Peter Leibert's Page

"The Colonel" 

George washington goethals

This item was extracted from the book "The Panama Canal:  Fifieth Anniversary.  I am including this article here because the families of the colonel's parents, and the families of my grandparents emigrated from the same regions of Belgium/Holland.  I had "heard" that he was a cousin of my mother, however I have not found the link, if any.  Peter Leibert

Extracted from "The Panama Canal:  Fiftieth Anniversary"

At the turn of the century, the United States was an awakening giant.  The whole Nation was imbued with the spirit of adventure that marked the conquest of the West. 

Victory in the Spanish-American War had increased the country’s stature.  The young Nation was geared for action, ready to accept the great challenge that had fired the imagination of mankind for centuries. 

The French failure had been a bitter disappointment to maritime nations around the world.  But it was a beginning.  Worldwide publicity had underscored the importance of joining the mighty oceans.  And it was now up to the United States to do it.  No other nation had the capabilities. 

The French had spent $260 million and lost an untold number of lives to disease before they conceded defeat.  But the sacrifice made by de Lesseps and his followers was not in vain, for their very mistakes served to point out the pitfalls to those who followed.  

It would take tremendous capital.  It would take a great labor force - perhaps the greatest ever assembled - and it would take all the engineering and administrative skill that could be mustered to accomplish what many said was an impossible task.   

The Problem

The work of building the Canal involved many problems.  Foremost among them was the neverending fight against deadly epidemics.  Cutting through the Continental Divide would require engineering techniques as yet untested.  Recruiting, transporting, housing, and feeding the vast work force needed for the task presented an unprecedented problem in logistics. 

All those problems had plagued the French.  They had good engineers and an adequate labor force.  Their financial difficulties were due to extravagance and could have been overcome.  But death and disease were their downfall, for they lacked the means to fight the most formidable enemy of them all - yellow fever. 

Here the United States had an advantage.  Research in Cuba during and after the Spanish-American War had established that the dread disease was transmitted by a certain species of mosquitoes.  And among the men who helped rid Havana of the fever was a U.S. Army doctor who was destined to play a key role in Panama. 

Colonel William C. Gorgas arrived on the Isthmus with his small staff in June 1904.  He set up headquarters at Ancon Hospital.  Through the spring of 1905, death from the fever mounted.  The force of non-immune American workers was increasing and the death rate soared.  At the same time, the means to deal with the plague had been hopelessly snarled.  Little was available in the way of medical supplies; orders sent to the States went unfilled. 

A combination of faulty organization, bureaucracy, ineptness, petty economy, executive incompetence, and a lack of long range policy threatened to plunge the U.S. Canal effort into failure. 

By spring 1905, more than 90 percent of the American force had fled the Isthmus.  The Isthmian Canal Commission fought Gorgas; some members told him his theory that the mosquito caused yellow fever was nonsense.  He received little cooperation.  Economy was the theme at this point; need was secondary. 

Despite these handicaps, Gorgas’ skill and determination was instrumental in reducing the dread disease.  From July through December of 1905, only 13 cases of yellow fever developed.  But later, the toll again began to mount. 

Gorgas had been promoted to colonel and Assistant Surgeon General by special act of Congress for his work in conquering yellow fever in Havana.  Yet top members of the Isthmian Canal Commission still would not believe that a mosquito caused the fever.  In April 1905, after reports revealed the bungling of the first Isthmian Commission, President Theodore Roosevelt appointed another commission.  This one took control just as Gorgas was gaining in his fight with the fever.  But neither the new chairman nor the new governor believed that Gorgas knew what he was doing. 

The battlelines formed and Gorgas now was at the most crucial point in his career.  The new chief engineer, John F. Stevens, supported Gorgas and said he would resign if Gorgas went.  But other commission members urged President Roosevelt to fire the doctor.  The President studied the formal recommendation, asking trusted advisors for guidance.  He concluded that Gorgas was right, gave him authority and ordered the commission to make peace with Gorgas. 

Gorgas had won. 

Now the largest part of the digging force was assigned to Gorgas for sanitation work.  Stevens threw his efforts behind the campaign and by September they had stemmed the panic and routed the dread yellowjack.  The battle was short, dramatic, and ended in complete victory. 

On a September afternoon in 1905, Dr. Gorgas entered a room at Ancon Hospital where surgeons were working on a cadaver.  “Take a good look at this man,” he told the doctors, “for that is the last case of yellow fever you will ever see.  There will never be any more death from this cause in Panama.” 

