Americans were on pins and needles exactly 150 years ago. They gathered at train stations and outside newspaper offices eagerly awaiting word that a modern marvel was now a reality. They’d followed developments closely as two railroads raced each other to complete the Victorian Era’s greatest accomplishment — the world’s first transcontinental railroad. On May 10, 1869 it was about to be finished.
When the breaking news from out West finally hit thousands of telegraph offices around the country, it was wrong. Here’s what happened.
The Civil War and its horrors were still vividly fresh in America’s memory. Folks wanted something to cheer. The Transcontinental Railroad was just the ticket because it was a very big deal. For the first time in human history, passengers could board a train on one coast and travel by rail all the way to the other. Even the instrument that kept them updated on the railroad’s progress was itself a new kid on the technology block: The transcontinental telegraph was barely seven years old.
Travel was about to be revolutionized. Before 1860, a trip from the Atlantic to Pacific (or vice versa) took four months. When the rail line was finished, you could go from New York to San Francisco in just three and a half days. Business would be drastically changed, too. Meat and crops from the West would reach Eastern factories in a fraction of the time it took to get there by wagon. Eastern goods and services would be shipped West to eager consumers equally fast.
Everyone understood a defining moment was at hand. Defining moments call for special occasions, so one was planned for when the Central Pacific and the Union Pacific finally met up and the last section of track was put in place.
Organizers had a ceremonial 17.6 karat golden spike cast, ornately engraved with the date, the names of railway bigwigs, and a prayer that, “May God continue the unity of our Country, as this Railroad unites the two great Oceans of the world.” A special tie made of California laurel was put down. The very minute the golden spike was driven, word would race instantaneously along the telegraph wires and Americans would go into serious celebration mode.
The moment finally arrived on Monday, May 10. (It was supposed to have happened on May 8, but bad weather and a labor dispute delayed things two days.) The Union Pacific’s locomotive No. 119 stood facing the Central Pacific’s “Jupiter.” A large crowd by Old West standards (anywhere from 500 to 3,000 people, depending on whose estimate you accept) gathered at Promontory Summit, Utah Territory, to witness history in the making.
Three other ceremonial spikes were driven first. Then came the main event: the driving of the golden spike, the final piece that symbolically brought years of dreaming to life. The honor of driving it went to two men. Leland Stanford (former California governor and future founder of Stanford University, as well as the Central Pacific’s president) and David Hewes (businessman, Transcontinental Railroad booster, and donor of the golden spike itself). A special silver hammer was used to gently tap it into place.
Once the niceties were dispensed with, the laurel tie and precious metal spikes were quickly removed and replaced by ones made of regular pine and iron. This would be the actual completion of the railroad.
A hi-tech wrinkle was added. A telegraph wire was connected to the rail, so the sound of the last spike being driven into place would be carried live from coast to coast.
People across the country held their breath. At 12:47 p.m., Stanford picked up a heavy maul, gave a mighty swing—and missed, striking the tie instead of the spike. A one-word message was flashed to all of America: “D-O-N-E!” Bands broke out in song, cannons boomed, and crowds cheered.
Back in Utah Territory, however, things remained unfinished. Union Pacific Vice President Thomas Durant (suffering from a powerful headache that some claimed resulted from overly exuberant partying the night before) was handed the maul and swung. He did even worse than Stanford, missing the tie and rail entirely!
A third man, unknown to history but believed to be a railroad worker who actually drove spikes for a living, stepped up and finished the job.
Americans may have jumped the gun on celebrating, but their joy over the newfangled achievement was genuine. So grab a spike and hammer away in tribute, because the country we know today was shaped in large part by what happened on May 10, 1869.
J. Mark Powell (@JMarkPowell) is a contributor to the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog. He is a former broadcast journalist and government communicator. His weekly offbeat look at our forgotten past, “Holy Cow! History,” can be read at jmarkpowell.com.
