“Yeah, things are tough all over. Have you heard about Technocracy?” —Spanky McFarland to “Uncle George” in The Kid From Borneo, 1933
Most people remembered it looked like three choices in those depth-of-the-Depression, do-nothing late Hoover days of 1932: fascism, communism, anarchy. It takes a heap of depression to turn Democrats and Republicans into fascists or anarchists, but things seemed close to that point. Go read about the Bonus March.
But there weren’t just three choices; there were too many, in fact. (Like in Santa Fe; everybody had a theory.) Huey Long had his Share-the-Wealth Plan (“ Every Man A King”). There was the Townsend Plan; give all the old people in America a hundred dollars if they promised to spend every penny of it before the end of each month. There was a Single Tax movement: take away all taxes but one, and redistribute it— locally, statewide, nationally; everywhere that needs it. Upton Sinclair was running for Governor of California on what can only be described as the Home-Grown Hot-To-Trotsky Ticket; he even scared off support from FDR, the Democratic presidential candidate.
And if you were paying attention, even a three-year old like Spanky would know the word that kept coming up like a mantra: Technocracy.
It was the brainchild of a guy named Howard Scott. His idea was simple: build up a database of all the transportation, industrial, electrical, shipping and social engineers in America. Get them ready. When Things Went Blooey (sometime in early 1933, after Hoover was re-elected, it looked like from the summer of 1932), move them in. Get everything back on a supply-need basis; move goods and services from areas of surplus to scarcity; take over vital functions; put people to work on the what-we-would-now-call infrastructure— in some kind of credit arrangement— of all the things that the Depression had knocked the blocks out from under.
It took hold of the imaginations of all kinds of people, not just the poor. It seemed for the first time someone had pointed out that goods and food were still there, just like in 1929, but what was missing was the capital that moved them from one place to another. Replace the capital with brains; and somewhere in there get the exchange part on some other basis: either work credit, or some other funny-money. (One of their neat proposals was to divide the country into sectors by latitude and longitude, with major centers serving them. I used to write you from Austin, TX, Sector 9830.)
The Technocrats planned and waited. Scott was everywhere that fall and winter. Then something went terribly, terribly wrong for Technocracy. The wheels didn’t come off America. The election came and went. FDR took office. His brain trust did a suck-job on some of the best Technocrat proposals. By early 1933 their time had come, and gone.
There are some still around; they’re awfully old, but for a few minutes there they saw, like Wolfe, the shining, the golden opportunity.
There was a spate of real interest in Technocracy in 1932: books were published, magazines did feature stories on Scott (Dr. Seuss did a Technocracy cover for the old Judge magazine). There was an animated cartoon called Techno-crazy and a short called Techno-cracked.
I knew from the first time I read about it that I’d someday write a story set in Technocracy World (as surely as I’d known I’d write a story about the 1938 Westinghouse Time Capsule, when I first read about it as a kid: “Heirs of the Perisphere”). So, evidently, did Mack Reynolds, who wrote, as far as I know, the only other Technocracy story, called “Speakeasy”. I haven’t been able to find it to read it.
What I did was use some of Technocracy’s ideas, cross them with some of the half-baked other schemes, and recast the U.S. in the form of a corporation, with dividends (of some kind) for all the shareholder-citizen Technocrats.