The Automobile Arrives

THE AUTOMOBILE ARRIVES IN COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA Part 1: The Exciting Mr. Staver, Automobilist Supreme People weren’t sure what to call the newfangled contraptions when they first appeared on American streets and roads as the 20th Century began. Some called them horseless carriages because that’s what they looked like. The British called them “motorcars” (and still do). Finally, a term coined by the French caught on and stuck – automobile, which means “self moving.” And those insane risk-takers who forsook the dependable horse and purchased one of these speed-demon deathtraps – people called them automobilist or autoists. And they called them crazy. Columbia County’s earliest and craziest automobilist was James M. Staver. A wealthy industrialist, he was a partner with Edwin C. Caswell in the Bloomsburg Woolen Mills, which had been built in 1882 at the corner of Sixth and West Streets. The mill’s main building still stands and later became part of the Bloomsburg Silk Mill complex (more recently known as Bloomsburg Mills). Staver was also for many years associated with the First National Bank, being elected to the board of directors in 1899 and later serving as a vice president of the bank. Figure 1: James Staver sits behind the tiller of his 1900 Locomobile steamer alongside passenger and business partner Edwin C. Caswell. When the century turned from the 19th to the 20th, J. M. Staver was a 45 year-old bachelor with money to spare and a fascination for things mechanical. In April 1900 he became determined to buy an automobile, and he traveled to Philadelphia to shop for one, taking along his friend and colleague from the First National Bank, George S. Robbins. Several days later news came back home that somehow and for some reason, Staver and Robbins had moved on from Philadelphia to New York City, where Staver became not only one of the first (if not THE first) person from Columbia County to drive an automobile but also the first to wreck one. On April 21 Robbins sent a humorous telegram that was printed in the local daily newspaper: “Great slump in automobile stock,” Robbins telegrammed with tongue in cheek. “All the morning papers published vivid accounts of J. M. Staver’s thrilling experience with a runaway automobile. Nurses were frightened, baby carriages and park benches upset and Staver was landed in jail uninjured but unhappy.” After collecting more detail from Robbins, The Bloomburg Daily wrote a short article with the following headline and subhead: A THRILLING EXPERIENCE Our Townsman J. M. Staver Purchased an Automobile But Didn’t Know How to Control It The rest of the article reads: Mr. Staver recently went to Philadelphia to purchase an “auto” and it is presumed by his many friends that after making the purchase he started on a tour through the states. Of course, he imagined that he could glide through the streets of New York with his horseless carriage as easily as in the rural districts. Without consultation the attempt was made and while endeavoring to steer clear of pedestrians, cable and electric cars, vans, cabs, baby carriages, push and go carts, etc., etc., became slightly confused and pulled the wrong lever. With one quick spurt the `auto’ started at a terrible speed. On it sped demolishing almost everything that came in contact, until after one of the fastest rides ever witnessed on the thoroughfares of that metropolitan city the “auto,” with power exhausted, stopped almost as quickly as it had started. The operator alighted from the carriage and looked back over the destructive path. Before he could thoroughly realize what had occurred, blue coats, twenty strong, appeared on the scene and hustled the operator to the nearest station house. From the police court he was given a berth in the Tombs and the last report was that Mr. Robbins had furnished bail for his release and started him on his homeward journey rejoicing. [The Bloomsburg Daily, April 21, 1900] Among the New York City morning newspapers that covered the incident was the New York Times. Its article was indeed a “vivid account,” but the reporter misspelled Staver’s name, mistaking the “v” for a “u.” The Times article explained that the incident involved two children from the Strauss family and their nanny and two children from the Forster family and their nanny. And it identified the father of two of the children as “William Forster, President of the Kress Brewing company.” AUTOMOBILE’S WILD DASH Nurses and Children Narrowly Escape Serious Injury Two nurses and four children, of whom none was over four years of age, narrowly escaped injury yesterday afternoon by a steam automobile at Riverside Drive and West Ninety-first Street… Though none of the persons was injured bodily all were prostrated by shock and required the attention of physicians. Baby Strauss had the narrowest escape, being seated in a carriage, which was jammed up against the wall along the Drive next the river’s edge after the two front wheels had been wrenched off. The nurses…were both thrown into hysterics by the fright which they received. The nurses were seated on a bench and the children were running about on the narrow strip of sod next to the bicycle path, when down Riverside Drive came a steam automobile, in which were seated Morris B. Thair of 124 Lexington Avenue, an employee of an automobile company, and James M. Stauer, a merchant of Bloomsburg, Penn., who is staying at the Broadway Central Hotel. Stauer was operating the vehicle and was running it so fast, the police say, that it could be seen to swerve from side to side. When it was within a short distance of the little party, the vehicle suddenly swerved to the right and