Little Journeys to the Homes of Great Businessmen | Page 7

spread itself up and
down along the whole Pacific frontage, unconnected with us, excepting
by ties of blood and common interest, and enjoying like us, the rights
of self-government.''
The Pilgrim Fathers thought land that lay inward from the sea as
valueless. The forest was an impassible barrier. Later, up to the time of
George Washington, the Alleghanies were regarded as a natural barrier.
Patrick Henry likened the Alleghany Mountains to the Alps that
separated Italy from Germany and said, ``The mountain ranges are lines
that God has set to separate one people from another.''
Later, statesmen have spoken of the ocean in the same way, as proof
that a union of all countries under an international capital could never
exist.
Great as was Jefferson, he regarded the achievement of Lewis and
Clarke as a feat and not an example. He looked upon the Rocky
Mountains as a natural separation of peoples ``bound by ties of blood
and mutual interest'' but otherwise unconnected. To pierce these mighty

mountains with tunnels, and whisper across them with the human voice,
were miracles unguessed. But Astor closed his eyes and saw
pack-trains, mules laden with skins, winding across these mountains,
and down to tide-water at Astoria. There his ships would be lying at the
docks, ready to sail for the Far East. James J. Hill was yet to come.
A company was formed, and two expeditions set out for the mouth of
the Columbia River, one by land and the other by sea.
The land expedition barely got through alive--it was a perilous
undertaking, with accidents by flood and field and in the imminent
deadly breech.
But the route by the water was feasible.
The town was founded and soon became a centre of commercial
activity. Had Astor been on the ground to take personal charge, a city
like Seattle would have bloomed and blossomed on the Pacific, fifty
years ago. But power at Astoria was subdivided among several little
men, who wore themselves out in a struggle for honors, and to see who
would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven. John Jacob Astor was too
far away to send a current of electricity through the vacuum of their
minds, light up the recesses with reason, and shock them into sanity.
Like those first settlers at Jamestown, the pioneers at Astoria saw only
failure ahead, and that which we fear, we bring to pass. To settle a
continent with men is almost as difficult as Nature's attempt to form a
soil on a rocky surface.
There came a grand grab at Astoria and it was each for himself and the
devil take the hindermost--it was a stampede.
System and order went by the board. The strongest stole the most, as
usual, but all got a little. And England's gain in citizens was our loss.
Astor lost a million dollars by the venture. He smiled calmly and said,
``The plan was right, but my men were weak, that is all. The gateway to
China will be from the northwest. My plans were correct. Time will
vindicate my reasoning.''

When the block on Broadway, bounded by Vesey and Barclay Streets,
was cleared of its plain two story houses, preparatory to building the
Astor House, wise men shook their heads and said, ``It's too far
uptown.''
But the free bus that met all boats solved the difficulty, and gave the
cue to hotel men all over the world. The hotel that runs full is a gold
mine. Hungry men feed, and the beautiful part about the hotel business
is that the customers are hungry the next day--also thirsty. Astor was
worth ten million, but he took a personal delight in sitting in the lobby
of the Astor House and watching the dollars roll into this palace that his
brain had planned. To have an idea--to watch it grow--to then work it
out, and see it made manifest in concrete substance, this was his joy.
The Astor House was a bigger hostelry in its day than the
Waldorf-Astoria is now.
Astor was tall, thin, and commanding in appearance. He had only one
hallucination, and that was that he spoke the English language. The
accent he possessed at thirty was with him in all its pristine effulgence
at eighty-five. ``Nopody vould know I vas a Cherman--aind't it?'' he
used to say. He spoke French, a dash of Spanish and could parley in
Choctaw, Ottawa, Mohawk and Huron. But they who speak several
languages must not be expected to speak any one language well.
Yet when John Jacob wrote it was English without a flaw. In all of his
dealings he was uniquely honorable and upright. He paid and he made
others pay. His word was his bond. He was not charitable in the sense
of indiscriminate giving. ``To give