SOME SPLENDID TELEGRAPHING
“Are you gwine to be a member of the Pleiades Club?”
“Yes, I is; indeed, I is.”
This refrain was sung with much gusto by the members of the telegraph
club in session at the Telegraphers’ Tabernacle, on the planet Mars, on
the afternoon of the day set apart for the telegraphers’ tournament.
The song was set to the music of the “Old Lime Kiln Club” and was
enthusiastically received.
From all points of the compass were arriving in balloons, dirigibles,
aeroplanes, members of the craft anxious to be present at the big
blow-out. Submarines, only on pleasure bent, however, came up the
Hesperian canal, filled with the operators of the olden days; across
the River “Styxx” arrived colony after colony of ex-telegraph
officials, operators and linemen, but there was no elbowing to obtain a
front seat.
President Fred Catlin looked magnificent as he called the vast
assemblage to order. This took some little time, as there were many
new arrivals and much interest manifested by those already in the
Tabernacle to see who the newcomers were; there was also much visiting,
good humor and hilarity, and everybody was happy.
“As a preliminary,” said Mr. Catlin, “I will take pleasure in giving
our friends an illustration of how the Western Associated Press was
worked in 1875. We will have Albert S. Ayres, whom you all knew
as ‘Patsey’ Ayres, do the sending at Cincinnati and the following
gentlemen will do the receiving: at Indianapolis, Milton Goewey; St.
Louis, John W. McDonald of Texas; Louisville, Charles Newton; Memphis,
Ed. Foote; Nashville, James U. Rust; Chattanooga, Jack St. Clair; New
Orleans, Taylor Adams, and at Galveston, Alex. Sinnott.”
At the mention of each of these names, a shout of approval shook the
audience, which indicated that all were well and favorably known.
“Patsey” Ayres had been fumbling with the key for several minutes,
screwing it up until there was less than a thousandth part of an inch
play, and then began a series of dots and dashes, fast and furious,
but beautiful to listen to and like the music of a grand opera to the
trained ears of the telegraphers present.
For an hour or more Mr. Ayers continued his tireless and musical
performance on the key, but never once was it necessary for any of the
receivers to break him. All of these operators were wizards with the
stylus and many in the audience took back with them a manifold sheet as
a souvenir of the occasion.
This was a particularly happy event and recalled to mind to many the
great receiving of forty years ago.
“I find that you are so much pleased with this event that I shall take
pleasure in giving you an illustration of how ‘C. U. B.’ was sent over
the Overland in early days from Chicago,” said the president, “and I
have called for the following gentlemen to officiate:
“J. De Witt Congdon will do the pitching in Chicago and the following
will do the receiving at their respective offices: ‘Dad’ Armstrong at
Omaha, John Wilkie at Cheyenne, George Merrifield at Denver, Edward
C. Keeler at Ogden, Jack Wolfenden at Salt Lake, P. A. Rowe at Elko,
Davey Crawford at Virginia City, Joe Wood of Boston and E. H. Beardsley
at Sacramento, George Bowker and John Lowrey at San Francisco, John
Donnelly at Los Angeles, Billy Leigh and G. W. Thurman at Portland, Sam
McIntosh at New Westminster, B. C., and John Henderson at Victoria, B.
C.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Catlin, “this is a long circuit and you see you
can have any kind of weather you desire, from extreme cold to the
torrid zone, almost, but this never interferes with a good operator,
and now the performance will begin.”
While Mr. Congdon’s sending was not as beautiful as was that of Mr.
Ayres, it reached each point from the extreme northwest down to the
region of Catalina Island, each dot and dash arriving at its terminal
in perfect shape.
This was certainly a great feat and it was much talked about by the
happy visitors.
There was some delay in making the preparations and before the main
event was reached it was suggested by Hank Bogardus that the business
be suspended for the time being, so that all could witness a game of
base ball about to open on the Elysian Fields, at the rear of the
tournament hall. “Those base ball enthusiasts,” said Bogy, “will make
such a noise that it will be impossible to hear our instruments in the
hall, and I for one do not want to have the beautiful Morse that will
be in evidence drowned out.”
All agreed to the suggestion and forthwith there was a parade from
the hall to the ball grounds of famous telegraphers that shone in the
earthly telegraph firmament in years gone by.
It was interesting to hear the remarks made by these former “knights of
the key” as the different plays were made, showing plainly that they
had not lost any of their former enthusiasm for the national game.
“Who is the manager of the office on the grounds?” inquired Billy
Blanchard. “Bring him up here so he can enjoy the game with us,” but
before that official could be found and Billy’s request carried out the
game had finished and the telegraph crowd returned to the hall to take
up their work where they left off. When they got back and seated it was
evident that they were hardly in the right frame of mind, after the
excitement over the base ball game, to resume the details of their own
work, so President Catlin said that as there was no hurry to finish the
work in hand he suggested that the tournament be adjourned until the
next day. This would give all hands a chance to get over the effects of
their base ball experience and be able to concentrate their thoughts
upon the more important work in hand.
This suggestion was gladly accepted and all filed out and boarded
a canal craft for a ride down one of the Martian waterways in the
beautiful moonlight.