THE ROAD TO REVERE: Greed verses Flesh and Blood

I present to you a symbol of the Gilded Age, a captain of industry, a practitioner of power and a advocate of the morality of wealth; George Morgan Browne. I'll wager you've never heard of him. He was a lawyer and was responsible for one of the most infamous train wrecks in American history - and I'll bet you've never heard of that, either.  This nation remains loyal to capitalism by ignoring its failures and faults.

George Browne graduated from the New Haven law school (Yale) in 1836 (above) and four years later, before he was thirty, he had opened his own practice in Boston . He never doubted the nobility of his beliefs - after all his second wife was a Cabot, and this was Boston “...The home of the bean and the cod, Where the Lowells talk only to Cabots, And the Cabots talk only to God.”

And what God told George Browne was that the rich in America did not have enough power. “They are in a small minority at the polls”, he wrote, and “their influence in....elections is notoriously less than that of an equal number of voters.” His villain would be familiar to a political observer today. “The spoilsmen avail themselves of whatever party is in power, and are equally at home in either.” The “spoilsmen” were, of course, anyone fighting for a minimum wage, an eight hour work day and a five day work week, with overtime.

The same year that George Browne graduated law school, the Eastern Railroad was chartered in Massachusetts, capitalized with just $1,300.000. That was barely enough to lay a single line of tracks eight miles north from Boston to the beach hamlet of Revere, then 3 miles further to Lynn. In future years the company built their line on to Salem, then to Marblehead, Newburyport and finally all the way to Portland, Maine. The Eastern line carried 75, 000 weekly working class commuters at fifty cents for a ticket to Lynn, a dollar to Portland. But it was so underfunded that from the beginning it struggled with shortages of equipment. and personnel.

One of the conductors would later describe the job as “...down one day and up the next, and rest the third, and brake by hand the whole way as...(the) cars were not fitted with the air brake” The Westinghouse air brake was invented shortly after the Civil War, but the Eastern did not trust it anymore than they trusted the 30 year old telegraph. The management avoided these “unnecessary” expenses, and despite its reputation for shoddiness in service and equipment, the Eastern was always able pay annual dividends to its stockholders of between 6 and 8%. It was a business model that seemed to work, at least until July of 1855 when President and Treasurer, Mr. William Tuckerman, was forced to admit that he had lost $281,000 (equivalent to $64 million today) while literally gambling to make corporate ends meet. (Sound familiar?).

The hard nosed Mr. John Howe replaced Tukerman as President, and new blood was brought onto the board as well - including George Browne. Sixty-five of the firm's 354 employees were laid off, and the remaining workers scrambled to keep 26 trains running every day. For the time being, dividends were forgotten. In 1858 Mr. Howe stepped down and George Browne became President, at a salary of $5,000 a year (equivalent to over a $1 million today) .

After eight years of rigorous penny pinching President Browne had returned the yearly corporate dividends to 8%. According to an official company history, the Eastern's 29 locomotives, 48 yellow passenger cars (fewer than they had owned in 1858) and 13 baggage cars, were not considered “worn out until (they) had been rebuilt from one to three times” despite assurances in the annual reports that the equipment was “...equal of any first class railroad in New England”

George Browne, who signed those annual reports, even managed to pick up a cheap Confederate locomotive which had been captured by Union troops. The Eastern's maintenance chief complained this bargain was so prone to breakdowns, he refereed to it as “The Rebel”.

Even after the war the 28 trains scheduled to run on the Eastern line daily still did not have “air brakes”, nor did the company use the telegraph to communicate between stations. But the 55 tired locomotives, 98 worn out passenger cars and 27 baggage cars owned by the Eastern Railroad were simply not enough to keep the system running smoothly.  Delays and breakdowns were daily events, and passenger complaints fell on deaf ears because the company was listening to the stockholders, not the customers. The Eastern was the only line servicing the fishing villages along the coast, turning them into suburbs of Boston but also making them captive customers. The stock rose to $125 a share.

