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The Washington Post from Washington, District of Columbia • Page 51

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Washington, District of Columbia
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51
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IHE Wire Wizard of the City of Dazzling Lights Atlas Sife Before the Diagram the Neilres. and Arteries of the Organism New York, Oct. SI. YRIADS of filaments glow Into light, swift cars fly upward In many-storied piles, fires glow on hearth and range, power pulses through factory aisles and mighty enginery forces the sea to as- 1 sal) the sudden flame--and over all presides the steady mind of an Atlas of the world of wires. Klectrlclty has wrought wonders In this metropolis of the western world In the last few years, for it seems only a short space of time since the wizard of Menlo was experimenting with many of the things wjilch havq so quickly become vitalizing and Illuminating forces In the economy of urban life A modern-day miracle, a haunt of thaumaturglsts, is the Waterside station of the New York Edison Company, at First avenue and Thirty-ninth and Fortieth streets, from which the impulse comes which nerves and brightens this city by the sea.

Every electric light, every motor that whirls, every electrically driven elevator, every liter of sea water driven through high pressure pipes is under the control of this modern Atlas, the master of the load. He site before his diagram, on which Is traced the outline of the nerves and arteries of the great organism of which he is the dominating force. A ring, a syllable or two over a telephone, 'the pressure of a button--and the -impulse which he -directs goes forth to serve the people of New York. The station, where sits the man who balances the PonderottrEflgines Suppty Current High Pressure Stations. electric burden as the needs of 6,000,000 people grow or lessen.

Is in touch with 33 substations, the activities of which are all recorded by the'needles of the great switchboards of the main source of power. The Everchanging "load." The Waterside station itself is in duplicate, so that part'No. 1 and-part No. 2 can be operated together or separately. In case of one being disabled toe other station can be placed in commission as if nothing had happened.

The powerful current Is the "load" of the wires, and it must vary from hour to hour with the state of the weather, the sudden falling of current through accident or leakage. To load the wires with unneeded current' is needless; to fall to have the supply when required would be folly. So it jiappeftis that the tremendous load, with all its changes and all its possibilities, is under the direction of one man, the system operator. What the train dispatcher is to the railroad the system operator Is in effect to the hundreds of miles of cables and wires of the city of New Y6rk. When a railroad has reached the capacity of its cars the transportation company says: "No more passengers." With the electric light company there is no time for such palaver.

Thousands of persons at once press little buttons, and If there were no light, full, dazzling and bounteous, the city would ring with, the protests of the aggrieved consumers. What though the company has the largest generators of electricity in the world --any one of the giants is said to be capable of driving the Olympic steadily across the seas--If powerful mechanisms are not utilized according to intelligent direction or brought up like reserve artillery at critical moments, all that is gathered In the great station would be as Jangling junk and corroding copper. First of all, the master of the load, the system operator, must be trained in all the Intricacies of the electric lighting and power industry. Bis familiarity with the smallest details of operation must breed in him an instinct which amounts to prescience. He works, with his quick and conscious brain, and he Is.

guided by a subconscious self. Surely a superman, if there ever Were such, is this master of the load. There are six of these operators In the employ of the company, and at critical times of the day they work In pairs, while when the work Is less exacting one man la in absolute command. The terms of work are six and eight hours a day, for the concentration required makes it imperative that the system operators should always be In the best physical and-mental trim. First of all, he 'must consider the weather.

At the elbow of the- system operator there is always a barometer, so i that he may keep his eye constantly on the column of mercury. Foul weather brings cold and gloom, -and that means that thousands of persons will invoking the imprisoned sunshine of long ago by push button magic. The system operator has the reports of the United States weather bureau to guide him, and his own skill as a weather prophet as well. On the roof, however, of the Waterside station, pacing along a wooden runway, peering constantly at the sky in all directions, is the lookout, who constantly reports the condition of the sky to the system, operator below. Often in the summer the clouds come up with lightning and thunder from across the bay or dark banks of vapor flit from the regions of 'the Bronx as far as the Yonkers line.

Preparing for a Dark Storm. Sudden changes are all noted, and when the master of the load receives notice of a darkening sky he works with the 'precision of the trained officer, of- the wires that he is. The telephone bells are ring- Ing, the signals are given here and there. "Storm coming from the West," calls the lookout down the. vibrating strand.

The system operator deftly sets a punctured card into an electric device, and, instantly there flames in the lower part of the great station some such legend as "46" or "Se," which means that so many boilers must be driving off steam with which to run generators. The device is precisely the same an that of the carriage calls in use at the theaters or large department stores. The- moment the system operator sets the signal he also sounds a gong which clangs througU the dark alleyways where the heat forces are stored. The engineer gives the word, the coal begins to flow on the banked fires, the stokers work with might and main, vast volumes of steam are sent through pipes. Out in the generator room new machines go into action.

