09/12/2026
๐ง๐ฟ๐๐ผ๐ปโ๐ ๐ฆ๐ฝ๐น๐ฒ๐ป๐ฑ๐ถ๐ฑ ๐ช๐ฎ๐๐ฒ๐ฟ ๐ช๐ผ๐ฟ๐ธ๐
In January 1927, a town of fewer than two thousand people turned on its new water system.
Then it printed a brochure about it.
Not a notice. Not a line item buried in the town minutes. A brochure. Illustrated. With photographs. There was even a photograph of the chemical laboratory.
Because apparently nothing says come visit beautiful Tryon quite like a bacteriological testing room.
To be fair, they had a point.
Clean municipal water in 1927 was not something to take for granted. Typhoid and other waterborne diseases were still very real, and American towns had spent the opening decades of the century discovering just how much public health could be accomplished with filtration, chlorination and a dependable supply of clean water.
Tryon went considerably further than putting in a larger pipe.
After three years of planning and $๐ญ๐ฑ๐ฌ,๐ฌ๐ฌ๐ฌ ๐ถ๐ป ๐น๐ผ๐ป๐ด-๐๐ฒ๐ฟ๐บ ๐ฏ๐ผ๐ป๐ฑ๐, the new system drew water from five mountain streams above town. It had modern sand filtration, chlorine treatment, a 200,000-gallon clear-water reservoir and its own chemical and bacteriological laboratory, where the water was tested daily.
The state engineer reported in February 1927 that bacteria present in the untreated mountain water were absent after treatment.
For the first time, Tryonโs customers also got water meters.
Progress, as usual, arrived with a bill.
But the brochure is what interests us.
Because Tryon had been selling an idea of itself for decades. This little railroad town below the Saluda Grade had already become quite practiced at persuading people from elsewhere that it was not merely a stop on the Southern Railway, but a mountain resort, an arts colony, a place of health, beauty and civilized living.
Fresh air. Mountain scenery. Interesting people.
And now, apparently, water that had met a chemist.
The brochure reads less like a plumbing report than another installment in that campaign.
๐ง๐ต๐ฒ ๐ฝ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ฑ๐๐ฐ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ ๐ง๐ฟ๐๐ผ๐ป.
And the timing is fascinating.
Just the year before, Vaughn Creek had been dammed to create Lake Lanier, part of another ambitious effort to shape the landscape around the town. The lake wasnโt intended to supply drinking water or generate power. It was built largely because somebody thought Tryon ought to have a beautiful lake.
Which is, frankly, extremely Tryon.
The mountain streams handled the drinking water.
Lake Lanier handled the property values.
Within roughly a year, the foothills were being engineered into the place Tryon intended to become, one reservoir, one dam and one extremely confident brochure at a time.
And then there was the engineer.
The mastermind behind the new water system was ๐๐ฎ๐ฟ๐๐ผ๐ผ๐ฑ ๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ฏ๐ฒ, a Connecticut-born civil engineer working out of Spartanburg. The Tryon project became important enough that its success helped establish Beebeโs reputation in municipal water-system engineering.
Historian Michael McCue has even suggested that the handsome 1927 brochure, printed in Spartanburg, may have been produced and distributed at Beebeโs own expense.
Which raises a rather wonderful possibility.
Perhaps Tryonโs remarkably photogenic water plant was doing ๐๐๐ผ ๐๐ฎ๐น๐ฒ๐ ๐ท๐ผ๐ฏ๐ ๐ฎ๐ ๐ผ๐ป๐ฐ๐ฒ.
Selling Tryon.
And selling Harwood Beebe.
You have to admire the efficiency.
Build the waterworks. Photograph the laboratory. Print the brochure. Sell the town.
Nearly a century later, somebody saved it.
So apparently the marketing worked!
๐๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐บ ๐ช๐ด ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ข๐ต๐ช๐ท๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฐ๐ค๐ค๐ข๐ด๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ ๐ฐ๐ฑ๐ช๐ฏ๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ข๐ต๐ฆ๐ฅ. ๐๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ถ๐ช๐ญ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ณ๐ค๐ฉ๐ช๐ท๐ข๐ญ ๐ด๐ต๐ฐ๐ณ๐บ ๐ข๐ณ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ข๐ค๐ต๐ด ๐ข๐ด ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ, ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ธ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ค๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด, ๐ข๐ฅ๐ฅ๐ช๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ด, ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฐ๐จ๐ณ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ด ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด.
Sources: TryonHistory.org, โTryonโs Splendid 1926 Water Worksโ; Polk County Historical Association, โEarly 1920โs Brochure of the Tryon Water Plantโ; U.S. Census; CDC, History of Drinking Water Treatment; TryonHistory.org, โLake Lanier: 1920s Civic Planning.โ
