CHAPTER 7

One night, after another banquet in honor of the guests, and when the date of their departure was approaching, Philippe sat beside de Lesseps who was enjoying a glass of wine while watching the people dance.

“Mr. de Lesseps, I’d like to ask your opinion on what you’ve seen here in Panama. I know that some members of the committee are worried because of my age, but I believe that the results of my actions speak for themselves. For the first time we have managed to exceed the monthly excavation goals, we have imposed more order in the operations, and we have improved relations with the Americans. I…”

Shushing him with a raised hand, and without looking at him, de Lesseps said, “Yes, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, you really have managed to do an excellent job for the past few months. But now it’s best that you leave this in more… experienced hands. Furthermore, your two-year contract has ended and you deserve a vacation. I have appointed León Boyer to take over your position as general director in Panama as of this week. We thank you for all your hard work and please assist Boyer in the transition process. As for now, enjoy the party.”

Without giving Philippe a chance to finish what he had intended to say, the old man got up and with his glass of wine in hand, went to dance. Philippe couldn’t breathe; he was shocked and ashamed as his eyes dampened with anger and frustration. He got up and went outside to get some air.

As he watched the people celebrating in the plaza, he was trying to control himself when someone tapped him on the shoulder, “Romeo y Julieta, Mr. Bunau-Varilla?”

Turning to look up, he recognized John Bigelow, American diplomat and businessman who had come as a representative of the New York Chamber of Commerce. Tall and thin, he wore his sideburns exceptionally long while his beard and mustache were cleanly shaven. His disheveled hair framed a face that could effortlessly pass from grave to cordial. In his large hand, he held out a Cuban cigar, “Would you like a Romeo y Julieta, Mr. Bunau-Varilla?”

“Good evening, Mr. Bigelow. Yes, thank you very much,” Philippe answered, still in a daze as he lit the cigar. On various occasions he had spoken with the refined gentlemen who always had several questions during his visits to the site.

“It’s a peculiar situation, isn’t it, Mr. Bunau-Varilla?” Bigelow asked.

“Excuse me, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Blowing a puff of smoke, the vibrant seventy-something looked toward the plaza before he continued, “Everyone knows that the Canal Company is on the verge of bankruptcy. Soon the money will be gone and they will have to suspend the excavation. They still don’t know what to do about the Chagres River, the excavation of the Culebra Cut has been sluggish, they haven’t been able to contract enough laborers, and diseases are killing the few workers they do have.

Bigelow paused for a moment to watch the reaction of the young French engineer, who was looking back defiantly, all the while knowing that the American was telling the truth. “Still, despite the evident financial crisis of the Canal Company, you’ve spent a fortune in bringing us here and entertaining us with a grand show. All intended to convince us to invest our money for you to manage. Rather contradictory, don’t you think?”

Philippe hesitated and finally responded, “Mr. Bigelow, I assure you that the company is very well-managed…”

Looking satisfactorily at Philippe, Bigelow interrupted, “Yes, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, I know that you have achieved a lot in a short amount of time. But that isn’t enough. There is too much bureaucracy, too much corruption in the Canal Company. Or at least, that’s what they tell me in Paris.”

“You know people in Paris, Mr. Bigelow?” Philippe asked, immediately regretting the naïveté of his question.

“You could say that. I had the honor of serving President Lincoln as ambassador to Napoleon III. I was the one who gave him the choice to leave Mexico or entering in a war with the United States. But that’s in the past. Now, more importantly, I want to ask you, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, why are you here?” Bigelow savored his Cuban.

“To carry out my duty to France. To complete the canal,” Philippe responded immediately, and followed with a summary of the changes he had proposed that very morning in order to ensure that the project progressed more quickly. Bigelow was intrigued by the fierce intelligence of the young engineer and his passion to complete the canal.

“It’s clear, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, that the Panama Canal will be completed one day. In spite of the actual problems, there has been progress and too much has been invested to consider abandoning the project. Still, the financial disaster and the obstinacy of your boss will eventually bankrupt the Canal Company,” Bigelow said.

“And another country will assume financial control, just like what happened with England and the Suez Canal…” Philippe responded sadly.

“Probably so.” Taking note of the lost look on Philippe’s face, the American asked, “Let’s see, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, from what you tell me, advancement of the excavation depends on the contractors changing the way they work. But at the same time, you explained to me that this won’t happen because to do so would increase the contractor’s costs. And finally, de Lesseps doesn’t agree with your ideas and is going to replace you with someone more experienced?”

“That’s correct, Mr. Bigelow.”

“You know, once Abraham Lincoln told me that ‘it isn’t the years in your life that count; it’s the life in your years,’” Bigelow said, still savoring his Cuban.

“I’m sorry Mr. Bigelow, but I don’t understand.”

With a generous smile, the businessman said, “It seems to me, Mr. Bunau-Varilla, that you have the ability, experience and passion necessary to make a large contribution to this Grand Idea, as you call it. But you are looking in the wrong place.”

Philippe’s face expressed his confusion.

“Mr. Bunau-Varilla, have you not considered leaving your position at the Canal Company and becoming a contractor for your former employer? Founding your own business, perhaps?” Bigelow said as he expelled another puff of smoke.

John Bigelow

Photo: United States Library of Congress