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Imagine it's a cool afternoon in November 1901. You're working on a farm in Oahu, a sun-baked plateau in central Oahu, northwest of Honolulu, Hawaii. Your foreman has asked you and three co-workers to clear a 10 acre parcel of wild grass and guava bushes in order to plow. You've been here a month, ever since losing your job at a sugar plantation on Maui.
Your new boss is a novice home stutter from Massachusetts. He's already tried to grow watermelons, grapes, cashews, and who knows what else, but none of those crops thrived. Now he has a new idea, pineapples. Once you plow these acres, you're supposed to plant 50,000 of them.
The boss's right-hand man, your foreman, hovers as you work. Well, how much longer before we can start planting? Well that red soil over there is pretty thick, chief. We'll probably have to till it twice to loosen it all up. Two, three days just to turn the soil, at least another week to plant. Well, do what you have to do. Just get those plants in the ground as fast as you can. Boss doesn't want them to dry out. They cost him a pretty penny, and he or he's buying even more.
You've met the boss a few times. He seems nice enough, though he may be in over his head, switching to yet another new crop, but it's not your place to challenge his decisions. As long as he keeps paying you a dollar a day. The foreman is about to leave, but then turns back.
Oh, and after you clear the field, make sure to line it good before you plant. You frown. You've worked pineapple fields back home in the Philippines, and you know they need soil that's acidic. Adding lime to the soil will do the opposite. Lime? You sure about that? You're going to have to plan a pineapple plant. Boss has orders. So no backtalk, just do it. You got a chief. Lime it is.
Say who's going to buy all this fruit anyway? Pineapples aren't easy to transport in my experience. Might turn into a rotting mass before you get them down to Honolulu. Well, that's known to your concern, either. Boss Man has a plant. He says he'll get the fruit peeled, sliced, and canned right here before it goes to Honolulu.
How's he going to do all that? Again, not your concern. Just get the plants in the ground, okay? You nod and turn back to the fields. Your boss is clearly determined, and if he manages to pull this off, there will be plenty of work around here. But even though you haven't been here long, it's clear that the sugarmen are the ones who really run these islands. Compared to all of Hawaii's sugar plantations, you don't see how your boss and his pineapple stand much of a chance.
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From Wonderree, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is American History Tellers. For History, Your Story. At the turn of the 20th century, a powerful group of businessmen and sugar barons deposed Hawaii's native monarchy in a bloodless coup, paving the way for America to annex the islands. Soon Hawaii was flooded with adventurers and entrepreneurs looking for opportunities.
One man with an ambitious and unlikely dream was James Dole, who set his sights on pine apples. Dole was warned that pineapples would never flourish. They were difficult to cultivate and easily perishable, but he saw the tropical fruits potential, and he was determined to create Hawaii's first large-scale pineapple operation, and to compete with the big five sugar producers. Within 20 years, thanks to Dole's innovations in savvy marketing, pineapples expanded from a novelty fruit to become Hawaii's second largest crop, one that employed thousands of immigrant workers and reshaped the island's agriculture and image.
James Drummond Dole landed in Honolulu in mid-November, 1899, a skinny 22-year-old with an agriculture degree from Harvard University, and dreams of becoming a farming entrepreneur.
Dole had been hearing about Hawaii his whole life. Earlier generations of the Dole family had come to the islands in the mid-1800s as Christian missionaries. His second cousin, Sanford Dole, was among the leaders of the group that deposed Hawaii's queen Liliokalani and took control of the islands in 1893.
After the monarchy was overthrown, Sanford Dole became Hawaii's first president, and later when Hawaii became a U.S. territory its first governor. Sanford Dole was backed by the island's powerful sugar industry, but he knew that in order to thrive, Hawaii needed to diversify its crops.
So he reached out to his second cousin, known as Jim, and encouraged him to come to Oahu and try growing something other than sugar. Jim Dole arrived in Hawaii with $1,500 in savings and head full of agricultural theory, but he had no practical farming experience other than having grown a few vegetables in his mother's garden.
