
n, punctuated by a few loud farts, Morgan managed to get him to sit down and listen. “I had these lamps installed so that you can look them over. Tesla’s patent applications and copies of his notes for future improvements are in my filing cabinets, yours to review. Set aside that famous dislike you have for Tesla. I want your honest evaluation. I do not trust him. He is so naïve as to be childish. I fear that a mass-producible lamp will never see the light of day with him running things. I plan to move all production to Schenectady as soon as possible. I want him out of the picture.
“Curtis (Mark Curtis was Morgan’s personal bodyguard and the director of his security operations) will arrange security at the Bronx plant. We will explain to Tesla that we need guards on duty at night. You or anyone you choose will have access to the building. Give their names to me or Curtis.”
As Edison got up to leave, Morgan’s final words were, “Do not let your temper get in the way. This is too important.”
Edison hated Tesla and everything he ever did.
Morgan stared at the door Edison had left ajar and spoke to his secretary. “Tell me, Miss Harbaugh, do you think that Edison would understand the message if I sent him a bathtub, a large supply of soap, and instructions for their use?”
The normally staid and humorless secretary burst out laughing. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try! Would you like me to open a window and air this place out?”
CHAPTER 24
The Lamp Fiasco Begins
Tesla received the first installment of funds and immediately set out to renovate the Bronx facility. Unfortunately, his ability to plan for production was diametrically at odds with his ability to manage the work required. He changed his mind constantly and made the workers redo their work every time he got a new idea. He insisted on making every decision, no matter how small. Workers were idle most of the time as they waited for him to make up his mind. His lack of punctuality exacerbated the situation. He typically arrived for work in the late afternoon and then expected everyone to put in twelve to sixteen hours, working well into the night.
Tesla was brilliant beyond measure; his mind was simply too creative to be confined by mundane construction details. He had already moved on. The lamps were an old idea. His brilliant intellect was consumed with his quest to create a world where wireless power would be available to all. Two months were wasted with frustrating starting and stopping, and the devastation inflicted on the production preparations was nearly fatal.
Morgan’s worst fears were becoming reality. He monitored expenses and saw daily reports containing nothing but bad news. Had he made a huge mistake? Edison and his crew pored over the patent applications and dissected Tesla’s lamps, to no avail. Edison’s massive ego and his hatred for Tesla were obstructing progress. In his typical bull-in-the-china-shop methodology, he insisted upon achieving DC operation, impossible for a practical fluorescent lamp, with the predictable result that each attempt at making the lamps resulted in failure.
Viko returned from Niagara Falls, only to find that Tesla was planning to leave town for Colorado. As he arrived at the apartment after his ten-week absence, he was surprised to see several packed trunks and two suitcases in the hallway near the front door. Totally exhausted from weeks of nonstop, sleep-deprived work, he went to bed. The questions in his mind would wait until the next day.
As sunlight filtered in through the curtains and the sounds of Saturday Manhattan traffic sneaked in through the open window, Viko unfurled from the position he had been in all night. Though the comfort of his own bed was welcome, his body seemed to remember every night he had slept on the floor or in an uncomfortable cot at the Adams plant in Niagara. After washing up and putting on a clean shirt, he wandered into the kitchen where Tesla had put a pot of coffee on the stove.
Tesla asked about the situation at Niagara, and they spent the next several hours discussing the technical issues involved and the solution that Viko had implemented. Tesla nodded in approval.
As the coffee restored some semblance of clarity to his sleep-deprived brain, Viko returned to the conversation they had started the night before.
“Exactly why are you going to Colorado? How do you expect me to carry on without you? You have a responsibility to be here.”
“Viko, the lamps will come later. Don’t you see that the lamps are only a demonstration, a glimpse through a window into the future, a future where everyone on earth will have access to wireless electrical power? Where everyone can light their lamps, run their homes, power their factories—all without wires. Viko, the lamps were just my way of opening the door. Morgan will see that, and he will thank me.”
Viko could do little more than shake his head. Here before him was a perfect demonstration of Tesla’s inability to see the devastating effects he had on those who put trust and faith in him. He expected everyone to understand as he did. He didn’t understand that true success did not come from multitudes of imaginative ideas; it came from the hard practical work of seeing things through to a conclusion. He was incapable of understanding the world of business and commerce and the practicalities involved.
