The Union Makes Us Strong

WHEN a freighter loaded with Hawaii-bound containers left San Francisco's Matson docks early one June morning in 1958, most people had no idea what would happen to longshoring in the wake of that sailing. Moving along the waterfront like a tornado through a town, the container transforms everything it touches. Truck trailers have been replaced by vans that sit on interchangeable chassis. Railroad boxcars have given way to flatcars that carry only containers. Ships the size of aircraft carriers, which only transport containers, have taken over for tramp steamers carrying general cargo.

Even the waterfront's landscape has been transformed. Continental railheads used to end miles from the docks; an overland highway connected rail and sea. Now trucks, trains and ships begin and end their journeys within sound, and, in some instances, sight of each other. The ribbons of railroad end abruptly at the coast where they are connected to rows of warehouses framed by a skyline of cranes. For a moment at least, the various components of the transportation industry come together.

The contrast between containerized and conventional longshoring is dramatic. Conventional longshoring is concentrated. It is restricted to piers. The piers occupy five to seven acres of land. Like fingers on a hand, they extend offshore and connect cities to ships. In comparison, modern container facilities are scattered throughout a port area. They require fifty to one hundred acres of land.