The Panama Canal — Reading Companion

Authority and Omission

The book's front matter lists five "Points of Authority," each tied to a specific person: Goethals corrected construction chapters, Hallen supplied photographs, the National Geographic Society provided a bird's-eye view, G. Thomas Ritchie prepared the index, and Howard E. Sherman revised proofs to government typographical style. This explicit scaffolding suggests Haskin sought credibility by associating his work with official or expert figures. More telling is the preface's revelation that Goethals requested the omission of a chapter about himself. Haskin writes that acceding "would be to fail to tell the whole story," yet he complied. The reader is left to wonder what that chapter might have contained—and how the book's narrative was shaped by this act of deference.

The Nicaraguan Counterfactual

Haskin devotes considerable space to the rival Nicaraguan canal route, which the United States nearly chose in 1902. He details surveys by Col. Orville Childs for President Fillmore in 1852, a French concession in 1858 that the U.S. blocked, and the 1876 commission's unanimous preference for Nicaragua. The Maritime Canal Company of 1889 built only three-quarters of a mile before failing, leaving "wrecked hopes" visible to visitors. Haskin's description of the 1899 Isthmian Canal Commission's work is precise: 20 working parties, 159 engineers, 455 laborers, and a proposed canal 184 miles long with 14 locks, costing $189 million. This thorough treatment of the also-ran route underscores the contingent nature of the Panama decision.

A Layman's Engineering Story

Haskin's preface explicitly targets the non-specialist, promising to avoid technical jargon while covering a "technical character" subject. The excerpts show he delivers on this by mixing narrative history with concrete details: the Vanderbilt Company's navigation rights on Lake Nicaragua, the 13-mile stagecoach stretch to San Juan del Sur, and the depth (35 feet) and width (150 feet) of the proposed Nicaraguan canal. He also notes the abandoned French Panama Canal Company's work, which "fell by the wayside" when the U.S. undertook its project. The book's structure—14 text sections, an extensive index by a Library of Congress staffer—reinforces its role as a reference for curious readers rather than engineers.

Haskin's book is best read as a contemporary document of how the canal's story was packaged for the American public at the moment of its completion. The careful attribution of authority, the suppressed chapter, and the lingering shadow of Nicaragua all reveal choices about what to emphasize and what to omit. Readers interested in the politics of knowledge—who gets to shape a monumental narrative—will find as much to examine in the front matter as in the engineering details.

I keep thinking about Haskin’s quiet awe at the canal’s scale, how a human plan could reshape the world’s map. It reminded me of another old favorite, The Modern Railroad — Reading Companion, which feels the same—just a steady, wondering voice watching steel and sweat turn distance into nearness. Both left me oddly gentle toward progress.