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==CHAPTER VI - NOTABLE USERS OF THE TELEPHONE==
What we might call the telephonization of
city life, for lack of a simpler word, has
remarkably altered our manner of living from
what it was in the days of Abraham Lincoln. It
has enabled us to be more social and cooperative.
It has literally abolished the isolation of separate
families, and has made us members of one great
family. It has become so truly an organ of the
social body that by telephone we now enter into
contracts, give evidence, try lawsuits, make
speeches, propose marriage, confer degrees,
appeal to voters, and do almost everything else
that is a matter of speech.
In stores and hotels this wire traffic has grown
to an almost bewildering extent, as these are the
places where many interests meet. The hundred
largest hotels in New York City have twenty-one
thousand telephones--nearly as many as the
continent of Africa and more than the kingdom
of Spain. In an average year they send six
million messages. The Waldorf-Astoria alone
tops all residential buildings with eleven hundred
and twenty telephones and five hundred thousand
calls a year; while merely the Christmas
Eve orders that flash into Marshall Field's store,
or John Wanamaker's, have risen as high as the
three thousand mark.
Whether the telephone does most to concentrate
population, or to scatter it, is a question
that has not yet been examined. It is certainly
true that it has made the skyscraper possible,
and thus helped to create an absolutely new type
of city, such as was never imagined even in the
fairy tales of ancient nations. The skyscraper
is ten years younger than the telephone. It is
now generally seen to be the ideal building for
business offices. It is one of the few types of
architecture that may fairly be called American.
And its efficiency is largely, if not mainly, due to
the fact that its inhabitants may run errands by
telephone as well as by elevator.
There seems to be no sort of activity which is
not being made more convenient by the telephone.
It is used to call the duck-shooters in
Western Canada when a flock of birds has
arrived; and to direct the movements of the
Dragon in Wagner's grand opera "Siegfried."
At the last Yale-Harvard football game, it conveyed
almost instantaneous news to fifty thousand
people in various parts of New England.
At the Vanderbilt Cup Race its wires girdled the
track and reported every gain or mishap of the
racing autos. And at such expensive pageants
as that of the Quebec Tercentenary in 1908,
where four thousand actors came and went upon
a ten-acre stage, every order was given by
telephone.
Public officials, even in the United States, have
been slow to change from the old-fashioned and
more dignified use of written documents and uniformed
messengers; but in the last ten years there
has been a sweeping revolution in this respect.
Government by telephone! This is a new idea
that has already arrived in the more efficient
departments of the Federal service. And as for
the present Congress, that body has gone so far
as to plan for a special system of its own, in both
Houses, so that all official announcements may
be heard by wire.
Garfield was the first among American Presidents
to possess a telephone. An exhibition
instrument was placed in his house, without cost,
in 1878, while he was still a member of Congress.
Neither Cleveland nor Harrison, for temperamental
reasons, used the magic wire very often.
Under their regime, there was one lonely idle
telephone in the White House, used by the
servants several times a week. But with McKinley
came a new order of things. To him a
telephone was more than a necessity. It was a
pastime, an exhilarating sport. He was the one
President who really revelled in the comforts of
telephony. In 1895 he sat in his Canton home
and heard the cheers of the Chicago Convention.
Later he sat there and ran the first presidential
telephone campaign; talked to his managers in
thirty-eight States. Thus he came to regard the
telephone with a higher degree of appreciation
than any of his predecessors had done, and
eulogized it on many public occasions. "It is
bringing us all closer together," was his favorite
phrase.
To Roosevelt the telephone was mainly for
emergencies. He used it to the full during the
Chicago Convention of 1907 and the Peace
Conference at Portsmouth. But with Taft the
telephone became again the common avenue of
conversation. He has introduced at least one
new telephonic custom a long-distance talk
with his family every evening, when he is away
from home. Instead of the solitary telephone of
Cleveland-Harrison days, the White House has
now a branch exchange of its own--Main 6--
with a sheaf of wires that branch out into every
room as well as to the nearest central.
Next to public officials, bankers were perhaps
the last to accept the facilities of the telephone.
They were slow to abandon the fallacy that no
business can be done without a written record.
James Stillman, of New York, was first among
bankers to foresee the telephone era. As early
as 1875, while Bell was teaching his infant
telephone to talk, Stillman risked two thousand
dollars in a scheme to establish a crude dial
system of wire communication, which later grew
into New York's first telephone exchange. At
the present time, the banker who works closest to
his telephone is probably George W. Perkins, of
the J. P. Morgan group of bankers. "He is the
only man," says Morgan, "who can raise twenty
millions in twenty minutes." The Perkins plan
of rapid transit telephony is to prepare a list of
names, from ten to thirty, and to flash from one
to another as fast as the operator can ring them
