CHAPTER 25Deaths and Departure

The Albert Pullmans lived comfortably in their Ashland Avenue house, waited on by servants in a beautiful and spacious residence away from the troubles besetting the town of Pullman. Albert could obtain railroad passes to travel free of charge anywhere in the United States, frequently using Pullman cars to do so. Emily was an active member of Chicago society, prominent in charitable activities and in St. Paul's Universalist Church. For his part, Albert continued to ignore family letters and avoid family gatherings as much as he could. Emily, unlike George's wife Hattie, visited relatives whenever possible, including Albert's mother, with whom she had a good relationship.¹

Emily's health declined during the 1870s as a disfiguring cancer caused immense pain, making socializing unbearable and travel difficult. Her role complemented Albert's efforts to build networks, and she tried to maintain a full social calendar in support of her husband's career and their daughters’ aspirations. As early as 1875, however, it was clear she was very ill. She visited a series of physicians because of a problem with the skin around her nose and, though a diagnosis was slow in coming, she was told not to travel.² An outgoing individual with a strong sense of duty, Emily continued to open their home for dinners and dances regardless, but with increasing difficulty and decreasing frequency.³ She made the best of things by traveling if she could and meeting friends when she was able.

Ever the optimist, Emily maintained a positive attitude. Albert's mother lived with them sporadically and the two women shopped together and attended events at the Exposition Building.⁴ She journeyed west in 1875 to visit her brother-in-law Charley and his wife Nellie on their farm near Paola, Missouri, south of Kansas City. Accompanying her mother-in-law and sister-in-law Emma, Emily enjoyed “a nice comfortable ride” using railroad passes Albert provided.⁵ Emily remained a directress of the Orphan Asylum with her friend Sarah Marsh.⁶ Her social obligations dwindled, however, and it would not have helped that Albert remained almost perpetually on the road.

Emily's illness was not the only trouble on the Pullman horizon. An unexpected tragedy struck the family in 1879 when Albert's brother Frank died of pneumonia. Only thirty years old, Frank Pullman had helped with the early Pullman cars by serving as conductor and had lived with Albert and Emily in Chicago. He subsequently worked as a teller at the city's Third National Bank before moving to New York to follow a career as a lawyer, serving one term as an assistant district attorney. He was buried in Albion, New York, the first (and, it would transpire, the last) of the brothers to lie next to their father in the family plot.⁷ Later in the same year, brother Charley, the only Civil War veteran in the family, was charged with cashing forged checks, causing George to proffer advice and, as was his habit, provide a small subsidy.⁸ Two years later, Helen Stewart, Albert's granddaughter, died aged barely one year old during a family vacation at Thousand Islands, New York. After a memorial service on Cherry Island in New York, Albert and Graeme Stewart, husband of grieving mother Nellie, accompanied the tiny casket to Chicago for burial.⁹ Of no comfort whatsoever to the family was the fact that infant mortality rates in the United States were actually rising at the time, and young Helen sadly contributed to that trend.¹⁰

The sudden death of her granddaughter did not help Emily, whose condition worsened to such an extent that doctors began prescribing painful cures. Her last public appearance was a farewell reception in April 1882 for the Reverend Ryder, long-time minister at St. Paul's Universalist Church who was taking an extended sabbatical in Europe.¹¹ Following that came Alice's marriage to John Guy Owsley on May 17, 1882, wedding and reception both held at the Pullman home because of Emily's health.¹² Emily became a recluse who rarely ventured out except to travel to their summer home or to a physician. She received family and friends intermittently, but cut herself off from the world beyond Ashland Avenue and Cherry Island. For a while, the family even housed a doctor who treated her, but far from helping Emily his presence contributed to daughter Emma's marital difficulties.

