History That Doesn't Suck - 83: Transcontinental Railroad (pt 1): Industrialization, Ted Judah & The Rise of the Central Pacific

Episode Date: February 1, 2021

“Every great enterprise has been ridiculed in the outset.” This is the story of the rise of the railroad. Travel on land is slow. Arduous. Inhibited by rough terrain like mountains, rivers, and bogs. That reality makes Americans view the continent’s interior as an inaccessible “Great Desert,” only to be visited by daring pioneers passing through en route to Oregon Country or California. But technology is changing. “Iron horses” are starting to run at rapid speeds across rails. And as these rails stretch across the east, some dreamers, thought crazy, are suggesting this rail could traverse the entire continent.  Could the US Government support such a ludicrous idea? It seems impossible, but might such a rail help keep the massive, continent-wide nation together as Civil War breaks out? Theodore “Crazy” Judah thinks so, and teaming up with four influential, business-savvy Californians, he means to find out. This is the rise of the Central Pacific Railroad. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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of one of the most fascinating and enigmatic characters in modern history. Look for The Age of Napoleon wherever you find your podcasts. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. It's August 25th, 1830, and Fanny Kimball stands in awe of the sight before her.

Renowned for her beauty and brilliance on stage, the dark-haired, 20-year-old actress numbers among a select group of 16 people invited to see and try out this new transportation contraption being built just outside of Liverpool. Called a railway, it consists of a steam-powered engine that propels carriages at rapid speeds along a track. In this case, the track is 31 miles and connects the English cities of Liverpool and Manchester.

Now, this railway isn't open for business yet, but today, Fanny and her fellow 15 guests get to try it out. And this is mind-blowing to think, massive groups of people and goods traveling long distances on land as fast or faster than a horse. In fact, that's just what many people are comparing this thing to. They call it a steam horse. Fanny will make the very same comparison between animal

and engine when she later tries to describe this moment to a friend in a letter. I will give you an account of my yesterday's excursion. We were introduced to the little engine, which was to drag us along the rails. She, for they make these curious little fire horses or mares, consisted of a boiler, a stove, a small platform, a bench, and behind the bench a barrel containing enough water to prevent her being thirsty. The whole machine is not bigger than a common fire engine. She goes upon two wheels, which are her feet, and are moved by bright steel legs called pistons. These are propelled by steam, and in proportion, as more steam is applied, the faster they move the wheels. The reins, bit, and bridle of this wonderful beast is a small steel handle, which applies or withdraws

the steam from its legs or pistons, so that a child might manage it. The coals, which are its oats, were under the bench, and there was a small glass tube affixed to the boiler with water in it, which indicates by its fullness or emptiness when the creature wants water, which is immediately conveyed to it from its reservoirs. There is a chimney to the stove. This snorting little animal, which I felt rather inclined to pet,

was then harnessed to our carriage. But Fanny isn't occupying any of the benches in the open-topped carriage now being coupled to the engine. That is, the mechanical, snorting little animal. No, she's seated on the engine's bench, next to the engineer, George Stevenson. Though engineer alone doesn't quite do justice to the 49-year-old northern Englishman with slightly receded gray hair and mutton chops.

George is a pioneering inventor of railway technology, and the genius behind this, the world's first public railway to connect two cities without any reliance on horse-drawn cars. As the engine begins chugging along at 10 miles per hour, Fanny asks him every question imaginable about the engine and the track. The proud creator gladly answers. They soon enter a passage blast through solid rock.

Fanny gapes upward at the 60-foot stone walls on either side of them. You can't imagine how strange it seemed to be journeying on thus, without any visible cause of progress other than the magical machine, with its flying white breath. When I reflected how these great masses of stone had been cut asunder to allow our passage thus far below the surface of the earth, I felt as if no fairy tale was ever half so wonderful as what I saw. Past the rock walls, they come to the large peat bog of Chatmos. George recounts to Fanny how some impartinent laughed when he said he'd build tracks over these swampy lands. Undefeated, he fired right back. Did ye ever see a boat float on water? I will make my road float upon Chatmos.

And he did. Supported by what Fanny describes as a basketwork foundation filled with moss and topped with soil, clay, and rail, they fly across the wetland at an astounding 25 miles per hour. They've now traveled 15 miles to the Sankey Valley. This is as far as the preview of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway goes today. But they don't just turn around. George wants to show Fanny something first. His viaduct.

Stephen made me a light and led me down to the bottom of this ravine, over which, in order to keep his road level, he had thrown a magnificent viaduct of nine arches, the middle one of which is 70 feet high, through which we saw the whole of this beautiful little valley. It was lovely and wonderful beyond all words. As they walk, George regales Fanny, who, perhaps, reminds him of his own long-deceased daughter by the same name, with all the scientific details of the valley.

The viaduct properly appreciated, our duo and the other guests returned to their steam-powered steed to make the return journey. But now that George has shown his guests his engineering marvels that have surmounted various geographical features, it's time to show them something else. Pure speed. And Fanny loves it. The engine was set off at its utmost speed, 35 miles an hour. Swifter than a bird flies, for they tried the experiment with a snipe. You cannot conceive what that sensation of cutting the air was. The motion is as smooth as possible, too.