Aids in Emergency. The station and its auxiliaries provide current for the boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx. If there should be any sridden break or great emergency whereby alj the Juice would be cut off, the system operator would borrow first by connecting up with the power houses of the Metropolitan Street Railway Company, which has spare conduits for that purpose, and he could also signal for help and current to the company which IB conducted In Brooklyn under the Edison name. There are in the territory of the Waterside station some 150,000 consumers, who use 4,650,000 Incandescent lamps of varying powers, 88,500 arc lamps and 290,000 motors. The amount of illumination in the region controlled amounts to 390,000,000 candle power.

An orb of light as great as that placed at an appropriate height could give a realistic imitation of a satellite. There are many hundreds of electric elevators in the city which on no account must be disturbed In their operation by Insufficient current. The manufacturing motors must also be kept constantly in commission, for business men do not pare for explanations. When they want power they want it badly, and a diminution of it often means a. considerable loss in the speed with which a product can be produced.

The use of the heat from electricity for manufacturing and also for Industrial purposes must be thoroughly well known. Interesting it Is to gaze upon the ever kindling mysteries of Broadway, the street of light and enchantment, when the sun is hid. The lamps that burn over the theaters and the stores and ho- tels of this walk in the modern garden of Aladdin constitute only a part of the forces which have their origin in the region of whirling generators and roar- ins fires. The master of the load has before him a great chart, on which he marks the supply of electricity, and he is constantly plotting the curve. The supply of elec- trlcity is low In the morning; it riser, with the opening of the factories, dips (or the luncheon hour, begins to climb slowly with the resumption of business, jumps up downtown in the curve as the daylight begins to fade, sinks as out go the office lights, rises a little with- the opening of 8ft theaters in the region of amusements, and slowly the demand de- creases.

The system operator just what the people of New York are doing by these variations of the current. One of the most important works done, under the direction of the system operator Is the supply of current to the various tiigh pressure stations of the tity, by means of" which the ponderous engines at the high pressure stations of the city of New York are run. Of course, the master of the load hears all the fire alarms, which affect these pressure stations, and automatically he turns on more current, and still more If the high 'pressure stations need It their fights i to keep fires out of the skyscrapers. The operator does not turn any switches him- self, but directs others. The giant switchboards in the twin stations, which resemble rows of grayish blue monsters, with eyes alternately flaming red and green, ane manned by trained operators, too, who work as directed by the quiet and.

unassuming system operators, upon whose alert minds depend so much of comfort and ease and often luxury tor the people of New York. (Copyright, 1911, br the New Tort HeraW Co. Alt righto rmmd.) "CHARLOTTE INTERVIEW IN THREE SCENES CHARLOTTE WALKER--An Interview In three acenta Bj Ralph Illustrated by Benjamin and ftged by Phillips. Charlotte Walker Actress -Walter A Playwright Benjamin Dale An Artist Charles Phillips A Press Agent Ihe Interviewer A Newspaper Man Walters. and Hotel Guests.

Time-- October. Mil. Place--The Belvedere Hotel, In Baltimore Scene 1--The Main Dining Room of Ihe Hotel Scene i--Sitting Room o( Miss Wal- ker't Suite. Scene 3--Same aa Scene 1. Scene I.

(As the typewriter begins to record, Phillips enters the dining room hurriedly, while Dale and the Interviewer linger at the door trying to retrieve their hats, which have been forcibly seized by the checkroom girl.) Phillips--Ah! Here you are, aren't you (addressing Miss Walker, Mr. Walter, Miss Llndhal, and Mr. Clark, seated at a table). How are you what? Walter--How are you, Phillips? What's the news from Washington? Has the sale opened? Miss Walker (greeting Phillips with a beaming smile)--Why, Mr. Phillips, what you doing back here? Let me Introduce you to Mr.

Phillips--How are you. Mr Clark--oh. that's all right. Miss Walker, it was I who sent Mr. Clark to see you.

I have two newspaper men from Washington waiting here to see you. They have come over to get an interview and sketches for The Post Jiiss, Walker--Who are they? (Following Phillips' glance toward the door, she sees the artist and the interviewer. She rises hurriedly, and conies across the room toward the dqor, extending both hands in cordial greeting.) Oh, how good it Is to see you again, and how awfully good of you to take that long ride over to Baltimore The Interviewer--It's flattering to see that remember me. It has been more than two enrs since I dined with you and Mr. Walter in your apartment at the Ansonlo.

in New York. 'Actresses and authors haven't good reputations for memories. Miss Walker--How absurd! Forget you when you look as much like my brother in Texas as ever? The Interviewer (turning to the artist)-This is Mr Dale. Miss Walker. Mr.