His prophecy stood.  For from that day, yellow fever became a tragic page in medical history.   

Now Malaria

Gorgas now aimed the full force of his army of workers at the conquest of malaria.  He had conquered this plague in Havana and he now made that his goal in Panama.  The record speaks for his success.  In 1906 there were 821 cases of malaria per 1,000 employees;  in 1913 it had dropped to 76 per 1,000. 

But the record did not reveal the hard work and careful planning Gorgas put into the sanitation department.  Nor did it reveal that his budget, insignificant when compared to the gigantic annual cost of digging the Canal, was often under attack and sometimes regarded as an almost frivolous expense. 

In 1908, a clash in administrative ideas hampered Gorgas.  He fought on with the drainage and jungle-taming work.  Great streams of insecticides were poured into holes, ponds, and swamps.  But he felt that the economy wave now forced upon him cost more in terms of sickness than it saved in money.  The rate of malaria dropped each year, but the decrease after 1908 was not as dramatic as between 1904 and 1908.  He had brought malaria to a point where it was a minimal threat to Canal construction.  But the anti-malaria campaign in Panama was not as successful as it had been in Havana where he had practically stamped it out. 

But malaria was declining, though not as rapidly as Gorgas wished.  He had transformed Panama into a sunlit land of health.  Now the Canal could be built. 

Geogas’ decisive victory over disease had helped to solve many related problems facing the builders of the Canal.  Workers who had fled the Isthmus began to return.  Recruiting was easier. 

But there were still many hurdles ahead.  Little work was done the first year, due mainly to organizational difficulties. 

The first Isthmian Canal Commission had visited the area in April 1904 to establish a government and inaugurate the work.  After 15 days on the Isthmus the commission returned to Washington, and appointed John F. Wallace, a Chicago engineer with much railroad experience, to the position of chief engineer.  Less than 8 months after the commission was formed it became apparent that a body composed of seven members was impractical.  Divided authority destroyed its effectiveness.  While the ability and the moral courage of individual members were never questioned, it was obvious that a single directing hand was needed. 

An executive committee was set up.  It was composed of the chairman, the chief engineer and the governor of the Canal Zone.  But soon after the new arrangement went into effect, Chief Engineer Wallace resigned. 

Wallace was replaced by John F. Stevens, a hard-driving man who had pushed construction of a railroad across nearly 200 miles of war-torn Apache territory in Arizona.  

Before taking the job, Stevens made it plain that he expected to be in complete charge of the project.  He said he could not promise to stay until the job was finished, but agreed to remain on the Isthmus until he had made certain of it success or was convinced that it was impossible to build a canal. 

Stevens had been warned by Roosevelt that “things are I a hell of a mess down there.”  And they were.  When the new chief engineer arrived in July 1905, work was virtually at a stand-still, bogged down in red tape.  Morale was at its lowest ebb. 

The Panama Railroad, an essential part of the operation, was badly disorganized.  Stevens immediately recognized the problems.  Construction of the Canal could not progress until supporting installations were built. 

He renovated the railroad, equipped construction camps, and built roads, water supply, and sewer systems; erected docks and storehouses; recruited skilled and unskilled labor, and arranged for an adequate food supply. 

The Canal project was subjected to harsh criticism, not only in the United States, but in Panama and Europe.  Editorials clamored for more action. 

Oblivious to all criticism, Stevens pursued his task with determination and vigor.  He knew the Canal could never be built without proper organization and that the installations he was now construction were vital. 

The critics were all but silenced in 1906, when President Theodore Roosevelt visited the Isthmus to assess Stevens’ progress.  He returned to the Untied and turned on the skeptics with vehemence.  “Where the slanderers are of foreign origin,” he said, “I have no concern with them.  Where they are Americans, I feel for them the heartiest contempt and indignation; because, in a spirit of wanton dishonesty and malice, they are trying to hamper the greatest work of its kind ever attempted, and are seeking to bring to naught the efforts of their countrymen to put to the credit of America one of the giant feats of the ages.” 

The biggest controversy in the early construction days was whether the Canal should be a sea-level waterway or a high level, lock-type Canal.  European consultants recommended a sea-level canal.  But Stevens and his team of engineers were convinced that a lock system was the answer.  It was a long, drawn out battle. 

Stevens went to Washington and defended his theory against strong opposition.  Finally, on June 21, 1906, the United States Senate approved the locked-type canal. 

