A Memoir Written at Sixty-Two
Most of what the world believes about Nikola Tesla's childhood comes from a single source: a six-part series called "My Inventions" that he published in Electrical Experimenter magazine in 1919, when he was sixty-two, broke, and eager to set the record straight. It is a vivid, strange, occasionally self-serving document, and any honest account of his life has to treat it the way his most careful biographer, the historian W. Bernard Carlson, does in Tesla: Inventor of the Electrical Age (2013) — as evidence of how Tesla wanted to be understood, checked wherever possible against letters, patents, and the business records of the men who funded him.
The facts that hold up are these. He was born on July 10, 1856, in Smiljan, a village in the Military Frontier district of the Austrian Empire, in what is now Croatia. His family were ethnic Serbs. His father, Milutin, was an Eastern Orthodox priest who wrote poetry and expected his son to follow him into the church. His mother, Đuka Mandić, the daughter of a priest, had no formal schooling but was known for inventing household tools and for reciting long Serbian epic poems from memory; Tesla credited her with both his mechanical instincts and his memory. He was the fourth of five children. His older brother, Dane, who was regarded as the gifted one in the family, died after a riding accident when Nikola was a small boy, and in the memoir Tesla wrote that nothing he did afterward seemed to measure up to the brother his parents had lost.
He also described an affliction that would become central to his legend. As a boy, he wrote, he was troubled by images that appeared before his eyes, often with strong flashes of light, so vivid that he could not tell them from real objects. He learned to banish some of them by effort of will and later to summon them on purpose. He listed other compulsions with a clinician's detachment: he counted his steps, estimated the volume of soup plates and coffee cups before he could enjoy a meal, and felt compelled to repeat any action whose count was not divisible by three.
In 1862 the family moved to the nearby town of Gospić, where his father had been assigned a parish. In 1870 Tesla went to Karlovac to attend the Higher Real Gymnasium, where lessons were taught in German. A physics teacher's demonstrations of electricity fascinated him, and he later said his teachers suspected him of cheating because he could do integral calculus in his head. He finished the three-year course in 1873, at seventeen.
By the Numbers
Tesla's Career in Figures
112U.S. patents issued to Tesla, per the Nikola Tesla Museum in Belgrade
300+Patents identified across 27 countries, many covering the same inventions
$60,000Cash and stock Westinghouse paid for the AC patents in July 1888, plus $2.50 per horsepower in royalties
$216,000Lump sum Westinghouse paid in 1897 to buy the patents outright
$150,000J. P. Morgan's 1901 investment in the Wardenclyffe wireless project
187 ftHeight of the Wardenclyffe tower on Long Island
The Sparking Brushes at Graz
Returning home after school, Tesla caught cholera and spent some nine months in bed, at times close to death. By his own account, his father, desperate, promised that if he recovered he could study engineering instead of entering the priesthood. During that long illness he read whatever the local library had, including the early works of
Mark Twain — a detail that would matter decades later when the two men became friends in New York.
After a year spent avoiding military conscription in the mountains, he enrolled in 1875 at the Imperial-Royal Technical College in Graz on a Military Frontier scholarship. His first year was spectacular: he wrote that he worked from three in the morning until eleven at night, passed nine exams, and won the attention of several professors. It was in his second year, he wrote, that the college received a Gramme dynamo from Paris. The machine had a commutator, a set of brushes and contacts that kept the current flowing in one direction, and when the physics professor Jakob Pöschl ran it as a motor, the brushes sparked badly. Tesla suggested that a motor might work without them. Pöschl devoted a lecture to explaining why the idea was impossible.
Mr. Tesla may accomplish great things, but he certainly never will do this.
— Jakob Pöschl, as recalled in Tesla's My Inventions, 1919
The rebuke lodged in Tesla's mind. What happened to his studies is less clear. By his third year he was failing. He wrote candidly in the memoir about a mania for cards that worried his parents; one biographer has suggested he may have been expelled for gambling. He left Graz in December 1878 without a degree and cut off contact with his family, who heard rumors that he had drowned. A classmate found him working as a draftsman in Maribor. In March 1879 he was sent back to Gospić for lacking a residence permit, and the following month, on April 17, his father died. Two uncles paid for him to go to Prague in early 1880, but he arrived too late to enroll properly and attended lectures only as an auditor.
