PLEIADES CLUB Telegraphers’ Paradise on Planet Mars

By JEFF. W. HAYES AUTHOR OF Tales of the Sierras, Looking Backward at Portland, Paradise on Earth, Portland A. D. 1999, Autographs and Memoirs of the Telegraph, etc.

PUBLISHED BY MULTNOMAH PRINTING COMPANY PORTLAND, OREGON MCMXVII

DEDICATORY

To Edgar W. Collins, Poet-Laureate of the Telegraph; noble, high-minded gentleman; a true friend; this little volume is inscribed with a loving heart.

PREFACE

In offering the “Pleiades Club” to the public, I have no apologies to make. Some may object to the declarations contained herein, but they are all consistent with intelligent beliefs, and not contrary to fixed or orthodox faith. “There is no death,” and my thought is to strengthen and impress this health-giving idea upon all of my readers. I have undertaken to describe a reign of harmony that exists after “Life’s fitful fever” which is more worthy of credence than the hell afire and damnation espoused by some creeds and religions; and I hope that my telegraph friends will feel better on this score from a perusal of the “Pleiades Club.”

THE AUTHOR.

CHAPTER I. ON THE PLANET MARS

Eternity Illustrated.

ETERNITY is an awe-inspiring theme and one which our little finite minds are unable to comprehend. It is a subject, however, which should never worry or distress us, when we stop to realize that we are all living in the eternal now.

Once upon a time, an evangelist, in following up his line of business, rendered a discourse on “Eternity” which would have given one an opportunity for endless mathematics.

“Supposing this earth was a huge ball of steel,” he began, “25,000 miles in circumference and a little bird would pass over it once every thousand years, lightly touching this immense steel body with the tip of its wing. Were you to tell the souls in hades that they would be released by the time the bird had cut a hole through and divided the sphere, there would be great rejoicing among the condemned.”

Knowing that there is nothing lost in God’s creation this little allegory should never make one nervous, for we also know that, like John Brown, our “soul goes marching on,” onward and upward.

Having delivered my text, I will proceed with my story.

Lincoln’s Birthday on Planet Mars.

It was a delightful gathering which assembled at a dinner on the planet Mars given in honor of Abraham Lincoln, on the occasion of his birthday, by the Pleiades Club, composed mostly of old-time telegraph men and their admirers, A. D. 1916.

[Pg 8]Numerically, the gathering was greater than that which assembled on any previous occasion on Mother Earth, and viewing the happy, smiling faces of those present, one felt that it was good to be here.

Sounders clicked on every side; all were readable, and harmony prevailed, nobody ever sending six dots for the letter “p” or the figure 4 for a “v.”

President Lincoln presided and much attention was paid to his remarks. The President’s face possessed that wonderfully kind and loving appearance so apparent during life and his voice bespoke his gentle spirit. Earnestly he chatted with some late arrivals on Mars, asking particularly for his old telegraph associates on earth. He enquired about the “Sacred three” and Billy Dealy and many of the boys in the field in the stirring days of the war.

The President was a busy soul, looking out for “his Father’s business,” as he expressed it, and he was the recipient of much reverence from all assembled.

Aaron Hilliker Sings Olden Song.

Music was called for, when to the astonishment of all, the form of A. B. Hilliker appeared at the threshold. Aaron was as full of bonhomme as of yore and responded to many requests by singing “The Old Oaken Bucket,” which evoked an enthusiastic encore.

“What did you sine in the spring of ’73?” queried Jim Largay.

“You should have asked me what I sined in ’53,” replied Hilliker, as he smiled at Professor Morse, who pleasantly returned the recognition.

“The question before the Club tonight is ‘Preparedness,’” remarked General Thomas T. Eckert, “and I would like to see this subject fully discussed,” continued that gallant gentleman.

[Pg 9]

Biff Cook Makes a Speech.

“Never mind,” interposed “Biff” Cook, “that is all provided for and should our beloved country ever get into a war, it will be one of short duration. It will be a one man’s war against a congress of nations. Why, my friends, the ‘Wizard of Menlo Park’ has all that studied out, but he is not talking about it or giving the idea away.”

“Why,” continued Cook, emphasizing his words, “Tom Edison has it all figured out that in twelve hours’ time he can weave a cobweb of wires on our ocean’s shore to completely annihilate immediately any threatening craft fifty miles out at sea. I wish that I could communicate this information to the timid people down there on earth, for I believe it would do them a world of good.

