American History Tellers - America’s Monuments | A Passage Through Panama | 2

Episode Date: March 3, 2021

For centuries, sailors and merchants dreamed of finding a passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans across the narrow isthmus of Central America. But no natural passage existed. To get ships across the fifty-mile stretch of land, someone would have to dig a canal.The French tried first, and failed. Then, in 1904, President Theodore Roosevelt and the U.S. took on the challenge. Struggling against harsh weather, forbidding terrain and political turmoil, the United States would endeavor not just to build a canal – but to establish itself as a formidable international power in the new century.Listen to new episodes 1 week early and to all episodes ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App https://wondery.app.link/historytellers.Support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's 1887. You're the foreman of a French construction company, ankle-deep in a muddy ravine in the southern mountain ranges of Panama. It's your first week on the job, and it hasn't stopped raining once since you got here. Well, you know, there's only nine more months of rain. You just have to get used to it.

Francois, your deputy, has a gallows humor that's already starting to grate on you. Tell them to move that dredging machine away from the ridge face. All this rain's loosening the soil above. Yes, sir. For five years, your company has been trying to dig a canal across the Isthmus of Panama, trying to fulfill an age-old dream of connecting the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific, and by doing so, securing French control over the global shipping economy. Look, you need to hurry. Tell them to get a move on.

But everything is hard here. The equipment is falling apart, disease ever-present. Men are dying from malaria and yellow fever. And just when you think the weather can't get worse, it does, dumping rain on your construction site in buckets. Francois stomps his way through the mud back to you. They're moving that machine as fast as they can, but what I want to know is what are we going to do about the mud on the rail lines?

You turn to consider the mounds of wet earth spilling down onto the supply track. Do you have a suggestion? Before Francois can answer, the engine of the dredging machine goes quiet. Now all you can hear is the rain and another sound that you can feel in your feet. You feel that? Oh god, it's a mudslide. Mudslide, take cover! In a split second, it's all around you. You're running, struggling through the mud, trying to get yourself above ground. When the slide ends, you pull yourself out of the muck and look around. The dredging machine is on its side, almost completely buried in mud. You don't see the operator anywhere, or Francois. You're beginning to understand why the man you replaced walked off the job.

Six months of work gone in a day. The ravine you were standing in is almost level again. If you stay on here, you can see nothing ahead but failure. More equipment ruined. More lives lost. Only 50 miles separates the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans in this godforsaken country. But for all the progress you've made, it might as well be a thousand. To build a canal through this land and these conditions,

it'll take more than money and manpower. It'll take a miracle. From the team behind American History Tellers comes a new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles, intimate moments, and shocking scandals that shaped our nation. From the War of 1812 to Watergate. Available now wherever you get your books. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now. Where aspiring entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. For centuries, mariners dreamt of finding a passage between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans across the narrow isthmus of Central America. If such a passage existed, vessels would no longer have to sail around the southernmost tip of South America, a detour of thousands of miles. But explorers could find no such natural route.

Instead, it would have to be a canal, a man-made channel dug across some of the thickest jungle on Earth. France had started the effort but met dismal failure. Now, the United States would step in to face the same daunting odds, a powerful and forbidding landscape, engineering obstacles, and political turmoil. But through its efforts, the U.S. would forge a path towards becoming a global superpower and accomplish an astounding feat of engineering, the Panama Canal. This is the second episode of our six-part series on America's monuments, A Passage Through Panama.

Throughout the 1880s, France attempted to dig a canal across the Isthmus of Panama. And for a decade, French engineers faced torrential rain, mudslides, disease-carrying mosquitoes, fires, and a local civil war. Finally, in 1889, France abandoned the project. But the country had spent a fortune, the equivalent of $8 billion in today's money, and it had paid a steep human toll. Some 22,000 workers lost their lives. In their hasty departure, crews left earth-moving equipment discarded, rusting in the muddy Panamanian countryside. The fault of the failure landed squarely on the shoulders of Ferdinand de Lesseps, the engineering mastermind behind the construction of the Suez Canal. De Lesseps had arrived in Panama with the same determined spirit,

but he had not bargained on just how inhospitable the terrain would be. Just 50 miles at its narrowest point, Panama was a finger-shaped piece of land connecting Central America to South America. It was filled with swamps, dense jungles, and low mountain ranges. Temperatures were constantly high, the humidity sweltering. A nine-month-long rainy season caused the Chagris River to repeatedly flood, and ignoring better advice, de Lesseps insisted on lowering the entire canal down to match sea level, 85 feet in some places. This proved to be a disastrous

and costly mistake. And then a scandal followed the collapse of the French venture. In what came to be known as the Panama Affair, Chief Engineer de Lesseps and others faced charges for misappropriation of funds. The money of some 800,000 French investors had been laundered away. But the lure of a Panama Canal remained. Shipping routes had long been forced to travel thousands of miles south, rounding Cape Horn at the bottom of South America. An excavation of just 50 miles could change international trade forever, cutting travel time significantly and making the fast-growing global market even more lucrative.