Tesla continued, “I have been waiting for you to return. Now that you are here you can take over for me. The plans are all drawn up; you just have to follow them.”
And with that, Tesla returned to his final packing details.
Viko spent the rest of the weekend recovering from the arduous two months he had spent at Niagara. He got up early on Monday morning and went to the Bronx to get a firsthand view of the progress made, and the remaining work now dumped in his lap.
His first surprise when he arrived was that he couldn’t get inside the building. A guard, not recognizing Viko, refused to let him enter. A rather loud argument ensued. Henry Abbott, Tesla’s foreman, came out to see what was going on. Finding Viko, he ran over, grabbed his hand, and nearly shook it off.
“Finally you’re here. This place is a mess. I have a mutiny on my hands.”
The bewildered guard looked on for a few minutes. “Who is this?”
“This is Viko Tesla. For God’s sake, get out of the way and let him in.”
Viko was greeted enthusiastically. Most of the workers knew him and respected his abilities. Shouts of “Thank God you’re here,”
“We’ve missed you,” and, most surprising, “Does this mean Tesla won’t be coming back?” rose from the crowd.
Viko turned to Henry. “What’s this all about, and why the comment about my uncle?”
The group became quiet and a voice from the back said, “If Tesla never comes back it will be too soon,” followed by murmured approvals.
Henry Abbott asked everybody to take a break, and he and Viko went off to a quiet corner. He told Viko of the chaos that had reigned for the past two months.
Viko learned of the constant changes, work having been completed and then torn out three or more times. He learned of everyone waiting while Tesla would sit for hours on end, trancelike. Even the smallest decisions needed Tesla’s personal consent.
Viko listened impassively. He was genuinely saddened to hear how his uncle was affecting those around him. He was shocked at the lack of progress toward outfitting the facility. Having someone like Tesla in charge of the “trivial” matters relating to outfitting a production plant was a gross error. It was akin to swatting a fly with a defective sledgehammer.
This was a déjà vu moment for Viko. Missed deadlines, disgruntled employees, and failed opportunities. This time, however, a new dimension was added to the picture, planned and orchestrated by J.P. Morgan. If the venture continued to head down this path, the damage to Tesla’s reputation would be irreparable. Morgan would shut down every venture, every financial plan, and cut Tesla off. Tesla would be hard pressed to find employment as a janitor.
Henry said, “Viko, I don’t think it’s too late. I will not attempt to minimize our problems here. Morgan keeps sending that damned Curtis around, asking questions and looking over our shoulders. If you show us what to do, these
people will follow you. Viko, I will work day and night. You know you can count on me.”
Viko saw the looks on the faces of the twenty-three workers anxiously waiting, wondering what they should do next. Those eyes were looking to him for direction. He searched for an answer, looking for some input, anything at all to convince him that the monumental task awaiting him was worth the personal investment he would have to make. Perhaps this was why he was brought to America, to be the one to do the work left in the wake of his uncle’s creations.
Something dark within him flashed. He would be the part of Nikola Tesla that was missing. He jumped up on a box, called out to the group to gather around.
“Are you ready to get this place up and running?”
A resounding “Yes!” came from everyone.
“Let’s start. Get busy! Clean up this mess. By noon, you will get your marching orders. If Nikola Tesla shows up, send him to me. Ignore anything he tells you. Now get off your lazy asses and get moving!”
Before noon arrived, Viko had divided the men into groups, each with a leader, and he chose one man to be his assistant—a runner to handle the many messages that would be required within the building and with outside factories, chemical supply houses, and mills.
Work settled into a routine. The building was noticeably cleaner. A makeshift bulletin board contained lists of jobs for each group. Viko and Henry roamed freely among the workers, lending a hand, offering advice, and made themselves visible and available to all.
A few minutes after four-thirty, Nikola Tesla walked in. Viko was busy going over a drawing and didn’t notice Tesla’s arrival until Henry elbowed him in the ribs and pointed toward the door. Tesla saw that people were leaving for the day, and he raised his hand. “Everyone get back here. I have several new ideas that I want to try tonight.”