break midway through his junior year at Milton Academy. Wilson had just finished studying America’s Gilded Age and written a lengthy report on the Pullman Strike of 1894. He was anxious to discuss what he’d learned with his father and had looked forward to what he hoped would be a lively debate.
The family was eating dinner in the chalet at White Horse. It was the day after Christmas, following a terrific day of skiing. His father was talking about a Dutch economist named Jan Pen, who had equated annual income to physical height. A person with an annual income of $50,000 would be six feet tall. Someone with an income of $5 million would be fifty feet tall. Billions of people would be dwarfs less than three feet tall, many of them standing less than one foot. Several million in income would make a person sixty to a hundred feet tall. And there would be a few hundred giants on the earth, some towering above our tallest skyscrapers, others rising more than a hundred miles into the stratosphere with fifteen mile long footprints. From that point, Wilson mentally replayed the dialogue in remarkable detail.
His fourteen-year-old sister Rachel had started it all by saying: “Capitalism sucks.” Then she teased, “How tall are you, Dad?”
His father smiled and raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
“Until we have a better alternative, I think we should be grateful for the economic system we have,” his mother said, always trying to temper things.
Anxious to share his thoughts, Wilson said, “I just finished writing a paper on the Pullman Strike of 1894 and how it shaped the relationship between capitalists and laborers in America. It’s not a pretty story.”
“Remind us of what happened,” his mother said, noticeably excited to hear more about what he’d been studying at school.
Wilson jumped at the opportunity, having already committed his synopsis to memory for an oral presentation at school. “George Pullman invented his luxury railroad car in 1867 and then joined forces with Andrew Carnegie to build the Pullman Palace Car Company. In the 1880s Pullman built an entire town on the south side of Chicago for his workers, to shield them from the vices of the day and Chicago’s labor unrest. Paved streets, indoor plumbing, gas lighting, sewage system, communal stables, parks, and an arcade were all part of the model town for his company’s ten thousand railcar manufacturing workers. But after workers paid Pullman rent for their new houses, they only had a few cents to buy their families the other things they needed. When the stock market crashed in 1893, the economy went into a recession. Pullman cut workers’ wages by thirty percent, making their living situation intolerable. Four thousand Pullman workers, who were members of Eugene Deb’s American Railway Union, went on strike in 1894. George Pullman refused to even talk to the union or his workers. He locked up his home and left town. That summer, another hundred thousand railroad workers, from across the country, supported the strike by refusing to handle Pullman railcars. When Pullman fired workers who were union members, entire rail lines began to shut down and the U.S. mail stopped moving by rail. Chicago erupted in riots. Federal troops were brought in from Fort Sheridan, a military base on Lake Michigan. It had been donated to the Federal Government by The Commercial Club of Chicago to protect Chicago’s capitalist elite-men like George Pullman, Marshall Field, Cyrus McCormick, George Armour, and Frederic Delano-from labor unrest. On July 8, 1894, federal troops opened fire against the strikers. Thirty-four people were killed. Eugene Debs went to jail and the courts stood behind the capitalists. A federal commission later censured George Pullman for charging excessive rent and forcing his employees to bear unnecessary burdens, but the capitalist elite had already emerged victorious over united labor,” Wilson finished as he sat back waiting for comments.
“So what was the conclusion of your paper?” his father asked.
“Capitalism sucks,” Rachel repeated to loud laughter.
Then everyone turned to Wilson, awaiting his response.
“It’s simple. The government helped capital defeat labor,” Wilson said wryly.
“Right or wrong?” his father asked.
“Wrong,” Wilson said.
“Why?”
“Because the forces of capital and labor should be better balanced, but after the Pullman Strike, thanks to the government, capital gained the clear advantage. It shaped American history, for the worse.”
“What would you have done, if you’d been President Cleveland?”
“I wouldn’t have sent in federal troops or allowed Eugene Debs to go to jail. But it was the courts that gave capital its advantage. Capitalists were allowed to use the rule of law-and the shrewdest lawyers they could buy-to control rebellious laborers. Laborers never had the same opportunity or resources to control greedy capitalists.”
His father nodded without saying anything for several moments. His mother and Rachel remained quiet, finishing their dinners. “So how do we correct things?” his father had finally asked.
“Our system of favoring capital over labor has become entrenched. It’s too late,” Wilson said, baiting his father. He could still remember the excitement he felt when provoking his father into a heated debate. The fact was he loved arguing with his father, because it allowed him to penetrate his father’s enigma. “The capitalists rule. Control or be controlled, isn’t that what you tell your clients?”
His father waited a moment before taking the bait. “It’s never too late, Wilson. Control or be controlled is an argument used by the powerful to justify their exploitation of the weak. That’s exactly why the laws in this country must be changed-to prevent the strong from crushing the weak. Wage slavery is a reality for most of the population and I hate it as much as you do,” his father said firmly.
Wilson remembered smiling to himself, thinking that the polemics were about to commence. “How can you say that you hate it when you continue to make yourself and your rich clients richer, just like every other capitalist? It’s capitalism that promotes exclusivity, inequality, unemployment, overwork, and poverty-and in its current form, it will never be compatible with democracy,” Wilson said, heightening the drama.
His father stopped eating and placed his elbows on the table. “No form of capitalism, fascism, socialism, communism, libertarianism, communitarianism, or any other “ism” is going to prevent the powerful from exploiting the weak-and you can’t force equality when it doesn’t exist. If the powerful few were wise, noble, and committed to spreading the wealth, then the powerless many would have little to fear. But every governing hierarchy on earth, public or private, is designed to give a few control over the many. The secret lies in making capitalism more accessible to all.”
Perfect, Wilson remembered saying to himself. It’s time for a frontal attack. “So, when are you going to begin using your wealth to make the weak more powerful or teach your clients to become less cutthroat and more inclusive? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think making big donations to Harvard is going to make much of a difference.” Wilson cringed as he replayed the dialogue in his head. He’d been such a smartass.
“Wilson. This is not…” his mother began before his father cut her off.
“What makes you think I’m not already doing more than making charitable donations?” his father said defensively.
“What exactly are you doing?” Wilson asked, unwilling to let his father off the hook. “The fact is most capitalists don’t want to change things because they need the slaves.”
“That’s enough, Wilson,” his mother said decisively. “It’s Christmas. Rachel and I are not interested in sitting here while you and your father have another one of your jousting sessions.”
“Your mother’s right,” his father said. “It’s time to lighten the conversation. The snow is falling and our new hot tub is beckoning. However, I will say one more thing in response to your questions. Fielder amp; Company is in the process of launching a rather novel approach to humanizing capitalism. But you need to give me a decade or so to see if it works. If it does, we may finally overcome the generations of concealed corruption that have created our current version of capitalism. If it doesn’t, you may have to pick up the pieces.” His father smiled, looking as if he wanted to say more but then decided against it. His intense blue-green eyes suddenly softened. “Who’s ready to hit the hot tub?”
“I am,” Rachel squealed, as only fourteen-year-old girls can.
That was the end of the now troubling conversation. Wilson had questioned his father about it on numerous occasions after that, but his father only responded in vague terms, usually saying something like ‘We’re still working on it’. Then he’d typically shift the conversation to why it was difficult, but never impossible, to change deeply entrenched and widely accepted systems. I should have pressed harder, much harder, Wilson thought. But at the time, he was leaving for Princeton and his own fight against the abuse of power.
Wilson returned to considering his options for attacking the secret partnership. He continued to favor an
