The First Tycoon: The Epic Life of Cornelius Vanderbilt (102 page)

Were solid evidence to surface that Vanderbilt and Claflin had an affair between the death of Sophia and his marriage to Frank, it would not be a particularly startling discovery
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But the significance of their connection should not be exaggerated. There is no sign that Vanderbilt gave any support to the radical
Woodhull & Claflin's Weekly
, even though many writers have assumed that was the case. Rather, the sisters annoyed the business community with their efforts to bring in money for it. R. G. Dun & Co. would report in March 1871 that they “have obtained a quantity of [subscriptions] to their paper by dint of intrusive persistency, which has been as notorious as disagreeable. They have been accused of black mailing in their publication, which is believed by well posted parties.” As to their “brokerage” house, it was a failure from the beginning—“no standing whatever,” as R. G. Dun & Co. would put it. Vanderbilt denied being their partner in court, and the evidence supports him.
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But it
does
seem clear that Vanderbilt sought the sisters' visions. Dr. William Bodenhamer, a leading physician who would attend the Commodore on his deathbed, later testified that Vanderbilt confessed his belief in “clairvoyance.” A deep accumulation of evidence suggests that he started to attend séances as early as 1864. In 1870, the high point of Spiritualism in American history, this was not unusual. Bodenhamer—who also testified to Vanderbilt's exceptionally clear mind, even when in intense pain—observed of his faith, “Many most intelligent and intellectual men in our country believe the same.” It is doubtful that the Commodore made decisions based on the sisters' supposed revelations. Marie Antoinette Pollard, for example, was not a good witness: she was a felon, having shot a druggist in Baltimore, and couldn't identify Lambert Wardell, Vanderbilt's eternal gatekeeper. Even if she accurately quoted Vanderbilt (“Why don't you do as I do, and consult the spirits?”), she took it as an attempt to put her off. “He was so gruff that I left,” she said. Whenever Woodhull or Claflin were put on the spot in court, they would admit that they went to Vanderbilt for money and advice, not the other way around.
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The most likely explanation for his role in the sisters' scandalous, flamboyant adventures is simpler. It came from their mother—another unreliable witness, but with a believable story. He turned to them for magnetic healing, or rubbing, of his various aches and pains. He felt better, and perhaps took part in séances with them. He might have slept with Claflin, but ceased to before his second marriage. Impressed with the sisters' intelligence, allure, and forthrightness, he put their money into the stock market, and made a small fortune for them. Woodhull's husband, James H. Blood, who served as their writer, accountant, and impresario, suggested that they open a brokerage house with their new stake—perhaps only as a publicity stunt. Vanderbilt agreed to carry their stocks (as Woodhull later testified in court), though he would not spare them losses, and did not endorse or join their firm. He felt uncomfortable with their notoriety, and never gave them permission to use his name; but, fond of them still, he did not run very fast in the other direction.
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This scenario was eccentric enough, if not so satisfyingly outrageous as the myth. In the vast scope of Vanderbilt's affairs, from his extensive social circle to his various railroads to his new wife, Woodhull and Claflin were a minor diversion. But their notoriety and his discomfort, would grow.

