The Christmas Day Soaking of Studebaker and Colfax

When South Bend's most prominent citizens lost a bet, they paid up, and the city turned out to watch.

BY AARON HELMAN // POSTED NOVEMBER 19, 2025

December 25, 1873.

South Bend had never seen a Christmas like this one, and 150 years later, we still haven't. Families eschewed their usual Christmas morning traditions, stepped out from their homes, left unopened gifts waiting beneath their trees.

It's difficult to imagine anything that could preempt Christmas, but in 1873, the christening of the young city's first Water Works was news enough to postpone the usual Yuletide revelry. That it would come with the soaking of two of the city's most famous citizens was something of a bonus.

They hadn't invented the dunk tank yet, but this one was going to come pretty close.

It had been evident for some time that South Bend needed a modern waterworks. The world had watched Chicago burn in 1871, and South Bend had been through a few close calls of its own. Studebaker burned in June 1872. A railroad depot went up in flames a month later.

In both cases, firefighters armed with carts and buckets did everything they could. In both cases, it wasn't nearly enough.

Other than a few dissenting voices that argued against spending tax dollars for pretty much anything, the general consensus was that a waterworks was an obvious necessity for the young city, but that's where the consensus ended.

The real battles came between those who knew their city needed a water works and just disagreed — vehemently — about how to build it.

City council meetings devolved into arguments and shouting matches about the merits of a Holly reservoir system versus a standpipe water delivery mechanism. The Holly system was predicated on storing large amounts of water in an underground reservoir and then pumping it up from the ground as needed. The standpipe system involved pumping water into a tall structure and letting gravity drive the flow of the water as needed — the same concept that modern water towers use today.

That's an oversimplification of both methods, and there's more to be said about the pros and cons of both, but that's a different subject for a different writer. Just know that the people of South Bend had very, very strong opinions about both. Angry missives decrying standpipes ran in newspapers and were chased by ranting replies that shot down the Holly reservoir system and those who supported it.

The Holly system was considered more modern and more futuristic but would require bringing in contractors from New Jersey to build the thing. A standpipe was less flashy and just as expensive, but could be built more locally, something that was a major selling point to many in South Bend. The pros and cons of each were annunciated and argued over and over again, never leading to any kind of resolution.

In November, after another minor fire disrupted the city, debate raged again and letters chided the Council. They'd been so busy arguing about how to protect their city that they'd failed to do anything, and now the place was burning all over again.

The stalemate continued until March 1873. That's when Schuyler Colfax was officially replaced as Vice President and made the trip back to his home in South Bend. This is how contentious things had become — it took the gladhanding of a former Vice President of the United States to grease the wheels of local democracy. On March 20, the city's water commissioners, led by John Studebaker and encouraged by Colfax, announced their intent to contract for a Holly reservoir water system.

And that should have been the end of it.

But it wasn't.

Battle lines were drawn. Colfax and Studebaker backing the Holly system, and Leighton Pine from the Singer Sewing Machine Company shouting the loudest in favor of the standpipe.

Ahead of the 1873 city elections, parties were literally dissolved. Voters did not care one lick about Democrats or Republicans. Candidates ran as Hollyites and Standpipers, and in the end, the Standpipers won. It was almost unconscionable that the preference of Studebaker and Colfax could be voted down by the masses, but there it was.

An angry John Studebaker railed that the standpipe would not provide enough water pressure, and Leighton Pine argued right back at him that the standpipe would provide enough power to soak Mr. Studebaker even if he was all the way at the top of the belfry at his factory — some 130 feet high. Studebaker called Pine's bluff, and they wagered a cow on it.

On December 25, 1873, shortly after the standpipe was completed, the Water Works was ready to be put to the test. Families put their regular Christmas plans on hold, and hundreds of people poured into the city from each corner of St. Joseph County and beyond. The morning's program began with the city's four Hose Companies each hooking into connected hydrants, then spraying water over the top of the Presbyterian Church at the corner of Washington and Lafayette Streets.

Once those four exercises were completed, revelers and observers were moved to the Studebaker Water Works, where Pine and Studebaker would make good on their bet.

The earlier demonstrations of the day had already proved the result of the contest, but John Studebaker was a man of his word. He, along with Schuyler Colfax, made the solemn trek to the top of the belfry during the frigid December morning and made a show of eating a quiet lunch in view of hundreds of curious onlookers.

A committee of judges were convened to stand watch to determine whether or not Leighton Pine had adequately proved his side of the wager. The judges weren't necessary. Shortly after the water was unleashed toward the top of the belfry, a very wet Studebaker and Colfax beat a hasty retreat. Studebaker waved his arms and conceded defeat, then presented the cow to Pine. The animal was decorated with ribbons and bows and accompanied by a brass band and a carriage procession that followed Pine back to his home.

The cow was quickly auctioned off for the benefit of the Ladies Benevolent Aid Society.