In 1883, Emily began a series of draconian treatments, including burning the affected areas on her face.¹³ Though the initial prognosis was positive, within a year her brother-in-law William Fluhrer, a well-respected physician in New York City, wrote to his wife Emma that “I fear that Emily's nose will carry her off.”¹⁴ Emily continued to spend summers on Cherry Island, protected from the curious by travel in a private railcar and then by seclusion at their island cottage, “Ingleside.” Once settled, she tended to stay upstairs in her room, watching silently from behind the curtains and occasionally receiving visitors.¹⁵ Her attendance at social events in Chicago ended, her absence from the society weddings Albert continued to attend ignored by the press.¹⁶ She wrote upbeat letters to relatives and friends expressing her appreciation for everything that was being done to make her comfortable.¹⁷ With Albert's help, she consulted doctors in Chicago and Boston, but to no avail.¹⁸ The cancer progressively disfigured her face.

On the business side, Albert's rather wayward financial dealings temporarily calmed down. He kept a low profile after the insurance and banking debacles and the disappearance of his mysterious land company, apparently content to stay at his Pullman desk. But he did not remain quiet for long, and in 1882, he tried to use his contacts with journalists to boost the value of Pullman Company shares by forecasting higher profits. As a result, their price fluctuated, falling and then rising incrementally. Albert told reporters he “thinks the stock will go higher” and noted that the company would soon issue an additional $24 million in shares, of which $6 million would be owned by the company itself. He told reporters the funds would be used to remodel old cars and build new ones. Some of the additional revenue was reportedly to be used to refinance the town.¹⁹ Rumor mongering of this sort did his relationship with George no good, but it helped Albert when share prices increased and he could sell his own Pullman stock at a premium. In late 1883, Albert began selling his Pullman shares to finance new investments.

After reaching $129 in October 1883, the price of Pullman shares fell to $110 at the beginning of 1884.²⁰ Albert's sell off contributed to the drop. Newspaper reports blamed a sharp decrease in the price of Pullman's Palace Car Company (PPCC) shares on the cost of building and operating the town of Pullman and on Albert unloading his shares. As a result, one report claimed, “Mr. A. B. Pullman, a brother of the president, was recently practically deposed, and a young Scotchman put in his place.” The rumor that Albert had been relieved of his duties was premature, but the notion that the drop in value was “due to forced sales by his Brother, A. B. Pullman” further undermined Albert's relationship with George.²¹

Suddenly the target of speculative buyers and bear raiders, Pullman's status as “one of the safest and best [investments] in the market” seemed threatened.²² Observers blamed Albert and George, the latter for investing in failed railroads and the former because of an unexplained need for cash. Chicago financial circles fretted about the future of one of the city's best-known corporations, and George scooted off to New York to calm fears on Wall Street, leaving Albert to clean up the mess at home. The older brother told journalists, “So far as [I] knew there was not a word of truth” in rumors of Pullman peril.²³

In this case, the truth was in fact quite simple: George had exposed the company to high levels of risk as a silent partner in Henry Villard's Northern Pacific Railroad. Villard, a man of boundless optimism coupled with an unlimited capacity for self-deception, completed Jay Cooke's original Northern Pacific by borrowing in Europe. When the loans dried up, the company collapsed. George, who attended the lavish weeklong ceremonies celebrating completion of the line, came to close to bankruptcy. Albert had been conspicuous by his absence from the glittering celebrations despite the use of eight Pullman cars, a sign of worsening relations between the brothers.²⁴

When Villard's weak railroad fell victim to indebtedness and declared bankruptcy in 1883, it almost took Pullman with it. As the price of Pullman shares fell in January and February, George and his fellow directors purchased shares put up for sale to protect the value of their own investment in the company. To make matters worse, George was simultaneously embarking on an attempt to build a railroad parallel to William Vanderbilt's New York Central.²⁵ Working with Jay Gould and roping in Horace Porter, George had envisioned a West Shore Railroad running along the Hudson River across from Vanderbilt's line to Buffalo. The failed attempt to compete against Vanderbilt originated in George's anger at the New York Central's refusal to operate Pullman cars, the largest railroad to hold out. George's vanity project fell into bankruptcy, and the Pennsylvania Railroad began buying its bonds at reduced rates. The strains of expanding at a time of national contraction began to wear on George.²⁶