But nonetheless, in July of 1900, Dole bought a 61-acre parcel in the hills of Oahu at an outpost called Wahewa. He soon discovered that the land was not ideal for many crops.
It sat on a dry, windswept plateau between two valleys, more than 800 feet above sea level. San was abundant, but water was limited, and irrigation would be a challenge. It was also an arduous five-hour trek to the port of Honolulu along a winding wagon road.
Initially, Dole had envisioned a coffee plantation, but when he moved to the property, he chose to instead experiment with other crops. He planted test patches of peas, potatoes, star fruit, grapes, watermelons, avocados, and bananas, and then he decided to try a crop that had vexed many others, pineapples.
Pines were not native to Hawaii, but had been growing wild on the islands for centuries, likely introduced by Spanish explorers. Attempts at cultivation began in the 1850s, but most pineapple farms were small and unprofitable. The plants were tricky to grow because they were susceptible to pests and required good drainage.
And the fruit was difficult to transport. Once established though, a pineapple plant could produce for 50 years. That longevity appealed to Jim Dole. He figured if he could get enough plants started, his farm would become a long-term moneymaker.
A few nearby farmers had successfully grown pineapples, which he felt was proof that the soil was suitable, but no one had tried to plant the crop on the scale he was planting.
附近有几个农民成功种植了菠萝,这让他觉得这片土地很适合栽种,但没有人像他这样大规模地种植这种作物。
Soon after Dole purchased his 61 acres, a childhood friend named Fred Tracy came to Hawaii to help. The two men started plowing fields, using second-hand equipment pulled by a horse named Withers with a cracked hoof.
Dole and Tracy lived together in a barn along with their horse while they built a small cabin to serve as more permanent lodgings. They pooled all their money to buy their first pineapple plants, then hired a few Japanese, Filipino, and Chinese field workers.
Their first crop of pineapple plants failed to bear any fruit, and eventually they figured out their mistake. Dole had treated the soil with lime to make it more alkaline, based on faulty advice from a Harvard professor, pineapples preferred acidic soil.
So the next crop bore a small yield of fruit, which Dole and Tracy paddled in markets in Halalulu, a day-long trip by horse and buggy from their farm. But they soon discovered that once ripe, pineapples bruised easily and spoiled quickly.
Still Dole was undeterred. He realized it would be too difficult to ship and sell fresh, whole pineapples on a large scale. So he decided to process and package his fruit, hoping to make it more transportable. He also said his sights on a bigger market, the American mainland.
In the 1890s, a few small pineapple growers had tried processing their pineapples into syrup or jelly, and packaging it in glass containers. But the jars themselves were prone to breakage, and a 35% tariff on processed foods imported into America cut into profits.
By the time Dole came along, most of these early growers had gone out of business. The Dole's timing was fortunate. The import tariff had expired in 1898 when the US annexed to Y, meaning Dole now had the advantage of lower tariffs on any fruit he exported.
He also decided to preserve his pineapples in sturdier tin cans instead of glass jars reducing his breakage costs. Still Dole knew almost nothing about canning fruit, and he had another problem. He was running out of money.
So in December of 1901, Dole incorporated the Hawaiian pineapple company to raise cash. He sold shares to investors, some of whom were the elite of a Wahoo, lawyers, politicians and sugar barons, including a few of the men who had deposed the queen. Dole hoped the influx of new capital would allow him to hire more laborers, buy more horses, grow more pineapple plants, and most importantly build his own cannery. Eventually, Dole was able to sell enough company stock to purchase another 50,000 pineapple plants, but it wasn't enough money to build a cannery.
So in early 1902, he traveled to the US, hoping to bring back enough cash and canning equipment to take his ambitious enterprise to the next level. But if he failed to secure this investment, he knew his dream could be doomed.
Imagine this December 1904. You're the manager of Hunt Brothers Fruit Packing Company of Northern California, but today you're a long way from home. You've come to Hawaii to visit the pineapple farm of James Dole, who ceded beside you as he steers a horse-drawn wagon slowly up into the hills above a Wahoo.