THE GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT
of Vanderbilt's railroad reign culminated with surprisingly little fanfare. On January 27, 1870, he took part in the first stockholders' meeting of the New York Central & Hudson River Railroad. It was one of the largest corporations in American history—and his own special creation. He took office as president, of course, and made William his vice president. (Daniel Torrance had been the Central's vice president until consolidation.) To “equalize values,” they set the stock of the company at $90 million (at the par value of $100 per share), an increase of 85 percent for the Hudson River and 27 percent for the Central, amounting to over $44 million in new shares. This figure astounded the public. As Charles F. Adams Jr. pointedly (and predictably) observed, twenty years earlier no corporation in the country had had a capitalization of more than $10 million. The new Central's semiannual 4 percent dividend on April 15 amounted to $3.6 million, “the very largest single dividend ever paid in this country by any one great corporation or state,” the
New York Times
wrote.
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The Empire State had never seen anything like Vanderbilt's new empire. From St. John's Park to the shores of Lake Erie, its tracks stretched 740 miles in length, with branches fingering out another three hundred miles. It operated 132 baggage cars, four hundred locomotives, 445 passenger cars, and 9,026 freight cars. In 1870, the consolidating railroads carried some 7,045,000 passengers and 4,122,000 tons of freight. Though the number of employees remains uncertain, the payroll figures were vast: nearly $752,000 paid to engineers and firemen; $600,000 to porters, watchmen, flagmen, and switch tenders; $512,000 to conductors, baggagemen, and brakemen; and $185,000 for “general superintendence.” These statistics speak to its vast economic displacement, which was rather that of a giant in a bathtub. No other enterprise in New York came close to these figures—not even its rival trunk line, the Erie, which was only three-quarters its size. The Central ran through all of the state's largest cities, with the exception of Brooklyn; in each, it was the single largest economic force, with its enormous payroll, voracious needs, and near monopoly on intercity transportation. Few businesses in the country, apart from a very few other railroads, boasted a capitalization as large as one-tenth that of the New York Central & Hudson River; and few if any factories represented investment equal to what it spent on fuel alone each year ($1,869,000).
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The New York Central & Hudson River (to be called simply the New York Central, or the Central, hereafter) was not an isolated phenomenon. The Pennsylvania Railroad in particular was building a vast integrated system from the Mississippi to the Atlantic. But it marked a decisive turn in economic history. By consolidating two companies of great size and financial health, it created a single behemoth on an unprecedented scale. This new entity, the giant corporation, would spread into manufacturing, as seen first in Standard Oil and later in other industries, beginning with a great wave of mergers from 1895 to 1904; eventually it would dominate every other sector of the economy as well. It would introduce economies of scale, lower prices, multiply productivity—and either crush out smaller businesses or set the terms of their existence. And it introduced bureaucratic management into American business. On the Central, Vanderbilt and son set about a program of rationalization that standardized procedures and introduced a departmental system of organization.
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The giant corporation would bring Americans of all stripes into its orbit with remarkable speed. A professional and managerial middle class began to emerge as the educated and skilled went to work as engineers, lawyers, technical experts, clerks, and middle managers for large companies. The ranks of permanent wage workers swelled, both within railroads and in the industries that fed their needs or expanded with the new markets they opened up. Labor prospered during the postwar boom, enjoying a 40 percent growth in average real income from 1865 through late 1873. Indeed, the rise of the large corporation had its counterpart in the expanding, increasingly militant union movement. Significantly, William H. Vanderbilt signed the first contract with the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers in the New York Central's history.

None of these changes were absolute, of course. Small producers, self-employed artisans, and other survivors of the old economy coexisted with the enterprises and unions of the new industrial, corporate economy. The outlook of social philosophers, labor organizers, economists, and businessmen alike remained rooted in the past. But the creation of the New York Central & Hudson River stands as a historical landmark, showing us where the era of big business—the Vanderbilt era—well and truly began.
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There is a double irony to all this. Vanderbilt had first marched onto the economic battlefield like a Viking warrior, storming the ramparts of corporations under the banner of the individual competitor. Now his flag fluttered from the greatest corporate fortress to date—one with a monopoly on rail transportation into Manhattan. He had put aside the sword in favor of statecraft. All he wanted was to be left alone to manage his realm. It was a task that demanded constant attention, even from a leader who tried to remain above matters of detail. As big as the Central was, Vanderbilt personally sustained it during the consolidation process, paying hundreds of thousands of dollars out of his own accounts to smooth its cash flow The Harlem, too, announced it would issue twenty thousand shares to pay for the Grand Central Depot. Vanderbilt would buy them. Meanwhile William scheduled new trains to compete directly with the Hudson River steamboats, and began to re-lay tracks with steel rails (more expensive but far more durable than those of iron). Work began on a new double-track bridge at Albany. And Horace Clark joined in his father-in-law's diplomatic initiatives. On May 4, Clark took over the presidency of the Lake Shore, with Augustus Schell as vice president and Banker as treasurer; in short order they arranged with connecting roads for a passenger through line from Cincinnati, Louisville, and St. Louis, over the Central to New York.
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The second irony was that Vanderbilt would not be allowed to live in peace. Instead, his enemies forced him to fight once more. Those enemies were Jay Gould and Jim Fisk. In the end, their rivalry with Vanderbilt would loom above his larger but more sedate accomplishments, transforming the long-lived Commodore into one side of a matched set in American memory. But Vanderbilt himself bears some of the blame for history's overemphasis on his feud with Gould and Fisk. They angered him, embittered him, as no other enemies ever had or ever would. One coldly unpredictable and lethally resourceful, the other predictably flamboyant and surprisingly shrewd, they refused to abide by the rules of combat that were so important to the Commodore. Again and again, they provoked him into publicly overreacting despite the Erie's limited capacity for competition with the mighty Central.

