Another case of plans dashed: my family takes a vacation to
Hersheypark every summer, to ride roller coasters and engage in general
frivolity just before my sons go back to school. The last two years,
the window has gotten very small, since we go after Pennsylvania schools
are open but before Thing 1 (my older son) starts classes at our local
community college.
But there's a day or two in that
window at the beginning of the last week of August, and it's usually
still hot, so we can do all of the water-park stuff as well.
Usually.
This
year, I intended to read Michael D'Antonio's biography of the man who
made the town of Hershey and pretty much all of the things in it while in
that town, mostly sitting in the shade in that water park in between
cooling off myself. But, in the actual event, our day in Hershey saw
near-steady light rain and a high temperature that just grazed 70
Fahrenheit. So the water park section was thoroughly closed, and sitting
anywhere to read pleasantly was not in the cards.
I did get a bit of Hershey
read on the drive down and back -- my wife hates to have anyone else
drive her, and I much prefer to read than to stare at a road, so it's a
great pairing -- but I mostly read it the same way I read nearly
everything these days, on a train to and from Manhattan.
Milton
Snavely Hershey was born in 1857 in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, the son of
a dreamer father and a mother who was the hard-driving scion of a
locally prominent family. He went into candy-making as a young man, and,
after a couple of near-successes (meaning failures), finally hit it big
first with a caramel business and then bootstrapped that into the first
major milk-chocolate manufacturing operation in the Americas. As that
chocolate company became successful, he built up a whole series of
related businesses and operations around it to make a model town -- a
town named after him, with subsidized streetcars and cultural venues,
with a free park that eventually turned into a major tourist attraction,
and with a whole panoply of other businesses that ran at a bare profit
or a slight loss to making living in Hershey that much more pleasant and attractive.
And
he put the bulk of his ownership of all of that -- the massively
growing chocolate business, and all of the other activities to make
Hershey a model town -- into a trust, and handed over ownership of that
trust to a school for orphan boys that he set up. By the time he died in 1945, the school trust solidly owned both the hugely profitable candy business and the conglomerate of all of those other Hershey entities, and was on track to have the largest endowment of any private school in the US.
So
Hershey was possibly the most successful American Utopian that ever
existed: he had a vision for a working, successful community, and built
it. That town is still there, still thriving, over a hundred years
later. He's also the quintessential story of a Gilded Age entrepreneur
who gave away his wealth, even more than Carnegie. It's the kind of
story that could make even a died-in-wool socialist grudgingly say that some capitalists, maybe, aren't necessarily all bad.
D'Antonio
tells that story well, both the early years of struggle and the later
years of ever-increasing success. Unusually for a biography, the reader
will be more interested in Hershey's later years -- no one really cares
that much about Milton S. Hershey as a person, but we want to know how
he founded the town and park and factory, and how that all worked out in
the end.
If I could force the current wave of American
capitalists to read any one book, this would be it --
Hershey made mostly good choices, and always focused on the good of the
community rather than his own wants. We could use a lot more of that
these days. Admittedly, he was hugely paternalistic -- partially that
was because of the times, but there clearly also was an element of
wanting to control and (benevolently) guide his "children," both the
workers in his town and the actual orphans.
Still: a
major capitalist who gave up his entire fortune and business to build a
massive philanthropic vehicle for a very particular and personally
important purpose. I suspect Bill Gates knows this story, but not enough
others.
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