I could either have read or written, and as it was, I stood up and with my bonnet off, drank the air before me. When I closed my eyes, this sensation of flying was quite delightful and strange beyond a description.

Solid mountains of stone, bodies of water, hills and valleys. Nothing, it seems, can stop George Stevenson's magical steam-powered beast from charging across the land at unfathomable speeds. And as these machines and their tracks spread from the United Kingdom to elsewhere, including the United States, the world will never be the same. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the steam locomotive. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. It's time for us to start a new chapter in the American story. Transcription by CastingWords related to transportation, like steam engines and iron production, set the stage for the Iron Horse. From there, we'll meet men who dreamed of a transcontinental railroad, like Asa Whitney and Theodore Judah, as well as many savvy, hard-driving businessmen out in California.

Between the dreamers and the investors, we'll see two American railroad companies organize and set the stage for a truly unique competition. But first things first, let's stick around here in the early 1800s and talk industrial revolution. We need to gain an appreciation for just how slow things moved before the emergence of the locomotive and how radically this invention will change the world. Here we go. The Industrial Revolution. We covered it rather well back in episode 19, so I'm not going to go deep here. We'll just jog the old memory enough to get a little context for the rise of the steam-powered locomotive. Historians love to argue over when the Industrial Revolution started, but the mid-1700s into the early to mid-1800s covers most of these hot takes. This is a time of new technology, particularly in relation to

manufacturing. I trust you remember the British textile pro who, having hit a glass ceiling on his career at home, stealthily slipped out of England and brought his factory know-how to the United States around 1790? Yes, immigrant and American hero Samuel Slater. Or, if you're British, the treacherous knave, Slater the Trader. The British government did not appreciate him taking what it considered the nation's proprietary technology out of the UK. But the Industrial Revolution touches far more than the production of yarn, cloth, and other newly machined goods.

It also radically alters transportation. To appreciate that change, let's take a minute to contemplate travel before the steam-powered locomotive. The fastest mode of transportation on land was riding a domesticated or trained animal. That's it. At best, a skilled rider could break 30 miles per hour on a sprinting horse. What if you wanted to travel a significant distance, though, or bring heavy supplies? If so, that speed would drop precipitously.

For instance, James Fowler Rusling recalls that while heading west across America, his stagecoach, quote, often made 10 and 12 miles per hour, close quote. You might be thinking, that's it? But let me point out that he's boasting. That's fast. James really punctuates that point by going on to add that they seldom drove less than 100 miles per day and night. These stellar pre-locomotive speeds required good roads and strong horses, both of which James clarifies they were lucky enough to have. In other words, even with a horse, you couldn't count on averaging 10 miles per hour on a long journey over land before the train. In fact, if you're hauling a wagon pioneer style, they'll average 1.5 to 2

miles per hour. Imagine living in that world. Those of you out for a jog or a brisk walk while listening to this episode are moving significantly faster in this very moment than these long distance travelers. Yeah, sounds like that out-of-state visit to grandma's might not happen. Note, however, that I keep qualifying my statements on speed as being on land. Oceans and rivers are the pre-locomotive world's autobahn, highway, you name it. By the latter part of the Age of Sail, so the early 1800s, ships could cross the entire Atlantic Ocean in four to six weeks as long as nothing went wrong. Likewise, rivers eased the struggle inland,

and many pre-industrial societies around the world dug their own human-made waterways called canals. Lots of factors here on exact speeds, but here's a comparison point to give you a rough idea. While four horses can move a one-ton wagon no more than 12 miles in a day on land, the same team walking beside a canal can pull a 100 ton barge 24 miles. Damn, that's a sizable difference. Canals are super expensive to build, but with that kind of return, 1820s New York State took the plunge and carved out the 363 mile east-west running Erie Canal. And at that point, New Yorkers could see merchandise move in a single day, a distance still shorter than a freaking marathon runner while this world is slow. In other words, throughout all of humanity's existence, not a single person experienced what

we would call traveling far and fast before the 1800s. No wonder Fanny Kimball described an over 30 miles per hour train ride as magical. And her personal tour guide slash engineer, George Stevenson, is in no small part to thank for that accomplishment. Though I will note that he stands on the shoulders of inventing giants, like England's Thomas Newcomen, who in 1712 created the first really viable steam engine,

or Scotland's James Watt, who dramatically improved the efficiency of the steam engine half a century later. And of course, we can't omit Richard Trevithick. Hailing from the UK's southern Celtic corner of Cornwall, he made the steam engine capable of locomotion on a track in 1804. Although, steamships fared better than locomotives at this point. The weight of these early iron horses cracked the cast iron rails underneath them. Not to worry, the Industrial Revolution overhauls the iron industry as well. I don't want to take us off the rails here, pun completely intended, so I'll keep this light. There are three major classifications of iron,

pig, cast, and wrought. Pig has the most carbon in it. Cast has less. Wrought has the least. To avoid a lot of technical speech, you make the latter two by heating pig iron to decrease its carbon content. Well, across the 18th century, these stronger steam engines, the UK's wood shortage-induced fuel change from charcoal to coke, and crucially, Henry Court's new puddling and rolling process,

all contributed to cheaper and better cast and wrought iron. So when Richard's locomotive cracked the cast iron rails, stronger yet more malleable wrought iron was soon able to fill the need. All these technological advancements enabled George Stevenson and his son Robert to introduce the first truly effective locomotive. Their locomotive number one ran on the Stockton and Darlington Railway, which became the world's first public railway in 1825. This engine only moved coal at first, though. Horses pulled the passenger cars for the first few years.

But the father-son duo upped their game in competition to build a locomotive for the first railway that would not rely on horses at all, the Liverpool and Manchester. Robert tells us, My father directed his attention to various methods of increasing the evaporative power of the boiler. He introduced small tubes containing water by which the heating surface was materially increased. And as we learned in today's opening, they succeed. After this railway opens on September 15th, 1830, about one month after Fanny's ride, it does so with a locomotive capable of hauling at astounding speeds in excess of 30 miles per hour. Amazing! As for what to name it, well, there's only one appropriate name for this lightning-quick locomotive.

They call it the Rocket. This is a real turning point. The Rocket proves that Stevenson's railway-hating naysayers, including those in Parliament, are wrong. Rail-riding locomotives are the future of transportation. The steam-driven iron horse quickly spreads across the UK and elsewhere around the world. But it's one thing to build railway that connects two cities. As the mid-19th century United States embraces the locomotive, should it attempt to lay 3,000 miles of track that would run east and west, from sea to shining sea? It's a question as massive and colossal as the still-expanding, continent-traversing nation itself.

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jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. It's February 6th or 8th. Sources conflict. 1832. The United States has a tentative claim to spanning the North American continent. The claim hinges on whether the U.S. can, in full or in part, successfully wrest the disputed, jointly held territory of Oregon country from the British. Nearly a thousand miles of unorganized territory, acquired through the 1803 Louisiana Purchase and inhabited almost exclusively by indigenous peoples, lays between this choice Pacific Northwest land and the nearest organized American state. It's amid these political realities

that a newspaper in Michigan Territory's less than 10-year-old town of Ann Arbor, appropriately called The Immigrant, publishes an anonymous and audacious editorial. In part, it reads, Every great enterprise has been ridiculed in the outset. Everything that is worth doing has had the fate of being regarded as chimerical. We answer that the true rule is that never to reject any scheme because it seems difficult at first view, but listen with patience to the means that are proposed to accomplish it. It is in our power to build up an immense city at the mouth of the Oregon, to make it the depot for our East India trade and perhaps for that of Europe. In fact, to unite New York and the Oregon by a railway

by which the traveler leaving the city of New York shall at the moderate rate of 10 miles an hour place himself in a port right on the shores of the Pacific. We are perfectly aware that many will laugh at this and display their wisdom by condemning it without examination. The distance between New York and the Oregon is about 3,000 miles. From New York, we would pursue the most convenient route to the vicinity of Lake Erie,

fence along the south shore of this lake and of Lake Michigan, cross the Mississippi between 41 and 42 of north latitude, cross the Missouri about the mouth of the Platte, and then on by the most convenient route to the Rocky Mountains, near the source of the last mentioned rivers, fence to Oregon. It might cost four times as much

as the Erie and the Champlain canals, but how indefinitely more important is one of those great projects which none but a great nation could affect, but peculiarly adapted to the enterprising character of the people of the United States. And so, riding before the Oregon Trail is up and going, just two years after the first locomotive has even operated in the United States, an engine imported from England called the Sturbridge Lion. And while the nation has a meager total of 229 miles of track operating, the emigrant newspaper calls for a 3,000 mile railroad to a not yet existent trade hub in disputed

territory. That is bold. And no, this possibly the first call ever for a transcontinental railroad doesn't gain immediate traction. But there are those dreamers starting to think the same thing. More articles and pamphlets are written, and soon, one individual will dedicate his life to carrying the Transcontinental Railroad's banner. Asa Whitney.

Born into a New England family of farmers, manufacturers, and inventors, his fifth cousin invented the cotton gin back in episode 20. Asa Whitney knew at an early age he didn't want to stick with the family trades. Before he even reached 20 years old, he'd forsaken his Connecticut home for the hustle and bustle of New York and international trade. And this is working out quite well for him. I mean, he has seen some heartbreak. He treasures a lock of hair from his first wife, Helene Antoinette Pied, who died only a year after their marriage in 1832. But now, somewhere in the mid-1830s, dates are unknown, the sharp-featured Connecticut-er is finding love again in the New Yorker grandniece of founding father John Jay,

Sarah J. Monroe. Meanwhile, his French import business is thriving. Good for you, Asa. But things take a turn for the worse in the next few years. The economic disaster that is the Panic of 1837 begins bringing its years-long devastation upon the nation. Revisit episode 30 for its details, and Asa's company slowly suffers. All the business savvy in the world couldn't keep his international trade afloat,

and in September 1840, Asa hits the financial rock bottom of foreclosure on his New York home. Then on November 12th of that same year, his wife dies. We think her death is due to complications in childbirth, so go ahead and add the loss of a child to his heartbreak. Then a matter of little more than a month, Asa has lost his everything. I'm sure many of us would understand if Asa gave up on trying to rebuild at this point. I can only imagine what he must be feeling. And yet, he doesn't. He may have lost all he loves,

but nothing can take his understanding of international trade. And since he's starting from scratch, why not try something completely new? It's now June 18th, 1842. With its tall masts cutting into the skyline, a merchant, Bark, called the Oscar, departs New York for the Atlantic's open waters.

Its destination is a port city on China's southern coast, the Portuguese colony of Macau. Among its passengers is an American ready to leave his world behind and serve as an agent for New York merchants and maybe do a bit of his own business on the side. Yes, it's Asa Whitney. It's a long voyage. From New York, down and around the southern tip of Africa, to the Dutch East Indies, then north to Macau, the route runs 16,000 miles.

A modern ship can make the voyage in less than 100 days. Asa isn't so lucky. Physically ill and greatly bothered by Captain Ayer's cruelty toward the crew, this man of international business endures 153 days on the Oscar. The New Englander now spends 16 months in China. This relatively short window of time is all Asa needs to regain financial independence. Yeah, he's made enough that he never has to lift a finger again unless he wants to. What can I say? The dude is good at what he does. And so it's time to head home. On April 2nd, 1842, Asa once again becomes a passenger on the Oscar, which is still under the

command of his least favorite captain, and returns to his adopted home state of New York. Now I need to give you a little insight on Asa. He's a dreamer, a businessman, and he has a kind soul. This matters because as he suffers through another months-on-end voyage halfway around the world, he doesn't dream about how he'll live it up on his fortune. He dreams of something to which he can devote his life and energy to make the world a better place.

He contemplates British imperialism, which he saw up close and personal when he arrived in China only months after the Nanking Treaty ended the First Opium War. He doesn't like it. The idealistic man of international business can't help but think, what if China had more robust free trade relations with the United States. As Asa writes, We do not seek conquest or desire to subjugate. Ours is and will be a commerce of reciprocity, an exchange of commodities. Now, it's not that America isn't already pursuing trade in Asia, and in particular with China, it is. But it could do far better. Asa's mind drifts back to that time around 1830 when his travels in the UK led him to ride

the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. Huh, amazing what a large role one little stretch of track can play, isn't it? Like the actress Fanny Kimball, he was amazed at what George Stevenson's locomotive could do. He swears they traveled well over 40 miles per hour. That's the answer. A railroad.

A transcontinental railroad. If Americans and their goods can traverse the continent, then trade with Asia will be far easier, and it will enrich the people of China and the United States alike. By the time the Oscar makes birth in New York, Asa has his new purpose. He will give his all to the building of a transcontinental railroad. He prepares and delivers a memorandum, which Congressman Zadok Pratt of New York gladly presents

to both chambers of the U.S. Congress only a few months later, in January 1845. Let's leave Asa to his lobbying for a minute, though, and consider the rapid changes washing over the United States in the 1840s, all of which contribute to the idea of a transcontinental railroad. And since we've covered these events in detail in past episodes, I'll just list them and let them all wash over your mind. First, population movement. Inspired by the idea of Manifest Destiny and the same 1837 panic that financially wiped out Asa Whitney, tens of thousands of 1840s Americans are carving the 2,000-mile route to

Oregon country known as the Oregon Trail. Still others are breaking off that path and heading to the fertile lands in the western parts of Mexico's Alta California. Migration here only increases with the discovery of gold. And while all of these pioneers book it to the continent's western edge, blowing past what is currently perceived as the Great American Desert, we have a group of religious refugees embracing these lands too. As historian Mari Klein so succinctly describes, quote, Hounded out of the Midwest by religious persecution,

the Mormons migrated not to the fertile coast, but to the wasteland of the Salt Lake Valley. In that barren region, surrounded by mountains, they founded the State of Deseret in 1847 and hoped to dwell forever without interference from the outside world. Of course, that's not going to work out. This brings us to our second rapid change in the 1840s, U.S. territorial acquisition. Huh, know what? That time period is an overstatement for this topic. I'm going to try that again. Let's talk about the shift that happens between 1845 and 1848,

also known as less than the entire single four-year term that is the James Capehold presidency. 1845, U.S. annexes the Republic of Texas. 1846, U.K.-U.S. territorial dispute over Oregon country comes to a close as they go halfsies by splitting it along the 49th parallel, minus Vancouver Island. 1848, the two-year-long Mexican-American War ends with Mexico ceding roughly one-third of its northern lands. Super broad strokes, think the American Southwest, more or less. Damn, that is a lot of territory, solidified fast. And of course, if you need to freshen up on the details of anything I just described in the last two minutes, there's about eight hours covering it back in episodes 29 through 36. Otherwise, I'll assume we're good and keep moving.

