The transplanted Californian longed for the lushness of Palo Alto, reproaching Australia as the most melancholy place he had ever visited.9 Hoover found the outback utterly isolated from civilization. He was well paid, but the money was hard earned. “Anybody who envies me my salary can just take my next trip with me,” he wrote home, “and he will then be contented to be a bank clerk at $3 a week the rest of his life in the United States.”10
The elements were not the young engineer’s only tribulation. Back at Stanford, he was caught in a love triangle. Bert had asked Lou Henry to marry him upon graduation in 1895, but she had rejected the offer, and he suspected she might be laying other plans. Meanwhile, another woman who might shelter marital aspirations toward him, Harriette Miles, enrolled at Stanford. It is possible Lou knew about Harriette, and Bert’s sister, May, was trying to play matchmaker between her brother and Harriette. May’s intercession angered Bert, who wrote her curtly from Australia to stay out of his business. He patiently explained in a letter to Tad and to Harriette herself that he felt great affection for her, but that it was not of a romantic nature. During his Stanford years, he had become overwhelmed at one point and considered dropping out, but Harriette stiffened his backbone and kept him in school, for which he was forever grateful. However, his heart remained with Lou, and if she would not marry him, he would not marry at all. Eventually, May, Tad’s fiancée, Mildred Brooke, and Bert himself, via several letters, persuaded Harriette that Bert’s intentions were not amorous. She then transferred to a university in Kansas, ending an uncomfortable stalemate at Stanford. In retrospect, it appears there was never any serious estrangement between Bert and Lou and that she never actually considered marrying another man. Hoover had jumped the gun by proposing in 1895, which violated the couple’s agreement that before their marriage she must graduate and he must have a job at a sufficient salary and in a hospitable environment to make marriage practical. Bert was lonely and isolated in Australia, and he betrayed his anxiety as he poured out his heart to Tad. It is quite possible that the threat to his relationship with Lou existed more in his mind than in her heart.11
After the initial family intercession, Bert instructed May to bow out because the matter was settled. The young engineer confided to Tad that Harriette had been the kind of sister he had always wanted and that May was incapable of being. Hoover ended his letter by thanking Tad for helping to untangle his love life and by promising to hire him as an engineer upon graduation. He also wrote that he was saving money to upgrade Tad’s higher education. “By next year I hope to place you in a better place than Stanford,” Bert wrote, mentioning Columbia as one possibility. Later, Hoover reflected that he might have injured Harriette’s feelings and feared he had been too blunt. The episode showed the rocky relationship he had with his younger sister, whom he believed consistently demonstrated bad judgment and had been too emotionally dependent on her elderly grandmother Minthorn.12
Isolation and loneliness occasionally flashed into passages of both anger and wit in Hoover’s correspondence with his older brother, the keeper of his secrets. Tad was Hoover’s umbilical cord to America, to family and friends. He mailed his younger brother American magazines and purchased and sent clothes to Hoover’s specifications. Yet those who consider Hoover an emotionless robot should read the sarcasm and mildly abusive language he employed when he felt a letter from Tad was overdue. After all, Tad had more spare time than Bert, who wore himself out on the job, then, after midnight, penned long epistles to his brother, who was singularly empathetic, but simply lacked Hoover’s ferocious energy. The temporary rage was born of frustration. “You seem to have taken a streak of uncommon communicativeness of late,” Bert wrote, “having written 63 words in 93 days or 63/93 of a word per diem which I judge must have required plenty damn hard work, I suggest you take a vacation now and recoup for ten days or so.” Piling it on, he wrote, “I fear you will damage your thorax by undue exercise,” adding, “Of course, I appreciate the saving of ink and paper that you so carefully indulge.” He even suggested that Tad dictate to stenographers if he found it excruciatingly bothersome to send news of home to a man whose only companions were kangaroos.13