Finally, in the spring of 1871, in an attempt to deal with the constantly over-stretched company, President Browne authorized doubling the shares available – increasing the working capital for the road to eight million dollars. The goal was to buy more locomotives and cars, but no one was so impolite as to point out that this was just the sort of “gamble” which had gotten poor Mr. Tuckerman into such trouble. But it was already too late.

The problem came to a head on a sweltering Saturday, 26 August, 1871. Because of the summer weekend traffic, the single track line was again overloaded. The schedule called for 152 trains this day, but the passenger load forced the overworked staff at the Eastern's Boston terminal to send out 192. They spent the day desperately jamming passengers into hastily turned around cars and dispatching trains as quickly as they could.

The schedule was in tatters, the customers were grumbling about the even worse than usual service, as express trains were slipped in between scheduled ones whenever possible. 

Just about 8:30, as the exhausting day was finally drawing to a close, a misty fog settled in off Revere Beach, the first truly public beach in America. A local from Everett pulled into the tiny station at Revere, a quarter mile inland. It was running 20 minutes late. And while the passengers were still edging past each other through the open doors, the rear car was suddenly illuminated by the headlight of an oncoming express, bound for Sargus, at thirty miles an hour. The Sargus engineer slammed on the locomotive’s brakes, but inertial drove the following cars onward.

The collision, it would be later judged, occurred at well under 20 miles an hour. A survivor in the fatal rear car told the New York Times, “Suddenly I...saw the crowd of passengers rushing over the seats and through the aisle, and the locomotive coming like fury after them.” The cowcatcher on the front of the engine split the wooden passenger car like a can opener. Yellow painted wood was instantly converted to kindling, which the kerosene lamps illuminating the car set aflame. The engine's smokestack snapped off, along with its steam valves. Victims, struggling to catch their breath, sucked scalding air into their lungs.

Reported the Newport, Rhode Island Daily News, “The shrieks and groans of the wounded and scalded, their frantic calls for help and their wild ejaculations caused by a frenzy of pain formed a continuation of sounds such as no mortal ear desired to hear a second time...Some were pinned with splinters, some had arms and legs broken, while other were mangled beyond recognition. Many, in fact the majority of the dead, were apparently free from bruises, but the peeling skin and deathly pallor which overspread the flesh told plainly that steam and scalding water had been frightful and effective agents of death.”

Of the 75 people jammed into the last passenger car, 29 died instantly or over the next several days. In both trains, 57 more were injured, and many more emotionally maimed for the rest of their lives. It was far from the worst rail accident in American history - 101 dead in Nashville, Tennessee in 1918 (above)  - but it was the seminal event in rail safety, thanks to Charles Frances Adams – grandson of John Quincy Adams – and director of the Massachusetts Board of Railroad Commissioners.

Adams' investigation discovered that the company had a regular policy of issuing schedule changes at the last minute, and verbally. It was a system which almost seemed designed to cause confusion, delays and accidents - and it had repeatedly caused all three. And the Commission's final report explained the failure in terms even a businessman like George Browne might understand; “A very large proportion of the rolling stock of the Eastern railroad was rendered unavailable...when it was the most needed, because trains were standing still at points of passing, waiting for other trains which were out of time...to the equal loss and inconvenience of the public and the corporation.”

Adam's report, and two coroners' juries, blamed the conductor and engineer of the express for the accident. That was as standard as citing “pilot error” in an airline crash. But Adam's report went further. It dwelt on the management of the Eastern, and it named in particular George Browne, who had directed the Eastern Railroad for fourteen years. The public agreed. Said a politician, “There is no accident in this case...only the greed of the Eastern Railroad Company”.