up. Recently one of the other members of the
Morgan bank proposed to enlarge its telephone
equipment. "What will we gain by more wires?"
asked the operator. "If we were to put in a six-
hundred pair cable, Mr. Perkins would keep it
busy."
The most brilliant feat of the telephone in the
financial world was done during the panic of
1907. At the height of the storm, on a Saturday
evening, the New York bankers met in an almost
desperate conference. They decided, as an
emergency measure of self-protection, not to ship
cash to Western banks. At midnight they telephoned
this decision to the bankers of Chicago
and St. Louis. These men, in turn, conferred by
telephone, and on Sunday afternoon called up the
bankers of neighboring States. And so the news
went from 'phone to 'phone, until by Monday
morning all bankers and chief depositors were
aware of the situation, and prepared for the
team-play that prevented any general disaster.
As for stockbrokers of the Wall Street species,
they transact practically all their business by
telephone. In their stock exchange stand six
hundred and forty one booths, each one the terminus
of a private wire. A firm of brokers will
count it an ordinary year's talking to send fifty
thousand messages; and there is one firm which
last year sent twice as many. Of all brokers,
the one who finally accomplished most by telephony
was unquestionably E. H. Harriman. In
the mansion that he built at Arden, there were
a hundred telephones, sixty of them linked to
the long-distance lines. What the brush is to
the artist, what the chisel is to the sculptor, the
telephone was to Harriman. He built his fortune
with it. It was in his library, his bathroom,
his private car, his camp in the Oregon wilder-
ness. No transaction was too large or too involved
to be settled over its wires. He saved
the credit of the Erie by telephone--lent it five
million dollars as he lay at home on a sickbed.
"He is a slave to the telephone," wrote a magazine
writer. "Nonsense," replied Harriman,
"it is a slave to me."
The telephone arrived in time to prevent big
corporations from being unwieldy and aristocratic.
The foreman of a Pittsburg coal company
may now stand in his subterranean office
and talk to the president of the Steel Trust, who
sits on the twenty-first floor of a New York
skyscraper. The long-distance talks, especially,
have grown to be indispensable to the corporations
whose plants are scattered and geographically
misplaced--to the mills of New England,
for instance, that use the cotton of the South and
sell so much of their product to the Middle West.
To the companies that sell perishable commodities,
an instantaneous conversation with a
buyer in a distant city has often saved a carload
or a cargo. Such caterers as the meat-packers,
who were among the first to realize what Bell had
made possible, have greatly accelerated the
wheels of their business by inter-city conversations.
For ten years or longer the Cudahys have
talked every business morning between Omaha
and Boston, via fifteen hundred and seventy
miles of wire.
In the refining of oil, the Standard Oil
Company alone, at its New York office, sends
two hundred and thirty thousand messages
a year. In the making of steel, a chemical
analysis is made of each caldron of molten
pig-iron, when it starts on its way to be refined,
and this analysis is sent by telephone
to the steelmaker, so that he will know exactly
how each potful is to be handled. In the floating
of logs down rivers, instead of having relays of
shouters to prevent the logs from jamming, there
is now a wire along the bank, with a telephone
linked on at every point of danger. In the rearing
of skyscrapers, it is now usual to have a
temporary wire strung vertically, so that the
architect may stand on the ground and confer
with a foreman who sits astride of a naked girder
three hundred feet up in the air. And in the
electric light business, the current is distributed
wholly by telephoned orders. To give New
York the seven million electric lights that have
abolished night in that city requires twelve
private exchanges and five hundred and twelve
telephones. All the power that creates this artificial
daylight is generated at a single station, and
let flow to twenty-five storage centres. Minute
by minute, its flow is guided by an expert, who
sits at a telephone exchange as though he were a
pilot at the wheel of an ocean liner.
The first steamship line to take notice of the
telephone was the Clyde, which had a wire from
dock to office in 1877; and the first railway was
the Pennsylvania, which two years later was
persuaded by Professor Bell himself to give it a
trial in Altoona. Since then, this railroad has
become the chief beneficiary of the art of telephony.
It has one hundred and seventy-five exchanges,
four hundred operators, thirteen thousand
telephones, and twenty thousand miles of
wire--a more ample system than the city of
New York had in 1896.
To-day the telephone goes to sea in the pas-
senger steamer and the warship. Its wires
are waiting at the dock and the depot, so that a
tourist may sit in his stateroom and talk with
a friend in some distant office. It is one of the
most incredible miracles of telephony that a
passenger at New York, who is about to start for
Chicago on a fast express, may telephone to
Chicago from the drawing-room of a Pullman.
He himself, on the swiftest of all trains, will not
arrive in Chicago for eighteen hours; but the
flying words can make the journey, and RETURN,
while his train is waiting for the signal to start.
In the operation of trains, the railroads have
waited thirty years before they dared to trust the
telephone, just as they waited fifteen years before
they dared to trust the telegraph. In 1883 a few