On your first trip here a year ago, you liked what you saw and decided to become Dole's sales agent and an early investor. Sales were slow at first, but now you're thinking of expanding your partnership and investing more money into Dole's scrappy company. Maybe a lot more.
You win since the wagon goes over another bump in the rutted dirt road. "Well, I see you haven't improved the road yet."
“你赢了,因为马车刚刚经过了凹凸不平的土路另一个凸起的地方。”“嗯,看来你还没有改善这条路。”
"Well, we've invested in other areas. You'll see we've grown quite a bit since you were here in 03."
嗯,我们在其他领域进行了投资。你会看到自从你在03年来这里以后,我们已经取得了很大的成长。
The wagon rounds a bend and you finally see the tidy rows of spiky pineapple plants up ahead. Field workers turn and watch you approach. Dole greets them with a friendly wave. "See this is all new. A couple of neighboring farms went out of business and we bought their land. And we leased another 300 acres over that hill, getting us close to 1,000 planted acres now."
"It's impressive you have come a long way and I feel we can't slow down, not for a minute. I've read about those new farms in Cuba and Puerto Rico. We need to stay competitive. But how's the canary running?"
"Well, that's what I've been wanting to discuss with you. Is there a problem? My firm invested a fair amount of money."
嗯,这就是我一直想要和你讨论的事情。有什么问题吗?我的公司投入了相当多的资金。
"No, I know. And now that our crops are coming in strong, the canning process here is just too slow. My workers can't keep up. And next year should be an even bigger yield, but I'm not sure we'll be able to get it all canned fast enough."
Dole stops the wagon outside a wood-framed building. Inside you see workers chopping and slicing pineapples by hand. The two of you climb down and dole hands the reins to one of his employees. "Well I think we need a new canary. And a big one. There's some land I've been looking at just west of downtown Honolulu. Could be perfect."
"And how would you get all that fruit to Honolulu? That wagon's not going to do the job."
你怎么把那么多水果送到檀香山?那辆马车可做不了这个任务。
"Oh, I've got a plan for that too. A friend of mine from college, he's running his father's railroad company. And I think I can convince him to add a narrow gauge railsper up here to Oahuila. Then we'd have direct rail access to Honolulu. We could process and can the fruit right near the pier and ship it to you. We could even start canning fruit for other plantations. Because I know they're desperate for better methods as well."
Don't lead you toward a mound of freshly picked pineapples. He picks one up and hands it to you, clearly proud. You like this young farmer. He's a bit naive, but he's ambitious. You've already been thinking about investing more. And in time maybe, you could even make a play to gain control of this little upstart company.
In late 1902, Dole established a key partnership with Joseph Hunt of Hunt Brothers, a Northern California fruit packer and wholesale grocery distributor. Later on, Hunt would become one of the world's largest producers of ketchup and canned tomatoes.
The two men met while Dole was traveling the U.S. to raise funds by cannery equipment. After meeting Dole, Hunt agreed to become sales agent and distributor for Dole's canned pineapples and invested $10,000 to help Dole build his first cannery.
And when Dole's first harvest came in in mid-1903, he packed 43,000 cans and shipped them to San Francisco. Hunt Brothers sold the canned fruit to stores up and down the west coast.
They found an eager buyer in Joseph Hunt, who by 1904 owned 40% of Dole's company. But the partnership was mutually beneficial. In 1905, with the help from Hunt's financing, Dole's production rose again to more than 600,000 cans. But keeping up with demand was still a challenge.
The canning process was slow and labor-intensive. Workers would cut the fruit into pieces, pack it into cans, then solder the lid shut. But if the soldering wasn't unjust right, the pressure of the fermenting pineapple would cause the cans to explode. Dole lost thousands of cans every year to spoilage and explosions.
Still despite the setbacks, business continued to boom. By 1905, Dole's original cannery couldn't keep up. To increase capacity, he convinced Hunt to help him build a modern new cannery near the Honolulu Pears. At the same time, Hunt persuaded the American canned company to build a new factory right next to Dole's cannery. Next in order to get his fresh fruit to the factory more quickly, Dole worked out to deal with former Harvard classmate Walter Dillingham, who ran the Oahu Railway and Land Company.