“I know all about this, for Tom told me about the scheme back there in ’74, when I used to ‘dot on his quadruplex’ along with Eddie Fullum and Billy Landy, at 145 Broadway.

“No, boys,” went on “Biff,” “let’s talk of the wireless. We are all so much interested in that. Why, it was only last week that we all heard New York talking to Honolulu and I tried to break in, but that ‘ham’ in New York would not adjust and we lost our opportunity of being heard. Just think, if he had pulled up his relay just half an inch we would have been in direct communication. If that fellow had ever worked in Cheyenne alongside of Comb Green, when I worked the overland at Omaha, he would have known something about keeping adjusted and the dear old Earth would have received startling news which would have thrown the feat of Commander Peary into the shade.

“Don’t you know, cull,” continued Cook, “that I really believe that our planet Mars may be called upon to perform her good offices in case any hostile nation should[Pg 10] attempt to invade the United States, and I believe that Tom Edison has solved that intricate problem.”

With these remarks, “Biff” sat down amid thundering applause.

The St. Louis band, composed of W. W. Cummings, Sidney B. Fairchild, James Nelson and James Murray, then rendered “The Star-Spangled Banner,” after which the audience was addressed on the subject of wireless telegraph.

Professor Zingalli, of Milan, whose name would indicate that he was “flagging” while on earth, gave the assemblage a graphic account of the possibilities of the wireless.

“Why, my friends,” he said, “this science is still in its infancy. Were I to tell you of all its possibilities, you would not believe me. The day is sure to come when all you gentlemen will have an opportunity of talking to your loved ones on earth by means of the wireless telephone. There will be a million circuits running into Chicago, none of them interfering with the other. Every hamlet in the country will have a wireless telephone and telegraph instrument. Trains will be run by wireless, ships will use wireless as a motive power and city car lines’ power will be usurped by the ever present wireless.”

“Then I would not have to walk any more from San Francisco to Chicago, would I?” ejaculated the irrepressible “Bogy.”

“Cold day when you ever walked,” laughed Hank Cowan, who sat opposite his former colleague. “That ‘con’ told me a different story; yes, you walked all the way, of course you did, but only from one end of the car to the other.”

This sally caused much merriment among the members of the Club, which gave way to a speech entitled “The[Pg 11] Future of the Telegraph,” specially prepared for the occasion by Col. Mark D. Crain.

The meeting then adjourned subject to the call of the secretary, who was none else than that prince of good fellows, Jim P. Doody.

CHAPTER II. FOURTH OF JULY ON PLANET MARS

THERE was much commotion on the planet Mars.

As closely as the most patriotic mathematician could reckon time and compare it with a corresponding period on the Earth, it was Fourth of July and the dwellers on Mars decided to celebrate in a “sane” manner.

Everybody to their own liking and the American members of the Pleiades Club determined that this should be the occasion when Colonel Marquis Delafayette Crain should address them on “The Future of the Telegraph.”

The club members began gathering at an early hour, forming into little knots in a semi-circle around the speaker’s stand. It was a “get acquainted” meeting, too, and the committee of arrangements was kept very busy.

“Yes, I have known Bert Ayres for many years and copied press from him many a night,” said O. A. Gurley, as Mr. Ayres was introduced. Merry sallies passed between the two gentlemen, when the gavel sounded with a loud rap and the master of ceremonies introduced Col. Mark D. Crain, the speaker.

Loud and enthusiastic greetings followed this introduction and the Colonel smilingly acknowledged the welcome.

[Pg 12]

Colonel Crain Delivers Address.

“I am to speak today upon the future of the telegraph,” he began, but he was interrupted by Ed. Parmalee, who asked him to change his topic to the “past” history of the telegraph.

“Cannot do it just now, as I am all primed with my topic, and some other time will do; besides, you know, we are now in Eternity and we have all the time there is.”

The Colonel then took up his manuscript, which he began to read:

“The telegraph has made astounding progress during the past five years,” he began, “but there are much better things in store for the employes than ever before.

“For instance, a device has been invented which practically annihilates time when it comes to taking messages off the wires.

