Page Two
THE CAROLINA UNION PARMER
[Thursday, March 28, 1912.
From I he Farm to Table—Road
of a Hundred Profits.
Agnes C. Lamt, in Technical World Magauine.
(There is a national pickpocket
who snatches 75 per cent of the far
mer’s profit and 80 per cent of the
city man’s income. He exacts a toll
both going and coming, and his op
erations furnish one cogent reason
why men are driven from farm to
factory and country to counting
house, and why the country man can
not make and the town man cannot
save. This article suggests a rem
edy for the national pest.)
A man and wife had given up far
ming in one of the best fruit regions
of New York State for what they
thought a more lucrative position in
town. As they were taking the train
away, children came selling grapes
around the station at 2 cents a box.
“Don’t let us open the suit case!
We can buy these grapes just as well
in New York,’’ demurred the man.
“But the express charges,’’ sug
gested his wife.
“Won’t be more than a cent a box
for those! I should know! I’ve
shipped enough of them.”
But on arrival in the city, what
was the man’s amazement to find he
could, not buy that 2-cent box of
grapes under 40 cents.
Forty cents! The ex-fruit farmer
rubbed his eyes. That was an ad
vance of 2,000 per cent on the price
the buyers used to pay him. How
in the world was the price made up?
Express was only one cent. That
brought the cost to three cents as
the box reached New York. Allow
1 cent more for risk and handling—4
cents. Now 20 to 40 per cent advance
is a high profit for a wholesaler: at
most, so far only 6 cents. Add the
retailer’s profit of another 20 to 40
per cent. At most, the grapes should
not be marked to exceed 10 cents.
What unseen hand had juggled prices
up to 40 cents—75 per cent too high
for the man who eats; 2,000 per cent
too low for the man who grows?
The city man had not added 1
cent to the value of the grapes. He
had not paid for the labor and the
forethought and the care and the first
outlay of growing them. All that
had to come out of the 2 cents paid
the grower. Give the wholesaler and
the retailer each a profit of 100 per
cent. That would bring the grapes
to only 16 cents, not 40. Was it a
skin game both going and coming?
Did it skin the man who produced
the food: and then skin the man who
consumed the food?
And who got the big increment?
That was the question. If the grapes
had paid the grower a flat 10 cents,
he could have made his fortune on
the farm and put away 80 per cent
profit on investment. All these farm-
improvement evangelists — railroad
men, chambers of commerce, pink-
gloved professors—could stop shout
ing themselves black in the face
preaching “back-to-the-land.” If
farmers could put away 80 per cent
profit a year, chains and wild horses
and regiments of rifles could not keep
them off the land. If the farmers
were putting away 80 per cent of the
first cost of their land a year, there
would be such a rush from factory
back to farm as would outsprint
speed laws. If farmers could earn
even 50 per cent on capital invest
ed, there would not be a banker in
the United States, from Hetty Greene
to Pierpont Morgan, who would not
turn farmer quicker than a motor
car turns turtle. And after all, aren’t
the farmers the bank of the nation?
And what per cent do they make on
their, investment? This man knew
when he had to let grapes rot, or sell
for 2 cents, he was not making 1
per cent on his investment. He was
not breaking even. He had to quit.
Why, he could have afforded to
pay the freight, to pay the New York
end of the handling, to pay a man to
look after the sales, and still have
pnut away 50 per cent profit on his
grapes. Then, he wanted to knock
his head against something; for was
not that exactly what he had been
doing, though he did not know it?
Paying for the freight—that is, his
price had been knocked down so buy
ers could pay for the freight out of
what should have been his profits,
leaving their own profits intact. Pay
ing for the New York end of the
handling-that is, knocking his prices
so low it left them margin to pay that
handling. Paying the risk whether
there was loss or not. Paying the
wages of the salesman out of what
should have been the farmer’s mar
gin. Paying the New York extor
tionate ground-floor rents—the big
grocery, where the ex-farmer made
his first inquiry, was on Broadway
and paid a rental of $12,000 a year.
And then over and beyond these pre
liminary charges against the grapes,
paying a clear dividend of about 500
per cent each to commission man,
wholesaler, retailer.
