An electric current, generated to light electric lamps and turn motors, overstepped its destiny yesterday afternoon and electrocuted one man and severely burned another.
Clarence Adams, 4413 Fulton street, and Roy Bierman, his young neighbor, were disciples of Marconi. They looked forward to spending the winter evenings listening to messages which shot through the air. The garnered dots and dashes of a high pitched spark from some vwssel on the Carib sea, the crash of a Great Lakes "rotary" gap, the cryptic flashes from the faraway Pacific-- in these sounds lay romance.
So the two men spent the Sabbath erecting a wireless aerial in the rear of Bierman's home at 4403 Fulton street. A small crowd had gathered, including Adams' wife and two little daughters.
He and Bierman were lying on the ground, bracing between them a fifteen foot galvanized iron pipe which supported the antennae wires. Suddenly the pipe began to tip. The next instant it made contact with some wires stretched overhead. One wire was carrying 18,000 volt current.
Adams' clothing started to smoke and there was the smell of burning flesh. His wife screamed. It was several minutes before Anthony Rohrbough, 4413 Fulton street, ventured forward with a dry stick and pried him loose from the charged pipe.
Chicago Tribune, 10 Oct 1921, Page 1.
Clarence Adams, 4413 Fulton street, and Roy Bierman, his young neighbor, were disciples of Marconi. They looked forward to spending the winter evenings listening to messages which shot through the air. The garnered dots and dashes of a high pitched spark from some vwssel on the Carib sea, the crash of a Great Lakes "rotary" gap, the cryptic flashes from the faraway Pacific-- in these sounds lay romance.
So the two men spent the Sabbath erecting a wireless aerial in the rear of Bierman's home at 4403 Fulton street. A small crowd had gathered, including Adams' wife and two little daughters.
He and Bierman were lying on the ground, bracing between them a fifteen foot galvanized iron pipe which supported the antennae wires. Suddenly the pipe began to tip. The next instant it made contact with some wires stretched overhead. One wire was carrying 18,000 volt current.
Adams' clothing started to smoke and there was the smell of burning flesh. His wife screamed. It was several minutes before Anthony Rohrbough, 4413 Fulton street, ventured forward with a dry stick and pried him loose from the charged pipe.
Chicago Tribune, 10 Oct 1921, Page 1.
An electric current, generated to light electric lamps and turn motors, overstepped its destiny yesterday afternoon and electrocuted one man and severely burned another.
Clarence Adams, 4413 Fulton street, and Roy Bierman, his young neighbor, were disciples of Marconi. They looked forward to spending the winter evenings listening to messages which shot through the air. The garnered dots and dashes of a high pitched spark from some vwssel on the Carib sea, the crash of a Great Lakes "rotary" gap, the cryptic flashes from the faraway Pacific-- in these sounds lay romance.
So the two men spent the Sabbath erecting a wireless aerial in the rear of Bierman's home at 4403 Fulton street. A small crowd had gathered, including Adams' wife and two little daughters.
He and Bierman were lying on the ground, bracing between them a fifteen foot galvanized iron pipe which supported the antennae wires. Suddenly the pipe began to tip. The next instant it made contact with some wires stretched overhead. One wire was carrying 18,000 volt current.
Adams' clothing started to smoke and there was the smell of burning flesh. His wife screamed. It was several minutes before Anthony Rohrbough, 4413 Fulton street, ventured forward with a dry stick and pried him loose from the charged pipe.
Chicago Tribune, 10 Oct 1921, Page 1.
Clarence Adams, 4413 Fulton street, and Roy Bierman, his young neighbor, were disciples of Marconi. They looked forward to spending the winter evenings listening to messages which shot through the air. The garnered dots and dashes of a high pitched spark from some vwssel on the Carib sea, the crash of a Great Lakes "rotary" gap, the cryptic flashes from the faraway Pacific-- in these sounds lay romance.
So the two men spent the Sabbath erecting a wireless aerial in the rear of Bierman's home at 4403 Fulton street. A small crowd had gathered, including Adams' wife and two little daughters.
He and Bierman were lying on the ground, bracing between them a fifteen foot galvanized iron pipe which supported the antennae wires. Suddenly the pipe began to tip. The next instant it made contact with some wires stretched overhead. One wire was carrying 18,000 volt current.
Adams' clothing started to smoke and there was the smell of burning flesh. His wife screamed. It was several minutes before Anthony Rohrbough, 4413 Fulton street, ventured forward with a dry stick and pried him loose from the charged pipe.
Chicago Tribune, 10 Oct 1921, Page 1.
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