Margaret Knight is best remembered as the inventor of the machine that makes flat-bottomed paper bags.  This was a 19th-century innovation that still influences machinery today. However, that single achievement only scratches the surface of her story.  

Knight had a brilliant mind for mechanical problems, and she was confident in her abilities.  Early in her career, a machinist copied her invention and tried to patent it for himself. When Margaret Knight realized what had happened, she did not hesitate. She scraped together her money and hired a patent attorney to right the wrong.

To understand Margaret Knight, people need to recognize her for her creativity and her grit. She was a talented problem-solver who never stepped away from defending her accomplishments.

Growing Up

Margaret Knight (1838–1914) was born in York, Maine, the youngest of three children. Perhaps influenced by her two older brothers, she never played with dolls and loved crafting toys for herself and her brothers. She became known in the area for her superior kites and sleds.

The family was torn by the death of her father when Margaret was still a child. Margaret’s mother heard there was work in New Hampshire in the cotton mills, so the family moved there. Mrs. Knight and her boys took jobs at Amoskeag Manufacturing Company. When Margaret was 12, she joined them.

Mill Work

Margaret was at work on the line one day when a shuttle flew off its moorings. Shuttles are very sharp, and one flying loose was  dangerous. This one injured a woman working near Margaret.

Because Margaret witnessed the accident first hand, she was able to puzzle through what happened and why. She came up with two solutions—one that would keep the shuttle from flying off the loom; the other was a way to cover the tip of the shuttle to reduce the danger.

Knight approached management with her solutions on how to prevent another accident. The supervisor put Margaret’s idea into practice, and it made for a safer workplace. Margaret Knight was too young to know about patents then, so she did not profit financially from her extra work. However, the experience offered her an excellent education for the future.

Illness

While working at the cotton mill, Knight became ill and had to leave her job. There is no documentation as to what caused her illness, but many mill workers suffered from “brown lung” from the cotton dust and lint that blew around the factory. This caused workers to be prone to suffer chronic coughing, asthma, and severe respiratory failure.

Once she was feeling better, she looked for other employment. For a time, she worked at an upholstery shop and then moved on to a company specializing in photography.

Paper Bag Company

In 1867, Margaret Knight was living in Springfield, Massachusetts, and working at the Columbia Paper Bag Company.  Women were paid one-third of what male coworkers received, but she was glad for the work.

The factories at that time had simple machines that made V-bottom bags. Flat bottom bags were also made by the factory, but they had to be put together by hand.

Knight’s first job was as a bag bundler, tying up the machine-made envelope-style bags for shipping. From her vantage point at the end of the production line, she could see the workers guiding the simpler bags along from machine to machine. She also watched as another group—mainly women— painstakingly cut, folded, and glued what would be each flat-bottom bag. Because this labor-intensive process was so slow, flat-bottom bags were an expensive luxury item for merchants.

As Knight worked at her job each day, she also thought about how these processes could be automated.

Crafting Her Ideas

At the end of each day, she returned to her boarding house to test out what she felt would work. Her first invention was for a machine that improved on the V-bottom paper bag. For the patent, she called it a “paper feeding machine.” In 1870, she received a patent on that invention. She then applied her efforts to figuring out how a machine could be used to make a flat-bottom bag.

Working Model for Flat-Bottom Bag Machine

A few months later, she had a working wooden model that she was pleased with. Some who saw the device said it was “rickety,” but it cut, folded, and glued over 1,000 bags during her testing phase.

Just as she had done with her application for the “paper feeding machine,” Knight needed to find a mechanic’s shop where they could make her a working model in iron. She chose a machinist in Boston to help her.

The machine was extraordinarily complex, so in addition to leaving all her paperwork for the machinist, she checked in regularly to oversee what was being done.

Here’s How It Worked

The process starts with a roll of brown paper. A feeding mechanism draws the paper into the machine, where the paper is cut to size and then rolled into a tube.

Folding arms guide the edges of the paper inward to make a seam, along which a paste wheel applies adhesive. The paper is then pressed flat.

To create the flat bottom, special blades fold the sides of the paper inward. The top is left open and then the machine folds the two remaining flaps down over each other to create the flat bottom. As the folding arms move the flaps into place, glue applicators (timed by the machine’s gears) stamp onto the flaps the exact amount of adhesive to hold them shut. Finally, the completed bag is pushed through a set of heavy pressing rollers to firmly seal the glued bottom.

Ultimately, the finished bag is then ejected from the machine.

Margaret Knight clearly knew what she was doing. Her machines worked.

Knight’s Idea Stolen and Copied

During the time the machinist in Boston was working on Knight’s iron model, Charles Annan, another machinist, stopped in to visit. He noted what his friend was working on for Knight.

Annan saw the brilliance of what she developed, and he felt there was money to be made. He copied as many of the materials as he could and raced back to his own shop to make his own working model. He then submitted a patent application under his own name.  

When Margaret Knight received a message that her prototype was completed, she stopped by and picked it up. She brought with her the detailed paperwork she had prepared and took everything to the Patent Office.

Only then did she learn that someone had filed for the same device days ahead of her. 

But Charles Annan underestimated her. Knight was resolute, knowing full well who had put in the thousands of hours of sketching, problem-solving, and building to make the machine a reality. She was fully prepared to prove it though it would be costly. She scraped together what money she had and hired a patent attorney. She then sued Charles Annan for patent interference.   

Annan’s Defense

Annan claimed his device was somewhat different, and therefore, he deserved the patent. However, other sources noted that he told some people that he didn’t believe a woman possessed the mechanical ability to conceptualize such a complex machine.

Knight was a meticulous worker and had complete documentation of all the steps she took in creating her invention. She gathered her early journal entries and detailed mechanical drawings. She also gathered testimonies from everyone from the people in her rooming house to the machinists who built her prototypes.

The court case took 16 days, proving very costly for Knight, but she was determined. Ultimately, the judge for the patent office ruled in her favor. Charles Annan’s patent was thrown out, and Margaret Knight was rightfully granted the flat-bottom paper bag machine.

Knight’s machine was an important invention. It turned the flat-bottom paper bag from an expensive, hand-crafted luxury into the cheap, disposable basic bags we use today.

Knight’s Company Already Making Bags

In 1870—before her patent was granted–Margaret Knight and a business partner set up Eastern Paper Bag Company to make the bags. Knight overcame resistance as a factory boss because workers saw that she had complete command of the machinery and the factory process.

Once she received her patent, Knight made a new arrangement with her business partner. She asked for a royalty on the profits (capping her take at $25,000). The business partner was left to run the factory, and Knight was free to focus on inventing.

More Work Ahead for Margaret Knight

Her 1871 patent victory was just the beginning of a long, prolific, and highly unusual career for a woman in the 19th and early 20th centuries. She spent the rest of her life as a full-time, professional inventor.

