The Cushing Independent (Cushing, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 13, 1917 Page: 9 of 10
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EB OF STEEL
*4
By
CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY and CYRUS TOWNSEND BRADY, Jr.
Author and Clergyman Civil Engineer
Copyright by Fleming H. Revcll Co.
THE FAMOUS ENGINEER LEARNS THAT HE MADE THE BIG
MISTAKE OF HIS LIFE AND MANY LIVES MUST
PAY THE PENALTY.
The Martlet Construction company is putting up a great Interna-
tional' bridge planned by Bertram Meade, Sr., fumous engineer. His
son, Bertram Meade, Jr., a resident engineer at the bridge, loves Helen
Illlngworth, daughter of Colonel Illingworth, head of the construction
company, and therein marry as soon as the bridge is completed. The
young engineer questioned his father's Judgment on the strength of
certain important girders, but was laughed nt. His doubts are veri-
fied when the bridge suddenly collapses, with heavy loss of life.
CHAPTER VI.
The Failure.
In spite of himself and his confidence
In the bridge, Abbott felt a little un-
easy the next morning. At bottom he
had more respect for Meade's tech-
nical knowledge than he had displayed
or even admitted to himself. The
younger engineer's terrified alarm, his
utter forgetfulness of the amenities be-
tween them, his fruntlc but futile ef-
forts to telephone, of which the op-
erator told Abbott In the morning, his
hurried departure to New York, were,
to say the least, somewhat disquieting,
much more so than he was fain to ad-
mit to himself.
Although It Involved a hard and
somewhat dangerous climb downward
and took upwards of a half hour of his
valuable time, the first thing the erect-
log engineer did in the morning was to
go down to the pier head and make a
thorough and careful examination of
the buckled member. C-10-lt was, of
Course, a part of the great lower chord
of the huge diamond-shaped truss,
which, with its parallel Bixty feet away
on the other side of the bridge and its
two opposltes across the river, support-
ed the whole structure. If anything
-were wrong, seriously, Irreparably
wrong, with the member nnd It gave
way, the whole truss would go. The
other truss would Inevitably follow
suit, and the cantilever would Immedi-
ately collapse. Abbott realized that,
of course, as he climbed carefully
down to the pier head and stood on the
shoe.
Abbott, as he stood by the member
and surveyed it throughout Its length,
could easily see that It hnd buckled, al-
though the deviation was slight, about
two Inches at its maximum in sixty
feet. He brought with him a line and,
with infinite care and pains, he drew
it taut across the slight concavity like
a bow-string. He had estimated the
camber, or the distance between the
center of the bow and the string, at
one and a half inches. As he mnde
more careful measurements, he discov-
ered that It was slightly over one and
three-quarter inches. In seven hun-
dred and twenty that was scarcely no-
ticeable, and it did not seem very
much to Abbott. As he stood there
feeling himself an insignificant figure
amid this great interwoven mass of
steel, again the sense of its strength
and stability cama-to him overpowering-
ly, so much so that he laughed aloud
In a rnther grim fashion at the un-
wonted nervousness which had been
induced in his mind by Meade's words
and actions.
But he was a conscientious man, so
he pursued his investigations further.
He climbed up on top of the member,
which was easy enough by means of
the criss-crossed lacing, and carefully
inspected the lacings at the center of
the concavity, or sldewise spring from
the right line.
He noticed, by getting down on his
face and surveying the lacing bars
closely, a number of fine hair-line
cracks In the paint, surface traceries
apparently, running here and there
from the rivet holes. The rivets them-
selves had rather a strained look. Some
of the outer rivets seemed slightly
loose, where before they must have
been tight, for the members, like all
other parts of the bridge, had been
carefully Inspected at the shop and
any looseness of the rivets would cer-
tainly have been noticed there. But
Abbott's obsession as to the strength
of the bridge had grown stronger. Lin-
ing It out, crawling over it, feeling its
rigidity, he decided that these evident
strains were to be expected. Of course
the lacings that held the webs together
would have to take up a terrific stress.
They had been designed for that pur-
pose. Largely because he did not find
anything very glaring, and because he
wanted to believe what he believed, the
chief of construction left the pier head
and claiubered up to the floor with
more satisfaction in his heart than his
somewhat surprising anticipation
which had so unwillingly grown under
the stimulus of Meade's persistence,
had led him to expect.