Dale has come with me to assassinate your beauty while I am learning your views of your new play and your sensations incident tq your long-deferred return to Washington Miss Walker--It's very good of you, Mr. tale to take all this trouble to come to Baltimore to see me. Mr Dale--I am glad to have your before you see my drawings, otherwise I fear I might never receive any. Walker (to the interviewer, as the three approach the table)--You know Eugene, don't you? And this Is Mr. Clark, of the Evening Sun, and I beg your pardon, Alice--Miss Llndhal, of our company.

Phillips (after a general exchange of Miss Walker, these two gentlemen have come over here for an interview. Won't you take them to your room i and Miss Walker to the Interviewer)-But I know you woji't mind waiting Just few minutes while I try to answer for Mr. Clark the profound problem which his paper haa sent him to have me explain--why I don't catch cold when I play the first act of "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" in bare feet! Scene JI. Walker--Shall I take oft my hat, Mr. Dale? Dale--No.

indeed. Just as you are. But I would prefer that you sit on the side of the divan (the interviewer and Misa Walker exchange places). The Interviewer--Some of your friends In Washington have reached the conclusion that you have forgotten your seasons of stock there, because you did not choose our city for the premiere of "Just a Wife" years ago. Miss Walker--Forget Washington! It was becauso I love It better than any city In the World and because of the friends I hold BO dear there that I did not try to play in "Just a Wife" at home --I think ot Washington as home.

"Just A Wife" presents a wonderful lesson, I bellave. and I am proud of 'Gene for having written It, but neither he nor I ever' felt that it was suited to me. I had to it, howeveft for at that time I -was under contract to Mr. Belasco and there was no alternative. The Interviewer--And Is it the same with this new play? Must you play It whether you wish it, or not? Miss Trail of the Lon- some Pine?" Oh, you can't imagine how happy I am in it.

It has given me new courage and new hope. I have been so unfortunate in the past that I had begun to lose all faith in myself, and I had fully decided that if I were not successful this time I would give up the stage. I had grown sensitive about what I felt the people of the theatrical world were saying--that I had become a handicap to my husband, pointing to the failure of "Just a Wife." The Interviewer--What had you planned to do upon leaving the stage? Miss Walker (laughingly)--Well. I had tried to persuade Eugene to let me be a preacher. I couldn't write my own sermons, but I know I could deliver them In a way that would make people believe in them and in me.

I wanted him to write the sermons for me. .1 think Eugene has some wonderful ideas about life which would benefit mankind. And there are lots of people he can't reach through the stage because they won't go to the theater. The Interviewer--And to what denomination, had you expected to give your allegiance? Miss Walker--Well, I haven't progressed to the point where I would refuse to send for a physician If I have a pain, but I have had a practical demonstration of Christian Science which makes me very grateful to its teachings. The Interviewer--When and how? Miss Walker--When I was playing in "Just a Wife." I was so overawed by the New York audiences that I was accustomed to going on Ihe stage at night with my feet and hands so cold that I had no feeling in them.

It was torture. One day there came in my mail a little volume called "The Footpaths of Truth," or something like that, and I a few chapters in it. It gave me a new idea about my responsibility to myself and a certain disregard for externals. It was the Being In me that yearned for expression, not any Influences from the outside that could affect me, I tried to school myself to believe. The Interviewer--And did thto belief warm your feet? Miss Walker--Indeed it did, and the very night that I first felt this calmness the company manbger came back on the stage after the performance and said: "Miss Walker, what haa happened to you? You gave the best performance tonight that I have ever seen you give.

I did not know that yoii were capable of It." And the same night a woman came to my dressing room with tears in her eyes and asked me if I was a Christian Scientist. She said she wanted to tell me how much good my performance had done her. The Interviewer--Probably she was the woman who sent you the book. Miss Walker--Perhaps. I did not think to ask.

I felt so 1 overjoyed at the two tributes which had come so sincerely'and at the same time. The Interviewer--And did you confess to Mr. Clark, of the Sun, that.lt was the "footpaths of truth" that kept you from catching cold while treading the "lonesome trail" in the first act? Miss Walker--No, I told him it was the "newskin" with "which I painted the soles of my feet. The Interviewer--Which brings us back to the subject of Mr. Walter's play.