railways used the telephone in a small way, but
in 1907, when a law was passed that made telegraphers
highly expensive, there was a general
swing to the telephone. Several dozen roads
have now put it in use, some employing it as an
associate of the Morse method and others as a
complete substitute. It has already been found
to be the quickest way of despatching trains. It
will do in five minutes what the telegraph did in
ten. And it has enabled railroads to hire more
suitable men for the smaller offices.
In news-gathering, too, much more than in
railroading, the day of the telephone has arrived.
The Boston Globe was the first paper to receive
news by telephone. Later came The Washington
Star, which had a wire strung to the Capitol,
and thereby gained an hour over its competitors.
To-day the evening papers receive most of their
news over the wire a la Bell instead of a la Morse.
This has resulted in a specialization of reporters
--one man runs for the news and another man
writes it. Some of the runners never come to
the office. They receive their assignments by
telephone, and their salaries by mail. There
are even a few who are allowed to telephone
their news directly to a swift linotype operator,
who clicks it into type on his machine, without
the scratch of a pencil. This, of course, is the
ideal method of news-gathering, which is rarely
possible.
A paper of the first class, such as The New
York World, has now an outfit of twenty trunk
lines and eighty telephones. Its outgoing calls
are two hundred thousand a year and its incoming
calls three hundred thousand, which means
that for every morning, evening, or Sunday
edition, there has been an average of seven hundred
and fifty messages. The ordinary newspaper
in a small town cannot afford such a service,
but recently the United Press has originated
a cooperative method. It telephones the news
over one wire to ten or twelve newspapers at one
time. In ten minutes a thousand words can in
this way be flung out to a dozen towns, as quickly
as by telegraph and much cheaper.
But it is in a dangerous crisis, when safety
seems to hang upon a second, that the telephone
is at its best. It is the instrument of emergencies,
a sort of ubiquitous watchman. When
the girl operator in the exchange hears a cry for
help--"Quick! The hospital!" "The fire department!"
"The police!" she seldom waits to
hear the number. She knows it. She is trained
to save half-seconds. And it is at such moments,
if ever, that the users of a telephone can appreciate
its insurance value. No doubt, if a King
Richard III were worsted on a modern battlefield,
his instinctive cry would be, "My Kingdom
for a telephone!"
When instant action is needed in the city of
New York, a General Alarm can in five minutes
be sent by the police wires over its whole vast
area of three hundred square miles. When,
recently, a gas main broke in Brooklyn, sixty girls
were at once called to the centrals in that part
of the city to warn the ten thousand families who
had been placed in danger. When the ill-fated
General Slocum caught fire, a mechanic in a
factory on the water-front saw the blaze, and had
the presence of mind to telephone the newspapers,
the hospitals, and the police. When a
small child is lost, or a convict has escaped from
prison, or the forest is on fire, or some menace
from the weather is at hand, the telephone bells
clang out the news, just as the nerves jangle the
bells of pain when the body is in danger. In one
tragic case, the operator in Folsom, New Mexico,
refused to quit her post until she had warned her
people of a flood that had broken loose in the
hills above the village. Because of her courage,
nearly all were saved, though she herself was
drowned at the switchboard. Her name--Mrs.
S. J. Rooke--deserves to be remembered.
If a disaster cannot be prevented, it is the
telephone, usually, that brings first aid to the
injured. After the destruction of San Francisco,
Governor Guild, of Massachusetts, sent an
appeal for the stricken city to the three hundred
and fifty-four mayors of his State; and by the
courtesy of the Bell Company, which carried the
messages free, they were delivered to the last
and furthermost mayors in less than five hours.
After the destruction of Messina, an order for
enough lumber to build ten thousand new houses
was cabled to New York and telephoned to
Western lumbermen. So quickly was this order
filled that on the twelfth day after the arrival
of the cablegram, the ships were on their way
to Messina with the lumber. After the Kansas
City flood of 1903, when the drenched city was
without railways or street-cars or electric lights,
it was the telephone that held the city together
and brought help to the danger-spots. And
after the Baltimore fire, the telephone exchange
was the last force to quit and the first to recover.
Its girls sat on their stools at the switchboard
until the window-panes were broken by the heat.
Then they pulled the covers over the board and
walked out. Two hours later the building was
in ashes. Three hours later another building
was rented on the unburned rim of the city, and
the wire chiefs were at work. In one day there
was a system of wires for the use of the city
officials. In two days these were linked to long-
distance wires; and in eleven days a two-thousand-
line switchboard was in full working trim.
This feat still stands as the record in rebuilding.
In the supreme emergency of war, the telephone
is as indispensable, very nearly, as the
cannon. This, at least, is the belief of the
Japanese, who handled their armies by telephone
when they drove back the Russians. Each body
of Japanese troops moved forward like a silkworm,
leaving behind it a glistening strand of