No wonder tho wealth of the na
tion centered in the cities! No won
der the boys and girls broke away
from the farm to pursue that wealth!
This sort of game made the farmer’s
nine-billion-a-year crop a sort of
sluice box for depositing gold in city
vaults. When the farmer, however,
wanted a loan, he had to come on his
knees to those bank vaults for it.
They might yell “stop—stop” till
they were hoarse, that farm-improve
ment crowd, at the exodus from
country to city. If they really want
ed to turn back the human flood,
they would have to turn back some
portion of the big money sluicing in
to those city vaults. Long as the
gold flowed to town, so would the
boys and girls; though you might
preach your head off at the folly.
But, perhaps the grapes were an
exception owing to their perishable
nature. Your ex-farmer continued
his first-hand investigations of the
things he used to grow for the city
man to eat. The more he investi
gated the hotter he grew. This is
the record his accounts showed at
the end of a month:
Potatoes, price paid the farmer,
36c.: cost to the city man, $1.60; ad
vance, 300 per cent, of which only
30 per cent went for freight and
handling in the case he investigated.
Asparagus, price paid the farmer,
8c.; cost to the city man, 30c. to
40c.; a neat little advance of 400 per
cent.
Milk, price paid the farmer, 4c.:
cost to the city man, 8c.; advance,
100 per cent.
Pork, price paid the farmer, 4c. to
6c.: cost to the city man, 20c. to 30c.;
advance, 500 per cent.
Wood, $3 a cord; city price, $8;
cost of cutting, $2; advance, 100 per
cent.
Strawberries, 10c. a quart, or 2c.
for a quarter dish; cost in city ho
tels, 25c. a dish, or $1 a quart—an
advance of 1,000 per cent. No won
der there were million-dollar eating-
places and twelve-million dollar ho
tels.
Eggs, country price, 20c. to 48c. a
dozen, or 2c. to 4c. an egg; cost in
hotels, 30c. for two, or 16c. an egg;
advance, 400 to 800 per cent.
Apples, price paid grower, $2 for
a 10-dozen box, best grade, or 20c.
a dozen; cost to city man, $1 to
$1.50 a dozen; advance, 500 to 700
per cent.
Oats, price paid farmer Ic. a
pound; cost of oatmeal, 7c. to 10c.;
advance, 700 to 1,000 per cent.
Cabbage, price paid farmer, $1 per
50 cabbages, or 2c. each; cost to city
man, 10c. each; advance, 500 per
cent.
Tomatoes, $2 for 24-pound crate,
or 8c. per pound; cost in town, 25c.
per pound; advance, 300 per cent.
Beef, per steer, $50 to $60 to the
farmer: cost to city man figured out
on the basis of prices paid in the
Senate Restaurant, $2,000; advance,
3,000 per cent.
Wheat, $1 per 60 pounds; break
fast cereal, 15c. a pound, or $9 per
60 pounds.
Bread, 8c. to 10c. per pound; ad
vance, 800 to 2,000 per cent.
Now, our farmer-man had not
gone far in his investigations before
he became convinced of several
things. Railway charges did not ac
count for the difference between the
price on the field and the price on
the city market. The farmer alone
created the wealth; but he didn’t
create it for himself: and he didn’t
create it for the consumer. He cre
ated it for the man who came be
tween the producer and the consum
er: in a word, the middleman. A
sort of colossus, or giant, that mid
dleman appeared, as you thought
about him, with one hand picking the
farmer’s pocket an dthe other hand
digging into the city man’s coat tails;
with one foot out on the farmer’s
back and the other foot solidly
planted on the consumer’s stomach.
But as our farmer-man was not a
Sir Galahad to knock his head
against stone walls or a Don Quixote
to tilt wind-mill theories, he accept
ed the gospel of things-as-they-are,
and came to a still more pertinent
and personal conclusion. The town
was the place to make big money.
The town was the place to come to;
and so the farmer comes and comes
and comes in spite of the cry “back-
to-the-land”; comes with Dick Whit
tington’s hopes in his heart to make
good, and save money, and get in on
this game that skins both going and
coming; or know the reason why.
