Morning, Walter said. Frank barely glanced at him. Morning. Sites closed to visitors. Insurance liability. I’m not a visitor. I’m your neighbor. own the land on the other side of that treeine. Walter nodded toward the stuck excavator. Saw your problem. Thought I might be able to help now.
Frank looked at him, looked at the worn overalls, the mudcaked boots, the 73-year-old face weathered by half a century of Iowa weather. Help! How? I can pull that out. The words hung in the air. The engineers exchanged glances. Someone coughed. Frank Donnelly started to laugh. Let me tell you about that laugh because it’s important to the story.
Frank Donnelly was 45 years old and had built Donnelly construction from nothing. He’d started with one back hoe in a pickup truck, worked 18-hour days for 20 years, and turned himself into the biggest contractor in eastern Iowa. He employed 150 men. He had equipment worth millions. He’d built bridges and highways and shopping centers and schools.
Frank Donnelly was not a humble man. Success had taught him that he was smarter than most people, harder working than most people, better than most people. When he looked at Walter Brennan at the old farmer in his worn clothes with his ancient tractor, he saw everything he’d spent his life proving he wasn’t. So he laughed. “You can pull that out,” Frank repeated, still laughing.
“With what, Grandpa? your John Deere. That excavator weighs 60 tons. Your tractor weighs what? Five. Not with the John Deere, Walter said calmly. With my steamer. Your what? My steam traction engine. Case 1912 model. 110 horsepower. She’s been in my family for 80 years. The laughter spread now. The engineers were chuckling.
The workers had stopped what they were doing to listen. Frank wiped his eyes. A steam tractor from 1912. You want to pull out my $600,000 excavator with a steam tractor from N? That’s right, buddy. I’ve got bulldozers that make more horsepower than your whole farm. They couldn’t move that excavator an inch. What makes you think some antique is going to do better? Walter looked at the stuck excavator, then at the bulldozer sitting uselessly at the edge of the swamp, then back at Frank.
Your machines make horsepower, Walter said. Mine makes torque. There’s a difference. Enlighten me. Horsepower is how fast you can do work. Torque is how much work you can do. Your bulldozers spin fast, but they can’t grip. They’re designed for pushing dirt on solid ground, not pulling dead weight out of a swamp. My steamer was designed to pull threshing machines through muddy fields all day long.
6- ft drive wheels with steel cleats. Weighs 22 tons herself. She doesn’t spin. She grips. Frank shook his head, still smiling. This is adorable. Really? But I’ve got a real problem here, and I don’t have time for You’ve had three days, Walter interrupted quietly. You’ve tried bulldozers. You’ve tried winches. You’ve tried a crane that wouldn’t even get close.
You’re losing $20,000 a day in delays. You’re out of options. He paused, letting that sink in. I’m not charging you anything. If it doesn’t work, you’ve lost nothing but an hour of your time. If it does work, you can make a donation to the Clayton County Historical Society. They’re the ones who helped me restore that engine. Frank looked at Walter for a long moment.
Then he looked at his engineers, who shrugged. Fine, Frank said. Bring your museum piece. when it falls apart trying to move that excavator. At least it’ll give my men something to laugh about. Let me tell you about the steam engine because it’s the real hero of this story. The case 110 horsepower steam traction engine had been built in Rine, Wisconsin in 1912, the same year the Titanic sank and Woodro Wilson was elected president.