A Walk in the City Park
In 1881 Tesla moved to Budapest to work for a new telephone exchange organized by Tivadar Puskás, a Hungarian entrepreneur associated with
Thomas Edison's European ventures. The exchange was not yet operating, so he took a job as a draftsman at the central telegraph office until it opened, then became its chief electrician and, he said, improved its equipment. He also suffered what he called a complete nervous breakdown, marked by a hypersensitivity so extreme that the ticking of a watch three rooms away became unbearable.
It was during his recovery, in 1882, that the episode he considered the turning point of his life took place. Walking at sunset in Budapest's City Park with a friend, usually identified as Antal Szigeti, he was reciting a passage from Goethe's Faust when, as he told it, the solution to the problem Pöschl had dismissed came to him all at once. He drew diagrams in the sand with a stick. The idea was a rotating magnetic field: if two or more alternating currents, out of step with each other, were fed into separate coils arranged around a motor, the magnetic field they produced would rotate on its own, dragging an iron rotor along with it. No commutator would be needed, because the alternating current itself would do the work the brushes were doing mechanically.
Carlson treats the scene with respect and some caution. It fits a pattern in Tesla's self-presentation, in which great ideas arrive whole in a flash of insight, and it was written down more than three decades after the fact. What is documented is that Tesla carried the concept with him for years before he had the means to build it, and that when he finally did, the core principle matched what he said he had seen in the park. The Italian physicist Galileo Ferraris arrived at a similar principle independently in the mid-1880s, which suggests the idea was in the air; Tesla's distinction lay in turning it into a complete, patentable system.
Paris, Strassburg, and the Ship to New York
Later in 1882 Puskás found Tesla a job in Paris with the Continental Edison Company, which was installing incandescent lighting systems across France. He worked at the company's plant in the suburb of Ivry-sur-Seine, troubleshooting dynamos, and impressed his managers enough that he was sent in 1883 to Strassburg, then part of Germany, to repair a botched lighting installation at the railway station. In a machine shop opposite the station, he wrote, he built a simple motor from materials brought from Paris and, that summer, saw it turn on alternating currents of different phase, with no commutator. He could not find anyone in Europe willing to back it.
The manager of the Ivry works, Charles Batchelor, was one of Edison's closest associates. In 1884 Batchelor was brought back to the United States to run the Edison Machine Works in New York, and he arranged for Tesla to follow. Tesla arrived in June 1884, aged twenty-eight, and went to work almost immediately at the Machine Works on the Lower East Side, a crowded shop of several hundred workers struggling to supply Edison's new electric utility in Manhattan. His job was the same as in Paris: fixing installations and improving generators.
Tesla later described a night spent repairing the dynamos of the ocean liner SS Oregon, after which Edison remarked to Batchelor that Tesla was a good man. Carlson notes that the two inventors probably met only a handful of times. The famous feud between them, a staple of popular retellings, is mostly a later construction; Carlson even cites an 1893 letter in which Tesla proudly told his uncle that Edison had sent him an inscribed photograph.
The break with the Edison company came after about six months. In "My Inventions," Tesla wrote that he had redesigned the company's standard dynamos, producing twenty-four new types, and that the manager had promised him fifty thousand dollars for the job, which turned out to be a practical joke. He resigned. Later versions of the story replaced the manager with Edison himself and added a punchline about American humor, but that version does not come from Tesla's own account. Historians have also noted that the sum was implausible for a shop whose managers were known to be tight with pay. Whatever the precise grievance, Tesla wrote a terse farewell to the Edison Machine Works across his diary pages for the turn of 1885.
Ditch Digging and Liberty Street
Tesla's first venture on his own went badly. In 1885 the patent attorney Lemuel Serrell introduced him to two businessmen, Robert Lane and Benjamin Vail, who financed the Tesla Electric Light and Manufacturing Company to build an arc-lighting system for the town of Rahway, New Jersey. Tesla obtained his first U.S. patents for this work, including an improved generator. But once the utility was running in 1886, the investors decided the manufacturing business was too competitive, formed a new utility company without him, and left him holding stock of little value. He had assigned his patents to the company, so he lost those too.
The next months were the lowest of his career. He took electrical repair jobs and dug ditches for two dollars a day. In a 1938 letter he recalled that his "high education in various branches of science, mechanics and literature seemed to me like a mockery."