“A typewriter with the standard keyboard is used, but the combinations are numerous. To an expert, ten words are written with one touch of the key and a fifty-word night letter will be written by simply touching five different keys on the typewriter. It all depends upon knowing how, and you know,” remarked the Colonel merrily, “we get paid for what we know, and not for what we do.

“You can now see that it will take but ten seconds to receive a fifty-word night letter, but the toll to the public is just the same. The companies, however, are willing to divide the earnings with the operators and a new schedule of salaries has been made as follows:

“Operators will receive ten mills for each message handled, but they are required to handle at least 500 messages every hour, their work being confined to five hours a day.

“You see their wages will therefore be $5 per hour, or $25 per day for five hours’ work. The company will not[Pg 13] permit an operator to work more than twenty days a month, so the maximum salary for each operator will be $500.

“The company will furnish three meals a day—”

“Did I understand you to say ‘free meals a day?’” broke in Jake Tubman, who sat near the speaker.

“I should have said three free meals a day,” laughingly replied the speaker, and, continuing, “and automobiles will call for and return each employe home.

“The chief will meet each operator at the door when he quits for the day and ask him the state of his health, how he enjoyed his work, and if he has any grievance to relate. The manager, too, will greet operators all at the landing of the elevator and ask them if they care to ‘draw’ today.”

“Oh, my, that strikes me about right,” cried out Fred Loomis, and many others showed their appreciation of the innovation.

“All operators will be treated with much consideration and distinction, especial attention being given to pacifying all recalcitrants and smoothing out all kicks and complaints which may arise, but it is thought the programme outlined will wipe out all differences.”

Colonel Crain’s speech was followed with wild applause and a big demonstration. The band played “Happy Days” on the harps.

After order had been restored, Colonel Crain was asked to speak on the “old timers,” it being remarked that he should be quite at home on that topic.

“Yes, I know a few of them,” began Mark. “They came and went when I was in Kansas City, and we always had a delightful time.

“Let’s see, there was Jim Delong—”

“Present,” interrupted the voice of Mr. Delong, amid applause.

[Pg 14]The speaker continued:

“Yes, there was Billy Spink, too—”

“Here also,” broke in the familiar voice of Mr. Spink, who received an encore.

“Then there was Frank Farley, Dan Martin, Billy Foy, Jim Cook, Milton Geowey, Harry Smith, John Topliff—”

“Don’t forget me,” broke in Fred Swain, as he swung into sight on the arm of Bob Rankin.

“I’m not going to overlook you,” continued Crain; “I remember the time you wanted to take a trip with me from the window of the tenth floor of the Chicago office, without an aeroplane.”

This remark evoked much merriment among the old timers of Chicago.

“Well, gentlemen, it is a great pleasure to meet and greet you all here today and to realize that we do not have to put a sub. on and that all the wires are always working O. K.”

“That is because you have the pick of the construction department,” smilingly remarked M. C. Bristol, and the assemblage acquiesced.

“Let’s get back to the original text,” said Billy West, who had been deeply interested in Mr. Crain’s address. “I would like to hear more of the future of the telegraph and I greatly enjoy hearing Colonel Crain’s remarks.”

“Yes, here are a few pages that the Colonel overlooked,” said secretary Jim Doody, handing the same to Mr. Crain.

“Ah, yes, I have something else to say and a little story to relate which, I think, you will all be pleased to listen to.”

Silence once more reigned as the speaker began:

“The telegraph stock is away up, Western Union selling for $495 and Postal $415. The companies are studying the advisability of segregating a portion of their stock for[Pg 15] charitable purposes, which idea is under consideration by the executive committee.

“An operator will be retired when he has reached the age of thirty with a pension of five years’ salary in advance to enable him to go into some profitable business.”

“I’m glad I am not on Earth to witness such dreadful extravagances,” interrupted Russell Sage, who had been an attentive listener.

“Those are my sentiments also,” cried Jay Gould, who had arrived in time to hear the last part of Colonel Crain’s address.

“My remarks will close with a little story about one of our most distinguished members. The story may not be a new one to you who are here present, but it is a good one,” and Colonel Crain paused.

“Oh, go ahead,” shouted the audience; “let’s have the story.”

“It was about a quarter of a century ago on the planet Mars and a great commotion was going on at the gates. There had been an unusual exodus from Earth, the accommodation train bringing with it many millionaires, all ready to become citizens.

“One man hurriedly left the train and began elbowing his way through the surging crowd.