She rented space in Framingham, Massachusetts. This gave her a place to experiment with what she was working on. Most of her devices had to do with manufacturing. One was a machine for boring holes, another was for a numbering machine, and yet another pertained to making windows and sashes. These were the types of challenges that interested her.

But Framingham was the seat of shoe manufacturing, so she heard new stories and wondered about ways to improve shoemaking. Between 1883 and 1894, she received six patents for massive, complex shoe-manufacturing machines. These included devices for cutting shoe soles and stitching different parts of the shoe together, which helped further automate another major American industry.

Automotive Industry

The automotive industry was making progress in the early 20^th century, and though Knight was in her 60s by this time, she paid attention to what was happening there.  Between 1902 and 1914, she designed and patented several components for internal combustion engines and rotary motors. She also patented a sleeve-valve automobile engine, a motor drive, and a compound rotary engine.

It was virtually unheard of for a woman of her generation—let alone one in her 70s—to be designing heavy automotive engines.

Fame Much Later

Margaret Knight passed away in Framingham in 1914. She was 76 At her death, she held patents for 22 inventions and had assigned patents for an estimated 60 more to her employers or financial backers.

Margaret Knight never cared about being interviewed or photographed for her inventions. She was always thinking about her next challenge, so the lack of recognition probably didn’t bother her.

But she was too talented to ignore. In 2006, she was posthumously inducted into the National Inventors Halls of Fame for her flat-bottom paper bag machine (Patent No. 116,842).

And the Smithsonian Institution has permanently preserved her working model of the paper bag machine. This is an honor afforded to only a few inventions of the 19^th century.

Margaret Knight is often remembered for one particular invention, but the true acclaim she deserves lies in her brilliant, problem-solving mind, her tenacity, and her indomitable spirit. She was far more than the creator of a single machine; she was a visionary who never backed down from a challenge. The work she did resulted in automating many businesses.

For decades, Horn & Hardart’s Automats served as a singular social crossroads within the urban fabric of New York and Philadelphia. It was a regional restaurant business beloved by the locals who frequented it, yet mythologized by a national media that saw the restaurants as unique and powerful social equalizers. Any customer who had a nickel could come in and enjoy a cup of coffee or a piece of pie. 

After a humble start with a single lunchroom in Philadelphia in 1888, Joe Horn and Frank Hardart went on to build a chain of restaurants that featured quality food at affordable prices.  To Frank Hardart’s great pride, they also served a French drip coffee that Hardart had long dreamed of introducing nationwide.  Hardart’s New Orleans brew was a great improvement over the boiled coffee that was the staple of most American restaurants. 

How They Grew

Both Joe Horn and Frank Hardart dreamed of running their own restaurants. When they initially teamed up and began with a small lunchroom, they were perfectly happy. After that beginning, they envisioned success as a chain of Philadelphia lunchrooms for working people.

But then a call from a European restaurant equipment salesman changed everything.  The fellow was representing a company that made an ornate brass-trimmed wall of glass that partitioned a restaurant’s front of the house from the kitchen. The partition featured small windows showing actual dishes that could be purchased (a sandwich, pie, macaroni and cheese).

The system worked like a vending machine. The customer inserted a coin in the slot by the dish he or she wanted. The coin triggered the opening of the small door, and the customer could reach in and remove the plate and take to the table. Behind the scenes much work was involved with making this happen, but to a customer it seemed magical—automatic.  The restaurants became known as “The Automat.”

It was clever; it was unique; and it meant that (almost) no waiters were needed.

The memory of Horn & Hardart’s Automat lies in the great coffee, good comfort food, and the pseudo-technology of waiter-less restaurants. But the true wonder of the restaurant chain begins with the two men who founded it.

The Men: Joe Horn and Frank Hardart

Joe Horn (1861-1941) was born into a big family in Philadelphia. His father died while Joe was young, leaving the children’s mother to manage the family’s successful surgical supply business.

Catharine Horn wanted her sons to go into their own businesses, but her grounding was in manufacturing. When Joe asked his mother to stake him in a restaurant, she responded with a firm no. She wanted him focused on a business that seemed more reliable than food service. Instead, she sent him to California (and eventually Boston) to look for other ideas.

But Joe was deeply interested in food. No matter where he went, all he could talk about afterward were the fascinating restaurants he visited. Horn found his greatest inspiration at Thompson’s Spa in Boston. He admired how the simple restaurant served quality food to working people quickly—a model he aspired to replicate.

His mother finally believed him, giving him $1000 in seed money. He was elated, but he was wise. His travels showed him that there was a lot he still didn’t know—he didn’t want to make a mistake.

Elsewhere: Frank Hardart

About 1200 miles away in New Orleans, another fellow was wrestling with his plans for the future. Frank Hardart’s family emigrated from Bavaria when Frank was 8. They had no money, so when the ship docked in New Orleans, they stayed.

By the time he was 13, Frank Hardart (1850-1918) was washing dishes in a small restaurant in the French Quarter. Because the owner was rarely there, Frank also cooked, served, and closed up at night. It was a big job with little pay ($3 per week). Frank soon realized it was the best education he could have ever gotten.

Loved the Coffee

As Frank learned the business, he saw that New Orleans residents, from upper-class families to the working class, shared a deep devotion to their coffee. The city’s preferred method was the French drip, where hot water was poured over freshly ground beans held in a cloth bag. This produced a smooth, aromatic cup of coffee that stood in sharp contrast to the bitter “boiled coffee” common in the rest of America. That process often scorched the grounds or reused them until they were tasteless.

Hardart experimented constantly with different beans and grind levels, but he never strayed from the New Orleans method. By the time he was twenty, he had worked in several restaurants and gained a solid understanding of the industry, yet his true obsession remained the coffee. He was convinced that Americans would love this better coffee if they just knew about it.

Centennial Exposition

In the 19th century, people in Europe and the United States loved attending expositions (also called World’s Fairs) with displays from all over the world. For the public, it was an opportunity to learn about different countries at a time when few people could afford to travel. For vendors, it was the perfect showcase for their products.

Frank Hardart aspired to attend Philadelphia’s Centennial Exposition in 1876. The trip would be expensive for him, but he wanted to see whether he could make any connections for selling his drip coffee. 

Unfortunately, Hardart had no luck with his offering. He loved the energy of Philadelphia and was fascinated by all the items displayed at the exposition, but he went home with no buyers. 

After returning to New Orleans, Frank took another restaurant job and married. Soon, he and his wife were raising a young child. Despite these new roots, Frank convinced his wife that their future lay in Philadelphia, where he could finally realize his dream of introducing his superior coffee in a major city.

Philidelphia Restaurant World

By 1888, both future partners were living in Philadelphia, but they had not yet met.