Whoever could manage the feat would make a lot of money and be guaranteed prominence on the world stage. By the turn of the 20th century, the United States was emerging as a new global force. It had secured territories in the Philippines and Puerto Rico through its victory in the Spanish-American War. And it had annexed Hawaii just a few years earlier. With the collapse of the French canal efforts, the United States then soon began exploring its own canal options in Central America. A commission set up under President William McKinley advocated a route through Nicaragua.

Because to many U.S. politicians, Panama was a region tainted by failure and complications. It had joined with Colombia in a fight for independence against Spain and was still under Colombian control. If the U.S. wanted to pursue a route through Panama, it would have to negotiate with the Colombian government, which was considered corrupt and unstable. The Nicaraguan government, though, had closer ties to the U.S., but no good route through Nicaragua's mountainous terrain could be found, so plans for a canal languished. Then, in 1901, President McKinley was assassinated.

His vice president, Theodore Roosevelt, stepped into the role of commander-in-chief with a Central American canal at the top of his agenda. Roosevelt was convinced that a U.S.-controlled canal through the Isthmus of Panama would be a keystone in America's growing global empire and a necessary trade route between the nation's two coasts. He told his advisors, if we are to hold our own in the struggle for supremacy, we must build a canal. By 1902, the United States Congress was officially involved in canal building. But the location changed from Nicaragua back to Panama. Congress had heeded the advice of two

influential lobbyists who had pitched a new route to replace the one proposed through Nicaragua. The first, Philippe Benovaria, was a French engineer. Standing just five feet four inches tall, Beno Varria was nevertheless a commanding and energetic figure. He also owned shares in what was left of the original French engineering firm that had failed so spectacularly and still had a strong financial interest in building a canal through Panama. He was joined in his lobbying efforts by an American lawyer named William Cromwell. Cromwell was a shareholder of the Panama Railroad Company and also stood to make immense profit out of the development of a canal

through Panama. With Roosevelt's support, the two men lobbied members of Congress to back a treaty with the Colombian Senate in Bogota. The treaty's terms gave the United States permission to construct a canal in Panama. In return, the U.S. would give the nation of Colombia $10 million and joint control of the canal. Then in 1903, Secretary of State John Hay and a Colombian envoy named Tomas Eran signed the treaty. But in Bogota, Colombian lawmakers argued over how much the U.S. should pay for canal digging rights. Unable to reach a consensus, they finally rejected the treaty. Negotiations ground to a halt. Seeking another way to control the isthmus, President Roosevelt was left with two choices. He could invade the region with American troops,

or he could try to convince Panamanians themselves to break away from Colombia. In the capital, Panama City, local independence advocates had been long trying to wrest themselves from Bogota's political control. Meanwhile, American diplomats and spies quietly began to encourage a revolution. Imagine it's 1903. You're an American businessman sitting in a cafe at the Costco Viejo, the old town of Panama's capital city. Or at least, that's your cover. Just another sunburned Yankee waving around American dollars on the last day of his work trip.

What you really are is a spy. And you're here to help start a revolution. Sitting across the table from you is a fellow American named Cecil, his long legs stretched out into the street. Cecil can be loud, brash. He's an American entrepreneur here on business. But like you, he also works for the American government. Unlike you, he has no cover.

Also, not a care in the world. Did you get the leche? Everyone here adds milk to their coffee. I'm hawked on it. I just drink it black. The cafe overlooks a square. Normally, it's bustling, but it's been mostly empty these past few weeks. The entire city is tense. The talk of revolution is growing, as is the talk of foreign interference. It's getting harder to be an American here and not stand out. You're

getting a bit jumpy. You're hoping Cecil will tell you your job is finished and you can go home. Say, before you leave this afternoon, make sure to pick up the briefcase I left at the hotel. It's under Rogers. Of course, it's just like Cecil. You guessed he would ask you to do one last thing. So, I'm Rogers? Yeah, yeah, but don't go around shouting I'm Rogers or anything. Just go ask for the case. They won't give you any guff. The U.S. government sent you down here to help nudge along Panamanian independence. But independence rarely comes peacefully. And now there's talk that the U.S. military might step in.

