Great Wealth and Immense Poverty

“The one event that separates American history into two distinct eras is not the Civil War but the Industrial Revolution,” wrote biographer Maury Klein in his book The Life and Legend of Jay Gould. “The shock waves of change unleashed by industrialization affected every aspect of American life, leaving in their wake confusion and a sense that everything had been pulled to polar extremes. Progress spawned great wealth and immense poverty, success and scandal, materialism and misery. Growth seemed to pull society apart at the seams, embroiling it in ugly and often violent clashes. Prosperity brought with it problems on a scale never before imagined. Amid this upheaval the old verities no longer seemed sure guides to behavior, often they seemed irrelevant or inapplicable to the new realities.”

The more things change, eh?

The Daring Exploits of a Bland Man

Onlookers swarmed 5th Avenue when Gould died in 1892

“There was nothing heroic about Gould,” wrote biographer Maury Klein in his book about the 19^th century robber baron, The Life and Legend of Jay Gould.

 “His bland personality and inconspicuousness seemed wholly at odds with the brilliance and daring of his exploits. He was neither a sport nor a peacock, had no charisma and kept mostly to himself. He did not fit anybody’s notion of manhood, yet some mysterious power enabled him to outsmart and ruin men who physically could crush him underfoot. Those puzzled by these shattered stereotypes viewed him as something alien and despised him for it. His appearance and manner, his habits and tastes were effeminate, they sneered, his character timid if not cowardly. He was a dark, furtive creature operating in shadows, using methods filled with deceit and treachery to achieve unsavory objectives. What kind of specimen was Gould?”

Like Rex Stout’s fictional detective Nero Wolfe, Gould had a passion for orchids and grew them in his private greenhouse, the largest in America (380 feet long with 60-foot wings at either end). “What communication or consolation did these plants offer a man whose native language was silence?” Klein wondered.

Far from being a coward, Gould, like Wolfe, had a steady nerve and strategic genius. That agile mind served him well in a rate war between his Erie Railroad and Commodore Cornelius Vanderbilt’s New York Central.

“The eastbound livestock traffic soon emerged as the most conspicuous battleground,” Klein wrote. “The usual rate from Buffalo to New York was $125 a carload. When Vanderbilt knocked the Central’s rate down to $100, Gould put the Erie’s at $75. The Commodore went to $50, only to have Gould drop to $25. Vanderbilt then decided to ruin the Erie’s livestock traffic by setting his rate at the absurd figure of $1 per carload.  At the same time hogs and sheep were being carried for a penny apiece. Sure enough, the Central filled up with cattle while the Erie’s cars ran empty. Vanderbilt cackled with glee until he discovered the reason for his easy victory. Unbeknown to him, Gould and Fisk had bought every steer in Buffalo and shipped them into New York via the Central.”

Jason "Jay" Gould grew from poor to ruthlessly rich

The Virtue of Being Underestimated

Peter Falk as the canny Lt. Colombo

People generally want to be recognized for their talents, and therefore often don’t consider the advantages of having at least some of those talents go unrecognized.

The railroad robber baron Jay Gould discovered that early on. “It was as easy to like Jay as it was to underestimate him,” wrote biographer Maury Klein in his book The Life and Legend of Jay Gould. “The undersized body with its small hands and feet that moved with feline grace; the boyish looks with their eager, earnest expression; the shy, friendly smile; the huge, dark liquid eyes, piercing in their intensity, ceaselessly probing without revealing; the soft, musical voice that seldom rose above piano; the reserved, diffident manner, ever respectful, unfailingly courteous, never shouting for attention or challenging others for the spotlight. All these qualities impressed people who met Jay. Those who came to know him soon learned to appreciate the less obvious elements of his character: his demonic energy, fierce determination and intense concentration. There was in him a tensile strength, a resiliency that seemed incongruous in so frail a vessel. Until they knew better, men tended to dismiss Jay as a boy attempting a man’s work. Jay understood the attitude and turned it to his own advantage. He grasped early the value of possessing a reservoir of capabilities known only to himself.”

Call it the Colombo Effect, a reference the 1970s TV detective character played by Peter Falk.

This LA homicide lieutenant, with his old raincoat and old car, appeared rumpled, diffident and distracted, certainly no threat to the high-powered, high-income, highly intelligent egotists who thought they’d committed the perfect crime. They began by condescending to the poor sap. But they became irritated as they started to feel the pressure when Colombo needled them about his suspicions. It was only when they felt his trap snapping shut on them that Colombo’s camouflage dropped and the murderers realized that Colombo had been the smarter man all along — just smart enough not to let his adversaries know how smart he was.