Before many weeks passed, he
knows the reason why making good
as a city man is still harder than
making good as a country man. It
is that matter of saving before you
can get in on the game. Your farm
er-man does not begrude the railway
its freight—even for dividends on
watered stock. He does not be
grude the wholesaler and retailer
their 20 or 40 per cent; or the milk
people their $8,000,000 surplus; or
the pork packers their 500 per cent;
or the mill men their 1,000 per cent.
He would make all that for himself,
if he could. It is, that having been
skinned off the land and forced to
come to town, the high cost of living
now skins him out of that margin
he was going to save. The town sal
ary that looked so big when he was
out on the farm has a surprising
way of melting to nothing at the end
of the week when bills are paid. He
is a consumer. He is the man who
is paying 75 per cent too much for
those grapes that ought not to have
cost more than 10 cents.
If those potatoes could have been
sold direct from the farmer to the
city man for 75 cents, it would have
netted the farmer 100 per cent prof
it and saved the city man 100 per
cent cost.
If that asparagus could have gone
straight from the producer to the
consumer at 15 cents, it would have
netted the farmer 100 per cent prof
it and saved the city man 100 per
cent cost.
If that milk could go direct from
farm to table, at the present cost of
producing milk, the farmer could
make 60 per cent profit and the city
man save 33 per cent.
Pork at 12 cents to the farmer
womld give him 200 per cent profit
and save the city man 100 per cent
cost. I
And so on down the list as supply
and demand determined natural
values, with the undue depression of
the middleman’s foot removed from
the farmer’s back and from the con
sumer’s stomach.
If this farmer-man were a story
book hero, he would rise from his
figures fired with a great purpose to
bring producer and consumer togeth
er; but he isn’t a story-book hero. He
is just a plain ordinary person, one
of the million and million who have
gone from country to town to find
the same insidious and unseen hand
picking the same old stupid pocket.
If you want to know whether his
figures are based on fact or fiction,
just consider a few well-known cases
that are on record.
A farmer in New Jersey sold two
hogs on the local meat market at the
current prices for live squealers. Be
fore going home, he asked the butch
er to keep a couple of hams for him.
A w'eek later, he came around for
the hams and asked for the balance
of the money coming to him. The
meat man presented him with a bill
for $2.85 over and above the credit
due for the live hogs. A like case
is on record of a similar dicker in
lamb. Why did the farmer sell at
the low price of 4 to 6 cents, and buy
at the high price of 25 cents? Be-
«ause your middlemen are so leagued
together, the prices are—one cannot
say “fixed”—but uniform; and the
dealer breaking those uniform prices
will have to look out for independent
means to supply himself with meat.
There was a great scarcity of tur
keys one Thanksgiving. Vermont
farmers supplying the Boston mar
ket could not understand why in a
scarce year prices ruled uniformly
12 cents a pound lower than beef or
bacon. A written agreement in re
straint of prices would, of course,
have been unlawful; but the fact re
mained, not a commission agent of
fered prices above 12 cents. The
Vermont farmers picked and dressed
their turkeys. Then they pushed a
tiny letter inside those turkeys,
amidships, telling the unknown city
buyer what price was paid in Ver
mont and asking him to write back
from Boston and report what price
was charged there. The letters came
back. Boston had paid 36 cents a
pound for its turkey—an advance of
300 per cent.
Or go West! A rancher in Wash
ington found it hard to make ends
meet. He could not sell wood at any
price. His beef brought only 4 cents,
his pork 8 cents. He went in one
winter to Spokane. Wood was sell
ing at $8 a cord, beef at 30 cents,
ham at 35 cents.
A Michigan fruit man sent a spe
cially fine lot of grapes by water-
feight to Detroit. He realized only
10 cents a basket. He traced up
that fruit. It had sold for 20 cents
to the city people. One of the big
potato growers of Maine sent a car
load to a Massachusetts city. The
commission agent credited him at 35
cents a bushel. Deductions of feight
and commission left on 19 cents u
bushel. Those potatoes sold
Springfield at $1. Another Maine
man sold his at 36 cents. They sold
in Boston at $1.15. A north Caro
lina trucker sent a half-barrel ot
beans to New York. Deducting ex
press and commission, they netted
him only 78 cents. They sold in Ne''’
York at $4.
Secretary Wilson says the farmer
gets but 55 per cent of the consum
er’s price. Mr. Yoakum says