To Slip the Surly Bonds

Stubbs and Goddard General Manufactures Inc.

Boston, Massachusetts

January, 1883

The large red brick edifice was visible three blocks down the street when Nahum alighted from the streetcar twenty minutes later. North Roxbury was a beehive of industry. A forest of smokestacks dominated the skyline. The snow drifts piled against the buildings were tinged grey from the persistent coal soot in the air. Everything had a slightly grimy look. Little knots of people streamed down both sides of the street into the various factories and warehouses lining both sides of the road. The din of pounding machinery clanked and rumbled from inside as Nahum walked past the open doors. Heavy delivery wagons and the steady clopping of horses’ hooves on the frozen cobblestones added to the cacophony. The street was a frozen river, a slurry of snow, mud and horse manure.

As Nahum approached, a large sign stretching across the front of the building, almost from one corner to the other proclaimed:

STUBBS AND GODDARD INCORPORATED

GENERAL MANUFACTURERS

As Nahum approached, he joined the line of men waiting to go inside. The muffled sound of stamping machines filtered through the open door. He quickly made his way inside, threading through the controlled chaos of the factory floor to a metal staircase at the opposite end of the building. The noise that had seemed to be a somewhat muffled din outside was deafening within. Stamping machines punching knives out of steel dies made Nahum’s eardrums throb. Sparks flew from high speed lathes and the smell of hot lubricant hung in the air.

He threaded his way through the controlled bedlam. Workmen in overalls and leather aprons wound their way among the noisy machines. Nahum reached the bottom of the metal staircase and made his way up to a door on a small landing. The din dropped to a more tolerable level as soon as he opened it and went inside. Nahum deposited his hat and coat in his office and exchanged a polite “good morning” with the factory’s two accountants, before weaving his way through the warren of offices that overlooked the factory. He stopped at a door with a label tacked to its surface.“S Stubbs, General Manager.” Nahum knocked once and opened the door.

Nahum had developed a more efficient way of cutting animal skins. Eighteen months previously, he had initially approached his former employer, Fannie’s father, with the intention of forming a partnership and selling the process to the hatmaking industry. However, Mr. Hoyt had been entirely unwilling to listen to Nahum’s plans. Nahum’s interest in his daughter seemed to have coloured Hoyt’s thinking, against the younger man regardless of how good the idea had been.

In any case, Nahum subsequently dropped Mr. Hoyt as a possible partner and approached Simeon, who had proven to be much more receptive. Over brandy, and cigars Nahum had explained to Simeon how his new cutting machine worked and his friend had agreed to back him then and there. The two men had spent the next year and a half patenting Nahum’s cutting machine and searching for suitable premises to set up a factory where they could build it. They eventually settled on North Roxbury, believing the Boston suburb to have good access to transportation, skilled workmen and an acceptable rate of taxation for their purposes. Simeon, who was putting up most of the money for their venture had come to Boston to over see the installation of the equipment and the hiring and training of the first workmen.

Excellent businessman aside, his office was a cluttered mess. An oak desk dominated the middle of the room. Behind the desk, a large expanse of windows looked out over the factory floor. Two battered wooden chairs sat in front of it and several book cases lined one wall. They seemed to groan under the weight of the thick volumes on patent law, business, economics and mechanical engineering. A coal stove stood in the far corner, radiating gentle warmth. A hat stand stood by the door bearing a slightly faded bowler and a heavy winter coat.

As Nahum entered his office Simeon Stubbs looked up from his seat behind his desk. He was a thin man in his mid twenties. A pair of silver-rimmed spectacles balanced on the end of a long delicate nose. He gestured for Nahum to take a seat. “Nahum,” he said, getting up and walking around his desk to shake the other man’s hand, “I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. I wasn’t sure if you would make it with all this snow.” Simeon walked to the stove and picked up a metal coffee pot before returning to his desk. He produced a pair of tarnished tin cups from within his desk. At Nahum’s nod, he poured two cups of steaming hot coffee. Nahum accepted the drink, letting the warmth of the hot coffee seep through the walls of the cup and into his palms. “I trust you received my latest wire?” asked Simeon.

Nahum took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “Yes, I received your last message. I must apologize for not responding right away. I was in the middle of settling affairs in Worchester, and in any case, it sounded as if you had everything under control.”

Simeon waved away the other man’s apology. “Think nothing of it. A new baby would be enough to keep anyone busy.” He shifted through the papers on his desk and produced a collection of telegrams. “We’ve had some interest in your new cutting machine.” He handed them to Nahum, who read through them. It seemed that Simeon had been busier than Nahum had anticipated.