 Frank Hardart arrived early in 1888 and took up residence in a rooming house. (His family followed a bit later.) Hardart took a job in a local restaurant, but he still wanted a way to introduce his coffee.

Joe Horn now had the financial backing of his mother, but he was cautious. He knew the stakes were high, and he didn’t want to goof up at this stage. Horn decided to advertise for a partner, specifying in the ad that the person he was looking for “should be someone who knew and loved the nuts and bolts of the restaurant business.”

To Horn’s disappointment, his advertisement received no response. Then two weeks later, an envelope arrived from a local rooming house. Inside was a note scrawled on the torn-off top of a sugar bag: “I’m your man!” It was signed F. Hardart.

While the presentation wasn’t exactly promising, it offered possibility. The two men met and agreed their goals could align. On the strength of a simple handshake, Joe Horn, 27, and Frank Hardart, 38, became partners.

Their first weeks together involved a street-by-street search of downtown Philadelphia. They found a tiny, 11-by-17-foot lunchroom at 39 South 13th Street, directly opposite Wanamaker’s Department Store. That would be their first location.

First Horn and Hardart Restaurant

On December 22, 1888, the first Horn & Hardart restaurant opened. There were no tables—just a long counter, and 15 stools.  The two men worked with pride. It was the beginning of their plan to serve good food for the working class.

On opening day, Joe Horn took the front of the restaurant while Frank Hardart was in the kitchen, cooking the food and preparing his special coffee.

Later in the week, people stopped in saying, “You have the best cup of coffee in town!” Soon enough, they had lines around the corner at lunchtime.

Adding new restaurants was the next priority.  They began picking up land or renting space in old buildings where they could establish new lunchrooms.

Sales Call Changes Plan

In the early 1900s, a European salesman heard about the duo that was setting up lunchrooms in Philadelphia and paid them a call. He wanted to introduce Joe Horn & Frank Hardart to a restaurant feature that was becoming popular in Europe.

The device was a mechanized partition that created a “waiter-less” restaurant. The mechanism wasn’t a machine in the modern sense—there were no motors or electrical belts, but it was interesting. The salesman presented them with drawings of the “machine,” which depicted a brass and nickel divider with many small compartments with glass doors. When a customer inserted a coin (or a token), the door popped open and a prepared dish could be removed.  While staff had to monitor and maintain the food in each slot, the customers could serve themselves. To restaurant patrons, it seemed instant and “automatic.”

Both Horn and Hardart were intrigued, but this would mean a huge investment. Frank Hardart worked out plans for a trip to Europe to see exactly how these things worked.

The European Version

The highly ornate devices used in Europe were beautiful and reduced staffing needs in the dining room, but for the kitchen staff, the work was about the same—only it had to be done faster. In the original European models, the glass compartments displayed only inedible samples rather than actual portions of food.

When a customer inserted the first coin, a bell rang to alert the kitchen staff as to the dish that needed to be readied. A few minutes later, the dish was available. Many kitchens were located on the floor below, so the food was brought up by a dumbwaiter, and the employee tending the back of the partition made it available to the customer.

As the system progressed, restaurant owners began to place simpler dishes (a cold sandwich or a piece of pie) directly into a compartment. That way customers could immediately access those selections. But in general, the European model was just a first step in what eventually was to become a more “automated” model.

Making the Evaluation

On his trip to Europe, Frank Hardart liked the new open feeling of the restaurant’s dining room. The primary person in the front of the house was a cashier who sat in a glass-enclosed box and made change for customers. No maitre’d was present.

Hardart saw that the customer-facing operation seemed smooth, but he noted how hard the employees in the kitchen worked to carry out the process. The staff had to keep close tabs on all the windowed compartments to assess which dishes were needed. Then the cooks needed to work quickly to live up to the idea that the food was available “automatically.” 

Overall, Hardart liked the concept and felt there were ways they could modify it for a Philadelphia restaurant. After consulting with Joe Horn, they decided to invest the $30,000 and have a unit sent to the United States.

The mechanized partitions were not easy to make, so after the order was placed Horn and Hardart knew it would take a full year for delivery. That gave them time to plan out what would be a new style of restaurant. 

Thinking Through Their Needs

Both Joe Horn and Frank Hardart believed in a refined atmosphere for regular customers. As they made their plans, they aspired to make their new restaurant elegant. They believed that high-quality food and beautiful architecture should belong to everyone, regardless of what was in any customer’s wallet.

Their lunchrooms had done well, so they could afford to furnish the restaurant nicely. They envisioned marble-topped tables and wooden chairs. Some tables would be eight-top for communal dining. Others would be for smaller group seatings.  

They also saw changes in the population in the city. Women were entering the work force as clerks, stenographers, and secretaries. They wanted a safe place to get a quick lunch that was efficient and made them feel respected. 

Their staffing needs would be different too. No maitre’d or waiters would be there, but every restaurant would need “nickel throwers”—women who could quickly knock off nickels from a roll of coins so that customers would quicky have in hand the coins they needed for the Automat.

The men saw from the European locations that black uniforms with gloves were the best choice. On both sides of the Atlantic, coins were dirty. Without gloves, the women’s hands were soon tinged with gray. 

As customers entered the restaurant and picked up their needed coins, they were free to sit wherever they wanted. A business executive who popped in for a bowl of soup might find himself at the same table as a secretary finishing a cup of coffee.  Everyone was equal.

Dispensing Drinks

The partners saw, too, that beverages also needed to be served from the vending wall. They knew from the start that they would need dedicated coin-operated dispensers for milk, tea, and coffee. By automating the drinks, they eliminated the need for waitstaff to weave through the dining room with heavy trays.

Initially the drink dispensers were simple and efficient. But on a scouting trip to Europe several years later, Joe Horn, became transfixed by the ornate fountains of Florence. He commissioned silver dolphin-head spouts for all the drink dispensers. These soon became an iconic part of the chain.

Waiting for Delivery

The partners were elated to hear that their partition was finally complete and en route to Liverpool to be sent by ship to America. However, their excitement was short-lived. Shortly after leaving port, the vessel carrying their order collided with another ship in a dense fog off the English coast and sank.

The entire shipment was lost to the bottom of the sea. Nothing was ever retrieved; While the equipment was insured, the disaster forced Horn and Hardart to wait another full year for a replacement set to be manufactured and shipped

The House that Nickels Built

Another year passed before Horn and Hardart could finally open their new restaurant.  Finally, the first Automat in the United States was established at 818 Chestnut Street in Philadelphia. 

When the first customers arrived, they were amazed by the operation. If they wanted a piece of pie or a sandwich, then they dropped their nickel in the appropriate slot and turned the knob. When the door opened, they retrieved their desired dish. 