Most of Hoover’s work in Australia was done in the field. He traveled thousands of miles by horse or camel, inspecting the company’s properties and seeking lucrative investments. Initially, his headquarters was at Coolgardie. When the railroad reached farther inland he moved to the larger town of Kalgoorlie. The great rush was ebbing. The surface veins at Coolgardie had already been practically exhausted. Bert shut down mines that were not cost-efficient and installed superior technology to reach deeper veins at other mines, importing American machines and men, including Stanford engineers. His philosophy was not to mine the surface and move on, but to install sophisticated equipment that could wring profits from low-grade ore over a long period. Kalgoorlie was more promising, with larger deposits at deeper levels, sometimes mixed with base metals, and extracting the ore posed substantial obstacles, including a lack of water for use in the mining process. Bert designed a filtration system to recycle water that was ultimately employed in most Australian mines. He practiced economies of scale, weeded out incompetent workers and slackers, yet maintained high morale by paying higher wages than most competing mines. He won the respect of the miners, who called him “Chief,” although he was younger than most of them. The appellation stuck. For the remainder of his life his close friends and colleagues called him “Chief,” not “Mr. Hoover,” or even “Mr. President.” Hoover proved a decisive and adept organizer and an imaginative manager, and he showed common sense in his judgment of the relative value of mines. In all of Western Australia, there was not an engineer of comparable skills. His firm’s stock rose on the London exchange, exactly the results his superiors desired. They approved greater responsibility and an increase in salary.14
On one of his inspection assignments about 150 miles inland, some four or five days of hard riding beyond Kalgoorlie, Hoover encountered a small, underworked mine operated by Welshmen who called their mine the Sons of Gwalia. The Welshmen, who lacked the capital and resources to develop the mine expertly, asked him to visit their property. Hoover, impressed by the richness and depth of the veins of gold, found a miracle where one might expect a mirage. After evaluating the shaft’s potential, he wired his London headquarters and recommended they purchase a two-thirds interest for $250,000 and the promise of an additional $250,000 of working capital. A half-million-dollar investment purchased solely on the basis of an untested mine and a novice engineer was a substantial risk. A mistake of this magnitude at this precocious stage of Hoover’s career could have cost him his job and irreparably tarnished his reputation. Moreing was willing to take a calculated risk because he trusted Hoover’s judgment, though it was based on a hunch. It was a hunch that paid off. Although Bert remained in charge of all Moreing properties in Western Australia, the senior partner hired him to manage the Sons of Gwalia mine personally and raised his salary to $10,000 annually, plus expenses and a small percentage of the gold it yielded. Bert struck a mother lode. Not only were the veins rich; they were extremely deep. Ultimately the excavation produced some $55 million in gold and continued operations until 1963. The strike, and the way it had happened, almost casually, became a legend and spread Hoover’s reputation throughout the mining world.15
By April 1898, after less than two years in Australia, Hoover was earning a composite income of about $15,000 annually, counting salary and consulting fees, making him one of the top field engineers in the entire world. He was manager of two mines, the exponentially rich Sons of Gwalia and another gold mine nearby, and served as a consulting engineer to eight mining companies and one financial company. In the hierarchy of British mining, the consulting engineer ranked above the mine manager. At the Sons of Gwalia, Hoover served as his own consulting engineer. He earned every cent. Although he drove his men hard, he drove himself harder. The indefatigable engineer put in wor
kdays beginning at six a.m. and ending at two a.m., working to exhaustion and barely sleeping. He thrived on hard work, and he shared his plentitude, surreptitiously putting six relatives and friends through Stanford and paying monthly stipends to Tad and May.16
Bert’s meteoric rise, ambition, aggressiveness, and energy seemed a threat to his immediate boss in Australia, who realized the Stanford grad had outperformed him and jeopardized his own job security. Knowing the young American was being groomed as his superior, he tried to sabotage him, and they feuded. Hoover suppressed most of his resentment yet confided to Tad that he was on the brink of boiling over at times. Whether by native ability or simply by dint of struggle and stamina, he was making himself indispensable to Bewick, Moreing. Even in the home offices of the parent company, some feared him, though that fear translated into respect. Hoover was lonely, with no social outlets but work, and he confessed his angst to Tad. Of his boss, he wrote, “I know the die has been cast a long time that I should eventually succeed him. He has accidentally learned this and has plotted continuously and deliberately for many months to throw me down as a safeguard to himself.” Bert was resilient and reasonably confident that he would prevail, yet he did not take his job or imminent success for granted. Philosophically, he thought big, yet was too realistic to boast or exaggerate. “I hold a good hand,” he wrote Tad. “I have the confidence of my superiors. If I lose it is your future that troubles me.”17