The rescue came in late 1886, when he met Alfred S. Brown, a Western Union superintendent, and Charles F. Peck, a New York lawyer. Both men knew how to organize companies around patents. In April 1887 they formed the Tesla Electric Company, with profits split between Tesla, the two backers, and a fund for further development, and they set him up in a laboratory at 89 Liberty Street in lower Manhattan. There, finally, he built the alternating-current motors he had been imagining since Budapest.
Peck and Brown understood that a patent was only as valuable as the attention it drew. They had the motor tested independently by the physicist William A. Anthony, timed press coverage in the technical journals to coincide with the patents, and, with the help of the Electrical World editor Thomas Commerford Martin, arranged for Tesla to lecture to the American Institute of Electrical Engineers. On May 16, 1888, he presented "A New System of Alternate Current Motors and Transformers." The patents, issued that month, described not a single motor but an entire polyphase system: generators, transmission, transformers, and motors designed to work together.
When I get an idea I start at once building it up in my imagination. I change the construction, make improvements and operate the device in my mind.
— Nikola Tesla, My Inventions, 1919
The Westinghouse Bargain
The lecture reached exactly the right audience.
George Westinghouse, the Pittsburgh industrialist who had made his name with the railroad air brake, was already selling alternating-current lighting systems but lacked a practical AC motor. His engineers reported that Tesla had one. Westinghouse also looked at Ferraris's work, but concluded that Tesla's patents were more likely to control the market.
In July 1888 Brown and Peck negotiated a license: $60,000 in cash and stock, plus a royalty of $2.50 for every horsepower of AC motor capacity sold. Westinghouse also hired Tesla for a year as a consultant in Pittsburgh at $2,000 a month. The year proved frustrating. Tesla's motors were designed for low-frequency current, while Westinghouse's engineers had standardized on 133 cycles per second, and adapting one to the other was difficult. The team eventually settled on 60 cycles, a standard that survives in North American power grids, but Tesla's motor could run only at constant speed, which made it useless for the streetcars Westinghouse had hoped to electrify.
The license also arrived in the middle of the so-called war of the currents. Edison's company promoted its direct-current system as safer, and in 1888 an electrical engineer named Harold P. Brown began a public campaign against alternating current, killing animals with it in demonstrations; he was later shown to have been working with Edison's company. New York adopted the electric chair, using a Westinghouse alternator, and its first use, on the convicted murderer William Kemmler in August 1890, was botched badly. Tesla himself was largely absent from this fight, which was waged by executives and publicists rather than inventors.
The more serious threat to Tesla was financial. The near-collapse of Barings Bank in London set off the panic of 1890, and Westinghouse's lenders demanded that he cut spending, including the Tesla royalties. In early 1891, Westinghouse explained to Tesla that if he could not satisfy the bankers he might lose control of his company, leaving Tesla to deal with the financiers himself. Tesla agreed to release Westinghouse from the royalty clause. A popular story has him dramatically tearing up the contract; it comes from John J. O'Neill's 1944 biography and has no contemporary record behind it. What is documented is the release, and a later settlement: in 1897, as part of a patent-sharing agreement with
General Electric, Westinghouse bought Tesla's patents outright for $216,000. Estimates of the fortune Tesla gave up are guesses, since the royalty would have depended on sales that had barely begun in 1891.
Lightning on the Lecture Stage
The Westinghouse money made Tesla independently wealthy for the first time, and for the next decade he worked in a series of Manhattan laboratories: on Grand Street, then on South Fifth Avenue, then on East Houston Street. On July 30, 1891, he became a U.S. citizen. The same year he patented the resonant transformer that would carry his name. The Tesla coil could generate very high voltages at high frequencies, and he used it to explore wireless lighting, lighting gas-filled tubes and even bulbs across a room without wires.
He also discovered a gift for spectacle. In lectures at Columbia College in 1891 and in London and Paris in 1892, he held glowing tubes in his bare hands and let high-frequency current pass harmlessly over his body. Carlson argues that this showmanship was central to how Tesla worked: he sold the public and investors on an ideal, the finished vision of a technology, well before the practical product existed. Friends from these years included the editor Robert Underwood Johnson, the architect Stanford White, and Mark Twain, who visited the South Fifth Avenue laboratory and was photographed there in 1894.