Six months later, on 5 February 1872, George Browne resigned. His replacement invested in telegraph lines, and Westinghouse air brakes, and electric signals to warn engineers of trains ahead of them.  All these improvements (and settling the civil lawsuits) cost the Eastern $510,600 (the equivalent to $90 million today).  No dividends were paid in 1872, and the stock value dropped to $51 a share. In retrospect the cost of safety seemed cheap. To an ideologue, this was proof that unrestricted capitalism worked. But ideology failed to consider the moral cost of the the 29 dead and the many more scared survivors.

To escape the public outrage, George Browne left the country, living in Europe for a year. But he never altered in his views or his willingness to make them known. He even wrote letters to the London Times, correcting British politicians in their thinking. And when he came home to Boston he became a consultant for other corporations, always an advocate for the wealthy against what he termed “the vicious caprices of the populace”. In 1881 he moved to Washington, D.C., and lobbied for railroads and his vision of capitalism. He died there on 25 April, 1895, at the age of 73.

By then the Eastern Railroad had been gobbled up by its competitor, The Boston and Maine. That is the nature of capitalism,. At it's core, physically, economically and morally, it is cannibalism,

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NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL OF MEDICINE CHRISTMAS

Unique Case of Aerial Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's Syndrome 
Source: North Pole Journal of Medicine, vol 1 no.1, December 1997 Author: Dr. Iman Elf, M.D. 

On January 2, 1997, Mr. C, an obese, white caucasian male, who appeared approximately 65 years old, but who could not accurately state his age, presented to my family practice office with complaints of generalized aches and pains, sore red eyes, depression, and general malaise. The patient's face was erythematic, and he was in mild respiratory distress, although his demeanor was jolly. He attributed these symptoms to being "not as young as I used to be, HO! HO! HO!", but thought he should have them checked out.

The patient's occupation is delivering presents once a year, on December 25th, to many people worldwide. He flies in a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, and gains access to homes via chimneys. He has performed this work for as long as he can remember. Upon examination and ascertaining Mr. C's medical history, I have discovered what I believe to be a unique and heretofore undescribed medical syndrome related to this man's occupation and lifestyle, named Aerial Sleigh-Borne Present-Deliverer's Syndrome, or ASBPDS for short.

Medical History: Mr. C. admits to drinking only once a year, and only when someone puts rum in the eggnog left for him to consume during his working hours. However, I believe his bulbous nose and erythematic face may indicate long-term ethanol abuse. He has smoked pipe tobacco for many years, although workplace regulations at the North Pole have forced him to cut back to one or two pipes per day for the last 5 years. He has had no major illnesses or surgeries in the past. He has no known allergies. Travel history is extensive, as he visits nearly every location in the world annually. He has had all his immunizations, including all available vaccines for tropical diseases. He does little exercise and eats large meals with high sugar and cholesterol levels, and a high percentage of calories derived from fat (he subsists all year on food he collects on Dec. 25, which consists mainly of eggnog, Cola drinks, and cookies).

Family history was unavailable, as the patient could not name any relatives.

Physical Examination and Review of Systems, With Social/Occupational Correlates: The patient wears corrective lenses, and has 20/80 vision. His conjunctivae were hyperalgesic and erythematous, and Fluorescein staining revealed numerous randomly occurring corneal abrasions. This appears to be caused by dust, debris, and other particles which strike his eyes at high velocity during his flights. He has headaches nearly every day, usually starting half way through the day, and worsened by stress. He had extensive ecchymoses, abrasions, lacerations, and first-degree burns on his head, arms, legs, and back, which I believe to be caused mainly by trauma experienced during repeated chimney descents and falls from his sleigh. Collisions with birds during his flight, gunshot wounds (while flying over Chicago) and bites consistent with reindeer teeth may also have contributed to these wounds. 

Patches of leukoderma and anesthesia on his nose, cheeks, penis, and distal digits are consistent with frostbite caused by periods of hypothermia during high-altitude flights. He had a blood pressure of 150/95, a heart rate of 90 beats/minute, and a respiratory rate of 40. He has had shortness of breath for several years, which worsens during exertion. 

