The writer Robert Underwood Johnson and his wife, Katharine, made it their sworn mission to find Tesla a suitable mate. Though the couple introduced him to all the most eligible women in New York, and some even took a fancy to the tall, commanding genius, he never reciprocated their affections.
Paul saw him around the city a few times, at dinner and a number of parties. Agnes made sure to attend every event at which she knew he’d be present. She kept close watch over him at first, but over time they grew distant. The fame that she had given up openly delighted him. For a time his name was spread almost as wide as Edison’s. Journalists lined up to profile him. He became one of the city’s great characters—a mysterious and eccentric sage. A ganglier oracle at Delphi. Paul and Agnes watched as Tesla enjoyed the show. His black suits, Agnes pointed out, were always immaculate. Ever alone in his own world, Tesla had learned to pause and occasionally savor the delicacies of this one.
Paul would never know it, but Nikola Tesla would outlive them all. He died quite penniless in 1943, having had to trade the Waldorf Astoria for a single-occupancy hotel.
Tesla never did invent the non-infringing light bulb that Paul had once so desperately needed; Westinghouse’s engineering team did. Under Westinghouse’s leadership, they worked methodically to modify the old Sawyer and Man patent. Instead of a single piece of glass surrounding the filament, they used two. Called the “double-stopper lamp,” it was mass-produced in Westinghouse’s own air-brake factory just in time to light the World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893. The courts instantly and unequivocally ruled that this light bulb was fundamentally different from Edison’s. Arguably the most lucrative invention of the entire current war did not arrive in any grand spark of individual genius, but rather flowed from a simple, painstakingly achieved modification to a decade-old British design performed over three years by a team of organized experts. Westinghouse held the patent on the double-stopper lamp, but no one person could quite claim to have “invented” it.
And then, of course, there was perhaps the greatest irony of the age: the curious and unexpected fate of U.S. Letters Patent No. 223,898.
Paul and his associates pursued the case vigorously. So did Morgan and Coffin, who could use the victory to bludgeon a number of smaller electrical companies into either bankruptcy or more-profitable licensing arrangements. Westinghouse, flush from success, was happy to spend the legal fees in order to defend his good name. For Paul, it was all a matter of pride. This was the largest patent-infringement case in the world. The attorney who litigated it successfully would secure a place in history.
And so it was that Paul found himself arguing before the Supreme Court of the United States. He argued brilliantly, defending himself against Justice Fuller’s quick barbs. He did his work well, and it was a sight to behold. It was the capstone to any lawyer’s career.
A few weeks later Paul found out the result. He lost.
And no one much cared.
Edison v. Westinghouse had become an undead lawsuit. It had lived on far past the point that either of its named litigants cared about its result. By the time Edison’s patent was upheld in court, it was soon to expire. Westinghouse’s double-stopper lamps were already on the market, so he was forbidden from manufacturing a bulb that he’d already stopped making. The few minor electrical companies that had continued using designs similar to Edison’s, in the hopes of a Westinghouse victory, were duly sent out of business. In some quiet, smoky room somewhere, Morgan crossed another victory off a long list.
It was, Paul realized, the fate of lawyers that they might lose the case but win the war.
In the rest of Paul Cravath’s life, he would see Thomas Edison on only one more occasion.
My model for business is the Beatles. They were four guys who kept each other’s…negative tendencies in check. They balanced each other and the total was greater than the sum of the parts. That’s how I see business: Great things in business are never done by one person. They’re done by a team of people.
—STEVE JOBS
ON THE DAY that he would last see Thomas Edison, Paul watched 100 million gallons of white water pour over the great lip of Niagara Falls. A twenty-nine-ton turbine used the raw force of those tumbling gallons to spin a generator that converted it into enough alternating current to power tens of thousands of household light bulbs.
Paul was there for a gala reception to mark the opening of the largest electrical-power generator in the world. It had been built by Westinghouse, designed based on Tesla’s ideas, and would power lamps across the East Coast that had been manufactured by Edison’s former company, GE. The unveiling was a ceremony of a size as unprecedented as the plant itself. Every figure of any prominence in the American electrical community was in attendance.
Which meant, so Paul realized as he stood at the falls, that Thomas Edison, George Westinghouse, and Nikola Tesla would for one evening all be in the same place. To Paul’s amazement, this had never happened before. He knew that it would almost certainly never happen again.
It was after the dull, formal ceremony that Paul stood in the open air, sipping from a flute of champagne as he watched the churning waters. It was nice to be reminded that of all the fantastic things he’d seen in his life, of all the man-made inventions he’d witnessed, none held the power that Niagara did. Or rather that even Westinghouse’s perfect current depended upon nature for its power. The God of Paul’s father still powered the devices of Paul’s client.
From the corner of his eye, Paul saw Edison leaning against the railing over the water. To Paul’s surprise, Westinghouse was with him. As was Tesla. They were talking.
Paul didn’t know whether to approach the group, but Edison caught a glimpse of him and waved him over.
“Mr. Cravath,” said Edison. “I didn’t know if you’d be here.”
Paul nodded. What was there to say to this man whose life had once so dominated his own?
“Mr. Bell sends his greetings,” said Edison.
“…Excuse me?”
“Mr. Bell says hello. I was at dinner with him in Nova Scotia just the other month. He told me the story of your visit.”
Paul was startled. “He said he was helping me for your sake.”
Edison nodded. “It worked. I’ll have to have you down to my new laboratory sometime. I’ve been working on motion pictures.”
Paul’s face made clear he had no clue as to what the phrase “motion pictures” might refer.
“You should see, Mr. Paul Cravath,” added Tesla. “Many photographs all in a row. It creates an appearance of a real thing moving.”
“How have you seen it?” asked Paul.
“My laboratory on Fifth Avenue, New York, has gotten crowded. I broke some items.” Tesla shook his head sadly. “I am clumsy, it is possible, with my things. Mr. Thomas Edison offered a space for working to myself. While some unnecessaries were cleaned away.”
“It’s actually quite nice to have Nikola around,” said Edison. “It’s been a pleasure to bounce ideas off him, see what he thinks of the new cameras. My boys are very much in awe. I’ve built the camera lab next to Tesla’s; Black Maria, I call it. A ‘motion picture’ studio. It’s fun. All in all, these years have been…well, they’ve been the happiest of my life. So whatever part you played in that, Mr. Cravath, I just wanted to say…you didn’t do so badly.”
Paul stared. After a long moment of silence, he laughed. Of all the things he’d imagined that Thomas Edison might ever say to him, he’d never imagined that.
He extended his hand, and Edison shook it.
All four men turned their attention to Niagara. Together they gazed out at the froth. The wet spray rose up from the waterfall, a mist rising up to the heavens. The effect was hypnotizing. As they stared, Paul noticed that Tesla’s eyes went elsewhere. To somewhere that none of the others could see.
“Wonder,” said Edison.
Paul turned. “What’s that?”
“Wonder,” said Edison again. “I fear it’s soon out.”
“It won’t ever go out,” said Westinghouse.