It is out of his line to make a. dramatization from a novel, isn't it? Miss Walker--Yes; but the character of June is one that I love so dearly that he secured the dramatic rights Just for me, and the'play Is a gift from him to me--one of which I am very, very proud. It is the sort of play that I have longed for ever since I went on the stage. It is clean and beautiful and permeated with wholesome sentiment. It is'the sort of play which I can carry to my own people--the people of the South.

You know the Southerner does not relish the grim and the tragic in the theater. Some of the phases of life which are depicted in the modern dramas of New York life are entirely beyond the experience and the ken ot the dear ones I love at home. And so I have longed for just such a play as this, so that I could make my first tour of the South. I want to play in Birmingham and Memphis and New Orleans. And I would rather a favorable verdict from Galveston and Houston and Dallas and San Antonio than a dozen New Ybrks--that is, speaking from the heart and not the purse.

The Interviewer--And would you like to play "The Trail ot the Lonesome Pine" for more than one season? Miss Walter--For ten, If I couldl I wouldn't mind being the reincarnation of Benman Thompson with another "Old Homestead." You don't know how hard it is to find a success. And once one is found how tenaciously one clings to It The Interviewer--Almost as tenaciously as the Washington matinee girl clings to you? Miss Walker--Even more. As tenaciously as I cling to memory of the Washington public and 1 its unfailing kindness to me. I wanted to open this play in Washington, because I knew from past experience that whatever my shortcomings might be, my public there would receive me with the cordiality of enduring friendship. The Interviewer--And do you remember personally many ot your admirers in the Capital? Miss Walker--Remember them! Why, do you Impw that almost the only fault that I have to find, with "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" is that I am on the stage so much, and that it takes- so much of my vitality to enact the role of the mountain girl that my managers have forbidden me to receive any of my Mends in my dressing room.

They say that if I do I will exhaurt myself before I go on the stage. And I suppose they are right. But It will be a Ifrfeat disappointment to me in Washington. You remember the receptions that we had on the Belasco stage and on the Belasco root several summers ago? (Her eyes grow motet at the reoollecjtlon The Interviewer-'This will be the most unklndest news of all. Miss Walker--Oh, but I hope to arrange reunions in another way.

If we are not compelled to rehearse every day I am going to ask you to announce in The Post for me that one afternoon I want to see all my friends in my rooms at the hotel from '2 to 4, say. The Interviewer--it will be a pleasure to make such an announcement. But your managers' restriction about your receiving visitors in your dressing room reminds me that you must be very tired now. Have you had to talk to many newspaper people today? Miss Walker--Constantly from o'clock, until you arrived. Dale (to Interviewer)--Here's your hat! I HAD DEClDfcB TO BECOME.

A OF EUGENE'S "HERe YOU WHAT 1 PROF. AOVISWSt YoUN3 VALKER'3 TMGkHT DOWN THE TO AVOID INTER Mtes Walker--But you are different-you are friends. Tlie Interviewer--One of the chief differences between friends and acquaintances is that frequently the former are less considerate of one's time and health. Miss Walker--I shalli see you both at dinner, at 6:15. Scene in.

PhilMps--Ah, here you are. aren't you? What! (The three men greet Miss Walker as she steps from the elevator.) Walter--Encouraging news for you, Charlotte. In spite of the rain, the theater reports that the seat sale is even larger than last night. Miss Walker--Oh, that's good. And I have had such a nice rest.

we go in to dinner now? Phillips--I say, that's a good idea. Give me your hats. (To the checkroom girl.) Now, don't lose my cane; that's my badge of respectability, (The party enters the dining room, and is quickly seated at a table where the first course is waiting.) Walter--This is aa far as I have gone. Charlotte, you order the dinner. (Miss Walker devotes her attention to the menu.) Phillips--I say, I am glad to hear about the seat sale, I had a bet with Ted Marks about the opening and another about tonight, and I won.

He bet, me a- million to one that the first night would be under $1,000. But I knew what I knew. Walter--And by winning the bet you avpid having to pay the dollar, that's what you win. Phillips-That isn't fair! What. Because you-- Mies Walker--Hard mast beef for all? Chorus--Very rare.

Rather rare. Just a little rare! Phfllips-Isn't It fine that this Isn't day? I love roast beef, when it's rare. The Interviewers-Are you so orthodox a Catholic? Phillips--Oh, yes, I studied for the priesthood for five years in Borne after getting my degree at Trinity in Dublin. Miss Walker, when you get ready to Join the church I you to consult me. Aa for you, Mr.

Dale, I don't believe it would make any difference to you what the day of the week might be--you would eat that roast beef just the same. You, you are a. Methodist, aren't you? What! Dale--I am (chorus of laughter). But how can you tell? Phillips--What! Oh, Just the same way that I was able to tell that the receipts for the opening night In Baltimore would exceed $1,000. You look like a Methodist and 'Gene's play looked like more than a thousand for a starter.

