“Where I cross the grain of the granite,” he said, “I put my drill holes closer together. While I drilled my holes to the same depth I did not place my dynamite at the bottom of each one, but scattered the charge, zigzagged it up and down the wall. Then I measured my charge carefully, kept it so light that the six-inch shell often only cracked the stone loose and sometimes a hand bar would be required to release it.” If ever I had that gentleman’s name and address I have lost it, but that night in the lamp room I projected the photographs of my models of Lee, Jackson and Davis on Stone Mountain, which was a little over eleven hundred feet from our location. The slide was small enough so that I could hold it in the hollow of my hand, but the picture projected without distortion over nearly an acre. We studied it together. It was this traveling engineer who gave me the assurance and impetus that resulted in the practical use of dynamite in the carving of gigantic figures, in dimensions to harmonize with the colossal thought and life of our day. I spoke of this experience to a great friend of the mountain memorial idea--the late Coleman Dupont--and, following his suggestion, I communicated with the Dupont powder people at Wilmington, requesting that one of their experts be sent to Stone Mountain to instruct me and my assistants in the use of explosives. They responded very graciously and sent a man who, I believe, was on special duty in Florida. So it was that the amazing, almost fantastic idea of carving with dynamite came into being. A charming letter from the Belgian engineer has recently come to light, written after the visit referred to above. His name was Jean Vanophem, and he appears to have been summoned back to Belgium. He did not have time to visit Stone Mountain again. Mr. Tucker remembers that the Dupont man was recalled after a few days at Tucker’s own request, because he insisted on using too large a charge--one or two sticks of half-pound strength--whereas Mr. Tucker had found out that a half ounce was a successful charge. Mr. Tucker, after much experimenting, trained one of his crew in the use of dynamite so that the man, Cliff Davis, became such an expert in this artistic form of blasting that he was known as “Dynamite Davis.” Cliff could place a row of charges, draw a line on the rock under them and make bets that the result of the explosion would not be more than three inches from the line. * * * * * It soon became apparent that the women of the Atlanta chapter of the United Daughters of the Confederacy alone could never raise funds for the tremendous undertaking, estimates for which ranged from two to three and a half million dollars.