With hot food, the process was a little different.  A bell signaled to the kitchen staff that a customer wanted a hot dish—beef stew or macaroni and cheese, for example. The cooks heated up the dish and then it up to dining floor via a dumbwaiter. 

It was “slow” fast food, but for Philadelphians in 1902, watching their meal ascend from the basement was the height of technological magic.

More Automats

With the success of the first Automat in Philadelphia, Horn & Hardart opened a second one on Juniper Street. A third and fourth soon followed. During this time, Hardart continued to order the “wall of windows” from Europe, but they were at work on a new plan with their chief engineer, John Fritsche.

Fritsche was deeply involved in setting up each restaurant, and soon he was willing to take on the task of building a made-to-order wall for Horn & Hardart. The new design was more American—less ornate. It was made from glass and chrome and looked sleeker, more in keeping with America. Instead of the more ornate and heavier European look, Fritcsche used Carrara glass (milk glass), polished brass, and eventually chrome. The look was bright and sanitary. It was a perfect look for the day as Americans were beginning to worry more about food and cleanliness.

He also made the mechanics more workable.   He patented a knob system that could be twisted by the customer and the door sprang open. The sandwich or piece of cake was easily within reach. He also added a rotating metal drum that made it “automatic” for food to be replaced. A worker on the other side of the wall could simply rotate a fresh plate into the empty slot. This allowed the “wall of windows” to stay constantly full, creating the illusion of a self-replenishing machine that never ran out of food.

Expanding to New York City

The pace of New York City with city dwellers traveling all over town and commuters making their way in and out of the train stations offered an environment that Horn and Hardart couldn’t resist. 

The first property they established was at 1557 Broadway (46^th Street) right in the heart of Times Square. As they undertook construction for this location, they spared no expense. They hired an artist to install a two-story stained glass surround to the main door, and the marble-topped tables and glass compartments trimmed with chrome were everything they could have dreamed of.   

With the opening of that restaurant in 1912, Horn & Hardart became a regional chain.

Continued Focus on Quality

While Frank Hardart maintained high coffee standards, Joe Horn felt the same way about the food. He wanted it to be consistently excellent throughout he restaurants in both cities.

Joe Horn assembled a 200-page manual to be used by all the restaurants. It covered everything from how to clean the coffee dispenser to how to prepare each dish. Instructions on how to monitor the food to be served was also important. Coffee dispensers were to be refreshed every 20 minutes and soup was never to be left uncovered. (If the soup had a lid, then the steam continued to recirculate and the salt and the flavoring remained consistent.)

With his eye on quality, Horn hired a master chef. Francis J. Bourdon had been trained at Cordon Bleu, but he was perfectly happy to have regular employment and to create good-tasting comfort food for working people.

Horn and Hardart Central Kitchen

Joe Horn also determined that each city needed a central kitchen from which to operate. If food was prepared in one place in large batches, the executives could check quality central location before the offerings were sent out to each location. The New York kitchen was at 50^th and 11^th Avenue, and Philadelphia’s central spot was near 10^th and Locust. 

Each day Horn and the top executives in Philadelphia and New York would gather at the “sample” table in their commissary kitchen. Each dish would be sampled, and if anything was even the slightest bit off, Horn was perfectly willing to trash the whole batch. After everything was approved, the containers of food were loaded on trucks and sent off to the various Automats.

Expansion Continued

By 1932, New York City had 42 Automat-cafeterias, and Philadelphia had 46 properties. About half of the restaurants in Philadelphia were lunchrooms. The rest were Automats.

As they watch the population needs change, Horn and Hardart also decided to sell prepared food from free standing retail stores. Their advertising slogan for these operations was “Less Work for Mother.”  She could heat up the food at home, but she didn’t have to prepare it.

Joe Horn Focused on Community

While Horn & Hardart worked their people hard, they also kept their eyes on what the staff needed. During the Depression, Horn & Hardart made certain that all staff members were fed at least one meal. 

Joe Horn had no family, so he treated the workers as extended family. He made sure they had disability insurance  and set up a loan program for people in need.  

How Horn and Hardart Became Part of Popular Culture

 How did a regional cafeteria concept become an enduring icon of American dining? The answer lies not in the “wall of windows,” but in the chain’s locations—they were in the heart of two important cities. Philadelphia was becoming the capital of the music business (Gamble and Huff and the Philly Sound), and New York was where the theater world thrived. 

While businesspeople, clerks, and secretaries were very much a part of the customer base, so were writers, composers, and actors. These people helped turn the Automat into a setting for a film, a scene for a Broadway show, or the subject of a song sung by the latest singer in vogue.  The most famous song specifically about the coffee (and pie) at the Automat is “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee,” written by the legendary Irving Berlin.

In the meantime, the New York Automats had Gene Kelly, Irving Berlin, Jimmy Stewart, Walter Winchell, Beverly Sills, Anne Bancroft, Dorothy Parker, Helen Gurley Brown, and Woody Allen coming in and out. Many weren’t luminaries at the time they first visited, but they rose to fame. As their careers progressed, they shared memories of the Automat, increasing its reputation and standing

To people in rural locations, the fact that movies were frequently set in the Automats, made it an iconic part of New York City. If you were coming in to see the Empire State Building, you just had to have a meal at the Automat.

Nearing the End

Automats remained popular into the 1960s, but the restaurants began to show their age as the popularity of true fast-food restaurants grew. At Horn & Hardart, the next generation of family stepped in with William Curtis, Joe Horn’s nephew, taking over.    

The new board saw that as office workers scurried for trains and buses to take them to the suburbs, the center-city business model was losing its restaurant magic.  The company tried setting up an Automat or two in shopping malls, but no one wanted comfort food if they could get a hamburger and fries.

Since Horn & Hardart had been taken public in 1960, there was added pressure to deliver shareholder value.  By the 1970s, Horn & Hardart prepared to pivot. They knew they had great value in real estate, so they secured franchise rights. They began gutting their own legendary Art Deco dining rooms to convert them into Burger Kings.

The business that was built on the personal integrity of Joe Horn and Frank Hardart was eventually dismantled. Horn & Hardart effectively stopped being a “restaurant business” and became a franchise holding company. 

In 1991, the very last Horn & Hardart Automat, located at 200 East 42nd Street in New York City, shut down, ending a nearly 90-year run of the regional chain. The ultimate irony of the Automat’s demise is that it wasn’t just defeated by modern fast food; it was consumed by it.

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H and H Classic Baked Macaroni and Cheese

Horn & Hardart was known for its comfort food. What could be better than reprinting their recipe for Macaroni and Cheese?

