Glenn Beck - Miracles and Massacres - True and Untold Stories of the Making of America

“We need to say something to discredit these slanderers,” Heinrichs said, holding up a copy of a New York newspaper. “They want to popularize the term Westinghoused , like Dr. Guillotin’s name was attached to decapitation.”

Westinghouse held up his own copy of the paper, indicating he’d already read the article. “Don’t play the other fellow’s game. Edison hopes his power and influence will arrest the march of progress. It won’t. I hired you to get our position into the newspapers. Write positive stories about alternating current. Don’t return their slander.” Westinghouse reached behind him and picked up a sheaf of papers. “This is what you will write. These are notes on the Virginia Senate committee proceedings to limit the voltage of alternating current.”

Heinrichs sat up straighter. “We won Virginia?”

Westinghouse handed the papers to Heinrichs. “No, they lost Virginia. Edison himself testified—I think he was emboldened after the Kemmler hearing—and they still lost. Edison’s attorneys were so bent on attacking us that they never saw the coming assault by the arc lighting companies. Arc lighting may predate Edison’s lightbulb, but arc lights are still popular outdoors. They use alternating current, so they’re our natural allies. The people who testified against Edison were local businessmen, and good ol’ southern boys beat Yankee interlopers every time in Virginia. This was the first state legislative test. I want you to write it up so that it gets national attention.”

He picked a pamphlet off his desk and handed it to Heinrichs. “This is my reply to Mr. Edison, published last December. Use it for your articles. In 1888, sixty-four people were killed in streetcar accidents, fifty-five by wagons, twenty-three by gaslights, and five by alternating current. Memorize those numbers. Five is not exactly an orgy of killing. The article points out that at the August meeting of the Edison illuminating companies, a resolution was passed asking the parent company to satisfy criteria that can only be met by alternating current. His own engineers are rebuffing direct current. We now have five times the number of central stations as Edison.” He pointed at the pamphlet. “It’s all in there. These are the key points I want you to emphasize in the press at every opportunity.”

Heinrichs smiled. “You’re winning on every front.”

“No, not every front. We’ve lost our appeal for Kemmler so Edison still has his electric chair to use as a club. But I don’t want you to write about the new Kemmler appeal. I have others assigned to that battle.

“Mr. Heinrichs, you’re young and talented. You have a grand future. Always do your work with self-respect. Forget slanderous attacks. Write about how we are winning in the marketplace, in the state legislatures, and with electrical engineers.”

Westinghouse stood, put a hand on Heinrichs’s shoulder, and led him to the door.

“Do you understand your assignment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Next time, knock before bursting into my office.”

New York City

Six months later: August 1890

“I tell you, this is a grand thing, and is destined to become the instrument of legal death throughout the world.”

Thomas Edison couldn’t tell if Dr. Southwick believed what he had just said or was simply a fool.

“Doctor, do you wish to know what I think of this first electrocution?”

“I do!” he said eagerly.

The man was smiling. He was an idiot. Edison swiveled his chair to look at Harold Brown, who at least had the wit to look chagrined.

“I invested years in associating alternating current with death,” Edison said. “We’ve successfully killed hundreds of animals with it, yet you can’t kill even one deranged axe murderer. Harold, I—”

“Mr. Edison, he’s dead,” Southwick interrupted.

“Dead?” Edison yelled. “Are you sure? You hit him with seventeen seconds of current and he came back to life.” Edison picked up the newspaper account and followed the text with his finger as he read aloud. “One of the physicians yelled in horror. ‘Great God! He is alive.’ Another screamed, ‘See, he breathes.’ A witness shouted, ‘For God’s sake, kill him.’ ”

Edison threw the paper at Brown, who blocked it with a forearm. Edison continued: “The article goes on to say the warden had to reattach the scalp electrode to do the job again. Kemmler caught on fire and smoked. Most of the newspapers say he was roasted. The stench from burnt flesh and feces was unbearable. Several people threw up, adding to the stink. A reporter fainted, the county sheriff started bawling, and everybody fought to get out of that damned chamber.”

Edison reached behind him and threw a stack of newspapers at Brown. “They all say the same thing!” Edison swiveled toward the doctor. “And you call this a grand thing ? You two have ruined me!”

Both men stood up sheepishly.

“Harold, I never want to see your name in print. If I ever see or hear of you again, I’ll have you arrested, even if I have to trump up charges. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Edison ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He told himself his reputation could be salvaged, that he never gave up and had never been defeated. Westinghouse would still rue the day he challenged the Wizard of Menlo Park.

He stood. There were reporters downstairs. He had to face them. He composed himself as he descended the stairs and mustered every ounce of optimism he could.

The first reporter’s question was obvious. “What do you think about the electrocution?”

“I have merely glanced over an account of Kemmler’s death and it was not pleasant reading.”

“Why didn’t it go as you predicted?”

“I understand the doctors bungled it. Very unfortunate.”

“George Westinghouse said they could have done it better with an axe. Any comment?”

“No.” Edison turned and climbed back up the stairs to his office.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

June 1891

“Edison is in Chicago. He wants to electrify the World’s Fair.” Tesla sounded peeved.

Westinghouse was calm. “It’s a good sign. His backers are concerned.”

J. P. Morgan, William H. Vanderbilt, and William Waldorf Astor had pledged $15 million to finance the fair if Congress awarded it to New York, but Chicago had won out anyway. New Yorkers had been stunned when they’d learned about the loss. They’d assumed everything west of the Hudson River was wasteland. Westinghouse, however, knew there were more than two hundred hungry millionaires in Chicago, all of them craving recognition, status, and respect. They had met the Wall Street bid and raised it. Edison and his financiers assumed that an electric contract would automatically come with the fair. Now that the contract was no longer assured, they had dispatched the Wizard to personally sell his elixir to the fair’s governing committee.

Tesla seldom paced, but he couldn’t help himself. “Edison can be persuasive.”

Westinghouse smiled. “Sit down or stand still, Nikola. Pacing doesn’t suit you.”

Tesla stood still with his hands clasped behind his back. “You should be worried.”

Westinghouse laughed. “You don’t see me fret, so you take on the mantle of worrier? Relax. Edison’s in trouble. The Kemmler execution put a big dent in his armor. He’s no longer infallible.”

Westinghouse was gaining confidence by the day. The month after Kemmler’s botched electrocution, Westinghouse sales had jumped to their highest levels in company history. In less than five years, revenue had grown from $150,000 to nearly $5 million. In the meantime, Edison had allowed his companies to be reorganized as Edison General Electric. Westinghouse heard that the president of the new company had once boasted that the new capital meant good-bye to Westinghouse.