dashed across the trotting path, over the bicycle path, and right into the centre of the group gathered about the bench. The wheels struck the river wall with a crash and threw both of the occupants to the ground. The screams of the nurses and children attracted the attention of Mr. Forster [the father of two of the children], who lives nearby. Mr. Forster caused the arrest of Thair and Stauer. The men were taken to the West One Hundredth Street Station, where they were bailed out by Dr. Cyrus Edson of 56 West Fiftieth Street. They will be arraigned in the West Side Court this morning on the charge of driving an automobile in a reckless manner. [The New York Times, April 21, 1900] Now, after a traumatic experience like that, most people would probably say: “The heck with these things; give me back my horse and carriage.” But not Staver. Two days later he was back in Bloomsburg and the local newspaper took note: “J. M. Staver returned from New York City last evening but apparently none the worse for his thrilling automobile ride Friday afternoon. Mr. Staver has ordered an `auto’ and it will be here within the next three weeks.” [The Bloomsburg Daily; April 23, 1900] It took longer than expected for his automobile to ship. In fact, nearly two months passed before the headline “Staver’s `Auto’ Here” heralded its arrival: The automobile recently purchased by our townsman J. M. Staver and which was shipped from the factory at Boston, Mass., several days ago, arrived in town yesterday, but on account of the inclement weather the new vehicle was quartered in a frame building erected for that purpose near the Woolen Mill. The `auto’ is a beauty and it noiselessly glides over the streets and roads. An operator experienced in the mysteries of propulsion accompanied the horseless carriage, who will thoroughly instruct the new purchaser in the many in and outs connected with the complicated workings of this new carriage. [The Bloomsburg Daily; June 15, 1900] Fig. 2: James Staver pulls his Locomobile out of the “frame building” near that Woolen Mill that he had specially built to “quarter” his topless open vehicle from “inclement weather.” [Photo courtesy Columbia County Historical & Genealogical Society] The newspaper article did not give the name of the auto’s manufacturer or the model, but we know from photographs and state vehicle registration records that it was a steam-powered Locomobile runabout. It needed to be “quartered in a frame building erected for that purpose” (i.e., a garage) because it was an open car with no roof or windows. A sort of hybrid of Stanhope carriage, small locomotive, and bicycle, the Locomobile was 7-foot 3-inches long, 4’5” wide, and 5’4” high. When fully loaded with five gallons of water and three gallons of fuel (kerosene, gasoline, or naphtha), it weighed a bit less than 700 pounds. It had a top speed of 40 miles per hour, which was lightning fast compared to competing gasoline-engine cars of the day which topped out at about 20 mph. At the time the price tag for a Locomobile was $750. [Adjusted for inflation based on the Consumer Price Index, that would be an equivalent of $19,837 in today’s dollars.] It’s no wonder Staver needed someone to instruct him in the “mysteries of propulsion.” The Locomobile was a rather complicated vehicle, due to the complications of steam power. It featured a bewildering assortment of controls – there were five wooden-handled valves that were located under the seat and covered by a leather flap just behind the driver’s ankles. (That’s where the boiler and 2-cylinder steam engine were located.) And then there were also six metal-handled valves on the outside of the car. Fig. 3: Under the seat of this modern Locomobile replica is a bewildering array of pipes, valves, and gauges, as well as the boiler and the 2-cylinder steam engine. (Photo by Russell Fritz) For the next two months Staver showed off his new vehicle around town, while mastering its care and operation. But just as the Locomobile in New York City had gotten him into trouble, this one would too. Despite the steam vehicle’s quiet operation, on its way to Danville, it frightened the horses of a hack carrying 18 passengers. Hack is slang for a hackney carriage, which was yesterday’s version of today’s taxi, limousine or bus (depending on the size of the hack). The Bloomsburg Daily covered the accident: A hack from Danville belonging to Sechler Livery, driven by Ellis Rank and filled with a number of people from that place narrowly averted what might have been a serious accident Sunday morning. While on their way to Rupert to attend Colored Camp meeting the horses became frightened at J. M. Staver’s automobile at a point near Grovania and suddenly sprang aside, overturning the hack and throwing out the occupants. A woman and a seven months old baby were among the party, but they escaped without injury. Some of the others were more or less bruised but none seriously. [TBD, Aug. 6, 1900] Fig. 4: With a passenger at his side, Staver zips past the Columbia County Courthouse in his lightweight and speedy Locomobile. Notice the old Wirt Building next to the courthouse and the back wheels of a carriage ahead of them. Also note that Bloomsburg’s Main Street was still a dirt street in 1900. [Photo courtesy Columbia County Historical & Genealogical Society] And so it appears that James M. Staver was the first person from Columbia County to buy an automobile, and probably the first to drive one, and also the first to wreck one (while out of town). And he was also responsible for causing the area’s first automobile accident. Yes, thanks to Staver, the “age of the automobile” in Columbia County was off to a good start (or at least an exciting one).