The whistle was Just blowing for the
commencement of work when he got
hack to the bridge floor. He could not
but reflect, as the men came swarming
along the trucks to begin their day's
work, that the responsibility for their
lives lay with him. Well, Abbott was
a big man In his way, he had assumed
responsibilities before and wus per-
fectly willing to do so again, both for
men and bridge. The workmen at
least had no suspicions or premonitions
of disaster.
Wilchlngs, the chief erecting fore-
man, knew about the camber. It had
not bothered him. As he approached
the two exchanged greetings.
^'You're out early, Mr. Abbott," snid
Wilchlngs.
"Yes, I've been down to examine
C-10-It."
Wilchlngs laughed.
"That little spring is nothing." He
looked over the track and through the
maze of bracing at the member. "If
we had a pier somewhere we could
hold up the earth with that strut. You
didn't find out anything, did you?"
"Not a thing except some hair-line
cracks in the paint around the rivets."
"You'll often find those where there's
a heavy load to take up. This bridge
will stand long after you and I and
every man on it has quit work for
good."
Now Wilchlngs was a man of experi-
ence and ability, and if Abbott had
needed any confirmation of his opinion
this careless expression would have
served. He did send him across the
river to examine the half-completed
cantilever on the other bank, upon
which work had been suspended, await-
ing shipments of steel. Wllchings later
reported that it was all right, which
was what he expected, of course, and
this also added to Abbott's confidence.
The day was an unusually hard one.
A great quantity of structural steel
that had been delayed and which had
threatened to hold up the work, arrived
that day and the chief of construction
was busier than he had ever been. He
was driving the men with furious
energy. Even under the best conditions
it would be well-nigh Impossible to
complete the bridge on time. Abbott
had pride in carrying out the contract
and the financial question was a con-
siderable one. Had It not been for
that, perhaps, he would have paid more
attention to Meade's appeal. So he
hurried on the work at top speed.
Late In the afternoon, without say-
ing anything to Wllchings, who had re-
sumed his regulhr work, or to anybody
in fact, Abbott went down to look at
the member again. He climbed down
a hundred feet or more to make an-
other examination at the expense of
nothing to Abbott. The bridge was
everything. That Is not to say he was
heartless, but the bridge and its erec-
tion were supreme in his mind.
The' material was arriving and every-
thing was going on with such a swing
and vigor that he would fnin have kept
them at work an hour or two longer.
The ra«D themselves did not feel that
way. Some of the employees of the
higher grades had got the obsession of
the bridge, but to most of them It was
the thing they worked nt, by which
they got their daily bread—nothing
more.
Those who worked by the day were
already laying aside their tools, and
preparing for their departure. They the surfaci
lapsed on the low shore, like a house of
cards upon which has been laid the
weight of a massive hand. The river
section, carrying the greater load at
the top and torn from its base, plunged,
like an avalanche of steel, 200 feet
down Into the river, throwing far
ahead of It, as from a giant catapult,
the traveler on the outward end of tho
suspended span and a locomotive on
the floor beneath.
Wilchlngs, and the few men safe on
the shore, stood trembling, looking at
the bare pier head, at the awful tan-
gled mass of wreckage on the shore
between the pier and the bank; floor
beam and stringer, girder and strut,
bent, twisted, broken in rugged and
horrible ruin, while the water, deeper
than the chasm It hnd cut, rolled its
waves smoothly over the agitations of
the great plunge beyond the pier. They
stared sick and faint at the tangled,
Interwoven mass of steel, ribboning In
every direction—for In the main the
rivets held so It • was not any defect
of Joints, but structural weakness In
the body of the members that had
brought It down—and Inclosing as In
a net many bodies that a few seconds
before had been living men.
They lind seen body after body hurled
through the air from the outward end
and, as they gazed fearfully in horror
lmre and there dark figures floated to
jf the water. They caught
He Made Another Careful Examina-
tion.
much valuable time, for he had not
passed so busy a day as that one since
the bridge began. Everything was ex-
actly as It had been. Those hair-line
cracks had troubled him a little despite
Wilchlng's remark. He studied them a
second time. They were Just as they
had been, so far as he could tell, no
Iurger, no more numerous. The lacings
rang exactly the same under his ham-
mer.