(Yields 4 to 6 servings)

Ingredients:

• 1/2 lb. small elbow macaroni
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. unsalted butter (plus extra for greasing the baking dish)
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups whole milk
• 2 Tbsp. light cream (or half-and-half)
• 1 1/2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, freshly grated (avoid pre-shredded, as it won’t melt as smoothly)
• 1/2 cup canned diced or crushed tomatoes (drained slightly)
• 1/2 tsp. sugar
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• A dash of white pepper
• A dash of cayenne pepper

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 400°F and generously butter a shallow casserole or 8×8-inch baking dish.
2. Cook the elbow macaroni in salted water according to the package directions until just al dente. Drain well and set aside.
3. In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, melt the butter over low heat. Whisk in the flour, salt, white pepper, and cayenne. Cook for about 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly to form a smooth paste and eliminate the raw flour taste.
4. Gradually pour in the milk and light cream, whisking continuously. Raise the heat slightly to medium-low and bring it to a gentle simmer. Keep whisking for about 5 minutes until the sauce becomes thick, smooth, and coats the back of a spoon.
5. Remove the saucepan entirely from the heat. Add the grated cheddar cheese, stirring constantly until it is completely melted and the sauce is velvety.
6. In a small bowl, stir the sugar into the canned tomatoes. Gently fold this tomato mixture into your warm cheese sauce.
7. Fold the cooked macaroni into the cheese sauce, ensuring every noodle is perfectly coated. Pour the mixture into your prepared baking dish. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the edges are bubbling aggressively and the top develops a beautiful golden-brown crust.

Matthew Henson (1866–1955) was the ultimate American explorer—brave, skilled, and unbreakable. For decades, however, history relegated him to the shadows because he was Black.

Hired originally as a personal valet by well-known explorer Robert Peary, Henson proved to be far more than a servant. He was the critical asset that made Peary’s obsession with the North Pole possible. Yet, in 1909, when Peary and Henson reached what was determined to be the North Pole, Peary was hailed as a hero. Henson, the African American who actually reached the point first, was largely ignored.

Only much later was he recognized for his achievements.

Matthew Henson: The Early Years

Mathew Henson was born in Charles County, Maryland, in 1866 to freeborn Black sharecroppers. His father took the family to Washington, D.C. in search of better job opportunities. However, before the family could settle in, both parents passed away.  The children were left in the care of relatives.

At age 11, Matthew ran away and found work as a cabin boy on a ship. The captain saw that he was a bright boy. He helped him improve his reading, taught him navigation skills, and familiarized Henson with all aspects of running a ship. The captain died when Henson was 18. With the loss of his mentor, Henson returned to Washington, D.C. and accepted a job as a salesclerk for a furrier.

Henson became a favorite of the store owner, and one day when Robert Peary, then a civil engineer for the U.S. Navy, came in to purchase items for a future trip to the jungles of Nicaragua, the store owner suggested Peary hire Henson as his valet. The owner knew that Henson would bring many skills to the work Peary expected to do.

Became a Team

For the first four years of their 22 years together, they struggled with the challenges of the jungles of the Southern hemisphere. Then when Robert Peary committed to an Arctic exploration (Greenland), they needed to hone new skills.

As they worked together, they developed a pattern. While Peary focused on logistics and plans, Henson mastered the day-to-day reality of Arctic survival. He became fluent in the Inuit language, earning the trust of the local guides who affectionately called him Maripaluk (“Matthew the Kind One”).

Henson also became the team’s master craftsman, building the sledges himself using Inuit techniques that could withstand the brutal terrain. From training the dog teams to building igloos for shelter in sub-zero temperatures, Henson possessed a unique combination of technical skill and physical endurance. His knowledge and his ease with the dogs also made him the best person to move forward to break the trails.

Greenland

In the 1890s, explorers were obsessed with reaching the North Pole, and Greenland was considered both the Arctic gateway and the bootcamp for Arctic travel.

In 1891 Peary was ready to take on this first challenge with an exploration of Greenland.  But Peary and Henson had never experienced Arctic ice, and it was much more difficult to navigate. Arctic sea ice is unexpected in every way, shifting from towering, jagged pressure ridges that have been built up over years to crevices that drop into deadly rivers of black water.

As their ship rammed along the coastline trying to break through the ice, a massive chunk of ice struck the ship’s rudder. The force of the ice spun the heavy iron tiller (steering lever) onto the deck, pinning Pary against the wheelhouse and causing him to break his leg.

Many thought they should return home. Eventually part of the group departed, but Peary and Henson remained until 1893. During that time, Henson continued to hone his skills since much of the time, Henson was bedridden.

A few years later their return, Peary mounted another expedition to Greenland to go further north to chart the ice cap. That trip was ill-fated as well. It was a large group, and they ran out of food and supplies and had to resort to eating their sled dogs to survive.

The North Pole: Only 174 Miles Away

After their first effort to reach the North Pole failed, they tried again in 1902. During this expedition, six Eskimos hired to accompany them died from starvation. Again, they had to turn around.

In 1906, Peary and Henson came forward with renewed energy. Peary had been able to give input on the design of the S.S. Theodore Roosevelt that was intended to be an ice cutter. However, the ship was no match for the Arctic ice.  They reached a point farther than they ever had—only 174 miles from the Pole, but they could go no further.

Peary and Henson left the ship to sledge forward on their own (sledging in the Arctic describes going by foot, but men are compelled to push, pull, and drag their sledges, as the sledges have all their provisions). They were halted by a huge black river that was miles wide. They eventually found their way back to The Roosevelt.  The “174-mile heartbreak” trip was a huge disappointment.

Final Attempt in 1908-09: Racing the Sun

In 1908, Robert Peary and Matthew Henson were getting older. Peary was 52 and Henson was 42. They had been close to death several times, and they knew the brutal temperatures and difficult conditions would be even more challenging. What’s more, there could be no “next time.” They were simply too old.

The S.S. Roosevelt spent a year in a New York shipyard being rebuilt and repaired. Finally, on a scorching hot day in July of 1908, it was ready to go. Peary and Henson left with 24 men, 19 sledges, and 133 dogs.

As they had before, they took the ice cutter as far as possible. Then Peary and Henson left with sledges. They were going to cover this last leg of their trip with four Eskimos and 40 dogs. Henson was expected to break the trail. Peary followed behind in a sledge as he was suffering seriously from frostbite.

They took the position needed for the final push and waited out the Polar Night (January and early February) in their chosen location. When Henson started out in late February, they had a full moon that reflected off the white snow, providing enough silvery light to navigate. As twilight arrived (early March), they pushed further north, journeying on.

By April 6 when they arrived at what was deemed the North Pole, the sun was peeking above the horizon. As Henson traveled, breaking the trail, he feared he overshot the mark and tracked back, running into Peary’s group at that time.

As the two together moved forward, calculating carefully where the Pole must be, they found Henson’s footprints.  Unknowingly, he had actually reached the Pole by himself. Initially, no one really addressed the matter. They planted the flag, took photos and measurements to prove their achievement and bedded down for the night.

