The Pan Am Journey – the Singular and Boundless Vision of One Man, Juan Trippe

Aviation history, Biographical, Commerce & Business, Regional History

Pan American World Airways, or as it was universally known in its peak, Pan Am, is a name that is no longer displayed on the flight indicator boards of international airports across the globe. However up to the Eighties it was one of the premier names in the international airline industry.  At the top of it’s game the airline was completing up to 214 flights from the US to Europe a week (1964) [‘Juan Terry Trippe, Founder of Pan Am World Airways and InterContinental Hotels’, Stanley Turkel (PDF, 2006), www.ishc.com].

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From the ground up

Like quite a few young, middle class American men during the Great War, Tripp gravitated towards a future in the air, at first aspiring to be a navy pilot. After the war he transitioned from running a failed taxi service into a small regional air transport company. Trippe’s drive to succeed led him within a few years to merge his group with two other similar-sized ones to form Pan American Airways Inc.

The New Jersey-born businessman came up with a steady stream of novel ideas for innovation in the airline industry – which however required money. Prospects were bright though as new airline ventures were a good selling point. As William Stadiem explains, flying in the “Roaring 20s” was “the high-tech startup of its time!” Financiers, including members of the Rockefeller and Vanderbilt families, were all too willing to bankroll Trippe’s burgeoning airline industry ambitions [William Stadiem, Jet Set: The People, the Planes, the Glamour, and the Romance, in Aviation’s Glory Years (2014)].

By 1927 Trippe had started to assemble the rudiments of a fleet of aircrafts, initially with a brace of tri-motored Fokkers supplemented by some ageing surplus floating boats which he converted into the Pan American Flying Clippers (Trippe was a pioneer of these multi-engine seaplanes). Thus modestly began Pan Am’s first air mail service to the Caribbean (maiden flight in a 65-horsepower Seagull – Key West Florida to Havana) which paved the way for further Pan Am incursions into the region. Expansion followed innovation – from the West Indies he moved into Central and South America, and the foundations were laid for a global transport business✲.AB50588C-D96D-45A9-B209-4EA072696C99

Eschewing managerial orthodoxy

As textbook BUS101 management orthodoxy goes, Tripp was far from the desired model. His inclination was not to delegate and he was given to making unilateral decisions without consulting – much to the chagrin of his boards of directors [‘Juan Trippe and Pan Am’, (Richard Branson), Time, 07-Dec-1998, www.content.time.com]. What he was really exceptional at though, was anticipating the market in air travel, working out usually before anyone else what the next big thing was going to be…and going for it totally!

Business transparency was not part of the Trippe management style…his early inroads in the industry owed a lot to his “stealthy lobbying for U.S. mail licences”, which gave Pan Am a precious legup! [Harold Evans, Gail Buckland & David Lefer, They Made America, (2004)]. Trippe took a ruthless approach to competition and was not adverse to doing secret deals to outmanoeuvre his airline rivals [‘Juan Trippe Revolutionized Trips By Air With Pan Am’, (Scott S Smith), Investor’s Business Daily, 09-Oct-2014, www.investors.com].

Pan Am at times resorted to outright bribery to stay ahead of the pack, eg, offering several 100 thousand dollars to a Mexican president to block rival American Airlines’ bid for landing rights in the US’ southern neighbour [‘Juan Trippe’s Pan Am’, (Ann Crittenden), New York Times, (Archives), 03-July 1977, www.nytimes.com].

Thoroughly innovative Juan

By continually expanding the scope of Pan Am’s operations, creating many new routes, Trippe opened up both the Atlantic and the Pacific to air travel❂. Trippe’s list of innovations in the industry are legion  – including the pioneering of round-the-world commercial flights; the introduction of cockpit electronics allowing Pan Am pilots to fly in any weather; he also came up with “fly now, pay later” plans; his personnel came up with an advanced (computerised) reservations system first [Stadiem, op.cit.;   ‘Dead Airlines And What Killed Them’, (Jean Folger), 25-Jun-2010, Investopedia, www.investopedia.com].3165D89F-A045-4A1A-940C-F2CE1BE1E35F

Before Laker Air there was …

Perhaps Trippe’s greatest legacy however was the pivotal role he played in making affordable air tourism a reality to everybody. When Trippe and Pan Am entered the still embryonic industry,  seats were expensive and airline passengers tended to be exclusively from the well-off sectors of society. The airline ‘biz’ was run by a cartel called IATA (the International Air Transport Association) who contrived to maintain airline prices at a high level [Scott, op.cit.].

The first discount king of airlines

The Pan Am boss’ idea was to introduce a new class of passenger, “tourist class”, slashing the round-trip fare from New York to London by half (to US$275). The cartel reacted by trying to impede the US maverick’s move. British airports were closed to all Pan Am flights with tourist seats (Pan Am was forced to switch its European flights to remote Shannon Airport in Ireland). Pan Am managed eventually to get round the cartel’s net, it’s tourist class proved so popular that IATA caved in and accepted the reality of it [Branson, loc.cit. ; Smith, op.cit.]. Trippe’s actions thus brought air travel within the reach of ordinary people.

Airline entrepreneur and “friends with benefits”

Part of Trippe’s success owed a lot to influential people in high places…he benefited from a personal rapport with presidents like FDR and Truman. In fact, far from it being exclusively a triumph of free enterprise, federal government cooperation and support were integral to Pan Am’s overall success in the business [Crittenden, loc.cit.]. 

JT Trippe & CA Lindbergh (Source: The Trippe Family)02852001-7C9A-469E-9375-60D9D44E153E

Juan Trippe had the nous to surround himself with the right people from the start…in 1927 he ‘headhunted’ the (then) most marketable figure in world aviation, famed pilot Charles Lindbergh, to work for Pan Am (Lindbergh’s Continental survey flights helped establish the company’s early trade routes✥).

