The First Tycoon

by T. J. Stiles

  A reporter called on Drew, seeking his reflections on his rise and fall. “I had been wonderfully blessed in money-making; got to be a millionaire afore I know'd it hardly,” he said. “I was always pretty lucky till lately, and didn't think I could ever lose very extensively. I was ambitious to make a great fortune like Vanderbilt, and tried every way I knew, but got caught at last. Besides that I liked the excitement of making money and giving it away.” He should have quit Wall Street long ago, he mused, when he was worth $8-$10 million. “One of the hardest things I've ever had to bear has been the fact that I couldn't continue to pay the interest on the notes I gave to the schools and churches. And then my children ought to have been left with large fortunes, as they had a right to expect. The thought of these things at first came near killing me or driving me crazy, but I have got over the worst feelings now.”

  The reporter asked Drew who he thought were the richest men in New York. Alexander T. Stewart, he guessed, was worth $40 million, “but Vanderbilt was surely worth a hundred millions of money if he owned a dollar.”109 Stewart did not hold that fortune for much longer. He died on April 10. Three days after, the city saluted the department-store magnate with “an immense funeral,” as the New York Herald described it, attended by the rich and powerful, including William H. Vanderbilt. The Commodore did not go to his friend's service. He was sick in bed himself.110

  On April 14, Frank sent word to Dr. Linsly asking him to come see the Commodore. Linsly found his patient in great distress. Vanderbilt's autopsy would show that he had an enlarged prostate—common in older men—which led in turn to cystitis, or an infection of the bladder, which was not draining properly. This condition was painful enough, but Vanderbilt also had terrible bowel disorders. He had anal stenosis, a constriction often caused by scar tissue—in his case, the result of surgery he had had decades earlier for hemorrhoids. In particular, he appears to have suffered from diverticulitis, another ailment that commonly afflicts the elderly, in which a pouch (diverticulum) forms in the lining of the colon and becomes infected and inflamed.111

  Internal abdominal pain may well be the most unbearable of all. Vanderbilt loathed opiates, the only effective pain medication available. Even when he took them, they increased the constipation from his stenosis, which forced his waste into the infected pouch in his colon. The press reported, “His physical condition is rapidly going to pieces.”

  Unfortunately, Dr. Linsly was thrown from his carriage in a severe accident on April 15, and would remain bedridden for several weeks. Vanderbilt demanded an “electrical physician,” William J. Bennett, who found the Commodore “howling like a wild beast with pain, so that he could be heard all over the house, calling upon God to relieve his sufferings and asking why the Lord persecuted him so much.”112 Vanderbilt's world had narrowed to the perimeter of his bed—to the surface of his skin—and it was aflame, with no hope of dousing the fire. He screamed; he exploded at those around him; he felt helpless after a lifetime in command.

  Dr. William Bodenhamer would later talk about his treatment of Vanderbilt during the month when Linsly was bedridden. He spoke at length about Vanderbilt's faith in Spiritualism and his short-tempered explosions. He said that he explained to Vanderbilt that his enlarged prostate was likely the result of gonorrhea or “excessive venery”—too much sex. As for Vanderbilt's mental state, “I do not know that I ever did know a more clear-headed man under such suffering,” Bodenhamer declared. “I never saw him when his mind was not clear. In my opinion, he was at all times capable of transacting any business he was accustomed to.”113

  Knowing the public impact of his illness, Vanderbilt pulled himself together to see a reporter in early May. He sat up in his sickbed and explained that he was recovering, though still weak, and he knowledgeably discussed the ongoing rate war. He explained that the New York Central “is placed on the defensive by all the other trunk lines—one road demanding the right to reduce fares because it is a longer route, and the other roads demanding the same right because they are shorter routes.” The natural superiority of New York as a port, he said, gave the Central a critical advantage. All it had to do was defend itself. “‘In other words,’ said he, as he turned to look through some letters just brought him, ‘since I have been a railroad man it has always been my practice to let my opponents make the rates, and I follow them so long as they do not put the rate so high as to be an imposition on the public’”114

