Many people (including a number of my relatives and possibly you) confuse Otis Tufts, if they know him at all, with Elisha Otis, the inventor of the safety brake that transformed elevators from death traps into viable transportation. Elisha is the one who founded what is now the largest elevator company in the world. It's his name that so often appears somewhere on the wall panel or the base plate of the door of your elevator.
Besides sharing a name with Elisha Otis, my great-great-great-grandfather was also an inventor. He built the first iron steamship with a double hull, which made travelling by boat a lot safer. He also invented the steam pile driver, used to install supports in building foundations. Harnessing the power of steam, Tufts' pile driver quickened the pace of building construction and may have enabled buildings to grow taller by driving their supports deeper into the earth. In 1859, Otis Tufts also patented an elevator. But most people have never heard of Otis Tufts. As a child, I occasionally heard that my "Uncle Otis" had invented the elevator, but when I'd point with pride to the "Otis" on the elevator door, my father would shake his head, "No, not that Otis. That's another Otis." In the end, I remained profoundly confused about my ancestor until I started making this program.
Two Revolutionary Machines
During my initial research, I called Lee Gray, an architectural historian at UNC Charlotte with a deep interest in elevator history. During our chat, I mentioned my connection to Otis Tufts, and Gray's reaction made me feel I was related to a rock star. I asked why Tufts was such a big deal, and he told me to get the original patent drawings from each Otis and call him back.
It took about two minutes on the Internet to locate and download the documents. I called Gray, who talked me through the differences between the two Otis designs.
According to Gray, what Elisha Otis patented in 1861 (two years after Tufts) was basically a freight elevator typical of the era—an open platform designed to haul goods up and down. What made it special was his patented safety device at the top. Without safeties, elevators were dangerous. Gray said that broken ropes were a common occurrence, causing workers to be crushed or plummet to their deaths. This invention would make working in warehouses and factories a whole lot safer.
Otis Tufts' machine was quite different. Tufts describes his invention as "an elevator for the conveyance of persons from the different stories of hotels, public buildings and even private residences." His system involved an enclosed capsule with doors that could open and close automatically, protecting moving passengers from the elevator machinery in the hoistway—things that could catch clothes or body parts as people passed by. There were bench seats for people to sit on—further evidence that this elevator was designed to move people, not stuff. Tufts, Gray told me, had patented the first passenger elevator. "He gave us the concept of the modern elevator," Gray said.
In his patent description, Tufts calls his machine the "vertical railway elevator." Says Gray, "The public immediately understood that he was taking the steam engine, which was the primary power source in the mid-19th century, and applying it in a new direction." Both inventions were powered by steam. Both had safeties. But their intended purpose was different.
The Winning Technology
While Elisha Otis made an important contribution to safety in the workplace, my great-great-great-grandfather had conceived of the elevator in a completely new way: As a people-mover, the elevator could become a transformative technology. In short, Tufts "got it." Elisha Otis did not. So why, I asked, do we see the name Otis in today's elevators and not Tufts, my clever ancestor who seemed to understand what the future of elevators was all about?
Gray went on. Like Elisha Otis, Otis Tufts was concerned about safety. In his patent document, he expresses his "unconquerable dread and distrust of the principle of suspension." Instead of using breakable ropes, Tufts' elevator used the concept of a nut and bolt. The car was the nut mounted on guide rails. A giant screw extending the entire length of the hoistway was the bolt, threaded through the car. As it slowly rotated, the car moved up and down the shaft.
Tufts' system was installed in New York's Fifth Avenue Hotel in 1859, and for 15 years the elevator serviced the seven-story building without incident. It was indeed safe, but in Gray's assessment "it was far too complex, far too expensive. From a technological point of view, his solution was not very acceptable."
While Tufts understood the potential of the elevator, neither he nor Elisha Otis could possibly anticipate the way elevators would enable buildings to grow taller and taller by eliminating the need for people to climb ever more stairs. If Tufts' design was marginal for a seven-story hotel, it would become increasingly problematic as building heights increased. Ropes and later steel cables, not screws, were clearly a better solution for buildings that would evolve into skyscrapers.
Eventually, Elisha Otis' sons, Charles and Norton, took charge of their father's company. Most elevator companies manufactured other things as well, but the Otis brothers focused exclusively on elevator production and through "tireless promotion," says Gray, they came to dominate the elevator industry.
Today a portrait of Otis Tufts hangs in my parents' living room. My father, who died as I began this project, often credited his great-great-grandfather as an inspiration to pursue his own engineering career, which included being a NASA administrator during the Apollo program, president of the National Academy of Engineering, Secretary of the Air Force, the first director of the Energy Research and Development Administration (which became the Department of Energy), and Dean of Engineering at MIT. My father's lifelong identification with Tufts made Tufts an inspiration to me as well.
Documentaries don't always turn out the way they're planned, at least mine don't. I was determined to tell the story of Otis Tufts in this program, but after some soul-searching in the editing room, his story ended up on the cutting-room floor. It was painful, but he had to go. Why? One Otis, it seemed, was enough for one program. Two was one too many. Nothing personal. I just had to go with conventional history, which in this case says that the most practical technology wins. May my ancestor forgive me!