The Last Days of Night(74)

“I agree with you, sir. The Westinghouse Electric Company has never, and will never, sell either my agents or me a licensed A/C system.”

“All right.”

“But the same cannot be said for all of Mr. Westinghouse’s licensees.”

While Paul had recuperated at Bellevue, Carter and Hughes had helped Westinghouse to license local manufacturers to build and distribute his electrical systems. Those local shops were their own corporations, which paid royalties to Westinghouse on the equipment they sold. They were also supposed to use the sales contracts that Westinghouse provided them—the contracts that Carter and Hughes had drawn up. If one had crafted its own language, it would have had to do so specifically for the purpose of double-crossing Westinghouse. This would have to have been planned ages ago, a Trojan horse in Westinghouse operations.

A small, round man stood up from the gallery. All eyes in the courtroom turned to see him walk down the center aisle and up to Harold Brown’s desk.

“If it please the court,” said Charles Coffin as he stood beside Brown. “I am the president of the Thomson-Houston Electric Company. I am a licensee for the Westinghouse Electric Company, and I have the right to sell generators to whomever I choose.”

Paul turned to face the man he’d last seen in his own offices on the day he’d returned from Bellevue.

“This is a bill of sale,” said Coffin, “for one A/C generator from my company to Harold Brown. It grants him the right to resell this device to whomever he chooses, on whatever terms he chooses. And the paperwork was drawn up by my people. Not by Mr. Cravath or his partners.”

Coffin winked at Paul, who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His face flushed with anger. Thomson-Houston depended on Westinghouse for the entirety of its business—for its very survival. At this betrayal, Westinghouse would cut all ties to Coffin’s company. What was Coffin thinking? Unless…

Coffin was realigning his company. He was switching sides.

“I am quite certain, Your Honor,” said Paul, “that as soon as next week the Thomson-Houston Electric Company will announce that it’s switching from A/C to D/C. And that it’s partnering with Edison. I have no doubt that Mr. Coffin will be well compensated for this betrayal.”

“I don’t believe my dealings with Edison General Electric have a thing to do with today’s proceedings. And of course my business is no longer any of yours.”

It didn’t take long for Judge Day to go over the documents, or to rule that they did in fact promise exactly what Coffin and Brown said they promised. A few minutes later Paul had lost, yet again.

“It was a good try,” said Harold Brown as they all left the courtroom. “But not quite good enough.”

“I will make it my mission to see that neither of you gets away with this,” said Paul.

“Really?” said Coffin with a smile. “How?”

Paul opened his mouth to speak, but found himself without a suitable retort. He didn’t have a move to make.

“Oh,” added Brown. “And you may consider that payback for my office door. Did you really have to kick the goddamned thing down?”





Sometimes when you innovate, you make mistakes. It is best to admit them quickly, and get on with improving your other innovations.

—STEVE JOBS



ON AUGUST 6, 1889, William Kemmler was to be executed upon a “chair” designed by Harold Brown. The chair would be wired up to an A/C generator. The generator had been theorized by Nikola Tesla, perfected and integrated into a functional system by George Westinghouse, and then manufactured by Charles Coffin. It would soon send over a thousand volts of alternating current into William Kemmler.

Brown had the gall to arrange invitations for both Westinghouse and Paul. Westinghouse threw out the letter. Edison would not attend either, of course. He’d made a few public comments about the brouhaha in Buffalo, but he remained steadfastly “uninvolved.” Reporters who wrote about the “controversy” surrounding the debate between D/C and A/C asked him whether he thought Westinghouse’s current would get the job done. Edison answered that Westinghouse’s current was a dreadful thing, and was fit for little else besides murder.

Which left Paul to attend the execution alone. He felt that someone on his side should be there. Paul had seen grisly scenes before. He’d even seen a death by electricity, in the air above Broadway a year ago. He wasn’t one to shy from the grotesque. If this was to be the end, Paul had no intention of covering his eyes.

Paul arrived at the New York State prison in Auburn at 6:00 A.M. A crowd had already gathered outside the gates. Reporters awaited the first news they could fire away to their editors. Citizens hoped for a glimpse of the dead killer. Paul muscled his way through the commotion. He was recognized by a few of the reporters. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. Especially the press.

Inside the prison gates, Paul was led to a basement newly renovated for the proceedings. The walls had been painted, the windows polished, a fresh set of chairs brought in for the viewing gallery. Paul noticed two gas lamps along the walls. He almost laughed. They didn’t need lighting. The morning sunshine poured into the clean basement from two tall windows. Thirty or so guests took their seats. There was little chitchat. Most of the men were physicians, come to see for themselves what the strange current did to human flesh. Two reporters had been granted attendance; the prison warden had personally selected them. A few criminal lawyers, the district attorney, and Kemmler’s court-appointed defense lawyer represented the legal community. Judge Day was there. And so was Harold Brown.