Dillingham agreed to build an 11-mile extension that connected Dole's plantation to the main rail line into Honolulu. What had been a five-hour trip over rough roads was now just 60 minutes by train. And then in 1907, Dole's new cannery and packing plant opened in Honolulu. He had also solved the problem of the exploding cans with new ceiling machines that crimped the lids on more tightly. That year, he processed 2.7 million cans of pineapple.
Dole's cannery employed 700 men and women who processed 8,000 cans a day during peak season. It quickly became the largest pineapple plant in the world. But then in October of 1907, a financial crisis spread across the United States, causing the stock market to plunge. Many consumers considered pineapple's a luxury item, and demand plummeted.
The so-called panic of 1907 didn't have an immediate effect, as most of Dole's crop from that year had already been canned and sold. But 1908 promised to bring a record crop of pineapples, Dole worried that he might not be able to sell his product to consumers tightening their belts. So even though he finally had his operation running at full speed, Dole needed to figure out a way to keep customers buying what he produced. Because if he failed, everything that he had built had all come crashing down.
In early 1908, Jim Dole confronted a stark dilemma. His pineapple business had grown rapidly, and he had engineered efficient new ways to produce and package his product. But he now faced the possibility of two few customers. When he had first started his business, the Naysaders had been quick to warn of his impending failure. The Honolulu advertiser called it a foolhardy venture which had been tried unsuccessfully before, arguing that pineapple export on any profitable scale was out of the question.
But Dole's early success seemed to prove the critics wrong. Still, six years later, the panic of 1907 suddenly threatened to ruin his company. Dole knew he needed to take bold action. So in early 1908, he joined forces with other pineapple growers who were also expecting a drop in sales. Dole met with these other farmers to develop plans to market pineapples more aggressively in the US and to educate buyers on how to eat them, cook with them, and even how to use them in cocktails.
So in May of 1908, they formalized their alliance, creating the Hawaiian Pineapple Growers Association with Dole named its first president. The group pooled funds to create a $50,000 national marketing and advertising campaign. Soon thereafter, in newspapers and women's magazines, their ad shared recipes and cooking tips, promoting Hawaiian grown pineapples as the best tasting in the world.
One ad in the ladies' home journal put it, Don't Ask for Pineapples Alone, Insist on Hawaiian Pineapple. Dole also offered a free recipe booklet to anyone who wrote to request one, featuring dishes like baked ham garnished with sliced pineapple. Dole and the Hawaiian Pineapple Growers Association had competition, though. Other parts of the world, such as Cuba and the islands of the West Indies, also exported pineapples to America.
But Dole's ad sought to link Hawaii and pineapples in consumers' minds, the way Cuba was linked with cigars. Newspaper ads and the packaging on the cans themselves promoted mythical versions of the islands, featuring hula girls and grass skirts beneath titles like Paradise Island. Dole wasn't just selling pineapples, he was selling Hawaii.
The campaign was a resounding success. Demand rebounded in late 1908 and pineapple sales reached a record high. Members of the new Growers Consortium exported nearly 10 million cans of sliced, crushed, cubed, and graded fruit that year. Just six years earlier, that number was only 75,000. And soon even Hawaii's tourism board realized that pineapples were an effective marketing tool and began using them in its promotional materials.
The success of Dole and the Growers Association drew more farmers into the pineapple business. Dole encouraged this since few of the Growers had their own canning operation, which meant they would need to pay him to process their fruit. So by 1909, Dole had doubled the size of his Honolulu cannery and processing plant. He employed hundreds of workers at the peak of each season, many of whom were recent arrivals to the islands.
Pineapple and immigrant itself to the islands was now mostly grown and processed by immigrant labor. But that was nothing new for the islands. For decades, Hawaii had been a magnet for immigrant agricultural workers from Japan, Portugal, and especially China. But when Hawaii became a US territory in 1900, it became subject to America's ban on Chinese immigration, enacted by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. So after 1900, Japanese laborers began to outnumber Chinese on Hawaii's sugar plantations. And when their sugar contracts expired after three to five years, many left to work on pineapple farms, where the work was less physically demanding.