“How soon can we begin production,” asked Nahum, reading through the telegrams.

NEED TEN CUTTING MACHINES

The Boston Hat Company

AM INTERESTED IN A DEMONSTRATION

Stetson

WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT MACHINE

Biltmore

AM WILLING TO PAY 20% MACHINE COST UP FRONT

Schoble

PLEASE SEND ESTIMATED DELIVERY DATE

Rundle and White

Nahum looked up to find Simeon beaming at him. “Congratulations,” he said. He reached across his desk to shake Nahum’s hand. “It seems that your little doohickey is quite popular.”

Nahum was slightly stunned. The cutting machine he had designed could cut twice as many skins as any other currently in use. At the time Nahum believed that his design was a substantial improvement over previous cutting machines. Looking at the fistful of telegrams again, it seemed that more than a few people agreed with him. “How soon can we begin production?” asked Nahum again. “Have you signed any contracts yet?”

Simeon shook his head. “No. Not yet. We’ve built a few machines, but they took us around a day each.”

Nahum frowned thoughtfully. “That’s much too slow.” He ran through some very rough mental calculations, wondering how many machines they would be able to produce, and came to an answer of approximately one an hour.

Simeon nodded. “I agree, that’s much too slow.” He stood up and Nahum joined him. “Why don’t I show you the factory, and maybe we can start to figure out some of our problems.”

Nahum nodded. He had not yet had the opportunity to inspect the factory floor, which he had been looking forward to. The two men descended the metal staircase and Nahum was thrust back into to the chaos and noise of the factory floor. Nahum scribbled notes in the small notebook that he habitually carried everywhere he went. They spent the entire morning going over every inch of the factory floor. Nahum made suggestions for improving the manufacturing process and corrected several of the workers when he realized they were putting the machines together incorrectly.

In the afternoon the two friends huddled together in Simeon’s office. They cleared the mess of papers and ledger books off Simeon’s desk, took down the large paper plan that Simeon had talked to the wall opposite the bookshelves and spread it out on his desk. They spent the rest of the afternoon pouring over it, rearranging to factory’s work flow increase to the factory’s output and reduce the construction time for each cutting machine. By the end of the day, Simeon and Nahum studied the notes, arrows and drawings they had made all over the draftsmen’s floor plan of the factory.

“I think this is much better,” said Simeon.

Nahum nodded in agreement. “Yes.” He stared at the plans covered in numbers and arrows and scribbled notes for what seemed like the millionth time. He ran through some quick mental gymnastics. “This configuration of the factory floor should allow us to produce the machine at a rate of one every ninety minutes once the workmen are properly trained.”

Simeon hummed in agreement.

“I surmise that it will take four to six weeks to rearrange all the workstations in accordance with these changes.”

Nahum nodded. “I agree, but it will take at least another two months beyond that to train the workmen to assemble the cutting machine properly.”

Now it was Simeon’s turn to frown thoughtfully. After a second or two, he stepped out from behind his desk, crossed his office in a couple of strides and pulled open the door. Nahum made to follow him, mystified as to what his partner was doing, but Simeon gestured at him, bidding him stay where he was. Nahum stopped. A second or two later, he heard a door opening and a muffled conversation, footsteps in the hall.

Simeon re-entered the room and shut the door. He crossed the room and sat back down at his desk with his fingers steepled. “I’ve sent young Mr. Pemberton down to the factory floor to bring up the factory foreman, and to fetch the accountant.” He paused. “I believe you’ve met Chester Goodwin?”

Nahum nodded. “Yes, we spoke briefly this morning,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve met the factory foreman or your Mr. Pemberton.”

“Toby Pemberton is my nephew,” Simeon said, “only just turned seventeen, and fancies himself a bit of a go-getter, so I gave him a job as my assistant.”

Nahum had been on the of verge asking a question when the door opened and a tall, thin teenager stuck his head in the door. His dark hair was neatly parted and a pair of round spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose. He radiated nervous energy. “Uncle,” said Toby, “I have summoned Mr. Prendergast and Mr. Goodwin, as you requested.”

