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720 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2011
The gorgeous maps printed in the late 1880s…depicted the American railroad network and its recent expansion as a jungle of multicolored railroad lines, their trunks crossing and their branches sometimes intertwining. They captured the growing extent of railroad space, but they could not capture the way this expansion changed space itself since, like all maps, these were static. The deeper meanings of railroad space remained invisible unless the trains were put in motion. Emphasizing motion was essential to creating a spatial politics.
The railroads made space political by making the quotidian experience of space one of rapid movement. A railroad train in motion was a snorting, smoking, roaring thing; for all the beauty of its movement, it was an assault on the human senses, which registered that it was the train’s movement that mattered. But it wasn’t just the train that moved; the things the train connected seemed to move with it. The British novelist Anthony Trollope wrote, “The town that is distant a hundred miles by rail is so near that its inhabitants are neighbors; but a settlement twenty miles distant across the uncleared country unknown, unvisited, and probably unheard of by women and children. Under such circumstances the railway is everything. It is the first necessity of life, and gives the only hope of wealth.”
"The Northern Pacific had always been notable for selling more paper than transportation ..."
"Borrowing and building were symbiotic."
"Transcontinental railroads were a Gilded Age extravagance that rent holes in the political, social, and environmental fabric of the nation, creating railroads as mismanaged and corrupt as they were long..."
"The issue is not whether railroads should have been built. The issue is whether they should have been built when and where they were built."
Railroad entrepreneurs were innovators. They sought advantage by adopting new techniques. But whereas the celebrations of entrepreneurs usually make their success synonymous with the firm, the men I examine usually succeeded at the expense of the firm. The paradox at the heart of the book is that such individual success as there is usually comes at the price of corporate failure. Personal wealth often brings with it social failure. The innovations entrepreneurs brought to the railroads . . . were as harmful to the public, the republic, and even to the corporations as they were profitable to many of the innovators. (p. xxvi)
The celebrated creative destruction is, it seems, gentle with the rich. . . . [F]ailure and success were not always binaries. Certain kinds of failures impose more public than private costs. (p. xxxiii)
The transcontinentals were not so much about earning revenues from moving people and freight as about finance and politics. . . . Huntington and Scott knew what modern scholars sometimes forget: the federal government did not leave the railroad business to the market and the states to regulate, and their most decisive competition often took place in Congress. Their political lobbies connected politics and business, but these were only part of a second, larger web of politicians, newspapermen, bankers, and businessmen. The webs ensnared what the railroads needed to survive – subsidies, friendly legislation, newspaper stories that made it easier to market the railroads’ securities of all kinds. (p. 96)
There is something paradoxical in this logic. The rewards to entrepreneurs come quickly, but judgments about the utility and worth of their innovations come much more slowly. There arises a kind of evaluative shortcut in which all those who engaged in creative destruction – changing the nature of existing systems – and reaped great rewards were, ipso fact, heroic entrepreneurs, producing a better product and a more efficient way of doing things. They contributed not only to their own wealth, but the efficacy of the system and the larger material advantage of humanity. . . . But how do we know whether the market is right in rewarding particular entrepreneurs if we can only judge their innovations in the long term? (p. 253)
Taken together, the Dakotas seem to offer a compelling argument against land grants in general and the subsidized transcontinentals in particular. Not only did unsubsidized railroads build to meet demand, but they operated more efficiently. Farmers paid less for land, settled the better lands more quickly, and avoided marginal arid lands. The government aided settlers, not railroads, while securing a more efficient railroad network and denser settlement. (p. 486)
These railroads led me to the deeper mystery of modernity: how so many powerful and influential people are so ignorant and do so many things so badly and yet the world still goes on. We are confronted with this constantly, yet we often to choose to believe that those in high places know what they are doing and that those who achieve great riches are being rewarded for merit. The paradoxical railroads of Railroaded were not the railroads that I expected to find, but having found them, I had to confront the real questions of the book. What were the results of a world dominated by large, inept, but powerful failures whose influence could not be avoided? What were the structural conditions that permitted these corporations to survive and dominate, if not thrive? Seen from within the western railroads and Congress, modernity gradually seemed to me the reverse of the homilies of the Guilded Age: it was the triumph of the unfit, whose survival demanded the intervention of the state, which the corporations themselves corrupted. (p. 509)