If that happens, things could get very violent very fast. Cecil sees your worried look, leans in closer, lowering his voice. Hey, look, relax. This is what we signed up for, remember? We help them get free, then they stay free. We hang around, build a canal, everyone wins. Well, I'm glad you think it's going to be so cut and dry. Look, it's three words. Universal public utility. That means it's not just about us. A canal is good for the whole world.

All countries can use it, and all countries can profit from it. And the United States controls the route. Colombia has no right to stand in the way of progress. Anyway, I can't believe you're not staying for the transition. There's money to be made. If you don't stake your claim now, there will be nothing left to stake. La cuenta, por favor. You raise your hand for the check. Tomorrow you head north to Cologne, where you'll deliver this briefcase to your contact there, a local official. You're not supposed to ask what's in it, and you'd just as soon not know. When this last job is done,

all you want is to get as far away from this place as possible. By the fall of 1903, American agents were hard at work in Panama, passing along intelligence and offering assistance to Panamanian military operations. And on November 2nd, American warships appeared on both Panama's northern and southern coasts. Panamanian independence fighters protected the railroad lines while others were sent into the jungles to cut off Colombia's military response. The action happened so quickly that by the time Colombian troops mobilized, it was already too late. The next day, November 3, 1903, the state of Panama declared its independence.

Long live the Republic of Panama, exclaimed the headline of a local newspaper. Back in Washington, a satisfied President Roosevelt boasted of the victory. But his move drew critics who were wary of American expansionism. One newspaper called it an act of sordid conquest on the part of the presidency. Others dubbed Roosevelt's intervention in Panama gunboat diplomacy. But it was effective. Just one month later, Felipe Bono-Varilla helped negotiate a new treaty between the United States and Panama. It granted control of a ribbon of

land along the Chagres River to the U.S. Fifty miles long and ten miles wide, it would be known as the Canal Zone, and the United States would have the rights to administer, fortify, and defend it in perpetuity. French-born Bounot Verrier then became the Panamanian ambassador to the U.S., while the value of his canal company shares skyrocketed. For his lobbying efforts, the American lawyer William Cromwell received over $800,000 in fees from the United States government. But while Panamanians had achieved independence from Colombia, they soon realized they'd merely exchanged one controlling foreign power for another. U.S. officials administering the Canal Zone removed any doubt when they issued an ominous

warning. Panama must conduct itself as a civilized nation or it will cease to exist as an independent country. With a treaty signed and control over the canal zone secured, the United States could legally begin work on the canal. The failures of de Lesseps in the 1880s were far behind. The United States had made a bold move onto the world stage with a successful military intervention and the creation of a new Central American nation that took its marching orders from Washington. So as construction began, engineers were confident that where others had failed, their American ingenuity would also triumph. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand,

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and wide, shifting the dynamics of power in the Americas and putting Europe on notice. But for native Panamanians, it soon became clear that their independence came with a price. Americans flooded the cities of Panama, many of them eager to make quick money wherever they could find it. A British journalist reported that the people of Panama look upon Americans as noisy, grabbing bullies. But ultimately, the newly independent country didn't have much choice in matters relating to the canal. The United States had already started to go to work. Running north to south from the town of Cologne to the capital city of Panama, the construction area, otherwise known as the Canal Zone, cut the new nation in two.

In Washington, the Isthmian Canal Commission, or ICC, was created to be in charge of all aspects of construction. John Findley Wallace became the first American director on the ground. But Wallace faced immediate problems. Communication lines were agonizingly slow. Abandoned French excavation equipment lay scattered, rusty, and useless across the canal zone. Wallace begged for more time, reporting, there is only jungle and chaos from one end of the isthmus to the other. But the ICC wanted results sooner rather than later. The orders cabled from Washington were to make the dirt fly.