(The dinner arrives and the meat is returned for the proper gradation of rare ness.) Phillips (to one of the servants)--I say, old top, there's a draft from that window. Will you close it? You will, won't you? I knew you would as soon as I spoke of it Read Waiter--Is this better, miss? (Pro- seating the roast beef for inspection). Walter--Yes, much better (sotto voce). Of course, it isn't; it's just the same, but we can't do any better, and we might as well let him think we are pleased. Phillips--I say, Mies Walker, representatives from two of the other Washington papers are coming over to see yon later in the week.

One of them is very anxious to'come over Saturday and run an Interview Monday afternoon. How's that; what? They are awfully fond of you in Washington, you know. MJsSj Walker--Oh, I say, that's just -as good of you aa can be, and you know I appreciate it, but, really, Saturday? And two performances? Please, please, can't we defer it? You know what Mr. Erlanger has said about conserving my strength. Phillips--Of course, of course.

We won't say anything more about it. Miss Walker--Mr. Phillips is wonderful. I am beginning to think" that the success of a play depends as much upon the press representative as upon the play or the player. Phillips--Well, I am assisted by the fact that about 3,000,088 people- have read "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine." The Interviewer--And have jxni foand that dramatization of a novel is aa hard or harder than writing an original play, Mr.

Walter? Walter--Much border. Ihe mdapUr is mo i The Interviewer--In selecting a Fox story for the stage I would have chosen "The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come." Mr. Walter--I would like to do that next. the beginner, what modern playwright would you suggest as a model to be studied? Walter--None. The novice who follows some other playwright is more apt to copy his faults than, his virtues.

The best and only school for the dramatist. I believe, is to read and see the failures. If I were just starting tn- the game I would attend every play condemned by the public and the press as unworthy. I would try to discover the things that have caused each play to fall, and upon finding the defects, resolve to avoid them in my own works. Play-writing is more a matter of knowing what Dot to do than of knowing what to do.

As for knowing what to do, that comes naturally; it is just in you--a sort of instinct You feel it, bat you can't define it. The Interviewer--I had expected you to recommend Ibsen. Walter--Wonderful! But do you think: thaf "Ghosts," for example, would be accepted by the average public today, if written fay a young American author? Not a bit of It. Would its lesson carry home? To you and to me, yes. But to the individual who goes to the theater, not to analyze and to study, "Ghosts" is entirely too improbable to be effective.

The average man would dismiss it with the comment that "such a thing could not happen to me or my children." The very intensity of the grim tragedy operates against its sincere acceptance. Its horror is too concentrated, too heroic in size, and portentousness to have a direct, personal appeal. It isn't a probable picture-to- the Phillips--A great man. Ibsen. I met him once, before he died.

The Interviewer--Before? Phillips--Yes Ibsen's dead! Walter--You are sure it wasn't after? I say, Charlotte, It's 7:25. Miss Walker--Is it? You will excuse me, won't you? I won't say good-by until I see you behind the scenes at the theater. You will bring them back, won't you, Mr. Phillips? i Phillips--Of course- I say, there's a taxi already waiting for you- at door. (The men finish their cigars ahd coffee, after which the waiter brings the-hats, coats, and Phillips' badge of respectabU- ity.) Dale--Is that essential to your bap- I piness 7 Phillips--This cane? DO you know wht it represents, what? Do you, what? This is the reincarnation of the sword, worn by our cavalier ancestors.

It's the emblem of our gentility. The Interviewer--We who don't carry them may see in it merely the i tlon of the- cave man's club? Phillips--It's all the same--cave men Mid gentlemen, what? YESTERDAY AND TODAY. Henry Eastman Lower, In Smart Set. 'Twist quiet midnight and the- lonely i dawn I dream alone of my love's destiny. Through mist and storm and far away I The form whose soul Is my heart's Helicon, As fresh as spring when winter 1 gray has gone, As variously enchanting as the sea, With its sad-sweet, myriad-winged ody-- i The maid I shall bestow my love- npoa.

Ah, youth and change! For chance must come to vouth. Like clouds of sorrow to a wide-eyed Iwy: And what seemed yesterday a miracle of 1 truth Today Is but a half-remembered Jojr. Then does it seem so marveioucly strange That naught is permanent la lift change? But Safe. From the derelana Plain Dealer. Tirnson has finally invented an that Is absolutely safe." 'But it has one drawback." "It won't ttri" NFVSPAPFR(.

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Pages Available:
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Years Available:
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