  A few days later, a reporter for the New York Herald called at 10 Washington Place. As a servant held the door open, the reporter saw Frank striding toward him when “the well known voice of the Commodore came rolling vigorously after her, saying, ‘Tell the gentleman from the Herald that even my slight local disorder is now almost entirely removed.… Even if I were dying I could knock all the truth that there is in the wretches who start these reports out of them, and that, as vigorous as I am at present, I would, were they within easy reach, knock all the lies for hereafter out of them.” Frank, now at the door, said “the Commodore's declaration was quite in accordance with her view of the case.”115

  William often came to consult with his father, as did Worcester. On one occasion, Worcester found the Commodore stretched out on a kind of bed set up over a bathtub—presumably so he could sit in steam—smoking a cigar. Vanderbilt said that he wished to establish a home for disabled employees, and endow it with $500,000 of second-mortgage Lake Shore bonds. He wanted it to serve New York Central workers first, and later those of the Lake Shore as well. He ordered Worcester to draw up a plan but keep it from William until he was finished. Also, Worcester recalled, “the Commodore said he did not want the lazy to be assisted by the institution.”116

  All the while, he suffered. At the end of May, Frank began to keep a diary, a grim record of his agony, his bowel movements (or lack of them), his fevers, his explosions, his despair, his love for her. “Regrets so any hard expressions he uses during the painful paroxysms,” she wrote on June 4. “Com. strained all day. Had a natural passage from the bowels in the night,” she wrote on June 17. “So tempted to temper & hard words. Dr. says disease makes him so,” she wrote on June 26. On days when he was feeling better, he laughed and joked and teased his nurse and doctors mercilessly117

  Often he received visits from his sister Phebe, who was close to the Crawfords. Speaking of Frank, he told her, “She has been so good to me, so true, so pure. I know she will never do dishonor to your name, Phebe. Say to my family too no matter how they do, they will always find her a Lady.… She may be like other women, but I have never detected any selfishness in her.” This combination of honest affection, keen searching of character, and harsh characterization (“like other women”) was vintage Vanderbilt. As he told Frank after a particularly bad night, “Tho' my manner had been rough to you, there was always love beneath my rough exterior to protect you from all harm.” His capacity for love did not contradict his famously domineering nature; it simply made him more complex. Frank wrote,

  He never lost the habit of controlg others. Lizzie his nurse was disposed to argue for what she thought would make him comfortable. He would say, “Quick quick Lizzie not a word but do the work.” Asked for his spectacles & put them on with great deliberation & took Dr. Eliot's hand & examined his nails, ran his fingers over them very closely & carefully to see if they could possibly hurt him. His flesh was so sensitive. Dr. had trimmed his nails fortunately118

  Both sides of his personality came out when dealing with his daughters. One day Martha Crawford asked if Frank really had to speak to Sophia Torrance, who had snubbed Frank so often. Some in the family said she should, Crawford said. “Who said so?” Vanderbilt asked. “No. She [Sophia] misused [Frank] & let her make the first advances.” At his insistence, Sophia apologized and shook hands with Frank in his presence. On August 4, he spoke to Mary La Bau, who demanded that he redraw his will. “Now don't be stubborn & give trouble,” he said. “I have left you all enough to live like ladies.” Frank wrote, “When she began
to argue that she was not stubborn, he merely waved his hand at her, as if he could not hear more.”119

  He frequently received visitors, ranging from old steamboat captains to Thurlow Weed. He sent telegrams to Bishop McTyeire. He read and criticized Worcester's lengthy report on the home for railroad workers. He listened to Frank, her mother, and Phebe sing. On September 12, Frank wrote, “He sent to the sitting room for me, kissed me, & asked me when I was going to the Centennial.” The national centennial fair in Philadelphia was the great cultural event of the age. Vanderbilt said, “You ought to go one day at least, & come home at night.” It took weeks before she was willing to leave his side, even for so short a time. When she read him the news of Braxton Bragg's death, he snapped, “Yes, I know about that.” (Someone had told him earlier.) Frank wrote that he “remarked how well it [was] he had not taken him [Bragg] in his business as he once wished he had (that was when we were married). Head still so clear.” His memory was sharp, she noted; he often corrected others, saying, “I don't forget what I remember.”120