By 1909, most of Dole's field and cannery workers were Japanese, plus some Portuguese and a growing number of Filipinos. Immigration from the Philippines had increased after the Philippine-American War when the group of Asian islands like Hawaii before it became a US territory. Workers of all nationalities lived in bunkhouses and shopped at the company store. During peak season, the days were long, 10 to 12 hours. The pay was measly, about a dollar a day, and sometimes less. And not all of these workers were equal.
On the plantations, a hierarchy evolved. White Americans or Europeans, the Howe-Lees owned the land and managed the crews. Portuguese field bosses, known as Ditch Lunas, often served as foreman overseeing the mostly Asian field workers. Native Hawaiians also worked in the industry, but immigrants comprised an ever larger portion of Hawaii's population.
On his plantation, Dole was known as a fair but driven boss, who tried to get to know his employees and paid above average wages. At the cannery, he provided showers and employed lounge and eventually free daycare. But he was motivated less by kindness than by good business sense. As long as his workers stayed happy with their modest wages and didn't strike, his company would prosper.
Dole also had an eye on profit and growth. In order to stay competitive, he needed to keep costs as low as possible. And that meant pushing his workers to produce at a faster rate. Pineapples had to be peeled, cored, and sliced largely by hand, a painstaking and sometimes dangerous process. Uncruid, hand-cranked machines had been introduced, one machine peeled the fruit, another corded, another sliced it. These helped increase processing rates to about 10 to 15 pineapples per minute. But for Dole, that still was not fast enough. To keep up with demand, his employees had to put in long shifts and work quickly, sometimes cutting themselves or even losing fingers in the machinery.
So if Dole wanted to keep expanding and maintain morale among his workers, he would have to innovate. Imagine its March 1912. You're standing on the factory floor at the sprawling Hawaiian Pineapple Company cannery in Honolulu about to unveil the latest version of your invention, a single machine that will automatically trim, peel, core, and slice pineapples. The company's president hires you a year ago to invent a machine that could both speed up the process and salvage the trimmings to make his newest product bottle pineapple juice.
He's notoriously impatient and meticulous. So as he hovers next to you by the machine, you fuel your heart race. All your prior attempts have been full of glitches, but now you think you've worked out the kinks, at least you sure hope so. So with his new prototype, one machine does it all. No more Lewis peeling machines or those dangerous slicing machines. It just needs three or four workers to operate.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I understand the concept. But let's see if it works." You load a few pineapples onto the machines conveyor belt and watch as they trundle inside. "So as you can see, the machine locks off the top and bottom, removes the core, cuts off the rind, and spits out a clean tube of pineapples there." Dol watches has a perfect cylinder of pineapple emerges from a chute. He bends down to pick it up, then specks it closely. He seems impressed.
Ah, so far so good. These look clean and the trimmings. Yes, those are collected in this bin and then sent to the juicing station over there. And all this excess pulp is collected as well. It's crushed for syrup. It's very little waste.
But just then your machine clogs and ceases. Dol looks furious.
但是就在那时,你的机器堵塞了并停了下来。多尔看起来非常生气。
No. Look, I can't use a machine that keeps breaking down. For what I pay you, I should be able to get something reliable.
不行,看啊,我不能使用一个总是出问题的机器。按照我付给你的钱,我该得到一个可靠的东西。
I'm sorry, sir. I'm not sure. It was working fine before.
对不起,先生。我不确定。以前它一直工作得很好。
It doesn't matter. All I know is the hand crank machines work day in and day out. They don't die on me. But I will tell you this. If more of my people get injured on those old machines, it'll be your fault.
Dol storms off, leaving you to wonder if this might be your last day on the job. Then again, you're sure that with just a few more adjustments and upgrades, you can get your machine up and running and reliable. If you're right, you could process 50 pineapples a minute, maybe more. You just hope your boss gives you one more chance to prove it.