Comparatively little excavation - only 2 million cubic yards - was done in the first 2 years of construction.  But after the final decision to construct a lock-type canal, activity was speeded.  During 1906, some 5 million cubic yards of earth and rock were removed. 

In 1907 the Canal received another serious set back which caused a new wave of criticism in the United States.  Both Stevens and T.P. Shonts, the commission chairman, resigned.  News of Stevens’ departure was a shock on the Isthmus.  He had become a hero to his men.  Ten thousand workers - Americans and foreigners - signed a petition asking him to reconsider.  His farewell party was the biggest tribute ever paid anyone on the Isthmus, including visiting chiefs of state. 

Resignation of these two officials dictated a complete reorganization and President Roosevelt acted promptly.  “We can’t build the Canal with a new chief engineer every year,” he said,  “Now I’m going to give it to the Army and to someone who can’t quit.   

The Era of The Colonel

After exacting a promise from Stevens that he would stay long enough for his successor to become familiar with the job, Roosevelt turned the project over to the Army Corps of Engineers.  He requested the Canal Commission to assign Colonel George Washington Goethals as chief engineer and commission chairman. 

Colonel Goethals never was seen wearing a uniform on the Isthmus.  But his military training was at once evident.  A disciplinarian of outstanding administrative ability, he demanded and got obedience from all his subordinates. 

During his first few weeks on the Isthmus, Goethals was regarded with apprehension.  He represented a new regime and the men were not ready to accept military discipline after the easy relationship they had enjoyed with Stevens. 

Goethals was not the sort of man to fraternize with his subordinates.  But he commanded respect.  His decisions were clear cut, his orders precise.  No detail of the construction or the general activities in the Canal Zone escaped his attention.  He was dominant, but understanding when the situation called for it.  He sometimes was ruthless, but always fair.  He never was too busy to listen to the complaint of an employee or arbitrate a dispute.  On Sunday mornings he held open court at the Tivoli Hotel and anyone who had a grievance or a problem would be heard. 

Goethals was deeply impressed with the organization Stevens had built up and the progress he had made, particularly on the railroad and other facilities.  Now the way was paved to concentrate on the Canal and the building of the locks, which was Goethals’ specialty. 

“The Colonel,” as he became known to everyone on the Isthmus, watched the progress of the work zealously.  He made daily inspection trips and paid surprise visits to offices and installations in the field.  His gasoline-powered railcar, variously called “The Brain Wagon” or “The Yellow Peril,” became a familiar sight. 

Under Goethals, construction moved at a rapid pace.  It reached the height of greatest activity in 1908, when excavation soared to 37 million cubic yards.  From then until 1912, when excavation work was greatly narrowed, the total amount of material removed was 165 million cubic yards. 

With excavation becoming a secondary part of the Canal project, work on Gatun Dam, the locks and relocation of the railroad forged ahead.

Changes in lock location, widening of the chambers from 100 to 110 feet and other changes in the original plan increased the estimated cost of the Canal by $36,500,000.  In February 1909, the commission submitted a total budget of $375,201,000.  Final expenditures came well within this figure and the Canal was opened nearly 5 months ahead of a target date of January 1, 1915. 

At the time, Gatun Dam was the largest earth dam ever constructed.  It was exceeded in size by the Fort Peck Dam, completed in 1940 and still the largest dam of this type in the world. 

At the peak of construction activity, a force of 2,000 men worked on Gatun Dam and approximately 100 trainloads of earth were dumped daily.  Four huge suction dredges were used to form the hydraulic core and the completed dam contained 23 million cubic yards of fill. 

Gatun Dam and its spillway are vital keys in the high-level lock Canal.  By this means, waters of the Chagres River and its tributaries are impounded and controlled in Gatun Lake, which at the time of its formation was the largest artificial body of water in the world.  With an area of 163.38 square miles, it has 1,100 miles of shoreline and more than 183 billion cubic feet of water. 

The Canal has six pairs of locks.  Three are at Gatun on the Atlantic side, one at Pedro Miguel and two at Miraflores, on the Pacific side.  All 12 have the same dimensions:  1,000 feet length and 110 feet width.  Some 4,500,000 cubic yards of concrete were used in their construction.  Quarries were established at Portobelo to furnish crushed rock for Gatun Locks, and on Ancon Hill - where Quarry Heights is now located - for the Pacific locks. 

No part of the Canal construction attracted more attention than the exacavation of Culebra Cut, where armies of workers and puffing steam shovels sliced their way through mountains.  It was the greatest spectacle of the age and thousands of visitors rode to the site on special excursion trains to see it. 