Now, back to Asa Whitney. As all of this movement and land acquisition is happening out west, he is continuing his full-court press on Congress for a transcontinental railroad. After his initial memorandum in January 1845 doesn't initially take, he organizes an exploring expedition to better map the train himself. Newspapers across the nation cover the event, as well as the public meetings Asa hosts in various major cities in the years to come. He's assailed by naysayers. What madness to talk of a railroad more than 2,000 miles long through that wilderness when it is impossible to build one over the Alleghenies, Asa recalls when complaining. Indeed, he writes, I found that

the doubts with which the work must contend were infinite in number. In 1848, he sends a third memorandum to Congress. Asa is dogged. Yes, his proposal would put him front and center in terms of its management, but this isn't about personal enrichment for the dreamer who sees the international trade a transcontinental railroad could unlock as a gift to his nation. To quote Asa, my desire and object have been

to give my country this great thoroughfare for all nations without the cost of one dollar. If they will but allow me to be their instrument to accomplish this great work, it is enough. I ask no more. He produces a pamphlet, a project for a railroad to the Pacific, in 1849.

He sees some positive movement in Congress as the House Committee on Roads and Canals submits a bill in favor of Ace's proposal in March 1850. But no dice. The bill dies. It's Saturday evening, January 18th, 1851. We're inside a large semi-circle, neoclassical chamber located

inside the U.S. Capitol. In the future, it will be known as National Statuary Hall, but currently, this is where the House of Representatives meets, and the space is packed with legislators and speculators alike. They've all gathered to hear a guest speaker invited to address the House by a special resolution. Naturally, I'm referring to Asa Whitney. He's bold, eloquent. Asa beseeches the legislators before him to act. He tells them that he's received letters from the UK begging him to pitch his plan to them instead.

"'Should he turn to them?' he wonders to the crowd. "'It would be a shame if British Parliament "'approved a transcontinental railroad in Canada "'before the United States builds one,, but that would be better than nothing. Asa whacks eloquent along these lines for two hours. Yet it's no use. The answer remains no. Still an ardent opponent of British imperialism, Asa swells his pride and goes to England to make his last pitches. He has conversations with parliamentarians, but this proves a dead end as well. Asa returns home to the United States in 1852. He's beat and broken. His seven-year battle for a transcontinental railroad has cost most of that second great fortune he amassed in

China. Asa marries a D.C. area widow, Catherine Campbell. The defeated dreamer will quietly live out his days on their sizable farm in Maryland until he dies of typhoid in 1872. Asa may feel like a failure as he quietly drops off the radar in 1852, but his efforts were more successful than he ever realized. The fact that Congress didn't move ahead with him doesn't diminish his critical, albeit less visible, role in convincing many Americans, everyday citizens and legislators alike, that Transcontinental Railroad isn't a crazy idea. One of his fiercest opponents, Senator Thomas Hart Benton, who you might remember from episode 34, is also the father-in-law of the famous Pathfinder, John C. Fremont, comes around to the idea, but just doesn't believe in or trust the international businessman's altruism. My point here is that, even though Congress doesn't go with Ace's specific plan, he still plays a pivotal role in moving the needle

of public and congressional opinion from crazy to doable. Thus, in 1853, Congress takes its first concrete step towards such a transcontinental railroad by appropriating $150,000 to survey a potential route between the Mississippi River and the Pacific. Operating under the purview of future Confederate president but current U.S. Secretary of War, Jefferson Davis, five corps of engineers get right to work. After a year and change of being at it, these pros produce a massive 12-volume report in 1855. It's incredible, brilliant work, but how many in Congress actually read this? Who knows? What I do know is that these legislators are increasingly feeling pulled apart by sectionalism as organizing the nation's new western territory makes slavery an issue they

can no longer sidestep. I mean, last year's Kansas-Nebraska Act really put slavery front and center. Members of Congress are literally carrying weapons with them into the Capitol. And in May of next year, South Carolina's Representative Preston Brooks will beat Senator Charles Sumner to a bloody pulp right at his desk in the Senate chambers only days before John Brown slays pro-slavery Kansas settlers with a freaking broadsword. In this environment, legislators and governors

from all political factions alike seem to give little heed to what is best for the nation as a whole and merely call for the railroad to go through their part of the country. Wanting the proposed southern route, Worsack Jeff Davis, well, I love how historian

David Howard Bain puts it, let me just quote him. Quote, Davis fudged data and budgetary calculations before Congress. Close quote. Yeah. And again, not to condone this, but Jeff is hardly unique. That's how the game is getting played in DC at this point. Of course, the tracks route is only one part of contention. What about the philosophical question of whether a transcontinental railroad is even the federal government's responsibility? While considered extreme, some states' rights superfans would argue it's inappropriate for the federal government to affect internal improvements in the states. Furthermore, who's to say the government should even be involved with this infrastructure?

Commercial railways are popping up all over. 30,000 miles of track sprawl across the United States as we head into 1860. I mean, the vast majority of it lies east of Mississippi River, but why not let this keep progressing piecemeal? Oof. Between national fractures and philosophical quandaries, it sounds like the crowd in Washington City has quite a bit to hash out. Now let's leave them to it for now.

We have a few new friends to make on the other side of the country, starting with another bright-eyed dreamer who yearns to tie the nation together with the rails of an iron horse. Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for you. I'm Sean Piles, and I host NerdWallet's Smart Money Podcast. On our show, we help listeners like you make the most of your finances. I sit down with NerdWallet's team of nerds, personal finance experts in credit cards, banking, investing, and more.