The unexpected death of youngest daughter Alice while giving birth to a son in December 1885 compounded the family's woes. Buried at Graceland Cemetery in Chicago, Allie, as she was known, was survived by her husband, Guy Owsley, and their two children, the new baby, named Albert Pullman Owsley, and two-year old Alice Evelyn Owsley. Guy remarried soon afterward and built a new family with his second wife, but Albert remained close to his namesake grandson.²⁷

As if the deaths of his granddaughter and daughter were not enough to deal with, relations between Albert and George continued to deteriorate. For a decade or more Albert had embarrassed George, who valued his public image as an honest business leader and the family's reputation for stability. The 1883 crash had exposed Albert and, with his portfolio falling in value, he needed cash to preserve his own position. This had been something of a perennial problem, leading him to renege on his contribution to the family cemetery plot in Albion.²⁸

Also contributing to the breakdown in relations between the brothers was Albert's disastrous foray into wheat futures on the Chicago exchange. The precise genesis of this misadventure will never be known, but it may have developed out of conversations he had with his son-in-law, Richard Rathborne, a Board of Trade grain merchant. It is equally possible that it may simply have been another scheme Albert cooked up with some friends. He and several other investors created a syndicate in an attempt to corner the wheat market, gambling on continued price increases as the summer progressed. The syndicate, the Northwestern, had formed around forecasts of a disastrous spring harvest, which would have led to higher prices. Albert told journalists his pool anticipated a rise from $107 to $125. At first, the venture appeared to hold out every chance of success, with Albert listed among “the winners on the recent decline” in the harvest.²⁹ Their combined investments reached $25,000 and the family, already fretting about Emily's health and still grieving for Allie, became worried about Albert's finances. Royal Henry penned a reassuring letter to their mother, telling her Albert would be fine, but this was a smoke screen, and their concerns were warranted.³⁰

The Northwestern syndicate failed because the original forecasts of a weak harvest proved wildly inaccurate. A large, better than expected wheat crop meant prices fell instead of rising. Albert and his syndicate lost their bet. Wheat plummeted from $107 to $83.30 by the middle of July 1886.³¹ To compound his losses, Albert was among the investors swindled by the brokerage firm of W. R. Harvey & Co., who used customers’ money to fund personal investments and pay gambling debts.³² In the long run, however, Albert escaped the trap by which speculators either constantly needed more money to make up their losses or remained in the market because of the thrill.³³ Bailed out once more by George, Albert allowed futures to be no more than a passing fancy, though if the idea did come from Rathborne, it may have hurt relations between Albert and daughter Emma's husband Richard Rathborne.

Albert's wheat speculation was the last straw for George. In contrast to reports of tension between the brothers over sales of Pullman shares and Albert's apparent demotion at work, the press did not cover his departure from the company. The whole episode was covered up to the extent that there is some uncertainty about when exactly it occurred. George's biographer dates the split to 1886, while Albert's obituaries put it in 1887.³⁴ The former is probably correct, but the point, regardless of the exact year, holds: Albert had finally lost George's faith and was now working exclusively outside the Pullman Company for the first time in almost thirty years.³⁵ Albert was on his own, the security blanket of a Pullman salary pulled out from underneath him.

Running parallel to Albert's wheat speculation and forced departure from PPCC was Emily's worsening health. He asked his brother-in-law, William Fluhrer, to see her when the Pullmans visited New York. Afterward, Albert decided to employ Chicago-based surgeon, Dr. Merrill Gaylord Pingree.³⁶ Born in Kentucky in 1848, Pingree graduated from the Philadelphia University of Medicine and Surgery at the age of twenty-one and set up shop in Rock Island, Illinois, and then in Mineral Point, Wisconsin. Mobility of this sort was not uncommon among medical practitioners, and Pingree moved to Chicago to attend the Bennett College of Eclectic Medicine and Surgery, where he earned a diploma in 1880.³⁷

Eclectic practitioners refused to be bound by a particular theory of medicine or set of drugs, customizing their treatments to the condition of the patient and altering their approaches as needs and emergencies dictated, though graduates of Bennett focused on homeopathy.³⁸ Employing Pingree was another example of Albert's networks in action: the first president of Bennett College was Albert's colleague in the Great Western Insurance Company (GWIC), Laban S. Major, and it was another member of Albert's business network, Frank Parmelee, who brought Pingree directly into Albert's orbit after the physician had attended members of Parmelee's family.³⁹

