The Box

The shipping container as we know it is only about 65 years old. Shipping things in containers is obviously much older; we've been doing that for longer than we've had ships. But the standardized metal box, set on a rail car or loaded with hundreds of its indistinguishable siblings into an enormous, specially-designed cargo ship, became economically significant only recently. Today it is one of the oft-overlooked foundations of global supply chains. The startlingly low cost of container shipping is part of why so much of what US consumers buy comes from Asia, and why most complex machinery is assembled in multiple countries from parts gathered from a dizzying variety of sources.

Marc Levinson's The Box is a history of container shipping, from its (arguable) beginnings in the trailer bodies loaded on Pan-Atlantic Steamship Corporation's Ideal-X in 1956 to just-in-time international supply chains in the 2000s. It's a popular history that falls on the academic side, with a full index and 60 pages of citations and other notes. (Per my normal convention, those pages aren't included in the sidebar page count.) The Box is organized mostly chronologically, but Levinson takes extended detours into labor relations and container standardization at the appropriate points in the timeline.

The book is very US-centric. Asian, European, and Australian shipping is discussed mostly in relation to trade with the US, and Africa is barely mentioned. I don't have the background to know whether this is historically correct for container shipping or is an artifact of Levinson's focus.

Many single-item popular histories focus on something that involves obvious technological innovation (paint pigments) or deep cultural resonance (salt) or at least entertaining quirkiness (punctuation marks, resignation letters). Shipping containers are important but simple and boring. The least interesting chapter in The Box covers container standardization, in which a whole bunch of people had boring meetings, wrote some things down, discovered many of the things they wrote down were dumb, wrote more things down, met with different people to have more meetings, published a standard that partly reflected the fixations of that one guy who is always involved in standards discussions, and then saw that standard be promptly ignored by the major market players.

You may be wondering if that describes the whole book. It doesn't, but not because of the shipping containers. The Box is interesting because the process of economic change is interesting, and container shipping is almost entirely about business processes rather than technology.

Levinson starts the substance of the book with a description of shipping before standardized containers. This was the most effective, and probably the most informative, chapter. Beyond some vague ideas picked up via cultural osmosis, I had no idea how cargo shipping worked. Levinson gives the reader a memorable feel for the sheer amount of physical labor involved in loading and unloading a ship with mixed cargo (what's called "breakbulk" cargo to distinguish it from bulk cargo like coal or wheat that fills an entire hold). It's not just the effort of hauling barrels, bales, or boxes with cranes or raw muscle power, although that is significant. It's also the need to touch every piece of cargo to move it, inventory it, warehouse it, and then load it on a truck or train.

The idea of container shipping is widely attributed, including by Levinson, to Malcom McLean, a trucking magnate who became obsessed with the idea of what we now call intermodal transport: using the same container for goods on ships, railroads, and trucks so that the contents don't have to be unpacked and repacked at each transfer point. Levinson uses his career as an anchor for the story, from his acquisition of Pan-American Steamship Corporation to pursue his original idea (backed by private equity and debt, in a very modern twist), through his years running Sea-Land as the first successful major container shipper, and culminating in his disastrous attempted return to shipping by acquiring United States Lines.

I am dubious of Great Man narratives in history books, and I think Levinson may be overselling McLean's role. Container shipping was an obvious idea that the industry had been talking about for decades. Even Levinson admits that, despite a few gestures at giving McLean central credit. Everyone involved in shipping understood that cargo handling was the most expensive and time-consuming part, and that if one could minimize cargo handling at the docks by loading and unloading full containers that didn't have to be opened, shipping costs would be much lower (and profits higher). The idea wasn't the hard part. McLean was the first person to pull it off at scale, thanks to some audacious economic risks and a willingness to throw sharp elbows and play politics, but it seems likely that someone else would have played that role if McLean hadn't existed.

Container shipping didn't happen earlier because achieving that cost savings required a huge expenditure of capital and a major disruption of a transportation industry that wasn't interested in being disrupted. The ships had to be remodeled and eventually replaced; manufacturing had to change; railroad and trucking in theory had to change (in practice, intermodal transport; McLean's obsession, didn't happen at scale until much later); pricing had to be entirely reworked; logistical tracking of goods had to be done much differently; and significant amounts of extremely expensive equipment to load and unload heavy containers had to be designed, built, and installed. McLean's efforts proved the cost savings was real and compelling, but it still took two decades before the shipping industry reconstructed itself around containers.

That interim period is where this history becomes a labor story, and that's where Levinson's biases become somewhat distracting.

In the United States, loading and unloading of cargo ships was done by unionized longshoremen through a bizarre but complex and long-standing system of contract hiring. The cost savings of container shipping comes almost completely from the loss of work for longshoremen. It's a classic replacement of labor with capital; the work done by gangs of twenty or more longshoreman is instead done by a single crane operator at much higher speed and efficiency. The longshoreman unions therefore opposed containerization and launched numerous strikes and other labor actions to delay use of containers, force continued hiring that containers made unnecessary, or win buyouts and payoffs for current longshoremen.

Levinson is trying to write a neutral history and occasionally shows some sympathy for longshoremen, but they still get the Luddite treatment in this book: the doomed reactionaries holding back progress. Longshoremen had a vigorous and powerful union that won better working conditions structured in ways that look absurd to outsiders, such as requiring that ships hire twice as many men as necessary so that half of them could get paid while not working. The unions also had a reputation for corruption that Levinson stresses constantly, and theft of breakbulk cargo during loading and warehousing was common. One of the interesting selling points for containers was that lossage from theft during shipping apparently decreased dramatically.

It's obvious that the surface demand of the longshoremen unions, that either containers not be used or that just as many manual laborers be hired for container shipping as for earlier breakbulk shipping, was impossible, and that the profession as it existed in the 1950s was doomed. But beneath those facts, and the smoke screen of Levinson's obvious distaste for their unions, is a real question about what society owes workers whose jobs are eliminated by major shifts in business practices. That question of fairness becomes more pointed when one realizes that this shift was massively subsidized by US federal and local governments. McLean's Sea-Land benefited from direct government funding and subsidized navy surplus ships, massive port construction in New Jersey with public funds, and a sweetheart logistics contract from the US military to supply troops fighting the Vietnam War that was so generous that the return voyage was free and every container Sea-Land picked up from Japanese ports was pure profit. The US shipping industry was heavily government-supported, particularly in the early days when the labor conflicts were starting.

Levinson notes all of this, but never draws the contrast between the massive support for shipping corporations and the complete lack of formal support for longshoremen. There are hard ethical questions about what society owes displaced workers even in a pure capitalist industry transformation, and this was very far from pure capitalism. The US government bankrolled large parts of the growth of container shipping, but the only way that longshoremen could get part of that money was through strikes to force payouts from private shipping companies.

There are interesting questions of social and ethical history here that would require careful disentangling of the tendency of any group to oppose disruptive change and fairness questions of who gets government support and who doesn't. They will have to wait for another book; Levinson never mentions them.

There were some things about this book that annoyed me, but overall it's a solid work of popular history and deserves its fame. Levinson's account is easy to follow, specific without being tedious, and backed by voluminous notes. It's not the most compelling story on its own merits; you have to have some interest in logistics and economics to justify reading the entire saga. But it's the sort of history that gives one a sense of the fractal complexity of any area of human endeavor, and I usually find those worth reading.

Recommended if you like this sort of thing.

Rating: 7 out of 10

Reviewed: 2023-12-20