Helping to meet that goal, American workers with a taste for adventure were already piling into the northern city of Cologne. Former railroad engineers, file clerks, and recent college graduates were lured with visions of exotic palm trees and tropical climates. What they got were mosquitoes carrying malaria and yellow fever. Just weeks into the digging along the canal's southern portion, three men on the project fell ill. By December, there were three more cases. Symptoms included bleeding gums and black vomit. Workers were terrified. Officials feared it was the beginning of an epidemic. Chief Sanitary Officer Dr. William Gorgas was one of the foremost experts on yellow fever and

malaria, following a stint studying the diseases in Cuba. He'd even survived a case of yellow fever himself. And in Panama, he came up with an ambitious solution to stop the spread of the disease, and the only one he said would work, to fumigate the entire canal zone, eradicating all mosquitoes. Chief Engineer Wallace and the Canal Commission couldn't believe what they were hearing. Gorgas' solution of total fumigation seemed both impossible and outrageously expensive. But by the summer of 1905, three-quarters of the American workforce had fled the isthmus, fearing outbreaks of the twin diseases that killed so many French

workers decades before. Desperate to win approval for his fumigation plan, Gorgas decided to go over the heads of the canal committee and appeal directly to President Roosevelt through the only connection he had. Imagine it's 1905. You're a doctor with a small practice in New York, but this afternoon you're playing a different kind of house call. In front of you walks President Teddy Roosevelt, a patient of yours, but also a friend and hunting buddy. He calls back to you. Come on, chap, it's just up here before the ridge. There's a kind of cove where the pheasants live. You're walking the grounds near Roosevelt's Sagamore Hill home, where the avid outdoorsman spends his time when he's not

working in the White House. You're just steps behind him, both of you with rifles in your hands. You're stalling, Teddy. You always stall when you have a decision to make. What I need from you is scientific detachment. This problem of yellow fever down in Panama, well, no one seems to know who to trust. I believe that Dr. Gorgas has proven his trustworthiness. Gorgas wants one million dollars. People get scared of that kind of number.

Certainly the canal committee is scared of it. And those are good, smart men. And they're on my back to recall Gorgas and replace him entirely. Yes, but yellow fever is killing men down there. If you have money to spend, you should spend it. It'll save lives. That's easy for you to say. The ICC thinks Gorgas is obsessed. He wants to fumigate the entire canal zone from coast to coast. I understand houses and buildings, but the entire area. Ah, here we go. Here's the spot. You've arrived at a little clearing.

You can hear rustling in the undergrowth. That might be pheasants, but you can't see any yet. Gorgas is thinking in new ways. The least you can do is try his plan. The French never did. But then again, they didn't have the advantage that we have. What's that? The minds of brilliant American doctors. Teddy barks out a laugh, the laugh so loud that it scares the birds and sends them flying. Well, nice shooting, doctor. You flushed them out. I just got lucky.

The two of you move forward into the clearing to search for your game. Look, you asked for my advice and this is it. If you fall back on the old methods of sanitation, you will fail, just as the French failed. If you back up Gorgas and let him pursue this war against the mosquitoes, you'll get a canal. Out in the clearing, you and Teddy inspect the carcasses of the pheasants you shot. He doesn't bring up the topic again, but you guess that means he's made a decision. You hope you've gotten through to him, for the sake of Dr. Gorgas, and for the sake of all those American workers. After consulting old friend and hunting companion Dr. Alexander Lambert,

President Roosevelt pressed the Isthmian Canal Commission to fund the mosquito fumigation. With extra money from the commission, William Gorgas went to work. He ordered screens installed on doors and windows and fumigated houses in Cologne, Panama City, and all along the wild banks of the Chagris River. And as a result of Gorgas's crusade, yellow fever was completely and permanently wiped out on the isthmus. The last case was reported in Panama City on November 11, 1905. Gorgas would later write, the moral effect of so high an official taking such a stand at this period was very great. It is hard to estimate how much sanitation on the Isthmus owes to Roosevelt

for its subsequent success. But even with this step forward, the canal project was struggling. In late 1905, John Wallace resigned, announcing that he'd been offered a better, higher-paying job with none of the risks associated with living in Panama. His replacement was a barrel-chested engineer who wore a mustache just like Teddy Roosevelt's. John Findley Stevens had helped construct the Great Northern Railroad across the Pacific Northwest. He'd been approached once before to lead the canal operations, but said no. When asked a second time, he agreed, but with a condition. He demanded complete control. There could be no interference from the ICC or anyone else. A desperate commission agreed. Stevens was then able to do something his predecessor could not. He bucked Washington's

