Edison and the Electric Chair_ A Story of Light and Death - Mark Essig [126]
Edison genuinely believed that the electric chair was more humane than hanging, but he went to such lengths to defend it only because he saw it as a useful weapon in his battle against alternating current. Although inspired in part by an intense dislike for George Westinghouse, Edison's most powerful motivation in the battle of the currents was his genuine fear of alternating current.
In one limited sense Edison succeeded in his campaign. It was only in the midst of the electric wire panic of 1889, when he was pressing for severe restrictions on alternating current, that Westinghouse and the other recalcitrant lighting firms began to cooperate with efforts to place their wires underground, thereby lowering the risk to the public. Ultimately, however, Edison lost the battle of the currents, as alternating current became the industry standard. He certainly had overestimated its risks, probably because he generalized too broadly from the case of Manhattan, where high population density, sloppy installations, and lax regulation combined to make high-voltage current especially dangerous. In other cities—Paris, Berlin, Chicago—underground wires and better regulation made it safer. A ban on alternating current also would have handed much of the electricity market to the Edison interests, and the public recognized the danger of this. As the World explained, "We do not want to be grilled by electricity or oppressed by monopoly"5
The question is not so much why Edison's campaign failed as why he thought it might succeed. "It is impossible now that any man, or body of men, should resist the course of alternating-current development," an electrical journal stated in 1889. "Joshua may command the sun to stand still, but Mr. Edison is not Joshua." Edison's nearest approach to triumph—during the wire panic—was also the moment of his defeat. When the city work crews chopped down the offending electric light wires, the resulting gloom served as an advertisement for electric light; only when the light disappeared did people realize how dependent upon it they had become. Alternating current could satisfy the demand much more easily than direct. If Edison had succeeded in banning alternating current, he would have saved many people from accidental death. Yet he also would have stalled the spread of electricity and stymied industrial growth.6
The placement of Manhattan's electrical wires in underground conduits beautified the city and lowered the risk of accidental shock. The illustration on the left appeared in Harper's Weekly in 1889; the photograph on the right was taken about 1910.
On one occasion when Edison called for strict limits on alternating current, a reporter challenged his motives. "Your statements are shaped very much by your business connection," the reporter charged. "Assume that they are, which they are not," Edison replied. "That does not alter the truth of my statements. Would I be likely to make statements on a scientific matter which could be proved as wrong?"7
But this was not a matter of scientific truth or falsity. Edison and his opponents were engaged in the assessment of risk: How much danger would people tolerate in exchange for the convenience of electric light? After the wire panic, the public's fears about electrical safety quieted. Part of this was due to better insulation and better regulation, but people continued to die. Medical journal articles from the early twentieth century—such as "A Case of Death from the Electric Current While Handling the Telephone"—seemed to confirm Edison's worst fears about the domestic dangers of the current. By the 1920s—the decade when electricity finally became common in American homes—about 1,000 Americans