Everyone told him it was impossible. Honestly, the smartest engineers in America thought he was a complete lunatic. They said his "monstrosity" would catch the wind like a giant sail and collapse, crushing thousands of people under a mountain of twisted steel. But George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. wasn't really a man who took "no" for an answer, especially when the pride of the United States was on the line.
You’ve probably ridden a Ferris wheel. You might even find them a bit boring compared to modern roller coasters. But in 1893, what George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. built was the equivalent of landing on the moon. It was a 264-foot middle finger to the Eiffel Tower.
The story starts with a challenge. Chicago was hosting the World’s Columbian Exposition, and the organizers were desperate. Paris had just unveiled the Eiffel Tower at their 1889 fair, and the Americans needed something "out-Eiffel Eiffel." They held meetings. They begged engineers for ideas. Most of what they got were sketches of taller towers—basically just copying the French. Ferris, a bridge builder from Galesburg, Illinois, walked into a banquet hall and sketched a giant revolving wheel on a napkin.
The committee laughed at him. They called him a "crank."
He didn't care. He spent $25,000 of his own money on safety plans and kept pushing until they finally gave him the green light, albeit with zero financial backing from the fair itself. He had to raise every cent of the $600,000 needed (which is over $20 million today) by himself.
The Engineering Nightmare of 1893
Constructing this thing wasn't just about stacking metal. It was a feat of precision that seems almost terrifying when you realize they didn't have computers to check the stress points. The wheel was basically a giant bicycle wheel, but on a scale that defied logic. The axle alone was the largest piece of hollow-forged steel ever created at the time. It weighed 45 tons. Getting that single piece of metal onto the site in Chicago required a specially built heavy-duty wagon and a small army of men.
Think about the physics for a second.
You have a wheel that is 250 feet in diameter. It has 36 cars. Each car is the size of a small bus—24 feet long, 13 feet wide—and can hold 60 people. When the wheel was fully loaded, it carried over 2,000 people at once.
The tension was everything. If the spokes weren't perfectly balanced, the whole thing would buckle under its own weight. Ferris used a "tension-spoke" design, where the weight of the rim is actually supported by the spokes in tension, much like a modern bike. This was radical. People were used to "compression" structures—solid walls, heavy pillars. The idea that something so "thin" could hold so much weight felt like magic or suicide.
Why George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. Was Actually a Marketing Genius
It wasn't just about the metal. Ferris understood human psychology. He knew people were terrified of heights, so he didn't make the cars out of cages. He made them luxury parlors. They had large plate-glass windows, plush seats, and even revolving chairs. He wanted people to feel like they were sitting in their own living rooms while they dangled 26 stories above the ground.
It worked.
The wheel opened on June 21, 1893. Despite the skepticism, it was a massive, runaway success. It cost 50 cents for a 20-minute ride (two revolutions). That was a lot of money back then—double the price of admission to the entire fair. But people lined up for hours. In a world before airplanes, this was the first time the average human being could see the world from that height. It wasn't just a ride; it was a religious experience for some and a terrifying thrill for others.
During its short run at the fair, it carried nearly 1.5 million people. It basically saved the World's Fair from financial ruin.
The Dark Side of the "Great Wheel"
History likes to pretend everyone lived happily ever after, but the reality for George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. was pretty grim after the fair ended. Success breeds lawsuits. Ferris spent the last years of his life buried in legal battles. He sued the fair organizers for his share of the profits, claiming they'd cheated him out of hundreds of thousands of dollars.
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He lost.
The stress was immense. His marriage fell apart. His company went bankrupt. To make matters worse, his health began to fail. Just three years after his masterpiece captivated the world, George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. died of typhoid fever at the age of 37. He was broke, alone, and largely forgotten by the city he had helped put on the map.
Even his wheel had a sad ending. It was dismantled and moved to North Clark Street, then eventually to St. Louis for the 1904 World's Fair. But the magic was gone. It was becoming an expensive eyesore. In 1906, the "Great Wheel" was destroyed with dynamite.
The scrap metal was sold for a pittance.
The Misconceptions We Still Believe
People often think Ferris "invented" the pleasure wheel. That's not true. "Ups-and-downs" or wooden wheels had existed for centuries in places like Bulgaria and Turkey. They were small, hand-cranked, and honestly pretty rickety.
What Ferris did was bring the Industrial Revolution to the amusement park. He used Bessemer steel and steam engines. He proved that you could build a massive, moving structure that was actually safe. The "Ferris wheel" isn't a type of ride; it's a specific brand of engineering that proved scale didn't have to mean instability.
Also, it’s worth noting the weather. Chicago is the "Windy City" for a reason. During the 1893 fair, a massive storm hit with winds reaching over 100 miles per hour. The "experts" predicted the wheel would blow over and roll across the fairgrounds like a giant coin. Ferris and his wife stayed in one of the cars during the storm to prove it was safe. It didn't even vibrate. That’s the kind of confidence—or maybe insanity—you need to change the world.
Why We Still Talk About Him
We talk about George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. because he represents the peak of American Gilded Age ambition. It was an era where people didn't ask "should we?" but "how big can we make it?"
Without him, we don't have the London Eye. We don't have High Rollers in Vegas. We don't have the idea that engineering can be entertainment. He took the cold, hard logic of bridge building and turned it into something whimsical.
Today, engineers look back at his original calculations and find they were remarkably accurate. He wasn't just a dreamer; he was a mathematical prodigy. He understood the interaction of wind loads and structural integrity better than almost anyone of his generation.
Actionable Insights for History and Engineering Buffs
If you're interested in the legacy of Ferris or the 1893 World's Fair, don't just read a Wikipedia blurb. There are better ways to see his impact.
- Visit the Chicago History Museum: They hold some of the original artifacts and photos from the 1893 World's Columbian Exposition. Seeing the photos of the axle being transported gives you a real sense of the scale that text just can't convey.
- Read "The Devil in the White City" by Erik Larson: While it’s a narrative non-fiction book that focuses heavily on the serial killer H.H. Holmes, it provides the most visceral, well-researched account of the struggle Ferris went through to get the wheel built. It contextualizes the "engineering war" between the US and France perfectly.
- Study the Tension-Spoke Design: If you're a student of architecture or engineering, look up the original patents for the wheel. It’s a masterclass in how to use minimal material to achieve maximum strength—a principle that is more relevant today in sustainable construction than ever before.
- Look for the Axle: Believe it or not, parts of the original wheel are rumored to still exist in various forms. While the wheel was blown up, many pieces of the high-grade steel were repurposed. There’s a ongoing historical "scavenger hunt" among enthusiasts to track down where that metal ended up in the infrastructure of the Midwest.
George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. gave his life for a giant circle. He died young, penniless, and frustrated. But every time you see a skyline punctuated by a glowing, rotating wheel, you’re looking at his ghost. He proved that sometimes the most "impractical" ideas are the ones that define an entire century.