He has no evidence of acute cardiac or pulmonary failure, but it was my opinion that he is quite unfit due to his mainly sedentary lifestyle and poor eating habits which, along with his stress, smoking, and male gender, place him at high risk for coronary heart disease, myocardial infarction, emphysema and other problems. Blood tests subsequently revealed higher-than-normal CO levels, which I attribute to smoke inhalation during chimney descent into non-extinguished fireplaces. He has experienced chronic back pain for several years. A neurological examination was consistent with a mild herniation of his L4-L5 or L5-S1 disk, which probably resulted from carrying a heavy sack of toys, enduring bumpy sleigh rides, and his jarring feet-first falls to the bottom of chimneys. Mr. C. had a swollen left scrotum, which, upon biopsy, was diagnosed as scrotal cancer, the likely etiology being the soot from chimneys. 

Psychiatric Examination and Social/Occupational Correlates: Mr. C's depression has been chronic for several years. I do not believe it to be organic in nature - rather, he has a number of unresolved issues in his personal and professional life which cause him distress. He exhibits long-term amnesia, and cannot recall any events more than 5 years ago. This may be due to a repressed psychological trauma he experienced, head trauma, or, more likely, the mythical nature of his existence. Although the patient has a jolly demeanor, he expresses profound unhappiness.

He reports anger at not receiving royalties for the widespread commercial use of his likeness and name. Although he reports satisfaction with the sex he has with his wife, I sense he may feel erotic impulses when children sit on his lap, and I worry he may have pedophillic tendencies. This could be the subconscious reason he employs only vertically-challenged workers ("elfs"), but I believe his hiring practices are more likely a reaction formation due to body-image problems stemming from his obesity.

The patient feels annoyed and worried when he is told many people do not believe he exists, and I feel this may develop into a serious identity crisis if not dealt with.  He reports great stress over having to choose which gifts to give to children, and a feeling of guilt and inadequacy over the decisions he makes as to which children are "naughty" and "nice".  Because he experiences total darkness lasting many months during winter at the North Pole, Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) may be a contributor to his depression.

Treatment and Counseling: All Mr. C's wounds were cleaned and dressed, and he was prescribed an antibiotic ointment for his eyes. A referral to a physiotherapist was made to ameliorate his disk problem.

On February 9, a bilateral orchidectomy was performed, and no further cancer has been detected as of this writing. He was counselled to wash soot from his body regularly, to avoid lit-fire chimney descents where practicable, and to consider switching to a closed,  heated, pressurized sleigh. He refused suggestions to add a helmet and protective accessories to his uniform.

He was put on a high-fibre, low cholesterol diet, and advised to reduce his smoking and drinking. He has shown success with these lifestyle changes so far, although it remains to be seen whether he will be able to resist the treats left out for him next Christmas. He visits a psychiatrist weekly, and reports doing "Not too bad, HO! HO! HO!".

Conclusions: Physicians, when presented with aerial sleigh-borne present-deliverers exhibiting more than a few of these symptoms, should seriously consider ASBPDS as their differential diagnosis. I encourage other physicians with access to patients working in allied professions (e.g.Nightly Teeth-Purchasers or Annual Candied Egg Providers) to investigate whether analogous anatomical/ physiological/psychological syndromes exist. The happiness of children everywhere depend on effective management of these syndromes."
http://www.dezert-rose.com/humor/christmas/ 

THANKS FOR READING ALL YEAR LONG

AND

MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS

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KISSING GEORGE WASHINGTON Chapter Three

I favor the theory that “Boxing Day” began when servants, required to serve their masters at Christmas Day banquets, were sent home the day after with boxes of leftovers and allowed a day of rest. And to the Hessian soldiers in Trenton, the dawn of Boxing Day, 26 December, 1776, promised some blessed peace. Only about half of the German “Soldatenhandel” serving the British in the American Revolution were from the poor small state of Hesse-Kassel But to the American soldiers marching 8 miles through the snow in the cold and wind, every German in Trenton was a hated Hessian.

The village of Trenton over looked the Delaware River and was bisected by Assunpink Creek to the southeast (above). At the northern apex of the town, on high ground, a right hand road led 20 miles north to Princeton, while a left hand road led 19 miles west to Pennington, New Jersey. From the apex square two parallel streets angled down hill into the town, forming an “A”. King Street ran to the west and Queen Street to the east. Both crossed three numbered streets and Front Street, before King Street terminated at the “River Road”, which led 9 miles north to McConkey's ferry.  Queen Street angled east before crossing Assunpink Creek over an arched stone bridge.  The poorer third of Trenton was south of the creek, while the road continued south toward Bordentown, 20 miles down the Delaware River.

Three regiments of Hessians had occupied Trenton just since 14 December, one in the south and the other two in the north end of town.  Most here were crammed into the “Old Barracks” (above), built by the colony of New Jersey to shelter 300 of the King's soldiers during the French and Indian War - 2 men to each bunk, 12 men in each of the 20 rooms

 But in 1776, 36 year old Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall (above), was pressed to find living space for all 1,500 of his men, a task made more difficult after evacuating patriots set fire to many of the village's 100 buildings. And within 3 days of their occupation, it was clear the Hessians in Trenton were under siege.

Almost every day and every night, rebels took pot shots at the German sentries, and threatened to burn down the buildings the Hessians and their families were sleeping in. Picket duty, such as the roadblock at the village apex, and the road block on the River Road, which would have normally been the duty of ten men, now required fifty. Colonel Rall was forced to rotate his regiments, keeping one always on alert, even ordering the men not on duty to sleep in uniform, with their weapons at hand. The alert regiment could expect to answer at least one alarm most nights, rushing to reinforce the pickets, or even chase down gangs of arsonists. 

This constant interruption of the men's sleep was no harmless game. Just the week before two couriers were attacked on the road to Princeton, and one was killed. Rall sent fifty mounted men to ensure his dispatches got safely to headquarters. After two weeks of this constant tension, one junior officer confided to his diary, “...our people begin to grow ragged…. We have not slept one night in peace since we came to this place.”

In fact, the first night Colonel Rall felt secure enough to allow his men to relax was during the storm on Christmas night. But even then, the evening did not begin peacefully. Shortly after sunset, the picket guarding the northern apex traded shots with a mounted rebel party - it was, probably, Lt. Monroe's raiders.  Six Hessians were wounded. In response an ensign led 30 men up the Pennington Road, in search of the raiders. But the wind and sleet drove them back, and as the storm strengthened and the temperature plunged, Rall ordered most of the men back to their barracks, leaving a scant guard to suffer the storm out of doors in two hour shifts.

There were no Hessian parties that miserable Christmas night, and very little drinking. There was only the sound and smells of 1,500 exhausted, bored and nervous men in very close quarters, snoring, coughing, mumbling in their sleep and using chamber pots. As if by divine will, the Nor'easter had blown its last cold gust just as General Washington launched his two pronged assault.

The first hint of disaster came to Colonel Rall in his sleep, shortly after eight in the morning of Boxing Day. It was gunfire, again, muffled this time because of 12 inches of fresh wet snow on the ground.. Rall was unsure at first , but when he and his wife heard pounding on the front door of his headquarters, the colonel clambered out from his warm bed, and threw open the second floor windows. He demanded of young Lt. Andreas von Wiederholdt standing in in the snow, “Vas ist loss?” The nervous Lieutenant stammered almost apologetically, that the Americans had the town surrounded and were firing artillery from the high ground at the the north end of town. Johann Rall called for his horse to be brought out and threw on his clothes.

In fact, the town was not surrounded. The militia which was supposed to land south of Trenton the night before and complete the circle, had never made the crossing. But a junior Hessian officer, hearing the firing from the top of the village (1) , pulled the pickets who had been huddling in houses along the River Road at the bottom, and led them north to help with what he assumed was another American raiding party. The front door to Trenton was now unguarded

And it was not a mere raid. Rhode Island's Nathaniel Green, at the head of over half the American forces, about 800 men, had pushed the few unfortunate pickets suffering outside,  off the high ground at the pinnacle of the “A”, and cut the road to Princeton. 

Within a few minutes, Henry Knox's field pieces were blasting down both King and Queen streets (above), while Green's frozen infantrymen occupied houses, and began firing from windows and doorways. The hail of shot and shell ensured the newly arrived Colonel Rall could find no room to organize his regiments. There would be no counterattack up either street.

And just as the Hessian River Road pickets had abandoned their post, a column of about 600 men under New Hampshire General James Sullivan pushed unopposed across the broad base of the “A”, even filtering to the Queen Street approach of the stone bridge over Assunpink Creek (above). Now Rall's command really was surrounded, and a third of his strength was cut off. Out of contact with their commander, the Hessian regiment south of Assunpink Creek did little more than trade occasional musket fire with the Americans at the bridge

But there was an easy solution to the Hessian's problem. There was another bridge over Assunpink Creek, the Fourth Street Bridge, higher up the stream, north of the village. A road from here also ran to Princeton. Had the officer commanding the third Hessian regiment shown the initiative to look for a way around the American snipers at the Queen Street bridge, had he taken the chance of leading an attack around his own right flank, he would have fallen on the American left flank from the rear, just as Rall was finally leading a desperate attack against the front of that same American position.

Circumstances had forced Rall out into the open, to the field east of Queens street. Here his men had room to form up and maneuver in formation, and here he could bring the weight and discipline of his professional soldiers to men bear on the Americans. So, about an hour after the American attack began, and about 40 minutes after he had been awakened from a dead sleep, Colonel Rall raised his sword and commanded about 600 of his men to advance toward the American line with the bayonet.

It was the climax of the battle. Washington knew his men did not have the stamina for a long fight, and was pushing them forward, determined not to give the Hessians, or his own men, time to think. So even as Rall was leading his men into the field, American infantry were slipping into houses along Queen's Street, whose back doors gave them clear shots at the flank and rear of the Hessian assault. And by chance one of those shots hit Colonel Johann Rall in the abdomen. He did not fall from his horse, but he did slump in the saddle. It was clear instantly he had been gravely wounded, and immediately the Hessian attack fell apart.

Sensing the enemies' sudden collapse, the Americans pressed forward, driving the remaining Hessians back, into an orchard along the River Road. Colonel Rall asked for quarter, and a relieved Washington immediately agreed to accept his surrender. It was just about 10 in the morning, Boxing Day, Thursday, 26 December, 1776. The most important single battle of the American Revolution had been won.

Total American casualties for the operation were three wounded, one of whom was Lt. Monroe. Also, 2 men who had begun the march without shoes, fell asleep on the road to Trenton, and died of exposure. The Hessians suffered 22 dead – Including Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall who died the next day - , 83 wounded and almost 1,000 soldiers and 23 officers, 1,000 muskets and 8 cannon captured. Most the third Hessian regiment managed to retreat 20 miles to Bordentown, although some stragglers for this unit were later taken prisoners as well.

Washington wasted no time in New Jersey. Aware now that his supporting units had not made the crossing, he had his weary men and their prisoners slipped back across the Delaware River by nightfall. The next day he informed Congress of his amazing victory. Two weeks before, Washington had warned Congress “Ten more days will put an end to the existence of our Army.” Instead, his Christmas Day crossing of the Delaware, and his Boxing Day assault on Trenton, had saved the American Revolution at almost the very moment of its birth.

Sometimes history is just that simple.

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