Pingree's pedigree as an eclectic physician with a reputation for being open-minded about homeopathy gave Albert hope that something could be done for Emily. Pingree began treating her in November 1885. To attack what he believed to be cancer, he used radical surgery, cutting out as much of the tissue as possible, a brutal treatment that scarred Emily's face. He also prescribed self-administered burning to stem the growth of the cancer cells, which seems to have succeeded only in causing immense pain and further disfigurement.⁴⁰

While Albert attended social functions with daughter Emma and son-in-law Richard Rathborne, Emily's condition appeared to be improving.⁴¹ But the respite was fleeting, and in July 1887, Albert called a halt to Pingree's work. A malignant tumor Pingree claimed to have removed returned soon after his treatments stopped.⁴² Smarting from the abrupt end to what he assumed would be an opportunity to demonstrate his expertise to the public by treating a famous patient, Pingree sent Albert a bill for $131. This reflected the physician's philosophy, which he summarized for the Chicago Medical and Surgical Society as, “The practice of medicine is not a sentiment but a business.”⁴³ Claiming the charge was exorbitant, Albert refused to pay, and Pingree sued. In January 1888, Albert countersued for $25,000 in damages, claiming “criminal malpractice” because the treatment “greatly disfigured her and endangered her life.”⁴⁴ The case against Pingree went nowhere and, if previous episodes are any guide, Albert ultimately paid a portion of Pingree's bill. The law suits revealed what one report characterized as Albert's “peculiar character,” a miserly streak caused by losing his position in the Pullman Company. The story claimed that a dentist who made a prosthetic nose for Emily on Pingree's recommendation lost money on the work because Albert “drove such a sharp bargain,” paying $50 for what had been a $100 job.⁴⁵

Following Pingree's dismissal Albert turned once again to his brother-in-law for help. Dr. Fluhrer had built a solid practice in New York City, where he was recognized as a skilled surgeon.⁴⁶ Diagnosing not cancer but lupus, an autoimmune disease, he operated on Emily at Mount Sinai Hospital in September 1888, removing scars and reconstructing her nose using skin grafts. Daughter Emma wrote that the family “had no end of confidence” in the outcome.⁴⁷ Once again the immediate prognosis was good, and Emily seemed to be improving, enjoying “an unbroken hour's sleep” for the first time in over a decade.⁴⁸ She unfortunately contracted tuberculosis, requiring a three-month hospital stay. Upon being discharged, she moved into a Manhattan hotel to continue her recovery.⁴⁹

Emily finally returned to Chicago in February 1889 and began receiving family members. Emma Pullman Fluhrer visited her sister-in-law and reported seeing no new symptoms and her face “is as well as when she left New York.” However, she told her husband to defer his bill for the procedures because Emily was “very despondent and is fast losing courage, but I think it is as much on account of Albert's peculiarities as anything.” Emma feared presenting him the bill might anger Albert, which would hurt Emily. By July, however, Fluhrer felt confident enough to send Albert an invoice for his services. Aware of Albert's unhappiness over Pingree's costs and hearing rumors that Albert had somehow made $40,000, Fluhrer told Emma, “I think I have been excessively modest with the bill.”⁵⁰ Alas for the family, the treatment proved futile. Emily suffered through another year of pain and solitude before dying at home in Chicago on March 17, 1890, aged sixty-two. She was buried at Graceland cemetery following a private service.⁵¹ The newspapers took no note of either her passing or her burial.

Albert's troubles did not end with Emily's death and his departure from the Pullman Company. He was a relic of a bygone era when managers and employees knew each other personally. Bureaucratic hierarchies replaced individual relationships, mass production and cost cutting threatened to stain the Pullman brand, and Albert became expendable.⁵² Political differences and financial embarrassments dissolved the safety net of his Pullman income, a consequence of what sister Emma called “Albert's peculiarities,” his attitude toward money.⁵³ To make matters worse, his oldest business networks were collapsing and his daughter Emma's marriage was in trouble.