In a subsequent letter, Hoover was incensed over developments and less secure about his future. “Before you receive this I shall have resigned from Bewick, Moreing,” he wrote his elder sibling. He was fuming with disgust that went beyond his superiors in Australia to the partners in London, whom he believed had snubbed him. He complained, “I engineered the whole Sons of Gwalia deal out of which Moreing made $2,000,000 and he never gave me a bean nor a share, damn him.”18 Meanwhile, the versatile engineer was exploring other prospects. “I have the joy of writing you of an advancement which I sometime since anticipated to you and which has now been formally made,” he wrote his elder sibling. “I had some offers from another company.” In order to retain Hoover, Bewick, Moreing promptly promoted him and offered him 10 percent of all profits from their Western Australian mines. He would be totally in charge of the mines in Western Australia, and his only immediate superior would be the New Zealand and Australian general director. His income would be increased by at least $4,000 annually, making him one of the highest-salaried employees in the world, beyond even his own field of mining. Precisely when a door seemed to be slamming shut, with some luck, and a great deal of effort and planning, Hoover had helped to pry open another door to wide vistas and incalculable, unanticipated adventures, and a yet closer call. Hoover had both helped and allowed events to gravitate to him. In life, in business, in love, in hitting a homer or striking out, timing means everything.19
Shortly thereafter, a more staggering development occurred. In early November of 1898, Hoover announced to his brother his appointment as managing director of all mines under the control of the Chinese government. He would receive a salary increase plus one-fifth of all profits from development of Chinese mines, with a stipend that included food, luxurious lodging, transportation, and a horde of Chinese servants. He would outrank everyone except the Chinese minister of mines, Chang Yen Mao, an imperial official.
Hoover was anxious to leave Australia and abandon his acrimonious relationships with administrators there. Further, the Australian climate had taken a toll. He had developed a bladder infection due to the filth and heat, and he would have been compelled to leave within six months because of health problems. “I am damned glad to get out of here,” he informed Tad. “You would have to know the country to appreciate it. Nothing could be worse; my whole stay here has been a nightmare in a dozen regards.” Australia had rocketed him upward in his career, yet he had endured the experience solely for professional advancement. His experience had confirmed his gifts as an engineer, yet it had tested his mettle, weakened his health, and tried his patience.20
It is clear in light of Hoover’s experience in Australia and later, his aggressive drive, tenacity, and willingness to embrace difficult tasks, and his refusal to shrink from hard decisions and risky, direct, decisive actions, that he did, at least at the outset of his career, care a great deal about making money in a hurry, as any orphan who had always barely scraped by might have. He tried to help friends but did not pawn off freeloaders for hire by his company. He worked his men hard, himself harder, and he got results. Although he supported family and friends, he lived frugally and invested some of his money in stock. These were primarily sound investments in which he never lost substantially, but he was not averse to taking modest risks. Hoover understood that mining was an inherently risky occupation in which the odds of failure were high but the rewards of success were occasionally astronomical. He accepted disagreeable tasks and unpleasant people as part of his job. He had no illusions that Australia and China were Eden before the Fall. He wanted credit for professional advancement and was proud of his accomplishments, but he did not wallow in glory or rest on his laurels. Bright, innovative, driven, he was tough and virtually fearless, with a warm heart, a generous soul, and common sense, and he was a solid judge of people as well. As a miner and a young orphan, he learned resilience, failing occasionally and starting over without shirking fault or letting obstacles daunt him. Hoover had earned respect from his superiors and from his peers, though sometimes it was grudging respect. Bewick, Moreing considered him a jewel in the rough when they dispatched him to Australia. When he departed, he was simply a jewel.