The Return Trip

They knew they had to race back to the ship to avoid the spring melt. While Arctic ice does not usually fully melt, it does open and shift in unexpected ways, and it’s a dangerous time for exploring.

Throughout their expeditions, Peary and Henson had a custom. When they were ready to leave each morning, Henson or Peary would rap on the ice outside the tent where the other slept. That morning, Robert Peary got up and departed alone. Relations were cold between the two men for the remainder of the trip.

Meanwhile Back in the States

When they returned to the United States, the news did not get any better. Frederick Cook, an explorer who had been on one of the Greenland missions with them, claimed he reached the North Pole a year ahead of them—1908. (While exploring in the arctic, no groups ever received news from elsewhere. Access was too limited.)

Peary was devastated and angry. Cook had already begun making speeches and accepting awards. The general feeling was that Peary had missed out, so he began talking to those who were said to have accompanied Cook on the trip. As he listened to their stories, Peary became suspicious. Perhaps Cook had not actually reached the North Pole.

Robert Peary got in touch with the National Geographic Society and asked that they undertake an investigation. Eventually, Cook’s claim was exposed as a hoax.

Peary Was Recognized; Henson Was Not

While Peary was celebrated with parades and special events, Matthew Henson spent the next several decades working as a clerk in a federal customs house. His role in history was largely erased, though in 1909, a group called the Colored Citizens of New York sponsored a dinner in his honor and presented him with a gold watch.

In his free time, Henson decided to write about his experience. In 1912,  A Negro Explorer at the North Pole  was published  (available online today at no charge through Project Gutenberg). The book expanded public knowledge of Arctic travel as he explained so much about what each journey entailed. From the book, we learn a great deal about the expedition, the Inuit people, and about both Peary and Henson—a remarkable add-on to an extraordinary career.

Peary provided a foreword for the book, though he seemed to use the space to cement his own legacy as the expedition’s mastermind rather than sharing the ultimate glory with the man who actually led the way.

Henson Acknowledgment Comes Slowly

Acknowledgment of Henson began to funnel in slowly. Until Peary’s death in 1920, Peary controlled the story, so there could be only one hero. After he died, other explorers who knew Henson and knew what the expedition entailed, began to step forward. In 1937, the prestigious Explorers Club invited Henson to become a member, and in 1948 the Explorers Club made him an “Honorary member,” a designation given to no more than 20 living members at a time.

In 1944, Congress awarded him a duplicate of the silver medal given to the rest of the Peary expedition. Ten years later, President Dwight D. Eisenhower welcomed him to the White House.

Just before his death in 1955, he was given an honorary doctoral degree from Howard University and Morgan State University.

Since that time, a survey ship has been named in his honor, and the National Geographic Society awarded Henson the Hubbard Medal to Henson posthumously. There have also been streets and schools and centers named for him.

Final Honor for Matthew Henson: Arlington Cemetery

When Robert Peary died in 1920, he received a burial befitting a hero. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery. When Henson died in 1955, he was buried simply in a family burial plot at Woodlawn Cemetery in New York.

But in the 1980s, Professor Allen Counter of Harvard undertook a fight on behalf of the man he saw as the true hero. Counter had been studying the expedition and saw clearly that an injustice had been done to Matthew Henson. Henson’s contributions were not properly acknowledged. Professor Counter got permission from Presidnet Ronald Reagan to move Henson’s remains to Arlington Cemetery to be buried near Peary.

Henson and his wife Lucy were reinterred in Arlington with a monument that notes his accomplishments. Though Henson and Lucy never had children, Henson fathered a child with an Inuit woman, and that son and his children were present for the re-burial.

On Henson’s tomb is a quote from his autobiography: “The lure of the Arctic is tugging at my heart. To me the trail is calling. The old trail. The trail that is always new.”

Today, his monument stands directly next to Robert Peary’s, showing that on the ice, they were equals.

In the early 19th century, the American medical field was almost exclusively a men’s club. However, a few resilient women refused to accept the status quo, stepping forward as pioneers to carve out a new path.

Today, that landscape is shifting dramatically. While men currently account for 61% of active physicians in the U.S., women now make up the majority of medical students and residents. We are standing on the brink of a major demographic shift.

Below are the stories of six unsung women who challenged the establishment and moved the field of medicine forward.

Women Medical Leaders: Lydia Pinkham

Lydia Estes Pinkham (1819-1883) was one of the first people to take women’s health issues seriously.  She opened a closed door on the health matters that are unique to women. To help friends and neighbors, she created a vegetable tonic that helped with “women’s ills.” The family decided to package the product, and her sons soon took to the road to help place the tonic in stores.

Up until this time, women had no resources for health advice. Because Pinkham’s product became so popular, women wrote her for advice. Her responses were mostly common sense (eat well, exercise, and avoid the tight, restrictive clothing that was popular in the 19^th century). Eventually some of the advice was collected in pamphlets.

Though the compound has evolved to meet modern FDA standards, Lydia Pinkham’s Compound (now owned by Numark Brands) can still be found online and in major drug stores.

Clara Barton

Clara Barton (1821-1912) is well-known as the “Angel of the Battlefield”for her work during the Civil War. Later she brought the Red Cross to the U.S. and formed the American Red Cross.

Barton is less well-known for running the Office of Missing Soldiers. During the Civil War, the military had no official identification system. Sometimes soldiers caried a note in their pocket or wallet. Other times, their buddies buried them with something saying who they were.

Clara Barton set up an office in Washington, D.C. that operated from 1865-1867. She received 63,000 letters from families whose loved ones were missing, and she or her staff answered them all. They also managed to identify 22,000 soldiers.

Dr. Rebecca Crumpler

Dr. Rebecca Crumpler (1831-1895) was a Black woman who worked as a nurse for several white doctors in Massachusetts in the 1860s. She was so well-regarded by the men that they recommended her for admission the New England Female Medical College; she became the first African American to be admitted.  

Once she became a physician, she cared for Black patients in the Massachusetts area at a time when white doctors refused to treat people of color. At the end of her career, she wrote a home health guide for women about everything from nursing a newborn to managing cuts and wounds.  For the first time, households had a reliable reference as to how to manage various health issues.

Dorothy Harrison Eustis

Dorothy Harrison Eustis (1886-1946) was a dog breeder who became interested in training guide dogs for the blind.  While she was not a medical professional, her service to humanity was important to the health of people with impaired vision.

Eustis trained the first seeing eye dog brought to this country (1928). She went on to dedicate the rest of her life to breeding and training guide dogs. She and Morris Frank, the fellow who received the first dog she trained, created the school, The Seeing Eye. The school still operates today and continues to train and place dogs.