Meanwhile, the polyphase system was becoming real without him. By 1893 Westinghouse engineers Charles F. Scott and Benjamin Lamme had produced a practical induction motor and a rotary converter that let polyphase AC coexist with older systems. Westinghouse began marketing the "Tesla Polyphase System." The company won the contract to light the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago with a bid well below General Electric's, and its exhibit there presented a complete working polyphase network to millions of visitors. Tesla spent about a week at the fair giving demonstrations, including an "Egg of Columbus" in which a rotating magnetic field made a copper egg spin upright.
The biggest prize was Niagara Falls. Edward Dean Adams, head of the company developing the falls, consulted Tesla in 1893, and Tesla recommended a two-phase AC system. Westinghouse won the contract for the generators and General Electric for the distribution system. Just after midnight on November 16, 1896, power from Niagara began flowing over more than twenty miles of line to the streetcars of Buffalo.
Tesla's own work suffered a heavy blow in the same period. On March 13, 1895, a fire destroyed his South Fifth Avenue laboratory, along with notes, models, and exhibits. "I am in too much grief to talk," he told The New York Times. He rebuilt on Houston Street, experimented with X-rays soon after Wilhelm Röntgen's announcement of them, and in 1898 demonstrated a radio-controlled boat at an electrical exhibition in Madison Square Garden. He hoped to sell it to the navy as a guided torpedo. The navy was not interested.
The Station at Colorado Springs
By the late 1890s Tesla had become convinced that he could transmit not only messages but usable power without wires, by treating the Earth itself as a conductor. He had also concluded, wrongly, that Heinrich Hertz had misunderstood the radio waves he discovered, and that such waves were useless for long-distance work because they would scatter into space. His alternative required enormous voltages that he could not safely produce in Manhattan.
To fund a field station, he persuaded John Jacob Astor IV to invest $100,000 in the Nikola Tesla Company. In May 1899 he arrived in Colorado Springs, where a local power company had offered free electricity, and built a laboratory on open land east of town. He told reporters he planned to send signals from Pikes Peak to Paris. Over the following months he built a giant coil, produced artificial lightning with discharges he later put at a hundred feet, and at one point overloaded and knocked out the local power station. He kept detailed notes, later published as the Colorado Springs Notes, and made his final entry on January 7, 1900, before returning to New York.
Two pieces of writing came out of the trip. The first, "The Problem of Increasing Human Energy," appeared in The Century Magazine in June 1900, illustrated with dramatic photographs of Tesla sitting beside his discharging coil. The best known of them was a multiple exposure, and the huge arcs were produced for the camera rather than in normal operation. The article was more philosophical treatise than technical report. The second was a February 1901 piece in Collier's Weekly titled "Talking With Planets," in which Tesla described faint rhythmic signals his receivers had picked up and suggested they might have come from another planet. The press ran with Mars. Later writers have proposed natural radio sources as explanations, but the signals were never identified.
Wardenclyffe
Back in New York, Tesla lived at the Waldorf-Astoria and courted investors over dinners at the hotel's Palm Garden, the Players Club, and Delmonico's. In March 1901 he secured $150,000 from
J. P. Morgan, in return for a 51 percent share of the resulting wireless patents. The pitch was transatlantic wireless communication. Tesla began building a facility at Shoreham, on the North Shore of Long Island, which he called Wardenclyffe. Stanford White designed the brick laboratory building. The tower, as Tesla described it, stood 187 feet high and was to be crowned by a large spherical terminal, with a shaft sunk deep into the ground beneath it to grip the Earth.
The project was in trouble almost from the start. Tesla had earlier discussed towers of 300 or even 600 feet, and White's estimate for the taller version, $450,000, killed it. By mid-1901 Tesla had expanded his plans to build a more powerful transmitter that he hoped would leapfrog Guglielmo Marconi, whose radio system Tesla regarded as a copy of his own work. Then, in December 1901, Marconi sent the letter "S" across the Atlantic from England to Newfoundland using comparatively modest equipment. Investors noticed. Tesla wrote Morgan a series of letters asking for more money and explaining that the system would transmit power as well as messages. Morgan declined to invest further.
Carlson's reading of the failure is unsentimental: Tesla underestimated costs, overestimated how quickly he would succeed, and alienated backers by changing the scope of the project after the money was committed. The notion that Morgan killed Wardenclyffe because free wireless power threatened his interests is a later theory, not something the correspondence shows. In 1905 Tesla's key AC patents expired, ending the income that had kept him afloat. Work stopped, and by 1906 the project was abandoned. Tesla mortgaged the property to cover his hotel bill at the Waldorf, which had reached about $20,000. The tower was demolished for scrap in 1917.
