There was an air of quickening anticipation as the car turned into the growing shadows spreading across the parking lot at Dinosaur National Monument outside of Vernal, UT. The jagged, upturned sedimentary rocks entomb the skeletons of many hundreds of long extinct dinosaurs and as many scientists have pecked away at the encasing sandstone. My family had ventured to these same craggy rocks when I was ten or so, about the age of our daughters, and they now were wondering (as I did so many years ago) why were we here. It took only fifteen seconds and we were all hooked at seeing the mighty beasts and bones.

It sometimes takes a bit of bribing to get the family on the trail of the insulator. This trip was no real exception: we would do dinosaurs on Saturday and then on Sunday, drive down Nine Mine Road to see the old insulator line on the way back to Salt Lake City, throw in a Happy Meal at McDonalds and the weekend would be complete.

This part of Utah is starkly beautiful and a bit isolated even today. The history of the area is full of colorful characters from "Utahraptor" to Butch Cassidy to the forgotten mule skinner, mail courier, and school marm who all have made a mark on the land but have not tamed her harshness or ever changing beauty. There are ancient petroglyphs (carved into the desert varnish on the rocks) and pictographs (paintings) in nearly every canyon. The Utes lived here when the white man came. The Indians and a collection of outlaws, settlers, ranchers, and a few Army troops all kept a rough and tumble peace between themselves and each other for many years. In 1885, intertribal war broke out among the Utes that upset the balance. To keep the peace, in August 1886, two troops of the all black 9th Cavalry under Maj. Benteen and four companies of white infantry under Cpt. Duncan arrived to help quell the hostilities. The reception party of 700 rather angry but wary Utes and the heavily armed but outnumbered soldiers made a quick peace. The soldiers built a hasty camp on a sage covered bluff that would became Fort Duchesne. 

The soldiers of the 9th Cavalry set about building a wagon road from their remote fort to the railroad junction in Price. The soldiers also needed quick and reliable communications with the outside world and constructed a telegraph line. And this is the part of the adventure that deals with some of the most sought after gems in our hobby, the purple CD 126 blob tops. The Army did not want to spend money on wooden poles when there were miles of three inch pipe rusting in Eastern storage yards. The pipe moved west by train, the blacksmith put a metal dowel through the pipe about four feet down from the top to support the lineman and the wagoneers began hauling the iron poles up the new road for installation along the eighty or more miles from Price to Fort Duchesne. (Why it's named Nine Mile Road is another story). 

The soldier's road is still a dirt track through the canyons and high plains and many of the poles are still in place from north of the Nutter Ranch to Soldier Creek Summit. I had been told these poles were still standing and that some insulators were still on them. Now dreams of purple blob tops hanging out on an isolated pole cruised through the dreams all the night while trying to get some sleep in a Vernal hotel room. All that day my eyes strained to see through the road dust to catch a glimpse of an iron pole standing sentinel on the desert floor.

Perianne Tucker at original relay station 
on telegraph line between Fort Duchesne 
& Price, Utah near Nutter Ranch.

I had talked Syndia into driving so I could have a better look and read the tour guidebook of the Nine Mile Road. When I saw the first pole my heart raced into high gear and as I shouted to stop, the startled driver threw the car into a four wheel lock up slide, coming to a halt on the side of the road in a billow of dust. Syndia slumped over the wheel in an adrenalin rush flashback while the kids and I raced up the hill to see the pole and the insulator on it. But alas, there was only a rubber piece on the peg. We got several pictures of the poles tramping out across the sagebrush flats and fading into the distance. We hunted around the base for a bit and came up with one small light aqua shard that may have been a Brookfield blob top. There were quit a few tourists on the trek, taking in the many Indian petroglyphs on the rock walls, the old ranch buildings, and even a site where outlaws were to ambush an Army patrol carrying the entire payroll. 

We reached the Nutter Ranch about two in the afternoon. It was here that a relay station was built. The small rock building with roof is still standing, long after the last electrons were sent on their merry way through the wires. The original double set of telegraph wires was replaced with a single wire sometime after the fort closed in 1912. The new users had to replace many insulators too. The older Hemingray 16s were replaced with aqua and clear Hemingray 42s and clear Hemingray 45s.

A lone Hemingray-16 on an original pole 
on the way to Soldier Creek Summit.