He climbed back to the floor of the
bridge and spent the next half hour in-
specting the progress of the work. The
suspended span had already been
pushed out far beyond the end of the
cantilever. The work on the other
side of the river had been stopped. As
soon as they got the suspended span
halfway over they would transfer the
workmen and finish the opporlte canti-
lever. Abbott calculated that perhaps
in another week they could get It out
If he drove the men. He looked at his
watch, grudgingly observing that it
wa>' a'most five o'clock. The men ware
always would get ready so tlmt at the
signal all that was left to do was to
stop. The riveters, who were paid by
the piece, kept at It always to the very
last minute.
Abbott had been standing near the
outer end of the cantilever and he
turned and walked toward the bank.
The pneumatic riveters were rat-tat-
tatting on the rivet heads with a per-
fectly dainnuble Iteration of Insistent
sound. A confused babel of voices, the
clatter of hammers, ringing sounds of
swinging steel grating against steel,
clanking of trucks, grinding of wheels,
the deep breathing of locomotives,
mingled In an unharmonlous diapason
of horrid sound.
Abbott was right above the pier head
now. He looked down at It through
the struts and floor beams and braces,
fastening his gaze on the questioned
member. There it stood satisfactorily,
of course. Yet, something Impelled him
to walk out on the nearest floor beam
to the extreme edge of the truss and
look down at It once more, leaning far
out to see It better. He could get n
better view of It with nothing between
It and him. It still stood bravely. It
was all right, of course. He wished
that he had never said a word about it
to anyone. He did not see why he could
not regard It with the Indifference tlmt
it merited. As he, stared down nt It
over the edge of the truss the whistle
for qulttlug blew.
Every sound of work ceased after
the briefest of Intervals, except here
nnd there a few riveters driving home
a final rivet kept at It for a few sec-
ond, but only for a few seconds. Then,
for a moment a silence like death It-
self Intervened. It seemed ns If the
ever blowing wind had been momen-
tarily stilled. That shrill whistle nnd
the consequent cessation of the work
always affected everybody the same
way. There was inevitably nnd In-
variably a pause. The contrast be-
tween the noise nnd Its sudden stop-
page was so great that the men In-
stinctively waited a few seconds and
drew a breath before they began to
light their pipes, close their tool boxes,
pick up their coats nnd dinner pnllw,
nnd resume their conversation Ins they
strolled along the roadway to tho
shore.
It seemed to Abbott that It had never
been so silent on the bridge before.
There was almost always a breeze,
sometimes a gale, blowing down or up
the gorge through which the river
flowed, but that afternoon not a breath
was stirring.
Abbott found himself waiting In
strained and unwonted suspense for
the next second or two, his eyes fixed
on the member. The long warm rays
of the afternoon sun Illuminated It
clearly. In tliot second Immediately
below hltn, far down toward the pier
head he saw n sudden flash as of break-
ing steel. Low, but clenr enough in the
Intense silence, he heard a popping
sound like the snap of a great finger.
Then the bright gleam of freshly
broken metal cnught his excited glance.
Thfe lacing was giving way. Meade was
right. The member would go with It—
The first pop or two was succeeded by
a little rattle as of revolver shots
heard from a distance, as the lacings
gave way In quick succession. Abbott
was a man with a powerful voice and
he raised It to Its limit.
The idle workmen. Just beginning to
laugh and Jest, heard a great cry:
"Oft the bridge, for God's sake!"
Two or three, among them Wilch-
lngs, who happened to be within a few
feet of the landward end, without un-
derstanding why, but Impelled by the
agony, the appeal, the horror in the
great shout of the master builder,
leaped for the shore. On the bridge
Itself some stepped forward, some
stood still staring, others peered down-
ward. The great sixty-foot webs of
steel wavered like ribbons In the wind.
The bridge shook as If In an earth-
quake. There was a heavy, shuddering,
swaying movement and then the 600-
foot cantilever arm plunged down-
ward, ns a great ship falls Into the
trough of a mighty sea. Shnrp-keyed
sounds cracked out overhead as the
truss parted at the apex, the outward
half Inclining to the water, the Inward
half sinking straight down.
Shouts, oaths, screams rose, heard
faintly above the mighty bell-like re-
quiem of great girders, struts and ties
smiting other members and ringing In
the ears of the helpless men like doom.
Then, with a fearful crash, with a
mighty shiver, the landward half col-
gllmpses of white, dead faces as th
mighty current rolled them under and
swept thorn on. And no sound came
from the hundred and fifty who had
gone dowi* with the bridge. The 200-
foot full would have killed them with-
out the smashing nnd battering and
crashing of the great girders that hnd
fallen upon them or driven tliein from
the floor nnd hurled them, crushed and
broken, into the river.
Mende hnd been right. Abbott hnd
one swift llnsh of acknowledgment, one
swift moment packed with such re-
grets as might fill a lifetime—an eter-
nity in a hell of remorse—before hp,
like the rest, had goue down with the
bridge I
CHAPTER VII,
For the Son.
The message was received In ghast-
ly silence. No one spoke for a moment,
None moved. Colonel Illlngworth's
fnce was fiery red. Bertram Meade
was whiter than any other mnn In the
room. lie was thinking of ids father.
The girl moved first. Her fatlter
and the young erj^iMwr were the two
most deeply touched. They were both
in agony, both In need of her. Unhesi-
tatingly she stopped to the side of the
younger. And the father saw and un-
derstood even In the midst of his suf-
fering. She had chosen.
"We are ruined," gnsped the colo-
nel, tugging at his collur. "We could
stand the finunclal loss, but our reputa-
tion! We'll never get another coil
trnct. I might as well close the works.
And It Is your father's fault. It's up to
him. The blood of those men Is upon
Ills lieud. Well, sir, I'll let the whole
world know how grossly incompetent
he is. how—"
"Sir," said young Monde, standing
very erect and whiter than ever, "the
fault Is mine. I made the calculations.
I checked and recliecked them. No-
body could know with absolute certain-
ty the ability of tho lower chord mem-
bers to resist compression. But what-
ever the fault. It is mine. My father
had absolutely nothing to do with It.
He is—"
"He's got to bear the responsibility,"
cried the colonel passionately. "It lias
lits name—"
"No, I tell you," thundered th
younger man. "For I'll proclaim my
own responsibility. The fault Is ull
mine nnd I'll publish the fact from one
end of the world to the other."
"It's a load I wouldn't wnnt to have
on my conscience," said Colonel Illlng
worth.
"The ruin of a great establishment
like the Martlet," added Doctor Sev-
erence.
"The dishonor to American engineer-
ing," suid Curtiss.
"And the awful loss of life," con-
tinued the colonel.
"1 assume them all," protested the
young mnn, forcing his lips to speak
although the cumulative burdens set
forth so clearly and so mercilessly bade
fair to crush him.
"It was only a mlstnke," protested
Helen Illlngworth, drawing closer to
her lover's side, and with difficulty re-
sisting a temptation to clasp him in
her arms.
"A mistake!" exclaimed her father
bitterly.
"You said yourself," urged the wom-
an, turning to the chief engineer, "that
you didn't know whether the designs
would work out, that nobody could
know, but you were convinced that
they would."
"Walt," Interrupted the father.
"Meade, there Is one consequence you
have got to bear that you haven't
thought of."
"What do you meant"
"Do you think I'd let my daughter
marry a man who had ruined me, an
Incompetent engineer by his own con-
fession, a-—"
"It Is Just," snid Meade. "I hnve
nothing further to do here, gentlemen.
I must go to my father."
"Ju'st or not," cried Helen Illlng-
worth, "I can't allow you to dispose of
me in that wny, father. If he Is as
blamnble as he says he Is, and as you
say he is, now Is the time above all
others for the woman who loves him to
stand by him."
"Miss Illlngworth, you don't know
what you are saying," said Meade,
forcing himself Into a cold formality
he did not feel. "I am disgraced,
shamed. There Is nothing In life for
me. My chosen profession—my repu-
tation—everything in gone.'
"The more need you have for me,
then."
"It la noble of you. I shall love you
forever, but—"
He turned resolutely away nnd
walked doggedly out of the room. Hel-
en Illlngworth made a step to follow
him.
"Helen," Interposed her father,
catching her almost roughly by the
arm In his anger and resentment, "if
you go out of this door after that man,
I'll never speak to you again."