Despite the setbacks, hiring inventor and engineer Henry Genaka would turn out to be one of Dol's smartest moves. Genaka had previously worked on sugar plantations and a small cannery in Wohiwa, where he learned about fruit packing. In 1911, he was working as an engineer at the Honolulu Ironworks. That's where Dol found him and learned him away, offering Genaka $300 a month to design a machine that would automate the labor-intensive process of preparing a pineapple for canning.
After a few frustrating failures, Genaka slowly improved his machines. By 1913, his automatic fruit core and cizer more than tripled Dol's production. Requiring fewer than five operators per machine, Dol's cannery began processing 35 pineapples a minute, then 50, and eventually 100. Just as Henry Ford was learning how to turn out more cores through the assembly line process, Dol and Genaka were pioneering the automation of agriculture. In 1915, Genaka's newest machine was awarded gold medal at the Panama Pacific Exposition in San Francisco. Genaka left Hawaii that year to join his brothers at a mining operation in California. He died just three years later at age 42 of influenza and pneumonia, leaving his invention to far outlive him. Genaka machines would continue to be used across the industry for decades to come.
By 1915, pineapples had become not just Hawaii's second largest crop, but its second largest industry in terms of revenue. But the powerful big five sugar companies still ruled Hawaii's commerce and politics. Over the years, these companies had strengthened their power base, expanding beyond sugarcane into shipping, newspapers, and hotels. Dol had no choice but to do business with them, leasing land from the big five and largely relying on their ships to deliver his product to America.
But consumer pineapple sales slowed during World War I, so Dol negotiated a deal to send canned pineapples to overseas allied troops. It was not just a contribution to the war effort, but also turned out to be a brilliant marketing campaign. Troops returned home after the war with a new taste for the island fruit, making it even more of a staple on American pantry shelves. So as the war came to an end, demand for pineapple rebounded. In 1918 alone, 25 million cans of Dol pineapples went to American homes and businesses. Improvements to the Genaka machines led to steady increases in production, and by the mid-1920s, Dol's Honolulu cannery was packing half a million cans a day.
Dol meanwhile had gotten married and started a family. He built a lavish plantation house for his wife, Bell, and their five children. He continued to buy more land, including former sugar cane fields. He created pineapple plantations on other Hawaii and islands, and nursed ever more ambitious plans to compete with big sugar and make pineapples the number one industry in Hawaii. Then in 1922, he decided to expand his empire even further by buying an entire island. Soon it would become the largest pineapple plantation on the planet.
But Jim Dol's triumph would not last long. Soon the American economy would take a devastating turn, and the pineapple king would suffer a precipitous fall from power.
By the 1920s, Jim Dol had purchased or leased every available piece of land he could find. His Hawaiian pineapple company held more than 12,000 acres on a Wahoo, Maui, and the big island of Hawaii. In need of even more farmland, Dol traveled the world searching for new fields.
But after touring Mexico, Fiji, the Philippines, Malaysia, and Australia, he decided he preferred to find a way to expand closer to home. So in 1922, he purchased the sparsely populated, cactus-covered island of Lanai for $1.1 million in cash.
Rather than borrow money for the purchase, Dol sold shares of his company to the Waiolua agricultural company, one of Hawaii's largest sugar firms. He had been leasing land from Waiolua for years, and now with their investment, they owned a third of Dol's company. Waiolua was in turn owned by Castle and Cook, one of the big five sugar corporations.
Some advisors warned Dol about letting big sugar take such a large stake in his company, but he believed the earnings from the new Lanai plantation would offset that risk.
At the time, roughly only 100 people lived on the 90,000 acre island, mostly native Hawaiian fishermen and farmers raising cattle and sheep. Dol hired some of those residents while others were displaced to make room for his pineapple fields.
And after acquiring the island, Dol spent the next few years turning Lanai into the largest pineapple plantation in the world. He spent more than $4 million constructing a harbor and roads, as well as a water system, a reservoir, and company housing to accommodate 1,000 workers. In time, the island would produce 75% of the world's pineapples.
Throughout the 1920s, Dol continued to create clever marketing campaigns to increase consumers appetite for his crop. He launched a recipe contest in 1925, whose winner, a woman from Norfolk, Virginia, was credited with creating the pineapple upside down kick. Dol printed the recipe in magazines and a pineapple cookbook. The cake was an instant hit and would become a classic.