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Smart Money Podcast wherever you get your podcasts. It's late November, 1860. The exact day is unknown. A group of men, can't say how many, one record says less than a dozen, another says at least 30, sit inside the St. Charles Hotel in Sacramento, California. Before them stands a bearded gentleman in his mid-30s. He pulls out pamphlets and charts, looks over his audience, some faces friendly, others less so, then launches into his presentation. This is Theodore Judah.

Theodore, or Ted as he's known to his friends, has the opportunity of a lifetime for them. Obsessed with trains since his teens, the brilliant engineer was recruited to come to California in 1854 to lay the first track west of the Rockies, the Sacramento Valley Railroad. But he can't stop there.

Like Asa Whitney, Ted's obsessed with the idea of a transcontinental railroad. As his wife, Anna Judah obsessed with the idea of a transcontinental railroad. As his wife Anna Judah will later put it, time, money, brains, strength, body, and soul were absorbed. It was the burden of his thought day and night, largely of his conversation, until it used to be said, Judah's Pacific Railroad crazy. Oh yeah, by the way, his nickname is Crazy Judah.

I guess that's what happens when your railroad obsession makes Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory TV show appear to have no interest in trains at all. But even if some call him crazy, it's hard to deny Ted's genius. Pulling from his pamphlets and charts, Ted makes a passionate pitch. It's not for the whole transcontinental railroad, only for a railroad through the Sierra Nevada mountains. Along the path taken by those unfortunate pioneers known as the Donner Party,

the rail will gradually ascend, then pass over the 6,690-foot-tall Donner Summit, then gradually descend on the other side. If they form a company with him right now, before Congress passes legislation that is soon to come, they'll be well poised to get government contracts, make good money, and hey, should that connect to a transcontinental railroad? That's cool. All that's needed, ah, here's the hard sale, get them, Ted, is to raise 10% of the down payment for stock subscriptions. Once that's done, California law will be satisfied in terms of organizing a company, and he can do a proper survey of the path. So step right up, gents. A mere $10 down and a share of stock is yours. The response isn't great.

Here's crazy Judah talking about trains in the Sierra Nevada mountains, counting on legislation from a tense Congress. Meh. Many pass. A farmer with little cash asks if he can make the down payment with potatoes. Well, not ideal, but Ted's in no position to say no. One or two men look to another still lingering in the room. Call us Huntington. Huntington, you are the man to give to this enterprise,

one of them suggests. Collis hasn't appeared interested to this point, but perhaps precedent is what leads these men to make that comment to the highly successful 39-year-old merchant. See, communication between the eastern states and the American West is shrinking rapidly in 1860. Settlement along the Pacific and in the Salt Lake Valley is making the need for reliable information delivered

quickly a real necessity. Stagecoaches running from Missouri and into the Kansas and Utah territories have helped considerably, but back in April, a new service called the Pony Express really changed the game. Relying on young, skinny, wiry, expert riders, ideally unattached given the dangers. Hiring advertisements even specify, quote unquote, orphans preferred. The Pony Express uses a relay of sprinting horses to move mail and newspapers the 1,800 miles from St. Joseph, Missouri

to Sacramento, California in a mere 10 days. It's expensive, but also incredible. The only thing more incredible is the telegraph. Invented in the 1830s by Samuel F.B. Morse, the telegraph has, like the railroad, spread rapidly throughout the United States. It would be an incredible feat to lay the wire for a transcontinental telegraph.

And yet, only a few months back, in June 1860, Congress passed the Pacific Telegraph Act to do just that. The Overland Telegraph Company was then created to lay the wire between Carson City and Salt Lake City, and our new friend, Collis Huntington, invested $500 in it. When this California-based company connects with those building westward in the Utah Territory's new capital about a year from now. On October 24th, 1861, communication between America's east and west will become near instantaneous. It will also ring the death knell for the nascent and much beloved Pony Express. But I guess you could say this merchant is back in the right horse. Collis approaches Ted. If you want to come into my office some evening,

I will talk to you about the road. Collis Huntington tells train crazy Judah. Ted goes to Collis' office the very next night. Collis Huntington isn't just doing Ted a favor inviting the dreamer to his office. Collis is no Asa Whitney. He's not driven by a heart full of patriotism and a desire to elevate office. Collis is no Asa Whitney. He's not driven by a heart full of patriotism and a desire to elevate humanity.

If anything, Collis has a cash register for a heart. He's a brilliant businessman, shrewd, yet willing to take calculated risks, one who sees opportunities where others don't. His path to California and business illustrates what I'm saying.

Originally from Connecticut, Collis answered the clarion call of the gold rush in 1849, but not to mine gold. He mines the miners. He started en route to California. His path was the same as many East Coasters. Sail down the Atlantic to Panama, cross the 24-mile isthmus,

then sail up the Pacific to California. Yes, the journey is over 5,000 miles, but again, without rail, travel by water is often faster. So, better this than traversing the freaking continent. Anyhow, while in Panama, waiting for passage on a California-bound ship, many soon-to-be miners killed the time with gambling, food, and drink. Not Collis, though. He hustled around, bought local goods, and sold them for a higher price to his fellow Pacific sailing Americans. Collis showed up in Panama with $1,200 in his pocket. After doing this for nearly two months, he left with five grand. Now, he had a miserable

time in the Pacific when a windless, be-calmed three weeks left him and all on board the Alexander von Humboldt in a starved condition, but to be clear, the dude made $3,000 just traveling to California. And when he arrived, he kept it up. But the 49ers mine for gold. He'd just sell them supplies. The evening after the St. Charles Hotel meeting, Ted ascends the stairs to the office above Collis' store at 54 K Street. Once inside and seated, Ted sells his guts out. The daring engineer repeats what he said last night.