"Father, I love you. I'm sorry for
you. I would do anything for you but
this. You hnve your friends. That
man yonder has nothing, nothing but
me. I must go to him."
She turned and went out of the
room without a backward look or an-
other word, no one detaining her. Now
It happened that by hurrying down the
hill in the stntiou wagon, Meade had
Just caught a local train, which made
connections with the Heading express
some twenty miles away, nnd Helen
Illlngworth In her car reached the sta-
tion platform Just 'n time to see It de-
part. She remembered that ten miles
across the country another railroad
rnn and If she drove hard she could
possibly catch a train which would
land her In Jersey City n few minutes
before the train her lover caught. She
told the chauffeur, who scented a ro-
mance and drove ns he hnd never
driven before.
The girl cnught the express nnd rode
to the Hudson terminal In the city.
The newsboys on the street were al-
ready crying the loss of the bridge.
She saw the story displayed In lurid
red headlines ns she sprnng Into the
taxi nnd bade the chauffeur hurry her
to the Uplift building downtown. The
bill she handed him in advance made
him recklessly break the speed limit.
*••* •*
Bertram Meade, Sr., hnd not left the
office during the whole long afternoon
He sat alone, quietly waiting for the
end. As to the drowning life unrolls
In rnpld review, so pictures of the past
took form nnd shape In his mind. He
recalled many failures. No success Is
uninterrupted nnd unbroken. It Is
through constant blundering thnt we
urrive. He had learned to uchleve by
falling, ns everybody else learns. But
failures and mistakes, which were par-
donable In the beginning of his career,
could not be condoned now; those
should hnve taught hlin. He realized
too late thnt his Inter achievement had
begot In hi in a kind of conviction of
omniscience, a belief in his own Infalli-
bility, bnd for a mnn. Ills pride hnd
gone before, hard upon approached the
fall. He had been so sure of himself
that even when the possibility that he
might be mistaken had been pointed
out nnd even argued, he hud laughed It
to scorn. His son's arguments he hnd
held lightly on account of his youth
nnd comparative Inexperience—to his
sorrow he realized It, too late.
Again came thnt strange feeling of
pride, the only thing which could In
any wny allevlute Ills misery or lighten
his despair. It was his own son who
had pointed out the possible defect.
Youth more oftfn thun not disregards
the counsel of age. In this case age
hnd mnde light of the warnings of
youth. It was a strange reversnl, he
thought, grimly recognizing a touch of
sardonic and terrible humor In the sit-
uation.
"Whom the gods destroy they first
make mad." Well, he had been mad
enough. If he had only listened to the
boy. And now there was nothing he
could do but wait. Yes, as the long
hours passed and the sun declined, and
the evening approached, there sudden-
ly flashed upon him that there was still
something be could do. lie hnd ex-
perienced some strange physical sen-
sations during Hint afternoon, unense
in his breast, some sliurp pnins about
his heart. He forgot them for the mo-
ment in the idea that had come to him.
AVhen the bridge fell he would avow
the whole responsibility, tuke ull the
blmne. Fortunately for his plans, his
son hnd reduced to writing his views
on the compression members, which
hnd nlmost taken the form of protest,
nnd this letter had been hnnded to
his father. His first mind had been to
tear It up after he had read It and
bad overborne the objections contnlned
therein, but on second thought he had
carefully filed It nwny with the origi-
nal drawings. It was. of course, In the
younger Meade's own handwriting.
He went to his private safe, opened
the drawings and found the letter at-
tached to the sheet of drawings. He
put buck the other drawings and
closed the safe without locking it.
Then he went buck to the desk nnd
considered the document. He hnd been
blind, mad. He laid the paper down
on his desk and rut his hund to his
heart.
Of course he would submit those pa-
pers to the public at once. Wns there
anything else he could do? Yes. He
sat down nt the desk nnd drew a sheet
of paper before him and began to
write. Slowly, tremblingly, he perse-
vered, carefully weighing his words be-
fore he traced them on paper. He had
not written very long before the door
of the outer ofllce opened and he heurd
the sound of soft footsteps entering
the room. Ho recognized the new-
comer. It was old ShurUlff, a man
who had been Ills private secretary
and confidential clerk lor many years.
He stopped writing and called to him.
Shurtllff was an old bachelor, gray,
thin, tall, reticent. He had but one
passion—Meade, Sr.; but ene glory—
the reputation of the great engineer.