The steady rise in profits through the 1920s allowed Dol to pay shareholders regular dividends and to continue making improvements for his workers. He created employee pension and stock plans and paid annual bonuses.
And in 1927, Dol launched another new marketing campaign. Until then, his company still called the Hawaiian pineapple company, had been selling its can fruit under various paradise-themed names like Waikiki, Paradise Islands, and Royal Palm. But now Dol and his executives decided that the name Dol was well known enough that he was time to begin embossing it on the top of every fruit can. Ads began to feature Dol's name and his backstory, with a tagline, You Can Thank Jim Dol for canned pineapples.
That same year, Dol was inspired by Charles Limberg's pioneering transatlantic flight and started thinking about delivering pineapples by air instead of sea. To test this idea, he came up with yet another marketing scheme. But this one would end in tragedy.
Imagine it's August 16, 1927, a foggy Tuesday morning in Oakland, California. You're the pilot of a Lockheed Vega Mono Plane, dubbed the Golden Eagle, owned by George Randall I, son of the newspaper magna. You're one of eight planes about to compete in the Dol Air Race, sponsored by the Dol Pineapple Company. The goal is to fly from Oakland to Honolulu. And if you can beat the other seven planes, you'll take home the $25,000 grand prize.
But unfortunately, the race seems jinxed. Already there have been multiple crashes and three deaths. So now as you and your navigator stand behind your plane, waiting for officials to clear the runway, the newspaper reporter approaches.
You boys see that latest crash? Some miracle no one was killed. How are all these wrecks making you feel about your chances? Sorry, pal, we're kinda busy here. Go talk to one of the other pilots.
I'd rather talk to the guy who's been bragging he has the fastest plane. That's true. Of course, it is. 200 horsepower and fastest Ebola. We got her up to 135 miles per hour just yesterday. I figure we'll make it to Hawaii in about 20 hours. In fact, I'll predict that we'll be having breakfast in Honolulu tomorrow morning. Take an egg and maybe a little pineapple.
You don't worry you'll end up flying into the cliffs like those boys last week. Or land in the bay. Or tear off your landing gear? No sir, I've been flying since the war. I've been a stunt pilot. Log more than 5,000 hours in the air. And I've seen my share of wrecked shore. But this flight is a straight shot over open water. Should be no problem.
So you're telling me you're not scared. Not one bit. Those other crashes were pilot error. Playing in simple.
所以你告诉我你不害怕。一点都不害怕。那些其他的坠机都是飞行员的错误。简单明了。
Well, I don't know. Seems to me like they ought to cancel the whole thing. I know they're calling it the greatest race in aviation history. But three men are dead.
You've had enough of this reporter's doom and gloom. And thankfully, you see race officials waving their arms out on the dirt runway. It's your signal to taxiing to place. Well, excuse me, sir. And please step back. We're being cleared for takeoff. So see you in Hawaii.
You and your navigator climb into the cockpit and you fire up the engine. The fog is cleared and you're airborne in no time. You're in the crowd of nearly 100,000 cheers, your smooth takeoff. And soon the golden gate bridge passes beneath you. You're on course and you have plenty of fuel along with two courts of coffee and a dozen sandwiches. A head lay 2400 miles of ocean and a life-changing amount of money.
Coming on the heels of Charles Lindbergh's Transatlantic flight, the dull air race of 1927 was supposed to be a thrilling competition that aligned the dull name and brand with progress and adventure. The race was initially conceived by Hawaii's governor and the publisher of the Honolulu Star Bulletin who thought it might be good publicity for Hawaii. They brought the idea to Dull who agreed to sponsor the race with a $25,000 grand prize and a $10,000 prize for second place.