The day was beginning to wane as we headed on to Soldier Creek Pass with a decided chill in the winds that swept down the narrow valley hemmed in by the massive sandstone walls. Then a sparkle caught my eye from way across the valley. It was one lone pole with a sparkling gem gleaming away in the setting sun's glow. With a few extra entreaties to my steadfast driver the car rumbled to a halt. I had five minutes to see the pole and be back ready to roll. I darted across the road and was ready to descend the banks of the creek when my enthusiasm was halted in mid stride. The small creek we had been following for a ways had carved some mighty steep walls in the soft valley sediments. The creek was still small as it meandered along away down below, about 100 vertical feet below from where I now stood. My time was a ticking, and there was a barely passable slide area a few yards away and like an airborne fool I took that first step and careened down the slope. Most of the far side of the creek was cut from the sandstone layers that were a bit easier to scale. The pole, however, was plunged into almost solid rock and standing more out of spite than depth. Within a few feet of the wiggly-wobbly pole was another sheer dropoff, and there were big sharp rocks below. Now I did test the pole with a casual jump up but quickly decided that this piece would not adorn any of my shelves. Now if there had been an ancient jewel atop the pole I would have figured out a method to outwit gravity and begged forgiveness on being outside of my five minute window.

I have seen one of the purple blob top jewels and was impressed by its deep color and awed by its place in history. There are probably a few of these rare gems in someone's attic but teasing them to the light of day will be a hard trick.

I have since had many hours to ponder the paradox of purple blob tops coming from the West. In looking over McDougald's Insulators, Volume 2, there are only two embossing variants that occur in purple. Is it possible that only these two mold variations ever had the correct melt mixture run through them that would produce a purple insulator? The chances of this happening seem vanishingly slim knowing the large numbers of these insulators produced over an extended period of time. There is a mystery here that needs some more sleuthing. From the few clues I have at my disposal, I may have a partial answer that I would like to share and get some feed back from other collectors. 

Let's start with a few known facts. 1. The CD 126 began production in the early 1870's based on the patent dates and continued until at least circa 1887 when the road and lines were constructed. 

2. The Brookfield Company began producing the new Oakman insulator style described as a "paraboloid traversed by an equatorial groove" (our beehive) sometime shortly after 1884. There is then a production overlap of CDs 126 and 145.

3. There were many pistol totin' hombres, itinerate miners, hot shots like the Sundance Kid and poor shots (even maybe my grandfather who could have wandered this trail enroute to buy cattle for a Montana drive), and the forbidding weather which all probably conspired to make the life of an insulator rather short. Replacements were always needed.

4. I have been in the Army some 12 years and believe that understanding the Army supply system is a factor in solving the purple paradox. The Army supply system does not like change because it takes so long to get a product in the system (true then and true now). It would have been virtually impossible to buy an insulator "off the shelf'. The process would have gone something like this: A group of officers began a study on what was needed to define what an insulator needed, to meet the needs of the Army; then a report was written proposing a staff study to review the proposal and another group of officers to include the quartermaster who coordinated getting a good price, added to the report. This report was sent to some general who held it the appropriate time, then sent it to the War Department in Washington who in turn studied it, staffed it etc. etc. Process time was at least one to two years just to get an insulator. My guess is that when insulator X got into the Army supply system, virtually all insulators bought by the Army would have been nearly the same for a long time and/or provided by one supplier. 

Perianne Tucker by pole in Nine Mile Road.

Another important facet of the Army supply system is the need to buy something that could not be readily used by the civilian population and/or was distinctively Army. This keeps the theft of Army property to a minimum and allowed for easy identification of the property (done then and done now). For example, a barrel of hardtack would not be readily stolen because no one really wanted to eat them and if you had them, it was easy to determine who the rightful owner really was. 

Given these supply type criteria, it would seem logical for the Army to get a long term contract with Brookfield. It is easy to see that in 1887-89 the CD 126 would still be used even though the rest of the nation was going to the new CD 145. (Same then, same now. Imagine the turmoil the changing computer technology causes the Army). These first insulators were probably aqua CD 126 with a few greens from Brookfield's reknown quality control. 

5. Robert Good and/or the Valverde, CO glass works produced insulators from 1895 to 1909. Denver would have been a logical choice to order replacement insulators due to its close proximity to many Western forts. The purple CD 126 I saw has the color characteristics common to other Denver products.

Now for some jewel sleuthing. If I were setting up a new business in a far away place like Denver, it sure would be good for business to get a Government contract (good then, good now). The Nine Mile Road was a hopping place during this time and insulators were probably falling pretty regularly. Suppose the Army still wanted the CD 126 because it was "in the system" and no one else was using them so theft would be a minimal problem. Suppose Mr. Good wanted the Army insulator contract and that the Brookfield Company wanted to quit making an obsolete design and shipping the pieces clear across the nation at a by now low price. It is possible that Mr. Good bought the few remaining CD 126 molds from Brookfield and produced a limited number of insulators for only one customer -- the Army (at a price that made the venture worthwhile). This could explain how only two embossing variations end up being found on purple insulators, that I think, come pretty much from the West. This also could explain how a CD 126 appears to be made well after its otherwise normal life cycle.

Now the question is, how to get more information on this subject? Anyone have some ideas?

Editor's note: This great article got wedged in a wrong vertical file and waited a long time for printing. My apologies to the Tucker family, and to Perianne who, I am sure, is ready to graduate for high school.! Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration!