Our Railroads To-Morrow. Edward Hungerford
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extremely simple enterprise. But it functioned and functioned extremely well.
Eighteen employees, as against more than twelve hundred at the very beginning of the United States Railroad Administration. Even to-day, two years after it has ceased to function, there are still several hundred retainers faithfully hanging on to their official jobs.
Mr. McAdoo might find some shrewd lawyer’s way of proving his “standardized” locomotives and freight-cars a necessity for the winning of the war, even though the elaborate consolidated ticket-offices would not be so easy to explain. But just why orders should have emanated from his offices to place his name as well as his title upon every piece of printed matter issued by the United States Railroad Administration—even to the dining-car menus and even to each third mile upon the scrip-books issued for passenger travel—is particularly difficult to understand. Particularly so, as a war measure in a war for democracy, at any rate. The hub of the troubles with Mr. McAdoo seems to have been that he regarded a war crisis as a fit moment for an experiment in the details of a centralized railroad operation for the United States.
The chief criticism launched against the first director-general of the Railroad Administration is in regard to his handling of railroad labor. The more conservative the mind that you scratch upon this extremely delicate topic the more violent the immediate reaction. “Barron’s Weekly,” published by the “Wall Street Journal,” regards Mr. McAdoo’s attitude toward railroad labor as that of an arch-tyrant. But that is merely typical Wall Street attitude and to be dismissed as such. I had, as I have already said, very little sympathy with the director-general’s addresses to the men at Pueblo and at El Paso, where he assured them that at last they had come into the rights which had been denied them and that hereafter they were to receive the square deal. That was unnecessary. More than unnecessary, it was unfair. And more than that, it was an extremely dangerous doctrine to be preaching, particularly at that time. I cannot see how it possibly could do one single thing toward upbuilding railroad morale, the thing needed at that moment more than anything else. It could scarcely do else than lower that shattered morale still further. And it is possible that Mr. McAdoo regrets at this moment that he ever gave utterance to those two speeches, patting railroad labor on the back when railroad labor should have been congratulating itself that it was not conscripted and sent into the trenches. This is said with all deference and with a high regard for railroad labor in the United States.
On the other hand McAdoo did a most commendable and forward-looking thing when he gave labor a fair place in his official cabinet. Then and there he played a trump card that private ownership and operation of our railroads forever and a day had failed to play. He played another when at the very beginning of his term of office he put the entire question of wages in the hands of a competent commission headed by the late Franklin K. Lane, of whose fairness and ability there could be no question whatsoever. Mr. Lane knew men; he also knew railroads. He was perhaps the one man in the United States who might have taken the Railroad Administration and made an unqualified success of it. The ablest member of the Wilson cabinet, he was compelled to take a back seat in the big war drama. His capabilities and his experience were virtually ignored.
The Lane Commission went more carefully into the question of railroad wages than any one had ever before gone. It did what no individual railroad or group of railroads ever had the intelligence or the courage or the fairness to do—attempted to make some sort of impartial analysis of living costs to the railroader, and to use these as a basis for the fixing of his wage. The question of compensation never has been placed upon a scientific basis.
The whole question was so big and so vital that even despite war-time pressure the Lane Commission took until May, 1918, to render its decision in favor of considerable increases to almost every type and rank of railroad worker. It unquestionably was a fair decision. Some that followed may not have been so fair; McAdoo unquestionably was led far afield himself by some of his advisers in elaborate and almost absurd attempts at standardized wage and working agreements. Yet at the time he took over the railroads for the Government the rank and file of railroaders unquestionably were underpaid—in certain cases grossly underpaid, and with their living costs rising by leaps and by bounds.
This entire question of railroad labor, its rights and its wage, is so involved and so complicated in detail that I am going to leave it for another portion of this book. It is enough to say here in review of the McAdoo administration that on December 15, 1917, thirteen days before he assumed control, the total number of employees upon the Class I roads of the land (87 per cent. of the railroad mileage of the country; all save the lines with gross revenues of less than a million dollars a year) was 1,703,685; on January 15, 1919, four days after he had relinquished control, it had grown to 1,843,530—an increase of 139,846, or 8.2 per cent. Yet the pay-roll expense, which had been 61.48 per cent. of all operating costs in 1917, had only risen to 65.62 per cent. It was not until the following year that an average increase of nearly 50 per cent. in railroad wages was granted, in the face of a still generally increasing cost of living.
But by the next year McAdoo was out of the job. The Armistice had been signed on November 11, 1918, and immediately thereafter Mr. Wilson gave heed to Mr. McAdoo’s protestations that, the war-time emergency having passed, he was no longer needed and that he must go out into the world to recoup his shattered personal fortune. Accordingly he ceased to be director-general of the United States Railroad Administration on January 11, 1919, and was immediately succeeded by his right-hand assistant, Walker D. Hines, whom we have seen already as the one-time chairman of the board of the immensely important Santa Fé railway system.
Hines is in many ways the very antithesis of McAdoo. There is nothing dramatic or spectacular about him whatever. On the contrary he is what he began to be, a typical corporation lawyer, cool-headed, judicial, shrewd, and honest. He probably would tell you himself that he broadened a good deal down in the offices of the Railroad Administration. I could see the changes. He became vastly more human; his Washington experience seemed to quicken his sympathies and to broaden his understanding of men.
His job was vastly different from that of McAdoo. The job, like the man, now lacked fireworks. There were no longer troops and their munitions to be moved double-quick to the seaboard; instead there was the rather leisurely return of the boys in khaki to their homes. Industrial production across the land was slackening, not quickly but appreciably. Oddly enough, however, railroad revenues still were increasing; they were not to reach their peak until near the end of 1920. Total operating revenues of the Class I roads, which were $4,014,142,743 in 1917, and which had increased to $4,880,953,480 in 1918, came to $5,144,795,154 in 1919. In 1920 they reached, under the stimulus of tariff increases ranging from 20 to 50 per cent., the enormous summit total of $6,171,493,301. In the first ten months of 1921, the most recent figures at hand, they were but $4,672,651,346, as compared with $5,082,819,687 for the same ten months of 1920.
It was under the Hines administration that most of the national working agreements were made, to which the private railroad operators were to take such extreme exception after the return of the properties to their control. But again I must ask you to defer comment or criticism until we have taken up the entire question of railroad labor as a sizable problem by itself. It is enough to say here that Hines encountered a very considerable opposition when he raised wages generously, and raised rates not at all.
The fact remains, nevertheless, that Mr. Hines had in his stewardship a very thankless job at the best; it is always hard to follow a prima donna upon the stage. And McAdoo was some prima donna! Yet in loyalty and in energy Hines gave place to no one. He took the thankless job and made the best of it. He undermined his health by his devotion to it and received no praise from any quarter. His best reward must come in his own knowledge that, all in all, he did a good job, with difficult timber—the best of the subordinates of the Railroad Administration already were leaving it for future peace-time jobs of permanency—and with no encouragement whatsoever. And when the United States Railroad Administration ceased its active career upon March 1, 1920, and handed the railroads back to their owners for operation, I fancy that none was more rejoiced than Walker D. Hines.
What then was the net result of our first—and possibly our last—national experiment in the government operation of our huge railroad plant?
Even to-day, fully twenty-four