Stockton's Struggle

Section 205 of the Merchant Marine Act of 1936 reads: . . . It shall be unlawful for any common carrier by water, either directly or indirectly, through the medium of an agreement, conference, association, understanding or otherwise, to prevent or attempt to prevent any other such carrier from serving any port designated for the accommodation of ocean-going vessels located on any improvement project authorized by the Congress or through it by any other agency of the Federal Government, lying within the continental limits of the United States, at the same rates which it charges at the nearest port already regularly served by it.

Two months ago, small, ambitious Stockton, Calif. (pop. 57,000) complained to the Maritime Commission that not only had 17 steamship lines in the Pacific Coast-European trade refused to provide service or quote rates from Stockton, but that three of these lines, which had previously served the port, had charged higher rates than those assessed at the "nearest port," San Francisco. By last week the complaints were public property and, with the carriers given until December 15 to reply to the charges against them, the U. S. at large was made aware of the epic 20-year struggle of Stockton, its alert citizens on one bootstrap and the Federal Government on the other, to raise itself from an inland city to a first-class Pacific port.

Long nicknamed "Sloughtown," Stockton began its history under Mexican rule as Tuleberg on flat, bulrush-covered land near the tidewater head of the San Joaquin River, 88 miles east of the Pacific Ocean. The next settlement, begun in 1847 with 20 people, was named for Commodore Robert Field Stockton, Mexican War hero. Within two years the 1849 gold rush was on, with Stockton as an outfitting centre. In 1850, two years after Mexico ceded California to the U. S., Stockton was a city. At the turn of the century its population was 17,000, before 1920 it had more than doubled to 40,000.

For 80 years small coastal ships drawing up to nine feet of water had picked their way up the river from the sea, had filled Stockton heads with dreams of an ocean harbor. Around their city stretched 27,000 square miles of the great California Central Valley between the Sierra Nevada and the Coast Ranges, a fertile area rich in rice, grain, cotton, lumber, alfalfa, fruit, truck vegetables. True it was that Stockton was 88 miles upstream from the Pacific but, argued its citizenry, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Richmond and Portland were all more than 100 miles from the sea. Why not get the Government to deepen and straighten the San Joaquin River. In 1917, a decade of talk culminated in favorable report from the Army District Engineer recommending a 24-ft. channel. But it took ten years before the bill authorizing Federal expenditure of $2,400,000 to help build a deep-sea waterway to Stockton was ready for Calvin Coolidge to sign. From Stockton itself and the State of California came another $3,500,000 and by 1930 dredging was under way.

During the second period of Stockton's struggle to the sea, another inland city, Houston, was also dredging itself an ocean port. Directing this development was a young Chicagoan, Benjamin Casey ("Benjy") Allin, who until the War's end was a captain of engineers. At Houston, Engineer Allin found 50 miles from the Gulf of Mexico a ghost port over whose wharves but a few hundred thousand tons of freight passed each year. After twelve years of Benjy Allin's management, Houston, with 16,000,000 tons of shipping in 1935, was fourth ocean port in the U. S. In 1931, at $1,000 a month, Stockton wooed Engineer Allin away from his astounding Texas creation to be port director of Stockton.

Well did Benjamin Allin know that it takes more than sound engineering, machinery and strong backs to build a port. The trick is to operate one. By 1933, Stockton, with saw-toothed docks and sidings, swift, economical loading machinery and smooth management, was ready for business. Behind was a rich agricultural hinterland, ahead was the whole world to ship to and buy things from. And most of it could be handled a dollar a ton cheaper than by using the next nearest port, established and powerful San Francisco. Though Stockton's tonnage increased each year they had scarcely passed the half million mark by 1935, and business was slow. Somewhat responsible were the railroads which by their delay in rate adjustment, encouraged the Central Valley's shippers to continue shipping produce destined for boats on down to San Francisco instead of to the nearer port of Stockton. But the big factor is that water-borne traffic follows a comparatively crude rate structure which does not discriminate in short distances. Cargoes move from Europe or the Atlantic Coast to ports on the Pacific Coast at the same rate for Los Angeles, San Francisco or Seattle. In 1933, however, Director Allin was instrumental in obtaining four amendments to the Intercoastal Shipping Act, which put Stockton on par with other Pacific ports in freight charges, brought most of the intercoastal lines into Stockton. But, in spite ' of last year's Merchant Marine Act, few 'ocean carriers docked there. This is the point of the complaint to be decided next month, which will make or break Stockton.

Behind it is the general question of decentralization of Pacific Coast shipping. Already other towns, heartened by Stockton's battle, are planning expensive ports of their own: Sacramento, San Jose, Redwood City, California, and The Dalles, Ore. On the side of older ports are most ship line owners because of established handling facilities of their own and maintenance of present schedules at existing ports. Potent argument of shipowners against recognition of Stockton is that with calls to make at perhaps dozens of inland ports, shipping rates must certainly rise beyond anything hitherto contemplated.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.