Another key figure within the company was its chief engineer Andre Priester who wrote the specifications for Pan Am’s flying boats. Priester set and maintained the airline’s meticulous safety standards [‘Pan Am Series – Part XLVIII: Skygods’, (Jpbtransportation: the Blog and Website of James Patrick Baldwin), 15-Feb-2015, www.jpbtransconsulting.com]. Staff training and airline safety were things Trippe refused to take shortcuts with – insisting on a high level of training for his pilots, flight crews, mechanics and support staff [Folger, loc.cit.].

With a little help from his (fellow capitalist) friends

Trippe in retirement freely acknowledged the help he received from United Fruit Company…the powerful US banana multinational assisted Pan Am early on to establish a presence in Latin America, thanks to United Fruit’s unique(sic) insider knowledge of the region’s states and its capacity to open doors to various governments [ibid.]. Trippe and Pan Am also prospered from cultivating a good friendship and working relationship with long-time Boeing head Bill Allen.

Enter the jet age

By the 1950s the heyday of “prop-liners” (propellor-driven aircraft) had come to an end. Jet liners were the future,  trouncing ‘props’ for both aircraft speed and carrying capacity…and as ever Trippe got in at the ground floor! Trippe immediately bought up big on Boeing 707s and the first 707 Pan Am commercial flight took place in 1958 (NY-Paris)✮. He then got to work on making it more economical by figuring out how to reduce the jet’s seat-mile cost [Branson, op.cit.].

While going full-tilt into 707s Trippe was already looking beyond…to the 747, the jumbo-jet. As Evans et al observes, Trippe had “an almost clairvoyant grasp of the future (and a) determination to find aircraft to fit that vision” [Evans,  Buckland &  Lefer, op.cit.]. Unfortunately for Trippe, the antennae didn’t work as desired every single time and a few missteps had serious ramifications for the long-term future of Pan Am (see below).

1st InterContinental: Belém (Brazil)

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Pan Am ‘accommodates’ – airport to hotel…

Inevitably, the holistic approach Trippe brought to the airline industry✢ led him to capitalise on the airline ‘s success by directly entering the hospitality field… connecting the dots between passenger  transportation and accommodation. With government encouragement from US president FD Roosevelt, Trippe began InterContinental Hotels & Resorts in 1946 as a subsidiary of Pan Am…the first international hotel was situated in Belém, Brazil. Between 1946 and 1996 there were 222 I-C Hotels doing business worldwide (>90% of them outside the US) [Turkel, loc.cit.].

Changing fortunes

Pan Am – once a ‘Titan’ of the airways – is no more, what then led to its demise? Some observers trace the seeds of its eventual fall to the late 1940s – years before the company had reached the peak of its powers. Earlier in the Thirties, during Pan Am’s formative first decade, Trippe lobbied the US government, advocating his “chosen instrument” theory (by which Washington would designate a single air carrier for all foreign flights). Pan Am in fact secured this special status, initially with the awarding of a 10-year mail contract by the US Postmaster-General. Eventually though other carriers were green-lighted to enter the overseas field and started to claw back Pan Am’s advantage [Smith, loc.cit.]. Postwar, competitors such as Howard Hughes’ Trans-World Airlines (TWA), Braniff and North West Orient were allowed to enter Pan Am’s routes in South America and Asia, and contest it’s semi-official monopoly✧ over those regions [‘Pan-American World Airways: the rise and fall of a 20th century cultural icon’, (06-Jan-2017), www.seanmunger.com]. The “catch-up” had commenced.

However when Pan Am sought to establish a competitive foothold domestically in the late Forties, the US government flatly rejected its request to start a connecting domestic route network [‘Lots of Reasons Why Pan Am Failed’, (Robert J Byrne), Washington Post, 25-Jan-1992, www.washingtonpost.com]. This setback proved a critical handbreak on Pan Am’s expansion into the profitable US internal passenger market.

 Pan Am logo, the “blue meatballs”65E47663-1881-4115-AAC6-F4CBBCA0E7BA

In 1968 Juan Trippe stepped down as company president, however he remained active and influential in Pan Am’s executive decision-making, maintaining an office in the company’s headquarters. Pan Am still looked in solid business shape, it has 40,000 employees and was flying seven million passengers a year to some 86 countries. Trippe’s unflagging desire and capacity for change and innovation was to be a “two edged sword”, sparking Pan Am’s upward trajectory but also contributing to its ultimate decline. Not content with the revolutionary 707, Trippe cajoled the jet manufacturers to design a new “jumbo jet” capable of carrying in excess of 180 passengers⊡. The 747 answered this ‘need’, with the first commercial flight of a Pan Am 747 taking place in 1970. Trippe employed a similar stratagem with the Kennedy Administration which was reluctant (because of the exorbitant cost involved) to embrace the next level up, the SST-2707 supersonic jet. By signalling  that he intended to purchase five Anglo-French Concorde planes, Trippe pressured President Kennedy into launching the American Supersonic Transport project. But this was one instance where Trippe’s ‘hunch’ was badly off target. The Boeing 2707 proved so problematic (and costly) that the project was dropped altogether in 1971.

Two Pan Ams, 707 & 747 (source: Boeing)

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The ill-timed expansion into 747s: Capacity overload

Trippe, always striving to be ahead of the curve, placed his order for the new 747s before they were designed, let alone off the assembly line! On this occasion the economy brought him and the company unstuck. The timing of the introduction of 747s, 1970, was not great – coinciding with a recession! Trippe didn’t foresee the 1973 oil crisis, which blew out the costs for maintaining the fleet of jumbos – fuel prices skyrocketed after the Middle East energy backlash [Folger, loc.cit.].

