In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Chapter 9 Graduation to Regional Supplier After the completion of the Nepaug project in 1922, Caleb Saville still spent his afternoons in the northwestern hills of Connecticut. He had his driver, Marty Cannon, bring him out there to inspect the small fits and finishes on the Nepaug and compensating reservoirs and the new sand filtration system in West Hartford. In an effort to secure the watershed, he pushed constantly to increase the city’s land holdings around the new catchments. True, the compensating reservoir was not technically for drinking water purposes, but Saville had plans for the East Branch valley and, one might say, he was just keeping things at the ready. High on his list of concerns were the feeder streams that emptied directly into the reservoirs. On one visit to Nepaug, Saville caught a man urinating into one of the streams and almost strangled him to death with his bare hands. When it came to protecting the purity of the water supply, Caleb Saville took a back seat to no one. Word of the chief’s zeal traveled quickly in the sparsely populated environs of the Nepaug and there were no further incidents of this kind—at least none that anyone lived to tell about. Saville had a deep interest in the natural world as it pertained to drinking water systems, but otherwise he was completely oblivious to the beauties of nature. He did not fish or hunt, nor did he collect duck decoys or any other outdoor sporting art, and he had no interest whatever in birds or butterflies. Neither were golf or tennis part of his weekly exercise routine, and he and his wife did not socialize. (This was in sharp contrast to their time in Panama when they entertained the engineers under Saville’s command regularly—particularly the ones without families.) The chief was a man completely devoid of hobbies, preferring to spend all of his time engrossed in the finer points of hydraulic engineering. Saville was an early riser, reading the morning Courant (he read the Boston Sunday Herald on the weekend) and gathering together the notes and letters that he composed while working late the night before. He then showered, shaved and slapped on some bay rum—the only aftershave he ever used—before dressing in a clean, starched shirt, a plain tie and dark colored suit that he had custom made by Peter Johnson, a tailor with a small shop on Asylum Street. Though Saville paid less and less attention to style as the years progressed, his clothes were always immaculately clean and neatly pressed. His breakfasts were Spartan, usually just eggs, toast and coffee. (At one point, he purchased eggs from an employee of the water department, who saved all the “double yokers” for Saville, even going to the trouble of penning the chief’s initials on the shells—C.M.S.) At precisely 7:45, his driver, Marty Cannon, pulled into his driveway to collect him for the drive to his rented office in the Pilgard Building, at the corner of Main and Morgan Streets. (John Pilgard 195 ran the Union Grocery on the first floor of his building.) Saville arrived at work every day at eight o’clock, preferring to walk up the stairs instead of using the elevators, in the belief that the exercise would do him good. Ordinarily he spent the morning dictating letters, internal memos, and writing recommendations to the water board. He also composed notes and correspondence regarding construction contracts and so forth from the rough scribblings he had made the night before. Lastly, he reviewed the drawings done by the engineers in the different offices of the water department. Saville never did any drawings himself, leaving all of this work to his staff. For these professionals, the discipline of the drafting rooms could be severe. Engineers were required to wear drafting aprons, white shirts and ties, and their workstations had to be kept immaculate. Supplies were strictly controlled, including the turning in of pencil stubs for replacements. Strangely enough, for an engineer, Saville had very poor handwriting. To remedy this little flaw, he purchased a rubber stamp and had all the department’s drawings and surveys stamped with an India ink facsimile of his signature. In a further refinement of this routine, Saville worked out a system with his secretary, Gerry d’Avignon, whereby he would affix a tiny red “s” in the lower corner of any correspondence that he wanted stamped with his...

Share