red copper wire. At the decisive battle of
Mukden, the silk-worm army, with a million
legs, crept against the Russian hosts in a vast
crescent, a hundred miles from end to end. By
means of this glistening red wire, the various
batteries and regiments were organized into
fifteen divisions. Each group of three divisions
was wired to a general, and the five generals
were wired to the great Oyama himself, who
sat ten miles back of the firing-line and sent
his orders. Whenever a regiment lunged forward,
one of the soldiers carried a telephone set.
If they held their position, two other soldiers ran
forward with a spool of wire. In this way and
under fire of the Russian cannon, one hundred
and fifty miles of wire were strung across the
battlefield. As the Japanese said, it was this
"flying telephone" that enabled Oyama to manipulate
his forces as handily as though he were
playing a game of chess. It was in this war, too,
that the Mikado's soldiers strung the costliest of
all telephone lines, at 203 Metre Hill. When
the wire had been basted up this hill to the summit,
the fortress of Port Arthur lay at their
mercy. But the climb had cost them twenty-
four thousand lives.
Of the seven million telephones in the United
States, about two million are now in farmhouses.
Every fourth American farmer is in telephone
touch with his neighbors and the market. Iowa
leads, among the farming States. In Iowa, not
to have a telephone is to belong to what a Londoner
would call the "submerged tenth" of the
population. Second in line comes Illinois, with
Kansas, Nebraska, and Indiana following closely
behind; and at the foot of the list, in the matter of
farm telephones, are Connecticut and Louisiana.
The first farmer who discovered the value of
the telephone was the market gardener. Next
came the bonanza farmer of the Red River
Valley--such a man, for instance, as Oliver
Dalrymple, of North Dakota, who found that by
the aid of the telephone he could plant and
harvest thirty thousand acres of wheat in a single
season. Then, not more than half a dozen years
ago, there arose a veritable Telephone Crusade
among the farmers of the Middle West. Cheap
telephones, yet fairly good, had by this time been
made possible by the improvements of the Bell
engineers; and stories of what could be done by
telephone became the favorite gossip of the day.
One farmer had kept his barn from being burned
down by telephoning for his neighbors; another
had cleared five hundred dollars extra profit on
the sale of his cattle, by telephoning to the best
market; a third had rescued a flock of sheep by
sending quick news of an approaching blizzard;
a fourth had saved his son's life by getting an
instantaneous message to the doctor; and so on.
How the telephone saved a three million dollar
fruit crop in Colorado, in 1909, is the story that
is oftenest told in the West. Until that year, the
frosts in the Spring nipped the buds. No farmer
could be sure of his harvest. But in 1909, the
fruit-growers bought smudge-pots--three hundred
thousand or more. These were placed in
the orchards, ready to be lit at a moment's notice.
Next, an alliance was made with the United
States Weather Bureau so that whenever the
Frost King came down from the north, a warning
could be telephoned to the farmers. Just
when Colorado was pink with apple blossoms, the
first warning came. "Get ready to light up your
smudge-pots in half an hour." Then the farmers
telephoned to the nearest towns: "Frost is
coming; come and help us in the orchards."
Hundreds of men rushed out into the country on
horseback and in wagons. In half an hour the
last warning came: "Light up; the thermometer
registers twenty-nine." The smudge-pot artillery
was set ablaze, and kept blazing until the
news came that the icy forces had retreated.
And in this way every Colorado farmer who
had a telephone saved his fruit.
In some farming States, the enthusiasm for the
telephone is running so high that mass meetings
are held, with lavish oratory on the general theme
of "Good Roads and Telephones." And as a
result of this Telephone Crusade, there are now
nearly twenty thousand groups of farmers, each
one with a mutual telephone system, and one-half
of them with sufficient enterprise to link their
little webs of wires to the vast Bell system, so that
at least a million farmers have been brought as
close to the great cities as they are to their own
barns.
What telephones have done to bring in the
present era of big crops, is an interesting story
in itself. To compress it into a sentence, we
might say that the telephone has completed
the labor-saving movement which started with
the McCormick reaper in 1831. It has lifted the
farmer above the wastefulness of being his own
errand-boy. The average length of haul from
barn to market in the United States is nine and a
half miles, so that every trip saved means an
extra day's work for a man and team. Instead
of travelling back and forth, often to no purpose,
the farmer may now stay at home and attend to
his stock and his crops.
As yet, few farmers have learned to appreciate
the value of quality in telephone service, as they
have in other lines. The same man who will pay
six prices for the best seed-corn, and who will
allow nothing but high-grade cattle in his barn,
will at the same time be content with the shabbiest
and flimsiest telephone service, without offering
any other excuse than that it is cheap. But
this is a transient phase of farm telephony. The
cost of an efficient farm system is now so little--
not more than two dollars a month, that the
present trashy lines are certain sooner or later to
go to the junk-heap with the sickle and the flail
and all the other cheap and unprofitable things.