The state of Pan Am’s finances in the early Seventies was not propitious for taking on something of the magnitude of the 747. Commencing from 1969-70 Pan Am experienced seven straight years of losses. By 1977 the company’s long-term debt amounted to a disquieting $727 million! The financial burden on Pan Am was too much – and the problem was compounded by one of Trippe’s successors as company head (Najeeb E Halaby) who bumped the   order of 747s from Trippe’s original 25 up to 33 aircrafts [Crittenden, loc.cit.].

Other developments in the world added to the company’s woes. The spate of terrorist incidents involving Pan Am, culminating in the 1988 Lockerbie tragedy, damaged the company’s reputation and precipitated a decline in travel numbers [Folger, loc.cit.].

Deregulation

Another setback for Pan Am came in the late 1970s with industry deregulation. The legislation of course brought more competition for Pan Am into the game, but this time coming from the big international airline players. Deregulation also meant that Pan Am could now at last enter the American domestic market, and it acquired National Airlines which unfortunately failed at a time Pan Am was in need of a financial “pick-me-up” [Smith, loc.cit.].

When the end came for Pan Am, it came fairly abruptly – in 1991. Pan Am offices everywhere simply closed their doors, virtually overnight. Rising costs of operation, falling market share, a trough in passenger numbers (a further blow in this respect was brought on by the 1990 Gulf War which led to a fall-off in international travellers) [Folger, loc.cit.].  There was a failure to make preparations  for a smooth transition for Pan Am after the head’s departure. Trippe, having been so dominant and instrumental in the company’s success over four decades, was negligent in not planning for a long-term successor to himself [Byrne, loc.cit.]. This hurt Pan Am during the rocky days ahead when it was in desperate need of clear-headed, astute leadership.

Footnote: in the 1920s and 30s Juan Trippe was one of a handful of great US airline pioneers – the elite list also included CR Smith (American Airlines), WA Paterson (United Airlines), Eddie Rickenbacker (Eastern Airlines) and Collett E Woolman (Delta Airlines).

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PostScript: Pan Am’s broader role

Under Trippe, Pan Am’s planes could be called upon when required to provide service outside it’s core commercial role. This happened in war, both hot and cold (eg, active role of Pan Am Clippers in WWII; humanitarian trips during the 1948-49 Berlin evacuation; collecting “refugees from communism” in Cuba during the early years of the Castro regime). Trippe also came to the rescue of his fellow “captain of industry” Henry Ford in 1931, by flying the Brazilian military into the remote Amazon to put down a worker revolt in the Fordlândia rubber plantation.

 

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✲ in addition to a purely business opportunity, Trippe’s focus on this region was to help forestall the establishment of a German (and possibly also a French) airline service to the Panama Canal (in which the US held a strategic interest),  [Sean Munger, op.cit.]

❂ by the 1970s the Pan Am publicity arm was able to boast that it was “the World’s Most Experienced Airline”

✥ often taking him to inassessible places in South and Meso-America where Trippe’s workers would follow, having the arduous job of hacking out landing strips from the dense jungle [Smith, loc.cit.]

✮ in very quick time BOAC, QANTAS, Air France and Lufthansa, among others, rushed to embrace 707s. In 1959 the Douglas company debuted its DC-8, virtually a copy of the 707 [Stadiem, loc.cit.]

✢ in the early years Trippe had even helped build airports in the jungles of Latin America to fit in with the new air routes planned for Pan Am

the hotel chain was sold to an English conglomerate, Grand Metropolitan, after Trippe’s death in 1981

✧ Pan Am’s role at that time has been described as the US’ “unofficial flag carrier”, [George C Larson, ‘Moments & Milestones: Birth of the Clippers’,  Air & Space Smithsonian, Nov 2010, www.airspacemag.com]

⊡ skillfully Trippe played the big manufacturers (Boeing, Douglas and Lockheed) off against each other, manipulating them into commiting to an even larger jet before they were ready to build it! [Smith, loc.cit.]

Messengers by Appointment to Her Majesty – the “Silver Greyhounds” Service

International Relations, Regional History, Society & Culture

The Brits are nothing if not traditionalists. Take one of the primest examples of their fidelity to tradition – royalty! Putting aside the interregnum of the Cromwellian Commonwealth (1649-1660) as an aberration, the people of GB have faithfully stuck with the monarchy as the preferred form of rule for the long haul. Kings or queens have ruled Britain, or at least England, since the Anglo-Saxon King Egbert unified various regions of England and Wales around 830 to be recognised with the title Bretwalda (“ruler of the British/Anglo-Saxons”) [‘Kings and Queens of England & Britain’, (Ben Johnson), Historic UK, www.historic-uk.com].CD757CBF-70AD-4CB8-A409-6FB4056AF14B

Despite the small island in the North-eastern Atlantic not having been the most ‘united’ of kingdoms of late (witness Brexit, Scottish secessionist moves, etc), the British monarchy still possesses a very healthy pulse indeed. There remains a British queen, though now a nonegenerian, one with a clearly defined line of succession to follow her. The contemporary Windsors seem determined to uphold the prediction of Egyptian king, Farouk I, who upon being deposed from the Alawiyya dynastic throne in 1952, remarked with graveyard humour: “Soon there will be only five kings left…the king of spades, the king of clubs, the king of hearts, the king of diamonds…and the king of England!”

1E0ABF7E-EF1E-49C3-89CC-272D489F10A1So given that Britain has the stability of a long-reigning queen and the institution of monarchy is firmly rooted in Anglo-Celtic soil, then it should not really come as a surprise to discover that the queen retains a team of  “secret mission” messengers who are at her beck and call 24/7. The title queen’s (or king’s) messenger does have an anachronistic ring to it – when you conjure up images of darkly-clad couriers  (perhaps spies), secretly scurrying from castle to castle across Medieval Europe on royal business.