Dr. Virginia Apgar

Dr. Virginia Apgar (1909-1974) hoped to be a surgeon but she graduated from medical school during the Depression when men were taking all the available jobs.  She went into the relatively new field of anesthesiology. This placed her in delivery rooms where she had the opportunity to observe what happened with mothers and babies shortly after birth.

Apgar was alarmed that babies were only cursorily evaluated before being sent off to the hospital nursery. To solve the problem, she developed a method for assessing newborn health.  She originally called it the Newborn Scoring System, and it greatly changed the mortality rate for infants. The system is still used today but it is now referred to as the Apgar Score.  She then went on to run the March of Dimes.

Dr. Antonia Novello

Dr. Antonia Novello (1944–  ) grew up in Puerto Rico and became a physician. She is the first Latino to ever serve as U.S. Surgeon General. Appointed by President George H.W. Bush in 1990, she made many contributions to public health, among them working to improve medical care for women and minorities. 

Dr. Novello also targeted underage drinking and smoking, which involved a focus on cigarette advertising.  The cartoon image of Joe Camel was a particular target that she felt made smoking attractive to the young.

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This information is based on my six-volume history of medicine as well as a speech I gave at Arizona State University for their Barrett Honors Program. If you’d like to see the full presentation given at ASU, click here:

Little-Known Women in Medicine Presentation with Kate Kelly.

Remember foldable paper road maps?

For some of us, the thought of foldable highway maps conjures memories of family road trips where the words, “Let’s stop for a map,” were spoken whenever the family drove into unfamiliar territory.  Parents studied the map for route guidance and then passed the map to those of us in the back seat who yearned for something new to look at during long drives.

Early Drivers Didn’t Need Maps

When people first began driving, there was little need for route guidance. Automobiles were very simple, and people primarily drove around the towns and countryside they knew well. 

But by 1915, the U.S. had more than two million cars, and motorists were beginning to drive from town to town. Maps were needed but they weren’t easy to come by as mapmaking required a great deal of time-consuming and tedious work.

Bicycle Maps Came First

The bicycle craze of the late 19^th century put lots of Americans on the road. As riders ventured farther away from their home bases, bicycle maps came in handy. But most of the information wasn’t transferable to maps for automobiles.

Cyclists could navigate narrow passageways or alleys, and if necessary, riders could carry their bikes across shallow streams. Automobiles could only travel on bigger roads and while they could drive through small rivulets of water, they needed to be careful not to get stuck in mud. Tires on cars made in the early part of the century did not give traction. 

And since there was no master plan for roadways, mapmakers had to create maps on an as-needed basis.

Road Markers Were Also Rare

Often, the best way to navigate was to stop frequently and ask a local resident for directions. Because road markers were rare, a local person’s guidance would likely be punctuated with information about making turns on the street “where the café is” or after “crossing the bridge in the middle of town.”

Many roads had no names at all, and in some parts of the country, roads changed names as they continued into a new county. For that reason, guidance was complicated.

Company-Sponsored Route Guides

Eventually companies like car manufacturers and travel associations began creating “route guides” with advertising placed prominently throughout.  

For a person to make a guide required that they have an automobile with a reliable odometer. Distances needed to be accurate. At least two people needed to be in the car traveling the route. The driver noted landmarks and specific mileages while the passenger carefully wrote down the directions. Andrew McNally II, son of a founder of Rand McNally & Co. created the Rand McNally Chicago to Milwaukee Photo-Auto Guide of 1909 on his honeymoon with the aid of his new bride.

With these early guides, the directions were often similar to what a local person would tell a driver. “After 2.7 miles, make a right turn at the café with the red roof.” (If the café burned down, the guidance became unclear or confusing.) Better guides documented the more complex turns with photographs.

Because it was clear that guideposts were needed, some guidebook makers began erecting their own signs along popular routes. 

Solutions Begin

By the 1920s, there were more roads, more markers, more cars, and more confusion.

Wisconsin was the first state to come up with a solution. In 1920 they established a method for numbering their roads. Soon other states began to follow their lead. By the end of the 1920s, almost 76,000 miles of U.S. roads had been given a number designation.  Odd numbers were used for north-south roads; even numbers were selected for roads running east and west.    

Maps as Promotional Tools

During the 1910s, gasoline companies began opening service stations so drivers could buy gasoline. The Gulf Refining Company established one of the nation’s  first drive-in gasoline service stations in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  (Up until this time, drivers purchased gasoline in five-gallon containers. (See “When Gasoline-Powered Cars Were First Used, Where Did They Get Gasoline?”) 

Advertising man William Akin suggested an idea for promoting these businesses. He told Gulf to buy and give away local maps for each area where they had stations.  By 1920, Gulf was giving away 16 million maps of the eastern U.S.  Soon other gas companies followed. 

But as the years went by, the availability of free road maps at gas stations declined. Drivers were generally commuting on a well-known route and didn’t need a map. And because of the oil embargoes in the 1970s, oil companies cut back on promotional items. A free map was no longer going to inspire consumer loyalty.

Maps continued to be made available at gas stations and bookstores, but they had to be paid for. 

Today we rarely think to take a map with us. Though identifying a location on a map is enormously helpful in getting us oriented, today most people are perfectly comfortable simply following the GPS technology.    

A Different Map: Lowell Thomas War Map

During World War II, Americans were desperate for more information about the war, about the troops, and about where their loved ones might be. As a result, maps of the areas where the fighting was taking place were created and distributed in the same manner as road maps. 

Sunoco was the sponsor of a newscast hosted by Lowell Thomas (1892-1981), so he became the “face” of the Sunoco war map published in 1942.  The maps unfolded to reveal four full-color maps on two sides of a 20 x 26-inch sheet. 

Over time the war maps spawned offshoots. In 1944 Sunoco distributed an “air lanes map” with pictures and descriptions of American, British, Russian, German, and Japanese airplanes.

Lowell Thomas was the perfect guide for Americans following the war. He was a pioneer in journalism and was among the first to report from the battlefield during World War I, and he was the first to enter Germany after the war to gather eyewitness accounts. His Sunoco-sponsored program began on NBC in 1930 but soon switched to CBS. Prior to 1947, he was an employee of Sunoco, not NBC or CBS.  Until 1952 he was also the voice of Movietone News until 1952. 

Fast Facts about Early Roads

• The first pedestrian safety island was created in San Francisco in 1907.
• The first road to have a painted midline dividing the lanes was a road in Michigan, and the line was painted in 1911.
• The first electric traffic signal was used in Cleveland in 1914. See “Garrett Morgan: Successful Inventor of Safety Hood/Traffic Signal.”
• The first “no left turn” sign was put up on a busy street in Buffalo in 1916.
• The first school safety patrol program began in St. Paul, Minnesota, in 1920.