insistence on making dirt fly and immediately ordered all digging to stop. He needed the time to develop a different, more effective strategy. Confronted with the patchwork mess laid out before him, Stevens set about reworking the canal construction one step at a time. At the height of the rainy season, the Chagris River rose and flooded the works up and down the line. Stevens realized that they couldn't dig the canal down to sea level. And up to this point, the American plan had been the same as the failed French attempt. But Stevens knew that the rains and river would beat them every time. So instead, he proposed a system of canal locks that could act like a series of water elevators for the ships, raising them up step by step to cross the isthmus. The canal itself would

actually rise up around 80 feet from sea level and then back down. Stevens' proposed lock systems would also cut down on time. It would take only eight years to build, whereas an excavation of the canal down to sea level would take 18. Now, with a new battle plan, Stevens turned his attention to boosting the workforce. Under his watch, the size of the canal's labor ranks tripled. Housing and accommodations were built, city roads were paved, and water and sewage systems were installed. The entire canal zone was equipped with electric power, a rarity for the time. And by 1907, the problems of sanitation and disease had been largely resolved.

The progress allowed crews to excavate the canal route along the Chagris River and begin construction of the canal locks. Success seemed to be at hand, so it was a shock when Chief Engineer Stevens suddenly resigned. He would give no excuse publicly beyond what he called personal reasons, but the constant and demanding work of the operation had drained him. Privately, Stevens admitted he was mentally and physically exhausted. Before hiring his third chief engineer in as many years, President Roosevelt offered to bolster support on the isthmus by making a trip to see the work himself. The visit would make him the first sitting president

to leave the continental United States while in office. Roosevelt arrived in Panama to cheering crowds and a disbelieving workforce. Roosevelt also decided that he'd had enough of civilian leadership. So the next man tapped to lead the Panama Canal project was Colonel George Washington Gothels. A graduate of West Point and a member of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Gothels was straight-laced and quietly professional. He also had previous experience working on dams and canal locks. Better still, because Gothels was a military officer, he would have

to stay on the job as long as President Roosevelt wanted him there. Which was good, because it looked like the job could take a very long time. Disease had been brought under control, and Stephen's new canal design looked promising. But more challenges would soon emerge, pushing the project line further away than ever. The canal's workforce would continue to struggle in Panama's rain-soaked tropical climate as they attempted to move mountains, create lakes, and shift thousands of tons of earth. The U.S. had come farther than anyone had before, but it would all mean nothing unless their final push to connect two oceans could succeed in a place called Hell's Gorge.

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Join Wondery Plus and The Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. By 1907, the stress and toll of the Panama Canal project had led to the resignation of two chief engineers. But under the direction of Army Corps of Engineers Colonel George Washington Gothels, it looked like military precision might win the day. Gothels divided the 50-mile canal zone into three sections. On Panama's north side was the Atlantic section. The task here was to construct a massive breakwater at the entrance to Limon Bay. It also included building the locks at the canal's entrance, along with a dam to hold back what would become an enormous man-made lake called Gatun. On the southern coast was the Pacific section, where crews were building another breakwater and another set of canal locks.

In between the Atlantic and Pacific sections was the central section. Here, the Culebra Mountains rose 300 feet above sea level. So to complete the canal, workers had to dig a nine-mile channel through the mountains, ten stories deep in places, and nearly 300 feet wide. Known as the Culebra Cut, this remote stretch of rocky terrain was one of the most difficult aspects of the canal's construction. Workers drilled holes and filled them with explosives, which helped to loosen the rock and clay. Then the rattling of hundreds of drills, the churning of steam shovels and trains, and the constant explosions of dynamite reverberated off the canyon walls.

Soon enough, the Culebra Cut became known as Hell's Gorge. During the rainy season, landslides were frequent, workers were buried alive, and months of labor wiped out in minutes. There were roughly 20,000 jobs to be had at the peak of the canal's construction. Skilled labor was divided up among the white workers, mostly Americans and Europeans. But unskilled jobs went to poor black workers from the Caribbean islands of the West Indies, including nearly all the jobs in the most dangerous parts of the Culebra Cut. Among white workers in the canal zone, turnover was high. But the West Indian