A long tradition of HM service 

The role of messengers as part of the English monarch’s contact network appears to stretch back a whole millennium. The 13th century monarch, King John, younger brother of the more flamboyantly heroic Richard the Lion-Heart, apparently used his messengers for less orthodox missions (such as transporting part of the dismembered body of Norwich traitor Henry Roper). The earliest recorded King’s Messenger was one John Norman, appointed by Richard III in 1485 to deliver his private letters [Marco Giannangeli, ‘Queen’s Messengers face the axe, heroes who resisted all tyrants, honeytraps and pirates’,  Daily Express (UK), 05-Dec-2015, www.dailyexpress.co.uk].

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‘Silver Greyhounds’

The royal messengers are colloquially known as “silver greyhounds”, a name bestowed on them by the Stuart king Charles II who to aid their identification at their scheduled destinations, gave each of his messengers one greyhound figurine  which he had broken off from a silver breakfast platter [’The Silver Greyhound – The Messenger Service’, (Keith Mitchell), 25-Mar-2014, (History of government blog), www.history.blog.gov.uk ]. These days the tradition continues with the appointed QMs being issued with silver greyhound badges or tie-clips.

After the establishment of the British Foreign Office in 1782, the role of the King’s Messenger took on an enhanced importance, and from 1795 with the resumption of war with France, a greater hazard for the couriers. Journeying through enemy France on secret mission was especially frought with danger for the messenger…one such silver greyhound, Andrew Basilico, when caught by the French, had the foresight to eat the part of the paper containing the covert message to ensure the integrity of the message [‘Queen’s Messenger’, Wikipedia, http://en.m.wikipedia.org].

In the 19th century royal messengers could claim expenses for their journeys on behalf of the Crown. Some canny messengers supplemented their earnings on the side by selling the empty seat in their carriage (a practice the government tried – albeit unsuccessfully – to outlaw in the 1830s) [Mitchell, loc.cit.].

In the 20th century with East-West political tensions on the rise, KMs and QMs continued to play an important role against a backdrop of tense Cold War espionage encounters. George Courtauld, a retired silver greyhound, in his memoirs recounts some of the hazards of smuggling the confidential messages of Queen Elizabeth through communist countries, including the tricky business of dealing with Eastern Bloc “femme fatales” (the ‘honeypots’) [Giannangeli, loc.cit.].

A QM vade mecum: apparently the book of choice for aspiring King’s and Queen’s Messengers in the 20th century  (Courtauld)

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The modern day Queen’s Messenger

QMs (officially in Whitehall protocol known as the Corps of Queen’s Messengers) in Britain today are employed by the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO). Despite the glamourous image of the world of international spies, as portrayed in popular culture, today’s QMs live a decidedly “un-James Bondian” lifestyle, no luxury accommodation in the Bahamas, no first-class travel, nor the trappings, thrills and supposed sexual exploits of jet-setting secret agents!

A peak under the dusty sheets of the service

The QMs Corps, as with all “cloak and dagger” official organisations with a culture of high security, functions on a “need-to-know” basis. A 2015 Freedom of Information request to Whitehall did shed some light (but no insights into the inner workings) of the obscure world of QMs. The FCO communique revealed that the QMs dress in plain clothing and are not particularly well remunerated, being paid at only C4 officer scale (£25,200-£33,250); at that time the QMs were 18 in number and all males in the age range 40 to 70. The FCO in true intelligence protocol would “neither confirm or deny” if QMs were armed. The requisite skill-sets of QMs stated in the document include the capacity to travel on short notice; work overseas for extended periods; work independently or within a team; think quickly on one’s feet; and remaining calm under pressure (occasionally extreme pressure) [FCO written reply, FOI Ref: 0315-15 (27 April 2015), http://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk].

‘Queens Messenger’ (2001): a modern attempt to use the QM motif to make a James Bond style post-Cold War action flick

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Is there still a role for the Queen’s Messenger in the 21st century?

The “hands-on”, person-to-person couriering of QMs seem out of place in the world of modern state communications, a “snail mail” approach compared to the instantaneous transference of information via electronic platforms. Unsurprising then, that in recent times, whenever a critical eye is routinely turned to British government spending, the microscope fixes its gaze on the QM service – which thus far survives despite seeming to habitually “fac(e) the chop (from) cost-cutting Foreign Office mandarins…(viewed as a) “legacy of a by-gone age” [Giannangeli, op.cit.].

An uncertain new world of unsecured information

The mechanism of modernity, those same communication innovations of the online world also create the very justification for the continuance of the QM service. Today we are awash with online crime, cyber-hacking, code-breaking and security interceptions by groups like Wikileaks. In such an environment Buckingham Palace is faced with a choice – trust those who you trust, the loyal silver greyhound retainer, or take the odds on the random anonymity of the vast, ungovernable cyberspace. On an ad hoc basis the royals will continue to find merit in relying on QMs,  “safe-hands” who can get the task done seamlessly, rather than always leaving it to the quicker but potentially more chancy method of transferring the message electronically [ibid.].

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Footnote: the official case carried by the silver greyhound, presumably containing “the message”, has its own diplomatic passport and therefore cannot be opened, x-rayed or inspected by airport staff when transiting customs – although the QM himself and his personal luggage are subject to the normal airport procedures [‘Her Majesty Queen’s Messengers – History and Current Status’, (Passport-collector.com, 22-Mar-2016), www.passport-collector.com]


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in the main, in practice QMs tend to be men and recruited from the ranks of retired army or police officers

these days QMs almost certainly would never carry guns on missions. Apocryphal or not, it has been suggested that the greyhounds are however ‘armed’ with an excellent, aged bottle of Scotch on their travels [Giannangeli, op.cit.]

QMs receive core training which comprises induction, mentoring, security, IT and SAFE training

 

 

Belterra and the Demise of Henry Ford’s Brazilian Rubber ‘Empire’

Biographical, Economic history, Geography, International Relations, Regional History

16F41C5C-69E8-4946-87A1-FC4CA093EDA7By the 1930s it was apparent to all concerned that Fordlândia, Henry Ford‘s rubber plantation in the Amazon, had been a costly, massive underachiever. Ford however, to the unending frustration of his family, doggedly refused to pull the plug and walk away from the Amazon fiasco counting his losses. In 1934, instead of ditching the failing Fordlândia operation altogether, he retained it and at the same time poured a fresh pile of money and resources into a second Amazonian rubber plantation site.

Learning from failure
The new rubber plantation, at Belterra, was better positioned geographically in relation to the main regional city of Santarém (just 40 km south of it). The plantation site selected this time was a more judicious choice, unlike the uneven ground of Fordlândia, the site comprised a flat topography, much better terrain for moving equipment around and for planting✱. The more favourable physical conditions at Belterra meant that Ford’s agrarian labourers were over a period of several years able to cultivate some 19 square miles of land for the planting of rubber trees (not a gigantic quantity by any reckoning, but a significant advance on the pitiful returns from Fordlândia)  [‘Belterra, Pará’, Wikipedia, http://en.m.wikipedia.org].

9D6EF65F-8330-40D7-93A7-9DCDBC8E9034Improvements in local agronomy
The horticulturalists at Belterra were conscious of the need not to replicate the monoculture prevailing at Fordlândia – which had made the rubber plants vulnerable to infection. By planting hardwoods this time and employing new breeding methods which used local varieties, the planters were able to avoid the scourge of Fordlândia – the Amazon leaf disease. The downside of this method however was that it was very labour-intensive and expensive [ibid.].

Infrastructure, variety and man-management
One of the clear lessons of Fordlândia was that living conditions for migrant workers in the camp were not conducive to creating a happy workforce. Again, as at Fordlândia, the migrant employees (based on the precedent of Ford’s American plant workers) were paid much higher than the going rate elsewhere in Brazil…but the company had learnt from the Fordlândia plantation that this was not enough of itself to get the desired worker performance. This time Ford’s managers delivered an enhanced town infrastructure…the drawing board for Belterra included three well-staffed hospitals (a critical area of shortage at Fordlândia) and three major (and two minor) schools◊. The sanitation system was much improved on the earlier settlement (arguably it was better than anywhere else in rural Brazil at that time). The street layouts were better planned and more uniform (straighter streets, more systematic street grid and more effort put into ‘greening’ the environment). The Belterra management gave workers more options for their leisure time – construction of football fields⍟ and playground equipment, movie and dance nights (exclusively folk dancing, another obsession of Henry Ford!). The upshot was to give the plantation town something akin to a suburban feel [‘Dearborn in the Jungle: Why Belterra Flourished Where Fordlandia Failed’, Past Forward: Activating the Henry Ford Archive of Innovation, (blog), www.thehenryford.com].

Whereas Fordlândia had catered exclusively for single men in its Brazilian work force, the Ford managers (eventually) adopted a more realistic, far-sighted policy, recruiting an increasing number of migrant families to the plantation…showing that Ford (or his management team) were serious about addressing the staff problem that had plagued Fordlândia, a high rate of turnover of the work force [ibid.].

Some relaxation of Ford’s tight reins
Other efforts were made to appease the plantation’s migrant work force to make them more compliant with company target objectives. The imposition of American food on Brazilian work force, which had been the bane of (a large slice of) the dissension in Fordlândia, was lifted. The Brazilian tappers and labourers were allowed to retain their traditional, local eating habits. In addition, in a further relaxation of conditions, musical instruments (an integral part of the Brazilian lifestyle) were allowed in the camp [ibid.].

Ford’s American ‘civilising’ mission for the “undeveloped world”
Despite a relaxing of some of the rules governing the running of Ford’s new industrial town in the Amazon, there were certain things Henry would not compromise on.  Ford was always big on “moral education”…part of his rationale for getting into the Brazilian jungle was to fulfill a mission to realise a peculiarly idiosyncratic idea of his concerning “racial progress’. As Elizabeth Esch describes it, driving Ford was a patronising impulse to “proletarianise and civilise” the uneducated rubber tappers of Amazonia, to make them into “something better”※. In the carmaker’s eyes, melding the workforce into an more efficient unit went hand-in-hand with educating them.

Belterra school girls and boys in Ford’s uniforms, ca.1940 | THF56937 | by the Henry Ford (Flickr)  🔽

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Midwest “old school” values
School was compulsory at Belterra – for all! Adult workers had to attend night school classes. Schoolchildren were strictly schooled and imbued with discipline along American lines of education…all workers’ children were issued with uniforms (which made the boys look like boy scouts or cadets). Every school day started with the ceremonial raising of the US flag. Some observers have noted how Ford’s installing of rigid educational and moral discipline at Belterra mirrored his own value system…to whit, tantamount to a kind of  sociological experiment to “Americanise Belterra youth” along the lines of a “Mid-western small town model” [‘Dearborn in the Jungle’, loc.cit.].

Global war, disruption and end-game
Ford established a tyre manufacturing plant in Dearborn in 1937 which by 1940 had the capacity to build 5,000 tyres, unfortunately for Ford NOT ANY of the raw rubber was sourced by that time from the company’s Brazilian plants [Ford Richardson Bryan, Beyond the Model T: The Other Ventures of Henry Ford, (1997)].

🔽 Henry Ford tinkering (Photo source: The Ford UK Co)

63462031-6AB2-4C20-85DE-E247F66364D3The Amazonian rubber venture by 1941 nevertheless did seem to be making some headway, there was in excess of three-and-a-half million rubber tree planted (mostly at Belterra), which by the following year had yielded 750 tons of latex  [ibid.]. The Ford Company was optimistic enough to announce that it expected to produce 30 to 40 million pounds of high quality rubber from the Amazon by 1950 [Esch, op.cit.]. One thing in its favour, as a consequence of the world war extending to the Pacific, was that British, Dutch and French Far Eastern rubber plantations were now in the hands of enemy Japan and no longer commercial entities.

Ultimately though the war rebounded on the Ford Company as on commerce generally with an increasing drain on the US economy for the war effort.  The motor company’s finances were not in great shape during the war years…incredibly the increasingly ‘flaky’ Ford Senior had axed the global company’s Accounting Department! [G Grandin, Fordlândia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City, (2010)]) . The domestic situation in Brazil was not helping Ford’s rubber plants…although powerful Brazilian President Getúlio Vargas had given approving nods in the public eye to the company’s presence in Brazil, labour law reforms in the country were not advantageous to Ford. The Brazilian government also restricted the export of lumber during the war. To exacerbate matters even more, the rubber plantations were hit with a return bout of the dreaded leaf blight infestation [Bryan, op.cit.].

Synthetic rubber – the future!
Ford’s son Edsel✜ and grandson Henry II had for several years been badgering the bewilderingly stubborn and by now ailing and declining industrialist to bring the wasteful Amazon fiasco to an end. What possibly clinched it in the end was a technological breakthrough, by 1945 synthetic rubber production was a superior and more economical method of getting latex than natural rubber. Moreover, with WWII now over, Britain and the other European powers had regained control of their lucrative Far Eastern rubber estates, and would once again provide the Ford rubber plants with very stiff competition [ibid.]. In December 1945 Ford finally sold the Fordlândia and Belterra plantations back to the Brazilian government, losing over US$20 million in the deal [‘Belterra, Pará’, Wikipedia, http://en.m.wikipedia.org]. The  dragged-out, ill-fated Amazon venture of Ford, which perpetually “had teetered between failure and farce” was over [Esch, op.cit.].BAEEFE61-81ED-45EE-8E6B-3B17AE5397C8

PostScript: Fordlândia and Belterra redux
Belterra today is in much better nick than Fordlândia, this is largely because the Brazilian government has kept the Belterra plant operational, although it has never been particularly profitable. Fordlândia on the other hand bears many of the characteristic scars of a ghost town. When Companhia Ford Industrial Do Brasil ceased operations in 1945, the Americans cut and ran, leaving things pretty much as they were…pieces of equipment and machinery abandoned, left lying idle, to rot or to be stolen or to be vandalised (contemporary Fordlândia has been described as a “looters’ paradise”◘), furniture, door knobs and other fittings, whatever that was movable, was taken. Most of the original buildings though have survived✥, as well as the plantation sawmill, the generator and such industrial relics, left rusting in the jungle for the past 73 years.

The most striking physical industrial remnant at Fordlândia today is the Torre de água – the 50m-high Water Tower…it still stands, like a symbol of the lost town, and like most of the fixtures at Fordlândia, built in Ford’s Michigan and shipped to the Amazon. Greg Grandin describes its still erect form as a reminder of what it once personified, “a utilitarian beacon of modernity for Ford’s ‘civilising’ project” [Grandin, op.cit.].

15330077-3C7C-4A29-BF29-2D8033DE644D__________________________________________________________
✱ botantist expert James R Weir, brought in to ‘troubleshoot’  the company ‘s dismal performance in trying to grow rubber at Fordlândia, came up with the idea of a second plantation in the Amazon (and then promptly left the project altogether!)
◊ named after Henry Ford’s three grandsons, Edsel, Benson and Henry
⍟ Ford had banned the playing of football (soccer) at Fordlândia
※ there was lots of talk at Dearborn about “taming savages” and more disturbingly, of pseudo-racial categories – creating a  “Latin-Saxonian unity” that supersedes the ‘Indian’ and mestizo groupings, E Esch, ‘Whitened and Enlightened’: The Ford Motor Company and Racial Engineering in the Brazilian Amazon’, in OJ Dinius & A Vergara [Eds.], Company Towns in the Americas: Landscape, Power and Working Class Communities, (2011)
✜ Ford heir Edsel predeceased his father, dying in 1943
◘ Simon Romero, ‘Deep in Brazil’s Amazon, Exhibiting the Ruins of Ford’s Fantasyland’, New York Times, 20-Feb-2017, www.nytimes.com]
✥ but not the crumbled mess of the town hospital

Fordlândia: The Dearborn Carmaker’s Amazon Folly

Biographical, Economic history, Geography, International Relations, Regional History

Pioneering American industrialist Henry Ford built his first commercial automobile in 1901, and went on in the years following to revolutionise the motor vehicle industry with his eponymous Model T Ford and his innovative assembly line production techniques. With the advent of Fordism (a system involving modern technological machinery and standardised production in high volumes) Ford was paying his auto industry employees an (at the time) unprecedented $5 a day! However it came with very consequential strings (a dehumanisation of the workplace and the loss of workers’ individual autonomy).

By the 1920s Ford was pursuing a plan to harness the waters of the Tennessee River to power a proposed 75-mile long mega-city, which the car-maker proclaimed would be a “new Eden” in northwest Alabama. A concerted campaign by political opponents within the US however blocked Ford’s efforts to get the scheme off the ground ‘[‘Valley of Visions’, (Adam Bruns), Site Selection Magazine, May 2010, www.siteselection.com]. Vexated but undaunted, Ford turned to the remote Amazon jungle for his next big project.

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The rubber market and “latex gold”
Rubber was in high demand by car manufacturers like Ford and his American rivals General Motors and Chrysler. Rubber is the source of latex, which is vulcanised to create car tyres and for a range of other vehicle parts (eg, valves, gaskets, hoses, electrical wiring). The problem for Ford and other manufacturers was that the European colonial powers, France, the Netherlands and (especially) Britain, had an established monopoly on the production of rubber through their profitable South-East Asian colonies (Malaysia, the East Indies, Vietnam, Ceylon). Ford was particularly concerned that the British, spearheaded by its secretary for colonial affairs Winston Churchill, was intent on creating a rubber cartel to further monopolise the valuable product for the Europeans. The industrialist therefore was looking round for a cheaper way of sourcing rubber…he briefly considered planting rubber trees in the Florida Everglades but that didn’t turn out to be promising. His focus eventually fixed on Brazil and its vast Amazon Basin (see also the Footnotes).

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Eyes on Brazil

From 6,000 km away in Ford’s Dearborn  car ‘empire’ headquarters, the Amazon looked a logical location for a rubber plantation. It was after all the original (and therefore seemingly the natural) environment for producing latex, being the home of the plant Hevea brasiliensis, used to make the most elastic and purest form of latex!

Ford’s idealistic and ideological vision
Clearly Henry Ford saw the long-term business advantages of securing a consistent supply of latex at the most favourable prices, but in his public pronouncements he let it be known that he viewed the Brazilian project as something grander than an attempt to corner a resource market  – “a civilising mission” no less! Ford regularly couched his intervention in Amazonia in terms of it being an act of “benevolence to help that wonderful and fertile land” [‘Lost cities #10: Fordlandia – the failure of Henry Ford’s utopian city in the Amazon’, (Drew Reed), The Guardian, 19-Aug-2016, www.theguardian.com]. While some of the car manufacturer’s overblown utterances may have been an indulgence in PR, the Amazonian venture (and the fact that he persisted with it long, long past its use-by-date) suggests that the idea of Fordlândia represented something in his core that was deeply idealistic. Greg Grandin in his epic study of the Fordlândia experiment, has noted that despite the runaway success of his Detroit-based business empire, Ford had become increasingly disatisfied with modern American society and culture as he saw it, there was a whole catalogue of things that he abhorred…including war, unions, alcohol, cigarettes, cow’s milk(!), modern dance, Wall Street financiers, Jews, the creeping intervention of government into business and into American life as a whole [Fordlândia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford’s Forgotten Jungle City, (2010)].

A blinkered idealism
Ford saw in the challenge of carving a viable city out of the Brazilian wilderness, a potential antidote to all he disliked about his homeland – a way to recreate “a vision of Americana that was slipping out of his grasp at home” [ibid.]. Another driver in Ford’s Amazonian quest was the unflinching faith in his capacity to replicate the Dearborn business success elsewhere, including the Amazon jungle. This idealism led Ford, even when things went “pear-shaped” in Fordlândia “to deliberately reject the expert advice” and blindly cling to his peculiarly personal notion of trying “to turn the Amazon into the Midwest of his imagination” [ibid.]. Moreover, Grandin notes, that the greater the reverses of  Henry’s rubber enterprises in the Amazon, the more the carmaker would describe his ‘mission’ in Brazil in idealistic terms – Fordlândia would, he stressed repeatedly, bring economic stability and increases in the standard of life to the impoverished people of the Brazilian interior; the new city would support 10,000 people, etc [ibid.].

Initially, the government and it seems, the Brazilian people in the main, welcomed Ford’s Amazonian industrial city. Brazilian officials, especially consul José de Lima, went to great pains to woo the American carmaker once his interest in the Amazon became known. Some Brazilian officials even heaped overly-lavish, religiously evocative praise on Ford , calling him the “Jesus Christ of Industry”, the “Moses of the Twentieth Century” and “the salvation of Brazil’s long-moribund rubber industry” [ibid.].

By the terms of the business deal, Ford would pay the Brazilian government about US$125,000 for 5,625 square miles of land and the company was to be exempt from taxes. Under the concessions Ford’s city was to be granted an autonomous bank, police force and schools, to many observers it was a violation of Brazilian sovereignty…”it was as if Ford had the right to run Forlândia as a separate state”. The sceptical Santarém (local) press mockingly referred to the Dearborn (Michigan) car manufacturer as “São Ford” (“St Ford”) [ibid.].

The blueprint for Fordlândia
Ford poured a massive amount of resources into his (new) utopian ‘dream’ city. The plant was equipped with “state-of-the-art” processing facilities. No expense was spared on constructing the American village (known locally as Vila Americana) which was reserved for American management. It was equipped with a swimming pool, a golf course, tennis courts, a library, schools and a hospital. Not surprisingly, the de luxe conditions of the Americans’ village was in grotesque contrast with that of the Brazilian workers whose rudimentary houses lacked even running water [ibid.].

Setbacks and drawbacks
The jungle site picked out for Ford’s prefabricated industry town was Aveiro on the River Tapajós, in the state of Pará.  From the get-go in 1928 things did not go well! First off, clearing the dense jungle for the site was really hard (and dangerous) work…even with Ford’s promise to pay high wages to the locals, labour was in short supply. The project’s logistics provided another headache, the location’s communications and transportation had serious shortcomings, The location was hilly and there were no roads to Aveiro so movement was by boat up and down the river, and seasonal climatic conditions tended to impede access (also latter on hindering the cargo vessels trying to reach Fordlândia to load up the latex).

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“Agri-ignorance”
The task of planting rubber trees was thoroughly error-ridden. Ford’s managers used antiquated planting techniques, the team lacked basic knowledge of tropical agriculture. A fundamental flaw that proved critical was the company’s  practice (ignoring the advice of Brazilian botanists) of planting the rubber trees too close to each other, this resulted in making the plantings susceptible to disease (enabling the destructive South American leaf blight to move easily from tree to tree) [ibid.].

Illness caused by the harsh tropical location wreaked havoc with the work force (especially the migrant workers but also affecting the American staff). Workers went down with various ailments (malaria, VD, yellow fever, beriberi, parasites, snake bites, etc) placing a strain on the already overwhelmed company health services [ibid.].

Subverting worker morale
Ford imposed strict conditions of behaviour on the work force – in keeping with his personal puritanical code. A prohibition ban was imposed (to match the prevailing injunction on alcohol in the US at the time). In light of the severely harsh conditions they were working under, Ford’s “absolutely no tolerance” liquor policy was totally unrealistic. Workers were forced to endure a regime of rigid conformity – regimentation of plantation life, adhering to strict standards of discipline and hygiene. And to make things even more onerous, Ford introduced the same, notorious heavy-handed yolk of enforcement he employed in the River Rouge automobile plant in Detroit. Ford’s “Big Brother” like Service Department men were employed to carry out highly intrusive spot searches on workers’ quarters to ensure compliance with the edicts.

7405683B-B783-423E-B198-22948C4EDE1CAmericanisation overkill
Ford insisted that the migrant workers at Fordlândia adhere to Americanised conditions of work and services which ignored the local realities and cultural norms. This meant everyone got American-style housing with metal roofs which were conductors of the already intense tropical heat (in preference to the more sensible natural thatch roofs they were used to in Brazil). Another “First World” error by Ford was to build workers’ houses close to the ground…the locals in the Amazon knew to build high up on stilts so that they didn’t get overrun with animals and insects! Ford was insistent on interfering with the Brazilians’ diets, workers were fed unfamiliar food like hamburgers, whole-wheat bread and unpolished rice, and they were encouraged to plant flowers and vegetables on their plots. The American managers, with scant regard for the workers, forced them to work in the middle of the day in full tropical sun. Inevitably, the migrant workers staged a revolt against the management practices, known as Quebra-Panelas (the “Breaking Pans”). They rioted in late 1930, protesting against Ford’s imposed conditions, and the Brazilian army had to intervene to restore order (with management making some concessions with regard to the food) [ibid.].

Erratic managerial direction
Part of the problem with Fordlândia was with the management. They’re was a rapid turnover of managers in the first two years of the settlement.  Ford’s often wrong-headed policies were not easy to implement, but some managers were not up to the task and others just couldn’t hack it in the extremely challenging and arduous Amazon and quit. Unsurprisingly, with mismanagement morale plummeted, the American staff increasingly engaged in wild parties and drunken revelry.  It wasn’t until Scot Archibald Johnston was put in charge at the end of 1930 that progress started to be made at Fordlândia.  Johnston was able to improve the infrastructure, enhance the lifestyles of employees’ – new entertainments and recreations – film and dance nights, gardening, football games (overturning Ford’s earlier ban) and more education options. Grandin feels that under Johnston’s management, the city “came closest to Ford’s original ideal”. But still the yields of latex didn’t come remotely close to the company’s anticipated returns.

4412DA21-392C-47AA-85D1-E3A2E8B393CFWith the lack of commercial success, the original Brazilian government enthusiasm for Ford’s project waned badly. Even from the start there had been critics of the done deal that was vague on many details and required Ford to use only 40 % of his land grant for the production of latex. Eventually, there was a loss of credibility for Fordlândia – with the situation showing little improvement, the Brazilian middle classes ultimately could not square Ford’s “self-promoted reputation for rectitude and efficiency” with the reality of the plantation’s dismal track record [ibid.]

FN 1: British ‘Bio-piracy’
The European monopoly on rubber had its origins in the unscrupulous actions of British botanist Henry Wickham who clandestinely pilfered Hevea seeds out of the Amazon in the late 19th century. These were propagated successfulyl in Asia, putting the three colonial powers in a frontline advantageous economic position in the trade. The sale of latex, especially to the US auto industry which needed rubber for the expansion of the burgeoning industry, helped Great Britain and France pay off its (WWI) war debts [Grandin, op.cit.].

FN 2: The “latex lords”
Before the rise of the Asian rubber plantations, Brazil was the dominant world supplier…in the second half of the 19th century, processed rubber accounted for 40% of Brazil’s total exports. The Amazon’s big towns, Manaus and Belem, profited spectacularly from the rubber boom as witnessed by the magnificent BeauxArts palaces and grand neoclassical municipal buildings that sprang up. By the early 1920s however, the country’s rubber industry had bottomed out and Brazil was bankrupt [ibid.].8AA4C2F1-C6C5-485B-B7E9-59AF6443F91A
••••——••——•••——••——•••——••———••——•••——••——••——••——•••———••——••——••••
so successful that the Ford Motor Company had captured over half the US auto sales market by 1921
rubber cultivation thrived in South-east Asia due to a combination of factors – the parasites (insects and fungi) that feed off the rubber in Brazil were not present; the cross-breeding of trees led to increased yields of sap. The plantations were close to ports (cf. Brazil), reducing the transportation costs. Lastly, the cost of labour (principally derived from China) was significantly lower [Grandin, op.cit.]

as it transpired, the deal was not as great as the Detroit carmaker thought …”swindled by a Brazilian con artist” Ford paid around three-times the value of the land [G Grandin, Empire’s Workshop: Latin America, The United States and the Rise of the New Imperialism, (2005)]

  a hardship compounded by the company providing the clearers with very poor housing conditions
and impossible to fully enforce…plantation workers got round the prohibitions (Ford’s ‘puritanism’ extended to bans on women in the town, on smoking and on the playing of football as well) by establishing illicit bars, nightclubs and brothels on the so-called “Island of innocence”, [‘Fordlândia’, Wikipedia, http://en.m.wikipedia.org]
leading some Brazilians to speculate that Ford’s real motives for intervening were to seek oil, gold and political leverage [Grandin, op.cit.].