He talks about his ample time and connections in D.C., the new Republican Party's support for a transcontinental railroad. To quote a plank from the party's platform, that a railroad to the Pacific Ocean

is imperatively demanded by the interests of the whole country. Close quote. And of course, there's the consolation prize. Say they do a survey, prepare work, and then the railroad doesn't work out. Overland immigrants and shipping companies will love the new road through the Sierra Nevada mountains. I picture the earnest, bearded engineer leaning in, his eyes lit with excitement, hope, and just a touch of desperation, as he tells Collis, you can have a wagon road, if not a railroad. Collis is on board. He sees the opportunity

others don't. A few grand is nothing to scoff at, but if the transcontinental railroad happens, there's a windfall to be made. If it doesn't, he has a consolation prize, the wagon road. This is a win. It's only a question of how big the win will be. Calls quickly ups Ted's game. The savvy merchant tells Ted to stop his cute little meetings looking for subscriptions from average Joes. That takes far too long. So forget this Bush League nonsense.

Collis will round up a few of the other big fishes in the small pond that is late 1860, early 1861 Sacramento, form a board of directors, and get the ball rolling. I won't introduce you to everyone who invests or thinks about doing so. There are, however, exactly three big fish aside from Collis Huntington that you must meet. First is Mark Hopkins. A New York-born penny pincher, Mark came to California back in 1850.

Like Collis, he's made his money by selling to the miners. He and Collis eventually teamed up. That's right, they're business partners. At 47 years old, Mark is an old man for young, immigrant-filled California. Add to that his slouched stance and long, scraggly beard, and well, he looks the part of the old-timer.

Because of that old-timer image, he's known around town as Uncle Mark. He and Collis make a fantastic team. Collis is the in-your-face type A personality, big picture guy. Uncle Mark is the man in the weeds. Did you throw out scrap paper that could have been reused? Not acceptable. Uncle Mark's got to pinch those pennies.

Next, meet Charles Crocker. Hailing from Troy, New York, Charles tried a number of professions. Farmer, lawyer, even ran an iron forge. He too came to California not to mine gold, but to sell to those who did. He runs a dry goods store over on J Street. He's also doing okay in the world of politics. He served on the city council, and now, the Republican who helped organize the party here in California has recently won election to the state legislature. Yes, he's taken some heat from pro-slavery Californians for his abolitionist ways. And yes, being a legislator won't hurt this group's train ambitions one bit.

Last but most certainly not least, we have Leland Stanford. Also hailing from the great state of New York, Leland studied law but hung it up to, I mean, you see the pattern at this point, right? Yeah, to open a store in Sacramento. He eventually bought out his to, I mean, you see the pattern at this point, right? Yeah, to open a store in Sacramento. He eventually bought out his partners, his brothers, and has made money through rental income as well. Like Charles, Leland got in on the ground floor of the California Republican Party's organization and is politically ambitious. He's lost in his runs for state treasurer and governor, but don't count him out. A giant of a man with dark hair, deep-set eyes,

and a short, dark beard, he projects a look of power. He understands image. Collis Huntington, Mark Hopkins, Charles Crocker, Leland Stanford. These four Sacramento giants,

and I mean that financially, politically, and physically, they are all really tall, and only Uncle Mark comes across scrawny. Charles weighs in at 250 pounds. These men mean to be titans. Actually, they have their own collective nickname. They are the Big Four, or as they take to calling themselves, the Associates. There will be other stockholders and members of the board, but these four will call the shots.

Things move quickly from here. With the funds needed to do so, Ted Judah gleefully gets to that survey in the Sierra Nevada Mountains as we enter the year 1861. Meanwhile, funds also let the company officially form. Per Ted's suggestion, it's called the Central Pacific Railroad Company, and it officially incorporates on June 28, 1861. The board consists of the Big Four, aka the Associates, of course, as well as Ted and three others. Ted is named chief engineer. Collis Huntington feels snubbed. He's merely vice president. But see, the thing here is that everyone sees the value in making politically ascend. He's merely vice president. But see, the thing here is that everyone sees the value in making politically ascendant Leland Stanford the president.

They played that well. After his fair share of defeats at the ballot box, the Republican is indeed elected later that year as governor of California. Then in October, the board decides to send its politically savvy engineer back to Washington City for some more lobbying. But the Central Pacific Railroad isn't the only thing that got going in 1861. Following the election of Republican candidate Abraham Lincoln to the presidency last year, so did the Civil War.

Ted Judah hardly recognizes D.C. So many empty, seceded seats in Congress. So many soldiers. But ironically, this is something of a benefit for his purposes. The sectionalism that is leading to death and destruction on the battlefield is no longer present in the more united Congress. Jefferson Davis isn't here to push a southern route for the transcontinental railroad now that he's president of the newly declared Confederate States of America. Further, the railroad just became even more important.