workers had little choice but to stay. For many, the pay, though low, was still higher than they'd make in Barbados, Jamaica, or Martinique. Advertisements to join the American workforce flooded the islands. Canal managers even sent home some workers wearing a new fashion that served as its own kind of advertisement, a fancy white suit topped with a wide-brimmed Panama hat. The recruitment techniques worked well, ensuring a steady supply of West Indian labor. But the workers arrived in Panama to find brutal conditions. For the white workforce, canal authorities built whole towns and suburbs, including dormitories and stand-alone houses for families. These towns even had bars and

restaurants, and the white workers who lived there received paid sick leave, laundry service, and days off. Black workers received none of these benefits. Seventy percent of the canal's workforce slept in rough tent encampments along the edges of the worksites. And segregation pervaded all aspects of canal life. Whites were paid in gold, black workers in silver. Buildings were even marked with the words gold and silver, a coded language that announced whether black people were allowed inside or not. However, both black and white workers in the Canal Zone

labored under a military autocracy. Although Goethals never dressed in uniform, he ran his operation like the military man he was. There was no free speech, no right to unionize. Any workers who attempted to strike for higher wages were fired immediately, as were any workers who dared to complain about the hazardous conditions. And certainly, the Canal Zone could be a deadly place. According to hospital records, over 5,000 lives were lost from accidents during the American construction era. Four out of every five of them were black workers. Construction also took a permanent toll on local Panamanian residents. By creating Lake Gatun, authorities displaced whole towns and communities,

and many local workers in Cologne and Panama City were laid off and replaced by American-sourced labor. By 1911, America had a new president, William Howard Taft. But construction on the canal dragged on. It had progressed to such a stage that tourists were now traveling to view the massive project's final phases. Most impressive were the gargantuan canal locks, like enormous sets of concrete doors at both ends of the canal. The hydroelectricity which powered them was a

major advance over the steam and horsepower systems then more commonly in use. Another innovation was the use of concrete, a mixture of sand, gravel, and cement that had never been poured on such a vast scale. But innovations aside, the canal locks still relied on the basics of water and gravity to move ships. As a ship entered, concrete gates swung open and allowed the water to flood in. The water lifted the ship high enough to enter the lock. From there, the ship traveled the canal's path across the isthmus, then repeated the process to return back to sea level. The canal locks were finished by 1913, nine years after work had started.

That summer, the steam shovels dumped their last loads and met in the middle of the Calabria Cut. Months later, Gatun Lake on the northern side of Panama was flooded. For its time, Gatun was the largest man-made lake in the world, 180 square miles, containing millions of liters of water. Then, on October 10th, the new president, Woodrow Wilson, pressed a button in Washington. This relayed a signal by telegraph from Washington to Galveston to Panama, where it triggered an explosion that blew the center of a temporary dam, flooding the Culebra Cut, joining it with Gatun Lake. Now, for the first time, water flowed through the canal from the Atlantic to the Pacific.

The United States had finally dug a canal through 50 miles of some of the world's most inhospitable terrain. Nearly a year later, the first ships were ready to pass through. The inaugural opening was set for August 15, 1914. But a few days earlier, news of another sort overshadowed the canal's opening. Imagine it's late afternoon, August 3rd, 1914. You're an American canal official who's hitched a ride aboard the steamer Cristobal. You're here to watch as it makes one of the last test runs through the locks of the Panama Canal. Standing on the deck beside you is your old friend Alan, who's visiting from Florida.

He's in the hotel business and is considering taking over a property down here in the capital city. He leans against the deck railing with a quizzical look on his face. Can you tell me what those little machines along the side of us are all about? Yeah, they're like guides to pull the ship along, one on each side. They call them mules. It feels like we've sailed into a giant metal shoebox. As the crystal ball glides into position, the lock's fore and aft doors begin to swing closed. Okay, so now those are closed.

Here's where we get flooded. Soon enough, water fills the lock's chamber, and ever so slowly, the ship begins to rise. The crystal ball is a cement carrier, and the largest ship yet to pass through the locks. This run is testing the strength of the machinery of the locks. Alan looks a little awestruck. Well, by God, it's working. I figured it would. The lock doors and the water controls are all operated manually, if you can believe it. You're telling me there's a bunch of men who are going to be pulling levers and all that every single time? You nod. The canal has been practicing test runs for months. A cargo ship of bananas, another of pineapples and sugar from Hawaii. You heard yesterday from someone in Cologne that the Panama Canal has already received $7,000 in tolls.

But has it worked with a ship of this size? Alan starts to look queasy as noises kick up around you. No, it hasn't. This is the very first time. But it seems to be working just fine. The ship finishes its ascent, leveling out with a lock just above. And just as you're about to move to the second lock, you notice a man standing alongside the canal's path.