Fortuitously, the China job, offering a more comfortable environment for a woman, would enable him to marry Lou Henry. The deal was almost closed, yet he had to consummate the details and the timing would be crucial; he would not have much time in America before departing for China. Hoover’s life was moving at warp speed. The young engineer promptly cabled acceptance of his promotion to his employer, then dispatched a telegram to his informal fiancée, who had already become Stanford’s first female geology graduate—with honors—earning higher grades than her betrothed. His cable was brief and enigmatic; it was not an outright matrimonial offer. Rather, he wrote, “Going to China via San Francisco. Will you go with me?” Lou interpreted this as the awaited proposal and quickly accepted. After briefings in London on his new responsibilities, Hoover steamed across the Atlantic and then crossed North America by rail. Bert went directly to Monterey and spent thirteen days becoming acquainted with the Henry family. Initially suspicious of the man who was to snatch their daughter to a land where, according to rumor, the natives might eat her, the Henrys were soon charmed by the young man with big visions. Hoover liked the entire family. Before leaving he asked Lou’s father, Charles Henry, to help handle some banking affairs. The wedding was a simple ceremony, performed by a Catholic priest with special dispensation from his bishop, because there was no Protestant minister of any denomination in the predominantly Hispanic community. The Henrys had Quaker lineage but had become practicing Presbyterians since departing Iowa. During her marriage, Lou consistently worshipped as a Quaker, without formally converting, though the couple’s attendance at services was sporadic. The bride and groom dressed in matching brown suits with only family present, held the ceremony in the Henry home, and then caught a train to San Francisco, where they embarked upon a voyage of discovery of each other and the world.21
The Hoovers sailed for China on February 11, 1899, their suitcases bulging with books about the Celestial Empire, which they hungrily devoured on the three-and-a-half-week passage, which served as their honeymoon. The young couple stopped at Yokohama, Japan, for brief sightseeing, and also inspected the shrines at Kyoto. In March, their ship docked at the mouth of the Pei-ho River near the outskirts of Tianjin (then Tientsin), a city of five hundred thousand and the most important commercial center in North China. They rented a commodious house in the foreign settlement, an
enclave eight to ten blocks long on three parallel streets. The Hoovers enjoyed touring ancient Chinese sites and again they dipped into reading about China’s history, culture, and philosophy. Lou began taking daily lessons in Chinese and found she had a gift for the difficult tongue, which relied on intonation to clarify meaning and included a multitude of characters. Within a year, she became fluent and could recognize more characters than her teacher, who said in 1929 that she was the best student he had ever taught. Lou became her husband’s chief translator of Chinese mining books, although he had other help as well.22
Shortly after their arrival in Tianjin, Lou began several projects that fused her love of writing with a passion stimulated by the exotic environment. In 1900, she began writing a book-length interpretation of the social characteristics of the Chinese people, then became diverted to a history of the Boxer Rebellion, which would occur later that year. In 1901–3, she discontinued the study and resumed an earlier short biographical profile of the empress dowager. She continued to dabble in Chinese history and literature and left many projects partially complete. While in China, she contacted a New York literary agent, who accepted her as a client to write two books describing Chinese culture. She researched and wrote the studies sporadically for the next forty-three years without submitting them for publication. Still, Lou published articles, including some finely crafted biographical profiles. It is quite possible that of all modern First Ladies she possessed the most natural ability as both a writer and a public speaker. (Like her husband, she wrote all her own speeches.) Clearly, she had the creativity, sensitivity, humor, irony, and gift for graceful descriptive prose to publish professionally to entertain and inform, an unusual repertoire of talents. Yet her life was so packed with other activities, and her ideas were so numerous, that she was unable to focus on a lengthy project single-mindedly over time to complete it. This was a major disappointment, but one she accepted. Her passion for people and for life outstripped her passion to become a professional writer, and she had little ambition for fame.23
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