Even for blasé New Yorkers, it was a sight that stopped them in their tracks.

John Feeks, a Western Union lineman, working on a utility pole high above the corner of Chambers and Centre streets, grabbed a wire that surged with 3000 volts. It wasn’t supposed to be that hot, but a few blocks away it had accidentally come in contact with a 3000-volt power line belonging to industrialist George Westinghouse’s electrical distribution system.

As The New York Times described it, “…bright sparks and tongues of blue flames played all about his hand and a small cloud of smoke curled up into the air.” (The New York Times, October 12, 1889)

History doesn’t note whether William Kemmler, at the time a guest of the New York State penal system, knew about Feeks’s fate. Or, if he did, whether it bothered him.

Kemmler had already made peace with the knowledge that he would be the first person to be executed by electricity.

In the months before his execution, though, Kemmler was in another kind of hot seat. He was caught between Westinghouse and Thomas Edison, two men who became deeply concerned over whether Westinghouse’s AC or Edison’s DC should send Kemmler to meet his maker.

For all practical purposes, New York State could have flipped a coin to determine the outcome. But that wouldn’t have satisfied these two titans.

They were locked in a battle to light New York City, and the rest of the country, with electricity. So in addition to Kemmler’s comfort there were millions of dollars at stake.

Not to mention the personal feud.

It seems that as Edison was tinkering with his electric light bulb, Westinghouse also saw the light. Flush with cash—Westinghouse was the inventor of the air brake—he invested in making light bulbs, too. The Wizard of Menlo Park met that move with his usual aplomb.

Edison filed 11 patent infringment lawsuits against Westinghouse.

Undeterred, Westinghouse pushed on, until it was impossible to get the two men on the same side of the street, let alone on the same side of an argument.

It might seem the question of AC versus DC was one for scientists, not businessmen. In the late 1880s, however, very little was known about electricity, especially how it killed. Doctors admitted that if they didn’t know a corpse had been shocked to death their autopsies would be inconclusive.

Besides, Edison wanted Kemmler executed with AC so that the inventor could proclaim Westinghouse was peddling “the executioner’s current.” It would have made a great sound bite—if Edison had thought to invent sound bites in the 1880s—but it was more hype than glory. Edison was on the wrong side of science.

A single high-voltage AC generating plant could deliver electricity over hundreds of square miles. Right before entering a customer’s premises, the high voltage could easily be reduced to 100 volts to light the lights.

In order to distribute 100 volts of DC, which couldn’t easily be reduced from high to low voltage, Edison would have to build a generating plant every square mile. Otherwise, distant light bulbs would paint rooms with a dull, red glow suitable for little more than a house of ill repute.

It was a scientific, and financial, hurdle Edison couldn’t overcome. So he chose to poison Westinghouse’s business.

In and out of court, Edison testified about the superior killing ability of AC. As proof, he cited shabbily-conducted experiments (performed on animals by Edison and his proxies) that were as truthful as an Æsop fable. He toyed with the idea of starting his own AC business so he could drive it into the ground and then point out that even he couldn’t make AC profitable and safe.

At one point he supposedly offered to buy New York State a Westinghouse AC generator to power Kemmler’s electric chair.

Lacking any hard scientific evidence, New York took Edison’s word for it. On August 6, 1890, Kemmler was executed with alternating current from a Westinghouse generator (which the state purchased itself).

It was, according to the Times, “a botched execution,” with enough blame to distribute to all involved. The supervising doctor prematurely switched off the electricity. Kemmler died only after he was jolted a second time.

The warden was accused of improperly connecting the electrodes to Kemmler’s body. The Westinghouse generator was deemed insufficient. The electricians who wired the chair were chastised for using wire that was thinner than required.

Nonetheless, several years after Kemmler’s lights went out, so did those of Edison’s customers. Westinghouse’s AC became the standard for New York, the U.S., and most of the world.

It also remained the executioner’s current.

A tip of the hat to author, and charter subscriber, J. David Robbins for suggesting the idea that led to this story.