  His condition rose and fell, his pain swelled and subsided. In August, he endured an unspecified operation. Frank could tell it was “awfully painful.… It was heart-rending to witness his agony.” The doctors felt certain that he would die in its aftermath, but he rallied. On September 27, she noted, “He agrees with Dr. Linsly ‘No cure.’ Com seems oppressed but I played the piano for him & he revived wonderfully”121

  Vanderbilt faced eternity. “He has queer dreams occasionally,” Frank wrote. “He dreamed he had been away down to the bottom but was coming up again & that it took all the power of the steamer Vanderbilt to pull him out but she did.” On October 5, he discussed business with Amasa Stone for half an hour, then met with Worcester. Afterward he called Frank to his bedside. “This morning he was trying to express himself to me about his soul & salvation & said for the first time, ‘Why don't you talk to me?’” she wrote. “I did & afterwards read him some beautiful prayers & he would say amen & ‘How sweet’ & showed plainly he enjoyed & felt them.” He actually prayed to Jesus for salvation. “I asked, ‘Dear, is it because you love him or is it to be relieved of the pain?’ He replied, ‘To be candid—both.’” He turned to Linsly and said, “Dr., it may be selfish, but I would take Frank with me, if I could.” He even said farewell to Corneil. After many refusals, he allowed him in for a last chat. “Poor unfortunate boy,” he said. “You make good resolutions but are not able to keep them from here to Broadway”122

  Almost every day during his long illness, the nation's leading newspapers published reports on Vanderbilt's condition, what he had eaten, how he had slept, what visitors said of his condition. This extraordinary attention underscored Vanderbilt's unique, self-made position in American society—the personification of the otherwise faceless corporations that increasingly overshadowed the land. But the death watch also prepared the public and the markets for his demise, assuring that there would be no collapse of his stock prices. Vanderbilt's long agony was his final gift to William.

  On December 16, William attended a conference at the Windsor Hotel that ended the rate war on favorable terms. Two days later, he went to 10 Washington Place, along with Worcester and the auditor of the Lake Shore. The Commodore spoke to them at length about the proper relationship of the Canada Southern to his other railroads.123

  By this time, Vanderbilt's diverticulitis had resulted in a perforated colon. Fecal matter squeezed out of the intestine. Peritonitis set in.

  At 9:12 a.m. on January 4, 1877, William sent a telegram to Bishop McTyeire at Vanderbilt University “Father is very low. Be prepared for the worst.” At 11:41 a.m., he sent a second telegram. “Commodore passed away at nine minutes to eleven this morning.” At 9:55 p.m., he sent a third. “Father passed away at nine minutes of eleven o'clock this morning without a struggle, surrounded by his entire family,” he wrote. “Dr. Deems offered up prayers a few minutes before, all of which he perfectly understood and responded acquiescence by motions.… Mrs. V. is very much depressed & we all feel very sad. A great loss which we hardly realize.”124

  EPILOGUE

  They never learned his secrets. Starting on November 12, 1877, crowds of onlookers filled the seats in Surrogate Court, watching the lawyers of William H. Vanderbilt and Mary La Bau battle over the sanity of Cornelius Vanderbilt. The trial dragged on for week after week, month after month. The attorneys called as witnesses the great and the marginal, the convincing and the convicted, whose testimony was sometimes insightful, often salacious, and frequently misleading. The result was a bizarre, fragmented mosaic of true and false moments in the Commodore's life, lacking context, missing vast stretches of his activities or inner life. This image would harden in memory until it formed a kind of shield, blocking any deeper penetration of the man.1