In early 1870, Gould and Fisk reopened always-festering hostilities by undercutting the rates set by the most recent trunk line rate agreement. In May, Gould personally went to Chicago to cultivate livestock shippers, traditionally loyal customers of the Central. These were the ordinary skirmishes of railroad competition, but Vanderbilt took everything that Gould and Fisk did personally. On June 1, he declared that he would retaliate. Within a week, William slashed passenger fares by 25 percent (cutting the price of a ticket from Chicago to New York from $24.95 to $20); ceased the practice of checking passengers through to the Erie from the Great Western of Canada (the Central provided the only link); and slashed livestock rates from Chicago to New York from $125 a car to $100, and then $50, in response to Gould's grab for that traffic. Clark showed a common front, declaring that the Lake Shore would cease to cooperate with the Erie, leaving Gould dependent on the Fort Wayne, the Pennsylvania's subsidiary, for a connection to Chicago.
Railroad Gazette
wrote, “It will be a strange sight to see the Erie and the Pennsylvania working together.”
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On June 13, a reporter called at 10 Washington Place for an interview about the “railroad war.” Vanderbilt relished the opportunity to pour scorn on Gould and Fisk. “We don't pay any attention to them; it would be beneath us to have a row with them,” he said. “You see, my son, there are some disreputable fellows around this town who have got hold of a railroad somehow or another, and are trying to run it.… To make it a little respectable they talked about a ‘war’ they'd hatched up with the Central, so as to make folks think that it amounted to something; but there's nothing in it, nothing in it.” The reporter said that Gould and Fisk accused him of controlling the Lake Shore to their detriment. He replied, “I don't know anything about it. The Lake Shore Line folks are all honest, and I run the Central, but the Erie fellows are squealing about it, ain't they? They can't do anything, nobody'll trust them, the Central has all the traffic, and they have got none.”

The reporter went off to see Gould and Fisk at Pike's Opera House, a grand structure decorated with cut glass, carved woodwork, and ceiling frescoes that Fisk had purchased for use as the Erie headquarters. Fisk indulged in his own bluster. “He talks about us, and here we've had our doors besieged for the last three days by his relatives, trying to effect a settlement of the affair amicably.” When pressed on the fact that the Central paid dividends and the Erie did not, he snapped, “That's so; we can't, until he sends back the $5,000,000 he took out of the Erie treasury when he left.” Fisk's jab served as a reminder that Vanderbilt did, indeed, have a personal motive for the rate war, as the Erie's lawsuit against him continued to drag its slow way through Barnard's courtroom. But the two upstarts were already laying a trap for their wily opponent.
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About the time of this interview, Gould and Fisk secretly purchased some six thousand head of livestock in the West. Then, in late June, they announced that they were cutting the Erie's livestock rates to $1 per car. The move forced the Central to follow suit, as they knew it would. Shortly afterward, Gould and Fisk boasted to the press that they had shipped their livestock over the Central at these absurd rates, reaping a rich profit at the Commodore's expense. The Central instantly raised rates to $40 per car. It was one more example of why they irritated Vanderbilt so: they did not simply fight, they sought to humiliate him. And they succeeded.
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