Collecting In 1869 - An Insulator Fantasy
by Morgan Davis
Reprinted from "Crown Jewels of the Wire", January 1989, page 21
It has been an unusually warm spring, and the roads were still damp and
steaming in the early morning sun. Bill McDonald huddled over in the wagon seat
and watched his horse gingerly avoid the water-filled potholes. He reflected as
his mare plodded towards the access trail to the Grand Trunk Railway. 1868 had
been a good year for Bill. He had entered his 20th year of service with the
Montreal Telegraph Company, and although he had trained many young linemen over
the years, he preferred to work in the field rather than accept the offers of
the firm to move to a management position.
The freedom of his job, the travel,
the outdoors -- all these factors outweighed the prestige of "rising in the
ranks" to Bill. He had joined Montreal Telegraph in 1848, virtually at the
company's inception, a young man of 17 fascinated by the invention of the
"new-fangled electrical contraption" which enabled folks from
widespread parts in Upper Canada to communicate in minutes rather than weeks.
The wagon had now reached the tracks, and his horse knew well the turn onto the
small path that paralleled the railway. Bill's eyes looked up now, to the tops
of the telegraph poles and the wires they supported. A rainbow of sparkling
colored glass shone in the sunlight. He had worked on the crew that originally
built the line from Montreal to Toronto and had watched the re-builds over the
years from a single sideblock to two four-pin crossarms. There were eight
insulators on each pole now to inspect on his rounds.
The colored glass reminded
him of his days as a boy when his mother had insisted on Bill's attendance at
church. As the tiresome sermon wore on, young Bill would gaze through the
stained glass windows of the church, wishing he could be out at the creek
hauling in walleyes or largemouth bass. The color in the air took him back,
dazzling in their bright glow. He could see deep cobalt blues, vibrant yellows,
rich plum reds and purples, and many shades of green, from soft lime to dark
emerald.
The wagon gave a sudden bump over the worn path, and Bill looked back
to see an old wood-covered glass tube insulator the wagon wheel had crushed. There was quite a
heavy load in the box today, filled with crates and barrels of new insulators
and wire, his large, wooden toolbox, climbers, and a cross-arm or two. He
recalled installing the wood-covered insulators and was happy that they were
now replaced with the glass ones. Without the wood shield, damaged insulators
were easier to spot. Besides, he thought these new ones were prettier.
He had
recently read an article in the Electrical Journal about the invention of
internally threaded insulators by a fellow named Cauvet in the United States. Bill had not yet
seen this type, but he thought they would soon be replacing the smooth pinhole
types he had worked with for so many years.
Up ahead was his first task of the
day. Two bare pins on the lower crossarm -- the tie wire still looped around the
pins, but no glass to protect the circuit. Al the base of the pole were a few
shards of glass. "Damn trigger-happy fools," he muttered. He spun around
in his seat, reached for the crow-bar and pried the lid off a crate stenciled
Hamilton Glass Works. Nestled in the excelsior were brand-new insulators,
embossed on the bases M.T.CO. These were the darkest blue he had seen in a long
time. He searched through several pieces to find a perfect unchipped one with a
bold embossing, and placed it carefully in his leather lunch bag. Often he would
find small chips and scrapes on the new insulators from careless handling by the
glass house packers or perhaps the rough wagon ride. But Bill would only keep
the perfect specimens for his collection. The company wouldn't miss the
occasional "theft," he chuckled to himself.
Only last week, his friend and
fellow lineman, Jack Carlton, had visited Bill's house after work for a mug or
two of ale. When he saw Bill's collection on the shelves in the window, he had
laughed out loud and threw a derisive look at Bill. "Don't you see enough
of those on the job? What the heck are you keeping them in your window
for?" Bill just smiled. "I like 'em" was all he said.
On went the
climbers. Bill drew a couple of burlap strips out of the bag along with a tin cup
of his special "stickum juice," and grabbed a couple of the new blue M.T.CO.'s. Up the pole, he undid one end of the tie wire, dipped the burlap into
the can, draped the strip over the pin and jammed the insulator on. As was his
custom, he made a fist and banged on the flat top twice. He then placed the
heavy tie wire around the wire groove and put two twists around the line wire.
He repeated this procedure on the other pin. He had done this so many times, it
was automatic with no wasted movements. He looked up at the other insulators on
the upper crossarm. There were several dark glass "umbrella" type, all
embossed Foster Brothers St. John C.E. 1858 on the base. The backward embossed N
had always amused him. 'Someone at the mold foundry had a liquid lunch," he
laughed to himself.
This job finished, Bill gracefully scooted down the pole and back on the wagon. A few poles down, he spied an
insulator floating in the air above the pin. "Not my work," he said.
He could see right through the glass, a funny light amber color like honey. He
took another new insulator from the crate and went up the pole. As he reached
for the "floater," he noticed that it was filled with tiny bubbles. He
fastened the new insulator on the pin, undid the tie wire, placed the amber one
in his pouch and tightened the tie wire on the new insulator. When he returned
to the wagon, he picked the dried-out burlap from the pinhole and admired the
yellow glass through the sunlight. "Don't think I have one of these at
home." He smiled and placed it in his bag. He figured he had close to 100
specimens by now, and he enjoyed looking at them on late summer evenings as the
sun went down. They also looked best on a sunny winter day, with the white snow
of the rolling hills highlighting the true colors. Life is good, he thought,
whistling as his horse ambled down the track.
He spent the remainder of the day
replacing more broken insulators, noting the poles that had shifted from the
heave of winter's frost, and checking the wire. Then he returned to the main road towards Belleville and the G.T.R. Railway station. He was expecting his
cousin Rob on the 6:15 train. Rob had traveled up to Canada from his home in
Pennsylvania to visit for a week. Bill arrived at the station just in time to
see the Trevithick, Locomotive #209 chugging into the station. Built in
Montreal in 1859, she carried the Prince of Wales over the G.T.R. line during
his visit to Canada. As Bill admired the black, massive machine, cousin Rob
descended from one of the cars with suitcase in hand. Greetings were exchanged
and soon they were atop the wagon homeward bound.
As the sun was dipping below
the ridge, Rob smiled and reached into his small satchel. "Brought you a
little souvenir of the War Between the States," and he produced a very
odd-shaped piece of glass. "Apparently the army linemen could string wire
on these real fast during the heat of battle. Since you wrote me about your
hobby, I thought you might like this one. I found it up on a tree near Gettysburg.
Bill smiled broadly as he held it up to the last rays of the sun. It glowed a
bright emerald green and was in perfect condition. "Thanks, cousin!
Funny-looking thing," he said. "Get nothing like this one up
here...you know, it kinda looks like a teapot, don't it? They both laughed as the
wagon jostled them towards home.
Is that Bill McDonald with reins in hand waiting for his Cousin Rob coming
out of the station? Photo is of the Grand Trunk passenger railway station on
Ontario Street near Kingston's (Ontario) City Hall. The station was also a
steamship ticket office telegraph office and Royal Mail depot. Circa 1880.
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