He seems to be yelling something. That's one of the mule operators. Can you hear what he's shouting about? No? I'll find out. Alan rushes closer to the steamer's edge, trying to hear the man over the ship's engines. He returns only moments later, his face gray and ashen in bright sunlight. Alan, what's wrong? What'd the man say? He said that Germany's just declared war on France. You're speechless.

Germany declared war on France. War in Europe. And just when your pride and joy, the canal is finally set to open, joining two oceans, two nations seem to be ready to tear each other apart. You wonder how this war will affect the sea traffic this canal is dependent upon. And more importantly,

how it will affect your extended family back in France. Just two weeks before the canal's unveiling, Germany and France went to war. Global trade and international politics would never again be the same. What would have been a parade of ocean-going vessels to celebrate the opening of the Panama Canal instead became a subdued affair. The Cristobal's sister ship, the Ancon, became the first official ship to steam through the canal.

But there was little fanfare and no foreign dignitaries in attendance. Still, it was a remarkable moment. For the first time, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans were united at nearly the equatorial line, a dream that had existed since the beginning of the age of European exploration. In all, the canal project cost $350 million, or $10 billion today. It was the largest federal expenditure in U.S. history up to that time. But for the United States, it was worth it. America had defined itself as a major world power. Militarily, America now had the ability to mobilize its navy to both oceans with breathtaking speed.

And within three years, the United States would enter World War I using ships that in many cases had traveled to Europe by way of the canal. It was just as Theodore Roosevelt had envisioned, although the former president never again visited the site after it was finished. Many of the West Indian workers behind the most back-breaking aspects of the canal's construction returned to their home islands in the Caribbean, but many more remained in Panama, continuing to work under the gold and silver system of segregation imposed by the United States. This system stayed in effect in the Canal Zone until the 1960s. And for the next 63 years after its completion, Panama was a nation cut in two by the Canal Zone,

which was in effect an occupied territory under U.S. control. But in 1977, President Jimmy Carter signed two treaties with Panama's military leader and de facto president, General Omar Torrios. The first treaty maintained the right of the United States to protect the canal's neutrality from any military interference or threats. The second treaty would gradually cede control of the canal to Panama with full transfer of ownership after 1999. In January of 2000, Panama assumed control of the canal zone for the first time in the nation's history. Today, the canal handles much more traffic than the builders ever imagined.

In 1934, officials estimated that 80 million tons per year would be the maximum. In 2015, the canal reached 340 million tons in a year. And the following year, a multi-billion dollar expansion of the canal increased its capacity further. Every year, approximately 14,000 ships pass through. After more than a century, the Panama Canal remains one of the greatest engineering achievements in American history. It was built at great cost, both in terms of dollars and human life. But without it, America might not have been able to win two world wars and become a global superpower. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of America's Monuments from American History Tellers.

On the next episode, one man's plan to turn a remote mountain into a monument to American power turns into an epic struggle for money, political support, and artistic vision. Mount Rushmore takes 14 years, hundreds of workers, and half a million tons of blasted rock to become one of America's most famous

and controversial monuments. If you like American History Tellers, America's most famous and controversial monuments. about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by George Ducker, edited by Dorian Marino. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producer are Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marsha Louis, created by Hernan Lopez for Wondery. Wondery. Now streaming. Welcome to Buy It Now,

the show where aspiring entrepreneurs get the opportunity of a lifetime. I wouldn't be chasing it if I didn't believe that the world needs this product. In each episode, the entrepreneurs get 90 seconds to pitch to an audience of potential customers. This is Match Point, baby. If the audience liked the product, they pitched them in front of our panel of experts, Gwyneth Houch. Anthony Anderson. Tabitha Brown. Tony Hawk.

Christian Siriano. These panelists are looking for entrepreneurs whose ideas best fit the criteria of the four P's. Pitch, product, popularity, and problem solving ability. I'm going to give you a yes. I want to see it. If our panelists like the product, it goes into the Amazon Buy It Now store. You are the embodiment of what an American entrepreneur is.

Oh my God. Are we excited for this moment? I cannot believe it. Woo! Buy it now. embodiment of what an American entrepreneur is. Oh my God! Are we excited for this moment? Ah! I cannot believe it! Woo! Buy it now. Stream free on FreeVie and Prime Video.