“Addressing the doorkeeper, the newcomer asked to be admitted instantly, but was told that he must take his turn.

“Indignation filled the newly arrived, who exclaimed, ‘My name is Jay Gould and while on earth I could buy my way in at any place. I did not bring any money with me, but I can give you a check for any amount you say. I want to get in quickly, so just say how much money you want.’

“The doorkeeper paused for a moment and replied: ‘A million up here counts for one cent and a second of time is the same as a thousand years.’

[Pg 16]“‘All right,’ exclaimed Gould, ‘just tell me how much money you want to let me in.’

“Again did the doorkeeper stop to think, finally ejaculating, ‘One hundred millions.’

“‘Here is a check for it,’ said Gould.

“‘Wait a minute,’ replied the doorkeeper.

“This conversation occurred about twenty-five years ago and it is evident that Mr. Gould did not ‘wait a minute’ as suggested by the doorkeeper.”

This story was received with a tumult of applause by the entire assemblage, after which the meeting adjourned.

It was understood that the next meeting would be addressed by a number of southern operators, who will relate their telegraphic experience while on Earth.

CHAPTER III. DIXIE DAY ON PLANET MARS

IT WAS certainly a choice gathering of spirits who flocked together at Telegraphers’ Tabernacle to listen to the doings of the boys from Dixie who were members of this honorable body.

Fred B. Moxon, courtly and affable as of old, called the meeting to order.

Mr. Moxon explained that the meeting was called for the purpose of having a pleasant time and everyone was cordially invited to say something.

“Is Bob Irwin, ‘Canada’s fastest man,’ present?” came an inquiry from Dave Ryan.

“No, Bob and Aleck Sinnot went a-fishing this morning down to Hesperian canal, but we expect to see them back very soon.”

[Pg 17]“I say, Dave,” queried Kentucky George Ellsworth, “how about that story that Brother Topping tells about you when you were on General Bragg’s staff? Did the General really cease hostilities on a certain occasion till you could be located?”

“Just you read United States history and get better acquainted with me,” testily replied Ryan. But a smile speedily lit up the old war horse’s face when he recognized the president of the meeting.

“Well, if there isn’t Fred Moxon, whom I left in St. Louis in 1875. Glad to see you, old boy; do you remember how you used to paste me when I was down there in Galveston? I tell you what, to take you and fight those native mosquitoes was a bigger job than fighting under General Bragg.”

“Yes, Dave, you remember how that old Long Horn wire used to work and how those repeaters at Denison would rattle? The man in charge of the Denison repeaters went to sleep one night and I could not hear you break.”

“I never broke in my life,” interrupted Ryan.

“That’s right, too,” agreed Moxon, “and the only way I knew you were getting me was to ask New Orleans.”

“Same old stunt,” broke in Cy Whitaker, who just arrived and took a seat in front.

“Why, here is Ed Whitford, is he in our class?” asked “Fid” Powers.

“Yes, he is eligible, for he worked two winters in New Orleans. Let him sit down, as I have one on him,” suggested Dick Babbitt.

“Sit down, Ed, you are welcome at our festive board. I want to tell the boys of the joke you played on me once upon a time.

“I dropped into the Chicago office to get acquainted with the boys and see what new things had been introduced. Whitford was always the master of ceremonies in[Pg 18] the Chicago office, doubtless because he could always see a funny side to everything.

“‘Look at this big ground wire,’ said Whitford, pointing to the iron pillar, which ran from floor to ceiling, the only obstruction in the big room. ‘Yes, this is the ground wire which grounds every wire in Chicago and ofttimes holds millions of volts. There is enough electricity in the ground wire at this minute to completely annihilate an entire army if applied in the proper way; yes, this ground wire is one of the institutions of Chicago.

“‘Want to see some good receiving? Well, come here and witness the finest operator in the world. He can copy 100 words behind, as I will show you.’”

“Going up to Jack Carroll, who was receiving a special from Luke Fisher, at Omaha, Whitford grabbed Carroll’s hand, which he shook for two minutes, Fisher sending at top notch speed.

“Releasing his hand, Carroll took up a new sheet and began to copy just as if he had not been interrupted.

“‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ ejaculated the spectators, but we did not know that Jack had a time in squaring himself with Luke Fisher to get him to repeat the missing portion.”