August 16th, 1927, eight planes were scheduled to compete. Two of them crashed during takeoff. Two others managed to get airborne but soon turned back with mechanical problems. Of the four that remained, the pilot of the Woolerock reached Honolulu in 26 hours and took first prize. Another plane called the Aloha got lost and nearly ran out of fuel but landed two hours later. The two other planes never arrived. The Lockheed Vega Monoplan named the Golden Eagle with its crew of two was lost at sea. The Miss Doran, which carried a two-man crew and a 22-year-old Michigan schoolteacher named Mildred Doran, also vanished.
The public was horrified by the tragedies and even aviators who had supported the race now argued that it had been far too risky. Dull offered an additional $20,000 reward for the recovery of the missing crews whom rescuers hoped might be found alive in life rafts. But a plane that joined in the search, the Dallas spirit, also disappeared. One of the three missing planes was ever found. In total, the race claimed ten lives. Many in the press criticized Dull's race as wasteful and foolhardy. The Philadelphia inquirer called it an orgy of reckless sacrifice.
Dull felt personally guilty and wished he had pushed for stiffer safety requirements. He told the press that he deeply regretted the loss of life and that he was through with aviation. And yet the race had its desired effect. Now the world knew the name Dull and despite the tragedies, the press had been good for business. Some even praised the race as a bold advancement in long-distance flight.
But meanwhile, Dull's competitors were starting to catch up. Heading into the late 1920s, Dull's share of the pineapple market had declined to about a third. Large rivals had entered the business, including the California packing corporation which later became known as Del Monte. Still by 1930, Dull was manufacturing more than 100 million cans of pineapple a year. Pineapples were now firmly entrenched as Hawaii's second largest crop behind only sugar. And Dull stood alone as the world's largest pineapple producer.
But Jim Dull would not be around to see the company he founded reaches peak. As the Great Depression hit America, the man for canned pineapples plunged. In 1931, Dull packaged a record 120 million cans, but much of it went unsolved. After years of profits, Dull's company began losing money and he began borrowing to stay afloat. By late 1932, the company was on the verge of bankruptcy. Skittish shareholders decided it was time for a shake-up. Dull was ousted as general manager and given the mostly honorary title of Chairman of the board.
Big five sugar company, Castle and Cook, which still held a minority stake in Dull's Hawaiian pineapple company, took control and named a new president. Dull would stay with the company for another 16 years, but from the sidelines. Dull had beaten the odds to build a massive pineapple empire and helped to transform Hawaiian agriculture. More importantly, his savvy marketing campaigns had established Hawaii in the American imagination as an exotic island paradise. Other companies from hotels to passenger ships followed Dull's footsteps using that tropical lure to turn Hawaii into a booming tourism destination.
And as more tourists came to the islands through the 1920s, so did many thousands of American sailors and soldiers, and expanding US military presence would create tensions with local Hawaiians, leading to an explosive murder trial that made headlines around the world and threatened Hawaii's tourist friendly image. From undery, this is episode two of Hawaii's journey to statehood from American history tellers.
On the next episode, travelers flock to Hawaii on luxury steamships, lured by novelties like surfing, hula dances and flowery shirts. Tourism transforms the islands, but further marginalizes native Hawaiians, and the US military expands its presence with deadly results.
Hey prime members, you can listen to American history tellers add free on Amazon music, download the Amazon music app today, or you can listen ad-free with 1D plus and Apple podcasts. Before you go, tell us about yourself by completing a short survey at 1D.com/survey.
If you'd like to learn more about James Dull and the pineapple industry, we recommend the story of James Dull by Richard Dull and Elizabeth Dull Portius and a pineapple republic by David Oglesby and Joy Ogawa.
如果你想了解更多关于詹姆斯·道尔和菠萝产业的信息,我们建议阅读 Richard Dull 和 Elizabeth Dull Portius 的《詹姆斯·道尔的故事》以及 David Oglesby 和 Joy Ogawa 的《菠萝共和国》。
American history tellers is hosted, edited and produced by me Lindsey Graham for Airship, audio editing by Christian Paraga, Sound Design by Molly Bogg, Music by Lindsey Graham.
This episode is written by Neil Thompson, edited by Dorian Marina, produced by Alita Rizansky, our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock, managing producer is Matt Gantt, senior managing producer Tarnjith Thigpen, senior producer Andy Herman.