  The great will contest went on for two years, two months, and four days. At various points, Ethelinda Allen and Cornelius Jeremiah fought alongside their sister. In the end, William won, but he also doubled their shares of the estate. He gave Ethelinda Allen the interest on an additional $400,000 in U.S. bonds, for example, and added $200,000 to Corneil's trust fund. William retained control of their father's empire.2

  William's words to McTyeire said everything about his father's death. Sons are notoriously prone to exaggerate the importance of their fathers, as are biographers with their subjects, yet few nineteenth-century businessmen equaled Vanderbilt in his impact on American history. A handful of rival candidates come to mind—-John Jacob Astor, John D. Rockefeller Sr., Andrew Carnegie, J. P. Morgan, perhaps Jay Gould and Thomas A. Scott—but arguably none proved to be so influential at so fundamental a level over a period so formative or so long. His accomplishments bear repeating. With his role in Gibbons v. Ogden, he helped to transform the Constitution by tearing down state-erected barriers to trade and shattering the remnants of the eighteenth-century culture of deference. Vanderbilt epitomized the commercial, individualistic society that emerged in the early nineteenth century, and contributed to the creation of a culture in which competition was a personal, economic, and political virtue. With his leading part in the transportation revolution, he helped to shape America's newly mobile society, and to foster long-distance trade and the early textile industry of New England. With the gold rush, Vanderbilt's impact on the geography of the United States grew even more marked. Since steamship travel via Central America was the primary channel of migration, commerce, and finance with the Pacific coast, his Nicaragua line and related ventures fed the growth of San Francisco and the state of California. He also sped the flow of high-powered money to Manhattan, feeding the boom of the 1850s. Indeed, all his enterprises contributed to the rise of New York as America's financial capital.

  With the approach of the Civil War, the Commodore's influence on history continued undiminished. Though he transformed Nicaragua into a target for filibusters, he delivered the decisive blow against William Walker, one of the most dangerous international criminals of the nineteenth century, in the face of Washington's inaction and hostility. Vanderbilt played a significant role in the Union war effort—one perhaps best measured by the Confederates' failure to interrupt the shipment of gold from California. More important, he took on the role of railroad king as railways became central to American life. Step by step, he overcame the fragmentation of the system and built unprecedented new infrastructure. With his son as operational manager, he reduced costs and introduced new efficiency into long-distance transportation, helping to integrate the national economy and transform it into an industrial empire.

  All this formed a legacy that would remain central to the United States into the twenty-first century—from its individualistic, opportunity-minded culture to its sprawling, continental scale to its dense transportation networks. And yet, he may have left his most lasting mark in the invisible world, by creating an unseen architecture which later generations of Americans would take for granted. The modern economic mind began to emerge in Vanderbilt's lifetime, ami
d fierce debate, confusion, and intense resistance. The imagined devices of commerce gradually abstracted the tangible into mere tokens, and then less than tokens. Money transformed from gold coin to gold-backed banknotes to legal-tender slips of paper and ledger entries of bank accounts. Property migrated from physical objects to the shares of partnerships to par-value stock to securities that fluctuated according to the market, that could be increased in number at will. Like a ghost, the business enterprise departed the body of the individual proprietor and became a being in itself, a corporation with its own identity, its own character, its own personhood.

  Over the course of his career, Vanderbilt lived out the history of this abstraction, the invention of this imagined world. More than that, he took it to a new level by pioneering the giant corporation. By consolidating his New York lines into the New York Central & Hudson River Railroad, he constructed something larger than himself, not to mention virtually every other enterprise that had ever existed. It was a massive organization, one that served to depersonalize, to institutionalize, American business and life. It helped to lead the way to a future dominated by large enterprises possessing wealth and power that changed not only the economic landscape, but the political one as well. A new matrix began to emerge, as radicals began to think of the state as the natural counterweight to the business corporation. This, too, is Vanderbilt's legacy.