Phenomenal Telegraphing.
It wasin the Nation’s centennial year that the writer was employed by the Western Union Company, at St. Louis, and worked, what was called in those days, the “Long Horn” wire to Texas.
The hours of labor were from 5 P. M. till lines were cleared up, generally before midnight, and all bent their best efforts in keeping business moving.
An adjournment to Sprague & Butler’s rotisserie after the evening’s work was performed, where a substantial spread was in readiness, was next in order, and here it was that “shop talk” was indulged in and a good time was sure to follow.
Fred B. Moxon was the pride of the office. He was still in his teens, but a master of his chosen profession. He worked the New Orleans wire, opposite the renowned Bert Ayres, the finest operator in the world, and the amount of business handled on that wire was marvelously great. Ayres and Moxon would get down to their work as if they had not a second to spare, but the effort was easy for them and neither suffered from nervous prostration.
One night there happened to be unusually heavy business on the New Orleans wire, but just at 11:55 P. M., Moxon sent his last message, remarking, “I’m off now, good night.”
“Wait a second,” said Ayres, “our N. Y. wire is down and we have about 100 messages to go there and you’ll have to relay ’em.”
Visions of a deferred lunch and a weary walk to his room on Targee Street, all alone, flitted across Mox’s mind, but he had lots of friends, who were ready to help out with their services.
“I’ve got a scheme,” cried Moxon, and the services of Sid Fairchild were secured.
“I’d like to have you cut the N. O. wire in on four different local setts,” which was speedily done.
Moxon secured the aid of Charlie Day, Thomas P. Wheeler and the writer, who took their respective seats at the quartette table.
“I say, Bert, tell me just how many you have on hand,” asked the St. Louis man.
“There are precisely 120, and they are all night messages, all from New Orleans and all are destined for New York.”
“All right, you need not say ‘night message,’ omit the place from, date, all punctuations, ‘sig’ and cut ‘em to the bone,” came from St. Louis, “and mind you, hurry up,” taunted Moxon.
This was probably the first time in his life that Albert Ayres was requested to “hurry up,” he being used to hear the opposite, “to slow up,” and his black eyes snapped in anticipation of the fun he was about to have.
His key flew open and a fire of dots and dashes ensued, which to a layman might sound like shot poured into a tin horn.
The reputation of the whole office seemed to be at stake, and all gathered around to see, what was rightly thought would be an unparalleled feat of rapid transmission.
Moxon took the first message, Day the second, Wheeler the third, while the writer handled the fourth, each rotating in this manner, filling in dates, destinations, etc., awaiting his turn to copy the next message.
The excitement was intense when it was announced that 12 messages had been received in five minutes.
There were no breaks, or interruptions, and at 12:55 A. M., precisely 55 minutes from the starting time, the120 messages were received and were en route to New York, accomplishing, probably, the most unequalled feat of fast sending ever attempted.
The matter was kept an office secret and Moxon received much credit. It never leaked out how his tact secured ready co-operation and enabled him to cope with a difficult situation.