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It's June 9, 1893, late afternoon on a fairground on the south side of Chicago.

William Gronard, a 27-year-old engineer, is peering up at a machine he helped design

with a lump in his throat.

The 264-foot wheel is the second tallest structure in Chicago.

It's shaped like a bicycle wheel, with spokes that look as fragile as a cobweb.

Throughout its construction, the fairground's other workers goch-dedded.

Any day now, they were sure it would tip over.

Today, though, Gronard needs the machine to do more than just stay upright.

He needs it to rotate.

Luther V. Rice, the project's superintendent, waves it grown off from the engine pit.

Stop staring!

It's now or never!

Gronard's too nervous to yell the order, so he just nods, and Rice gives the signal

to his format to start up the machine.

700 feet away, steam begins surging through underground pipes.

Oilers power up the wheels, 1000 horsepower engines.

Gears begin to grind.

And then, the wheel itself shutters, like a monster waking up.

But something isn't right.

Crew members cover their ears.

...