In "My Inventions," Tesla defended Morgan, writing that the financier had kept his promise to the letter and that it would have been unreasonable to expect more. He blamed the timing instead.
My project was retarded by laws of nature. The world was not prepared for it. It was too far ahead of time.
— Nikola Tesla, My Inventions, 1919
The Hotel Years
Tesla never stopped inventing, but after Wardenclyffe he never again had a patron on Morgan's scale. On his fiftieth birthday, in 1906, he demonstrated a bladeless turbine that used smooth, closely spaced discs instead of blades; several were tested at a New York power station in 1910 and 1911, and he later worked on it with the manufacturer Allis-Chalmers in Milwaukee. The design found only niche uses, including in speedometers. He moved his office from 165 Broadway to the Metropolitan Life Tower, briefly to the Woolworth Building, and then to 8 West 40th Street. By the mid-1920s he was effectively bankrupt.
He fought over credit for radio. In 1915 he sued the Marconi Company for infringing his wireless tuning patents; the case went nowhere in his lifetime. But in a separate case in which the Marconi Company sued the U.S. government, the Supreme Court ruled in June 1943, months after Tesla's death, that key Marconi claims were invalid in light of earlier patents by Oliver Lodge, John Stone Stone, and Tesla. The ruling did not declare Tesla the inventor of radio, a claim his admirers often make. It did vindicate his priority on specific elements of tuned wireless circuits. In the same period the AIEE honored him with its Edison Medal.
His living arrangements became a pattern. He lived at the Waldorf until 1922, moved to the St. Regis, and thereafter moved from hotel to hotel every few years, often leaving unpaid bills. He fed pigeons daily, first in the parks and then from his hotel windows, and nursed injured birds; complaints about the birds contributed to at least one eviction. In 1934 he settled in the Hotel New Yorker, where Westinghouse began paying his rent plus $125 a month, reportedly framed as a consulting fee.
He remained a public figure. In 1931 his friend the journalist Kenneth Swezey organized a celebration of his seventy-fifth birthday; Tesla received letters from scientists including
Albert Einstein and appeared on the cover of
Time. He turned the event into an annual press conference where he made increasingly grand claims: a motor running on cosmic rays, a new theory of energy opposed to Einstein's physics, and, in 1934, a "death beam" that he said could destroy thousands of aircraft 250 miles away. He never demonstrated it. He did send proposals to several governments, and documents later found in his archive describe a particle-beam design. In 1937, crossing a street at night near his hotel, he was struck by a taxicab and badly hurt. He refused to see a doctor and never fully recovered.
Room 3327 and the Afterlife of a Name
Tesla died alone in Room 3327 of the Hotel New Yorker on the night of January 7, 1943, at eighty-six. A maid found him the next day, and the medical examiner ruled the cause coronary thrombosis. Because it was wartime and his nephew Sava Kosanović was a Yugoslav politician, the FBI asked the Office of Alien Property to seize his belongings. John G. Trump, an MIT electrical engineer, examined the papers for the government and concluded that nothing in them would pose a hazard in unfriendly hands. Mayor Fiorello La Guardia read a eulogy for him, and his funeral was held at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. In 1952 his estate was shipped to Belgrade, where it became the core of the Nikola Tesla Museum; his ashes rest there in a gilded sphere.
For a time he was largely forgotten outside engineering circles. In 1960 the General Conference on Weights and Measures named the SI unit of magnetic flux density the tesla. Popular interest revived from the 1990s onward, and in 2003 two engineers, Martin Eberhard and Marc Tarpenning, named their electric-car startup after him;
Elon Musk became its largest early investor and later its chief executive. With revival came an explosion of misattributed quotations, conspiracy theories about suppressed inventions, and a simplified story in which Tesla was a pure genius robbed by Edison and Morgan.
Carlson's biography offers a more useful portrait. Tesla was an idealist inventor who fixed on a perfect principle and worked backward to a machine, and also a skilled promoter who knew that investors buy visions. The combination produced the induction motor and the polyphase system on which much of the world's electricity still depends. It also produced Wardenclyffe, where the vision ran far ahead of the physics, the budget, and the patience of the people paying for it. Both halves of that record hold lessons.