Yes, nnd as there is no great passion
without jealousy, Shurtllff was filled
with womanly Jealousy of Bertram
Meade because his father loved him
nnd was proud of him. Shurtllff knew
all about the private affairs of the two
engineers, father and son. He knew
all about the protest of the younger
Meade. The father had told him Jttft
what he Intended to do with it.
Shurtllff might have been a great
man if left to himself or forced to act
for himself. But pursuing a great pas-
sion so long as be had, he had merged
himself In the more aggressive person-
ality of his employer and friend. He
had received a good engineering edu-
cation, but had got Into trouble over
a failure, a rather bad mistake In his
early career, too big to be rectified, to
be forgiven, or condoned. The older
Meade had taken him up, had been
kind to him, had offered to try to put
him on his feet again, but his big fail-
ure hail Increased his natural timidity,
so he stnyed on. He had become a
part of the old man's life.
Young Meade hnd never been able
to get very far Into the personality of
Shurtllff, but he liked him and respect-
ed him. He realized the man's devo-
tion to his father, and he understood .
and ndmlred htm. Aside from that
Jealousy the old man could not but like
the young one. He was too like his
father for Shurtllff to dislike him. The
secretary wished htm well; he wanted
to see him n great engineer. Of course
he could never be the engineer that
his father was. That would not be In
the power of mnn. But still, even If
he never attnlned thnt height, he could
yet rise very high. Shurtllff would not
admit that there wns anything on earth
to equal Meade, Sr.
The secretury was greatly surprised
as he stopped beside his own desk to
hear his name called from the inner
ofllce. He recognized his employer's
"Mr. Meade, What la the Matter!*
voice, of course, yet there was ■
strange note In it which somehow gave
him a sense of uneasiness. He went
Into the room at once and stopped
aghast.
"Good God, Mr. MeadeI" he'ex-
claimed.
Ordinarily he was the quietest and
most undemonstrative of men. Then
wns something soft and subtle about
his movements. An exclamation of
that kind had hardly escaped him In
the thirty years of their association.
He checked himself instantly, but
Meade, Sr., understood. The day be-
fore Shurtllff had left him a hale,
heurty, vigorous somewhat ruddy man.
Now he found him old, white, trem-
bling, stricken. Meade looked at Shurt-
llff with a lack-luster eye and with a
face that wus dead while It was yet
alive.
"Mr. Meade," began the secretary a
second time, "what Is the matter?"
"The International bridge," an-
swered the other, nnd the secretary no-
ticed the strangeness of his voice more
and more. "It's about to collapse. Per-
haps it has failed already."
Meade passed his hand over his
brow and then brought It down heavily
on the desk.
"As we sit here, maybe, It Is falling,"
he added somberly in a sort of dull,
impersonal way.
Into the mind of the secretary came
a foolish old line: "London bridge Is
falling down, falling down I" He must
be mad or Meade must be mad.
"I can't believe It, sir. Why?"
"There's a deflection In one of the
lower chord members of one and three-
quarters inches. It's bound to col-
lapse. The boy was right, ShnrtlU^1*
explained Meade. "I was wrong. I
um ruined."
"Don't say that, sir. You have never
failed In anything. There must be
some means."
"Shurtllff, you ought to know there
Is no power on earth could save that
member. It's only a question of tlma
when It will fall."
The secretary leaned back against
the doorjamb, put his hand over his
face, and shook like a leaf. The old
mnn eyed him.
"Don't take It so hard," he said. "Ifa
not your fault, you know."
"Mr. Meade," burst out the other
man, "you don't know what It means
to me. A failure myself, I have glo-
ried In you. I—you have been every-
thing to. me, sir. I can't stand It."
"I know," snid Meade kindly. He
rose nnd walked over to the man, laid
his hand on his shoulder, took his
other hand In his own. "It hurts more,
perhaps, to lose your confidence In me
than It would to lose the confidence of
the world."
I
How the gods conspire to
make complete the wreckage of
reputations and how young
Meade Is cast into outer dark-
ness is told In the next Install-
ment.
(TO BE CONTINUED^
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The Cushing Independent (Cushing, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 13, 1917, newspaper, September 13, 1917; Cushing, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc276361/m1/9/: accessed May 4, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.