I admit that I'm not too comfortable with the world of high finance and economics. This might be odd, considering I majored in finance in college. Then again, I spent most of my college years smoking in the library, checking out coeds on the quad, starting food fights in the cafeteria, and playing tricks on the crusty dean. My copy of Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations sits unread on my bookshelf. I swear, I'll get to it someday; as of now, however, I can't get past the first turgid page. When I think of the various economic types, I find myself agreeing with John Kenneth Galbraith's observation that: "Under capitalism, man exploits man. Under communism it's just the opposite."
To the extent I think about economics, I conceive the free market as a python that swallows its own tail. You may start with open and spirited competition, but as winners emerge and losers fall away, your free market tends to constrict and become a little less than free.
That is the cycle that T.J. Stiles recounts in his biography of Cornelius Vanderbilt, The First Tycoon. In the 18th Century, the U.S. economy was marked by aristocratic privilege, where friendly state legislatures conferred charters on wealthy families and passed laws preventing competition. At the beginning of the 19th Century, following the ratification of the Constitution and the rise of Republicanism, the old order gave way to a middle class resentful of aristocracy and scrambling to enter the marketplace. By the end of the 19th Century, of course, we found ourselves in the era of robber barons and impossibly huge monopolies.
It's an interesting journey, and Stiles has chosen a good character to follow. Cornelius Vanderbilt is that favorite American archetype: the self-made man. Quitting school at a young age, he started his own ferry service in the tricky waters off New York City. Eventually, he went to work for steamboat entrepreneur Thomas Gibbons, and was in the thick of Gibbons' fight against monopoly holder Aaron Ogden. This fight, as any first year law student can tell you (probably with a shudder at the remembrance of all things pertaining to first year con law), went all the way to the Supreme Court, where it became a seminal case delineating the reach of the Commerce Clause. (If this sounds horribly boring, or complex, rest assured that Stiles tells the story in an entertaining, easy-to-follow manner. Suffice it to say, I got through these sections with nary a single flashback to the Commerce Clause-induced nightmares I suffered in law school).
When Thomas Gibbons died, Vanderbilt started his own steamboat line. From there, his wealth and prestige grew, till he was known as the Commodore. Later in life, he extended his influence into railroads, and built the Grand Central Depot. Along the way, he piloted steamships through the dangerous Nicaraguan rivers, donated boats to the Union Navy during the Civil War, and was betrayed by so many former friends that I stopped keeping count. When he finally died, his fortune was so vast as to be - literally - immeasurable. It was estimated that if Vanderbilt had sold all his assets at the moment of his death, he would have taken out one of every twenty dollars in circulation. My wallet is currently stuffed with old movie ticket stubs, and I'm eating old cheese on my couch, so I can't really conceptualize how much scratch that is. But it seems like a lot.
I went into this book expecting to hate Cornelius Vanderbilt. I thought I'd be able to draw a line from Vanderbilt's desiccated corpse to the fat cats on Wall Street who caused the Great Recession but still swim in pools filled with Spanish doubloons, and smoke cigarettes laced with $100 bills (or whatever it is that wealthy people do in their leisure time).
Surprisingly, I came to the end of this doorstop-sized volume thinking Vanderbilt was an okay guy. This is true for a couple reasons. First, in my ignorance, I probably confused Cornelius - hard-working, prescient, dutiful, and relatively humble - with his Paris Hilton-like descendants, who were known more for building extravagant monuments to the estate tax (see, e.g., the Breakers mansion) than for actually contributing anything to society.
Second, Stiles really likes the guy. And really, there's much to like. He is a an example of that rare-yet-exalted breed of self-made men, who was able to succeed in our sainted free market by dint of hard work, canny decisions, and guts. Unfortunately, Stiles gets a little carried away with his reverence. Yes, he had many positive traits, including personal courage, devotion to country (exemplified by his generous donations to the Union war efforts in the Civil War), foresight, and vision. He had a bad side too. A cutthroat side. A colluding, labor crushing, influence peddling side. This gets glossed over quite a bit.
Interestingly, in a book so large and detailed, I never felt like I got a grasp of Cornelius Vanderbilt. This isn't for lack of effort on Stiles' part. It's just the reality of the historical record. Vanderbilt was barely literate, and he didn't leave behind a ream of documents letting us know what he thought or felt. His childhood and early years are mostly a black hole, lit only by a few anecdotes that Stiles admits are apocryphal. A hundred pages into the book, Vanderbilt is already in his 30s. His home life - he had two wives and a passel of children - is virtually unknown. The only personal details we get that serve to humanize Vanderbilt are in his relationship with Cornelius Jr., the black sheep son, who tended to write a lot more than his father (thereby leaving a long record of failed ventures, gambling debts, and trips to the asylum).
It's a little disappointing to read so much about a man, without ever feeling that the man lived, breathed, walked this earth and died. However, Stiles is triumphant in evoking Vanderbilt's place within his times, and the contributions he made to America's expansion. He wasn't simply a super rich man, though he was super rich. He was at the forefront of the transportation revolution. His steamboats helped open the American west by transporting easterners across Central America and on to California. And though he didn't build railroad tracks across the continent, his consolidation of the New York Central and Hudson Railroad assured the preeminence of the railroad (while ushering in the age of the mighty corporation).
Stiles places great emphasis on context, so that you understand the world in which Vanderbilt operated, even if you never really know Vanderbilt. Moreover, Stiles does a really good job explaining the often-difficult financial concepts presented in this book. Even though yesterday's corporations are like lemonade stands compared to today's, it still takes a talented author to lucidly explain the various stock splits and financial chicaneries that Vanderbilt and his competitors engaged in.
Ultimately, Vanderbilt's life is emblematic of the schizophrenic nature of the free market, which tends to get less free the longer firms compete. He began as a strident free-marketer, fighting - sometimes with his knuckles - for the ability to simply hang his shingle and compete. At the end of his life, he was the richest man in America, and engaged in creating an unconquerable dynasty that would last well beyond his death. He started small and transformed into a man who would - in the immortal words of The Simpsons' C. Montgomery Burns - "trade it all for a little more."