Simeon nodded. “Thank you, Toby. Please send them in.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he said. He turned and disappeared for a moment. A second or two later, the door to Simeon’s office opened and two men stepped inside. The first was short, slightly portly man whom Nahum judged to be in his late forties. He was clean shaven and his blond hair was streaked with silver. The man standing next to him was tall and barrel chested. An unruly mop of red hair covered his head. He was dressed in a leather apron, dark trousers and sturdy work boots. Elias Prendergast had angular features and a scrubby goatee. There was grease under his fingernails and a wrench stuck out of one of his pockets.

Toby hesitated momentarily. “Do you require anything else, Uncle?” he asked.

Simeon shook his head. “Not just now, thank you, but I will need those contracts later. You think you can manage that?”

Toby nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”

“I will want those on my desk for thing tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Simeon nodded. “That will be all for now.”

Toby nodded and went out of the room. He shut the door behind him with a snap.

“You asked to see us, Sir,” asked Elias.

Simeon nodded. “Yes, gentlemen, I did.” He motioned toward Nahum. “This is my business partner, Nahum Goddard.” There was a polite round of handshakes. “Mr. Goddard designed the prototype for the cutting machine and has agreed to act as the company salesman,” said Simeon. “Mr. Goddard has also looked over the factory’s operations as it pertains to manufacturing the cutting machine in the most efficient manner possible, so as to satisfy our business partners. He has made some suggestions which I think we ought to consider.”

Nahum nodded his head at Simeon, and without preamble began to speak. He talked for an hour, outlining the changes he and Simeon were planning to make to the layout of the factory floor. When he was finished, Chester and Elias were silent, processing Nahum’s information.

Simeon surveyed his accountant and his foreman. They were obviously considering what they had just heard. “I am interested in your thoughts gentlemen,” he prompted.

The two men studied the plans covered with arrows, notes and measurements laid across Simeon’s desk. “If I might suggest,” said Elias, picking up a pencil. “You have placed the stamping machines here.” He pointed to a particular spot on the plans. Nahum and Simeon nodded.

“Yes,” replied, Simeon, “it seemed to be the most sensible arrangement.”

Elias nodded. “The steam lines enter here,” he pointed to a different spot on the plans.

Nahum saw his point at once. “If we move the stamping machines,” he said, “we’ll have to run the steam lines all the way across the factory.”

It was Elias’s turn to nod. “The stamping machines would lack the pressure to operate properly, and we would be back to where we started.”

“So what do you suggest?”asked Simeon, staring at the plans across his desk.

“I would suggest moving the stamping machines to here instead,” Elias said, pointing at a different spot. “The steam lines will not have to be rerouted to the same degree.”

“And we can move the lathes to here,” said Nahum.

“Yes,” Simeon said. He cast a look at Chester, who had been scribbling with a pencil in a little notebook the whole time Elias and Nahum had been talking. “What about you, Chester?” he asked. “Care to reckon what this will cost?”

Chester frowned at his calculations, then at the plans, thick with numbers, scribbled calculations and arrows. He was silent for several seconds, mentally double checking his math. Finally, he put away his pencil and notebook. “I estimate that making the changes that Mr. Goddard and Mr. Prendergast have proposed will increase the production rate by approximately a third,” he said.

Nahum and Simeon traded approving looks. If Chester’s calculations were accurate, the modifications they planned to make to the layout of the factory, should see Nahum’s cutting machine produced in sufficient numbers to meet the demands of the market they were attempting to create. “And what of the cost to make these modifications?” asked Simeon.

Chester pursed his lips and mentally ran through the figures one more time. “I estimate that it would cost us thirty-seven thousand dollars to make all of the proposed modifications.”

There were several seconds of silence as this information sank in. “We will require a bank loan,” he said after a time.

Simeon shook his head. “We’re already in debt to the bank to the tune of fifty thousand.” He clearly didn’t relish the idea of going to the bank and taking out a second of some thirty thousand dollars.

The four men exchanged looks. “I would prefer to reach out to our private investors before asking for another loan from the bank,” said Nahum.

Simeon nodded. “I am inclined to agree.” He walked to one of the bookcases and picked up a little bell. It rang with a clear tinkling chime. A second or two later, the door opened and Toby appeared. He had his coat on and a scarf around his neck.

“Yes, Uncle?” he asked. “I was about to go home for the day. Did you require something?”

Simeon’s eyes shifted from his nephew to the clock on the wall. The hands read a quarter past five in the evening. “Yes,” he said. “I require a draft letter on my desk tomorrow to be sent to all the company’s investors.”

Toby fished in his pocket for a small notebook and pencil. He quickly scribbled down Simeon’s instructions.

Simeon turned to the other three. “We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow. We still have much to do.”