When the Panama Canal was opened, the total excavation of the channel exceeded 200 million cubic yards.  Almost half of this amount had been taken from Culebra Cut, later renamed Gaillard Cut as a posthumous honor to David D. Gaillard, the engineer in charge of this phase of the project.  Gaillard did not live to see the Canal open.  He died of a brain tumor on December 5, 1913. 

Less than 2 months earlier, on October 10, President Woodrow Wilson had pushed a button in Washington to blow up Gamboa dike and flood Culebra Cut.  The two oceans had been joined. 

Flooding of Culebra Cut was indeed a significant milestone.  Pent up waters of the Chagres rushed through the man-made ditch to form the first watery link between the Pacific and the Atlantic.  

The explosion marked the end of the steam shovel era.  Another 10 months of dredging and the Canal would be ready to serve world commerce.  It was in a way a thunderous salute to all the men who had suffered the incredible hardships and to the thousands who sacrificed their lives for the realization of a dream. 

Only a few names would go down in history.  But the courage of all who helped bridge the Isthmus would inspire men for many generations. 

Before de Lesseps, before Gorgas, and Goethals, there were other men who met the challenge of Panama’s jungles and disease.  Without a Gorgas to conquer disease, they hacked a path from Atlantic to Pacific and built the Panama Railroad. 

The first coast-to-coast railway was opened in 1855; it had been started in 1847 when a group of New York financiers led by William H. Aspinwall, John L. Stephens, and Henry Chauncey organized the Panama Railroad Company. 

Yellow fever, malaria, rain, mud, and swamps made the task nearly impossible.  But two factors kept the project going.  One was the leadership of engineers John C. Trautioire and Colonel George M. Totter.  The second was the 1849 California gold rush, for when the project was running out of capital the traffic created by the gold rush inspired confidence in the project and more stock could be sold.  

Thousands of miners headed for California crossed the Isthmus at $25 a head.  The railroad made a profit almost from the start.  By the time the last spike was driven, gross revenue on passengers and freight was $2 million.  In one year - 1858 - the line earned more than the total construction cost of $8 million.  The net profit that year was $6 million.  Supporting features necessary to run the railroad soon grew to be more valuable than the line itself.  

These were the commissaries and housing required for the workers.  Later, the company was obliged to provide harbor facilities for vessels calling at the two ports.  A shipping line was organized as an adjunct to the railroad and service was offered to New York and Liverpool on the Atlantic and to Central American countries on the Pacific side. 

Through 1869, when the first transcontinental railroad was completed in the United States, the company was very prosperous. 

Later the Pacific Steamship Co., which held a monopoly on all Pacific routes, rerouted its ships around South America to force a lowering of transportation rates across the Isthmus. 

During construction days it was a vital part of the operation.  It provided transportation for the armies of workers and the huge loads of building materials and supplies. 

For nearly 60 years the railroad had been the only route across the Isthmus.  When there was n Canal it carried passengers and ships’ cargoes from ocean to ocean, thus serving as a link between East and West sealanes. 

Just as it had replaced the old Las Cruces Trail - the overland route established by the Spanish Conquistadoes - the railroad was supplanted in 1914 by the Canal.  Today, after 109 years of continuous service, it still carries passengers and freight across the narrow strip of land, though its role as a bridge between the oceans came to an end with the opening of the waterway. 

The opening of the Panama Canal on August 15, 1914 was not marked by spectacular celebrations.  There was no splendorous procession of flag-bedecked craft or such an array of nobility as had attend the Suez inauguration in 1869. 

War had broken out in Europe only a few days earlier, on August 1.  The SS Ancon, ship that had seen duty as a cement carrier during the construction, pulled away from the docks at Cristobal and made an uneventful transit to the Pacific in 9 hours and 40 minutes. 

Aboard were some 200 guests.  They included President Belisario Porras of Panama, the U.S. Secretary of War, and members of the diplomatic corps.  The event was covered by the press, but the big headlines were being made in Europe. 

Goethals was up earlier than usual that morning.  He personally supervised every detail of the preparations, though he was virtually certain everything would run smoothly.  The Cristobal, a sister ship of the Ancon, had made a dry run several days earlier. 

As the Ancon made its way through the Canal, small group of spectators clustered along the route.  A larger crowd - about 2,000 people - gathered at Balboa to cheer as she approached the piers on the Pacific side. 

The Canal was open.