The Pacific states aren't going to secede. But what if, Congress fears, there's a conflict with indigenous peoples out west, or the Mormons in Utah Territory? With so many boys in blue already fighting down south, the ability to move troops quickly to defend territory is paramount. Oh, and finally, the support isn't just in Congress. The new Republican president, Abraham Lincoln, is firmly behind it. So Ted cozies up to congressmen and literally helps to create the forthcoming railroad legislation. As the old rail splitter president conveys his desire for the bill to pass, Collis Huntington also makes the journey to Washington City. Although Collis grows jealous of Ted's brains and influence, the two effectively ensure the 1862 Pacific Railroad Bill passes. Here are the highlights. With the track already

running from the eastern states to the Missouri River, essentially Omaha and Nebraska Territory, this legislation calls for laying rail from there all the way to the navigable parts of California's Sacramento River. In other words, to run to the Pacific. Thus, railroad will traverse the entire United States. To facilitate this, the bill provides the railroad companies with generous land grants, as well as generous bonds per mile of track. Now, these bonds aren't just free cash. Think of them as loans, or better yet, mortgages, seen as they have to be paid at 6% interest for 30 years. Still, they are quite generous. $16,000 per mile on flat land,

$32,000 per mile in the foothills, and $48,000 per mile of track in the Rocky or Sierra Nevada mountains. All told, this will eventually add up to land grants of 20 million acres and loans of $60 million or more. Now, which companies will be so lucky as to receive this incredible opportunity? Ah, that's in the bill too. Ted's hard work has paid off. From Sacramento to California's eastern border, it's his Central Pacific Railroad.

Though the cutoff is flexible. If the Central Pacific reaches California's state line before the other company, well, by all means, it can keep building and enjoy more of this bill's generous terms. With the exception of a few small branches to cities along the Missouri River, the new company created by this bill, the Union Pacific Railroad, will build east from the Nebraska Territory. And should it reach California's eastern border, well, then it can cut in on the Central Pacific's turf. What can I say? President Lincoln

sees value in a little competition. He signs the bill into law on July 1st, 1862. Once it's done, it's said that Ted telegraphs his partners back in California. We have drawn the elephant. Now let us see if we can harness him up. It's just past 12 noon, January 8th, 1863. Excited Californians have gathered on Front Street, just above K Street by the Sacramento River. A brass band plays, flags hang from the railing of the platform before them. A large banner depicts hands joined,

superimposed over the North American continent. The banner's text reads, May the bond be eternal. Charles Crocker steps forward. He says a few words, introducing his fellow Big Four associate, Californian Governor Leland Stanford. Leland then comes forward,

meeting his fellow Californian juggernaut. He then addresses the crowd. The work will go on from this side to completion as rapidly as possible. We may now look forward with confidence to the day, not far distant, when the Pacific will be bound to the Atlantic by iron bonds that shall consolidate and strengthen the ties of nationality

and advance with giant strides the prosperity of the state and of our country. Citizens cheer and applaud. Charles again steps forward. The governor of the state of California will now shovel the first earth for the great Pacific Railroad. Theodore Judah, our buddy Ted, should be happy. His dream of a transcontinental railroad is really happening. But he isn't.

He's frustrated. The purest dreamer is starting to see how the sausage gets made. He doesn't like the practices of his partners, the associates. He finds them unethical. For instance, when it came to hiring contractors, they contracted Big Four associate Charles Crocker. Yes, they are hiring themselves. When Ted called this a conflict of interests,

they just had Charles leave the board and put his brother in his place. And as for those government bonds that double or triple depending on the grade, well, Leland Stanford's putting his old legal training to use. I mean, who is to say what defines a foothill or a mountain? The governor considers these terms, oh, nebulous, elastic. Carlos Huntington is fed up with Ted. Between this and other conflicts, he makes the engineer a huge offer. Buy him and the other associates out. $100,000 each. Damn. Really?

Okay, fine. On October 3rd, 1863, Ted and Anna Judah make the long trek back east via Panama once again. He's going to find some investors and part ways with the unscrupulous Big Four. Well, that's his plan anyway. He never gets a chance. Ted catches yellow fever while crossing the Isthmus. Sick as a dog by the time they reach the States, he dies in his New York City hotel room in early November.

The Central Pacific has lost its great dreamer, its visionary engineer. How will it go forward? Meanwhile, its great competitor, the Union Pacific Railroad, doesn't seem to be progressing either. Will this be a war of rails? Or will neither company progress? We'll find out next time, as we meet the arguably morally bankrupt figure pulling the strings behind the Union Pacific, Dr. Thomas Durant. episode description. My gratitude to you kind souls providing additional funding to help us keep going. And a special thanks to our members whose monthly gift puts them at producer status. David Rifkin, Denki, Durante Spencer, Donald Moore, Donna Marie Jeffcoat, Ellen Stewart, Bernie Lowe, George Sherwood, Gurwith Griffin, Henry Brunges, Jake Gilbreth, James G. Bledsoe,

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