Aaron Mahnke

Enter a little piece of furniture called the electric chair.

In 1888, New York became the first state to allow the use of the electric chair.

And two years later, in 1890, it was officially put to the test.

The guinea pig's name was William Kemmler.

He was a vegetable seller from upstate New York who had murdered his wife with a hatchet.

And when, on an early August morning, he stepped into the death chamber at Auburn Prison, he knew full well that he wouldn't be walking back out.

To quote the newspaper from the time, Kemmler easily settled back into the chair, turned calmly to the warden and in such tones as one might speak to a barber who was shaving him, said calmly, now take your time and do it right, warden.

There is no rush.

I don't want to take any chances on this thing.

Meanwhile, citizens outside the prison scaled trees and telegraph poles, eager to catch a glimpse of the strange spectacle.

Some even perched on nearby rooftops as if watching a parade, but what they were about to see would be about as far from a parade as you could get.

Snap went the straps, tying Kemmler's arms and legs and torso to the chair.

Even his face was buckled in.

Finally, though, he was secure, and then the chair was turned on.

Kemmler convulsed.

He went rigid, and then the electricity was turned back off.

It was done.

Or so they thought.

Because then, to everyone's horror, Kemmler began to drool.

He foamed at the mouth and made odd noises while his chest heaved with clear evidence of breathing.