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History of the Telephone
BY HERBERT N. CASSON
1910

PREFACE

Thirty-five short years, and presto! the newborn art of telephony is fullgrown. Three million telephones are now scattered abroad in foreign countries, and seven millions are massed here, in the land of its birth.

So entirely has the telephone outgrown the ridicule with which, as many people can well remember, it was first received, that it is now in most places taken for granted, as though it were a part of the natural phenomena of this planet. It has so marvellously extended the facilities of conversation--that "art in which a man has all mankind for competitors"--that it is now an indispensable help to whoever would live the convenient life. The disadvantage of being deaf and dumb to all absent persons, which was universal in pre-telephonic days, has now happily been overcome; and I hope that this story of how and by whom it was done will be a welcome addition to American libraries.

It is such a story as the telephone itself might tell, if it could speak with a voice of its own. It is not technical. It is not statistical. It is not exhaustive. It is so brief, in fact, that a second volume could readily be made by describing the careers of telephone leaders whose names I find have been omitted unintentionally from this book--such indispensable men, for instance, as William R. Driver, who has signed more telephone cheques and larger ones than any other man; Geo. S. Hibbard, Henry W. Pope, and W. D. Sargent, three veterans who know telephony in all its phases; George Y. Wallace, the last survivor of the Rocky Mountain pioneers; Jasper N. Keller, of Texas and New England; W. T. Gentry, the central figure of the Southeast, and the following presidents of telephone companies: Bernard E. Sunny, of Chicago; E. B. Field, of Denver; D. Leet Wilson, of Pittsburg; L. G. Richardson, of Indianapolis; Caspar E. Yost, of Omaha; James E. Caldwell, of Nashville; Thomas Sherwin, of Boston; Henry T. Scott, of San Francisco; H. J. Pettengill, of Dallas; Alonzo Burt, of Milwaukee; John Kil- gour, of Cincinnati; and Chas. S. Gleed, of Kansas City.

I am deeply indebted to most of these men for the information which is herewith presented; and also to such pioneers, now dead, as O. E. Madden, the first General Agent; Frank L. Pope, the noted electrical expert; C. H. Haskins, of Milwaukee; George F. Ladd, of San Francisco; and Geo. F. Durant, of St. Louis.

H. N. C. PINE HILL, N. Y., June 1, 1910.

CONTENT









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Endnoten