How did early drivers get gasoline before there were gas stations?

Until “horseless carriages” began traveling along American roads, there hadn’t been much need for gasoline.

 Gasoline was identified during the mid-19^th century, when companies began refining crude oil to extract kerosene. Gasoline was a byproduct of this process, but because it was highly flammable, it was generally discarded.

But with the development of gas-powered automobiles, Americans needed places to buy gasoline.

Early Retail

Sources for gasoline varied from community to community. The key factor was that it needed to be sold by establishments that were accustomed to handling flammable substances such as alcohol or kerosene. In some communities, pharmacies, hardware stores, and general stores tended to be the primary places. In smaller communities, motorists might need to stop at a blacksmith where they might have to scoop gasoline out of a barrel and then take it to their automobile.

In stores, gasoline was generally sold in five-gallon containers. The motorist then used a funnel or a long-necked container to pour it into the automobile gas tank.

Five gallons was generally enough for driving locally for a week or two. If a longer trip was planned, the driver might buy an extra container of gasoline to take on the trip. Some more expensive cars had permanently-installed compartments along the running board for storing extra gas. But because the fuel was highly combustible, any unexpected impact to the car could cause it to catch fire.

To avoid traveling with extra gasoline, some drivers called ahead to retail establishments on their planned route. They then requested that the store hold a supply of gasoline for their arrival.

Kerosene Led to Gasoline

This article would be incomplete if we didn’t take a step back to better understand how gasoline became a preferred fuel source for automobiles.

The process began with lighting. In the late 1800s, Americans had two primary sources of powered lighting.  As households graduated from whale oil, they moved on to kerosene, a fuel that was identified by Canadian geologist Abraham Gesner in 1846. Gesner’s kerosene came from coal.

As use of kerosene became more popular, oil drillers found that they could refine crude oil to make kerosene as well. The production of kerosene from crude oil resulted in a byproduct known as gasoline.

At first, gasoline was viewed as waste and was discarded.

More Progress in Lighting

While kerosene was gaining popularity throughout the country, including in more rural areas, another development was coming along in cities. Starting in London, the British were beginning to use natural gas. Pipes were installed under the streets, and the city was soon well-lit from natural gas. (It was such a novelty that people from the countryside traveled to London just to see this new phenomenon.)  

In the United States in 1802, inventor Benjamin Henfrey, a Baltimore native, suggested natural gas be used to light the streets of Baltimore as well as the nearby harbor lighthouses. While Henfrey suggested the plan, it took the wealthy Peale family (a family of artists who often worked in Baltimore) to help implement it.

As a result, Baltimore was the first city to implement natural gas for street lighting.

New Products Resulted

Some of the machinery and tools created for the use of natural gas turned out to be helpful later on with gasoline. 

One of the items was the Gilbert & Barker Gas Pump. In 1865, two partners, Charles Gilbert and John Barker, created the “Springfield Gas Machine” which was a way of dispensing measured amounts of natural gas. If towns installed the Gilbert & Barker gas pump, then there was a way to measure how much gas was being used, and therefore, how much the municipality would need to pay.

In the early 1900s, some of the early automobiles were made with gas-powered engines. When Gilbert & Barker saw this new development, mechanics in their company re-tooled their natural gas pump so it could be used for gasoline, too.

But Why Was Gasoline Preferred?

Gasoline turned out to be the “secret sauce” for automobiles because of the development of the internal combustion engine. Once the engine was refined so that it was spark-ignited, two German car makers (Karl Benz and Gottlieb Daimler) experimented with putting the motor in what would become early automobiles.

The success in Europe inspired American automobile inventors to experiment with combustible engines powered by spark plugs. Different fuels were tested, but the inventors soon saw that gasoline was best. It burned relatively cleanly and combined well with air-fuel mixture that was necessary to power the motor.

So while electric cars were still being sold in the early 1900s, gasoline-powered automobiles were taking over the car market. They were much less expensive and very reliable. With that positive sign, inventors and business owners placed their money on new developments that eased the marketing of gasoline.

Invention of the Hand Pump and the Bowser

Stores that sold gasoline were perplexed by the higher demand for the product. It wasn’t safe to store the fuel in large quantities, and customers kept asking for better ways to buy the product. Drivers didn’t love having to come into stores to for their five gallons of gasoline and then having to take it out to pour it in the automobile themselves.

  An entrepreneur named Sylvanus Freelove Bowser (1854-1938) living in Fort Wayne, Indiana, had a solution. Bowser witnessed a similar problem when people wanted to buy kerosene for their homes and businesses. In 1885, he invented and patented a pump that dispensed kerosene. 

When a market for gasoline came along, S.F. Bowser already had the perfect apparatus. He also saw that since customers were using the gasoline for automobiles, it made sense to build storage tanks that could be located outside the store nearer the road.

Bowser started selling 50-gallon tanks (enclosed with wood for added safety) along with a pump that could dispense gasoline. Bowser referred to them as “Self-Measuring Gasoline Storage Pumps,” and introduced them in 1905. Store owners were delighted.

As these storage systems proliferated in the more populous parts of the country, they became known as “filling stations—a term that you sometimes still hear today. 

First Modern Gas Station

One of the first modern gas stations opened in 1913 on Baum Avene in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The street was known as “automobile row,” and the station was run by Gulf Oil (“Good Gulf Gasoline”).

The Texas Company (Texaco) was not far behind with gas stations of their own. (“Trust your car to the man who wears the star”) Other oil companies soon followed.

Initially the gas stations focused on selling gas. They offered free air and water for cars, but not much else.

This was primarily because the Model T initially dominated the automobile market. Henry Ford prided himself on creating cars that didn’t need servicing. Each new car was sold with a grease cup. Ford believed that any owner could grease their own car and keep it running. 

But competition entered the automobile market, and soon more complicated cars were on the road. The need for more service was created, so “greasing palaces” were added to gas stations.

That was the beginning of what we now call “service stations.”

By 1930, America had 15,000 gas stations plus approximately 7500 curbside pumps.  A decade later there were more than 100,000 gas stations. 

Today most gas stations have at least a dozen or so pumps. Some of the larger stations on interstate highways have up to 120 pumps. 

Self Service?

The first self-service gas station opened in Los Angeles in 1947, but drivers at that time showed little interest in getting out to pump their own gasoline. Finally, after the long lines for gasoline during the oil embargo, self-service stations caught on.  For a time, some states banned self-service gas pumps. Today the only state that prohibits self-service is New Jersey.

But today motorists face a new dilemma. Just as motorists used to wonder where they could buy gasoline once they were on the road, today many drivers are looking for where they can stop to charge their electric vehicle.

We’re back to the old dilemma: Gas or electric?

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For more information on early cars, see “Auto Sales Stimulus, 1909.”