Robert Livingston's career provides the first opportunity to consider in detail the emergence of an early New York businessman. Trained in business in Rotterdam, he brought to the New World the experience, knowledge, and techniques of one of the most advanced commercial centers of his day. On the Albany frontier he applied the Old World's business methods to advantage and gradually emerged as a dominant figure in colonial New York. His records and business correspondence leave no doubt that Livingston belonged to that class of businessmen often referred to as sedentary or resident merchants, though he did not employ as many agents and partners as his later, more mature counterparts. Neither did he engage in as many ventures or perform as many functions as the Browns, Hancocks, and other late eighteenth-century merchants, nor did he create an impressive business organization at home or abroad as was customary among certain European contemporaries. Still, as a wholesaler and retailer, importer and exporter, shipowner and land speculator, Livingston was an early New York practitioner of diversified business functions and investments. His extensive land dealings, no doubt motivated in part by the social prestige attached to real estate, were undertaken primarily as a source of credit and revenue. Livingston Manor was operated as a business enterprise: some of it was cultivated on Livingston's behalf, parts were leased to tenants who provided for the Lord of the Manor not only rents but a steady market for the goods he obtained in overseas trading ventures, and other sections were devoted to various manufacturing enterprises. Livingston's political life was an integral and necessary part of his business ventures, which reflected at all points the total instability of most colonial institutions. From the details of Livingstons many-sided commercial life emerges a rare picture of an embryonic business society in which the means were sorely taxed to achieve the ends conceived by ambitious men.

Despite Louis Brandeis' well-publicized opposition to the New Haven-Boston & Maine railroad merger of 1907–1909, a large number of public-spirited men, including many progressive reform leaders whom Brandeis had worked with and admired, favored the combination. They saw the merger not as a conspiracy against the public interest, but a necessary response in the public interest to a commercial crisis in Massachusetts. This examination of their reasoning and action tempers Brandeis' widely accepted assessment of the controversy.

In the manner of the Creole tradesmen of Louisiana, whose lagniappe to their patrons is legendary, the Editor offers a similar bonus to readers of the Review. Instead of trifling presents added to a purchase, however, our lagniappe will be notes and documents illustrative of the evolution of business enterprise.

Substantial gains made within the past score years in clarifying the nature and scope of business history afford ample grounds for confidence that this academic youngster will assuredly develop into a vigorous adult. Such high optimism can be sustained, however, only if this small guild of practitioners develops and administers appropriate intellectual booster shots necessary for its continued health. At the moment it does appear that business history is vulnerable to a large number of afflictions. To put the matter more specifically, business historians as a group give the impression of being sharply divided on issues where agreement might reasonably be expected at this stage of the field's development. Signs of a recent shift from emphasis on decision-making, innovation, and administration to a stress on a vaguely defined “general environment” fueled concern.

Will the lack of hard data forever preclude firm conclusions about the impact of industrialization upon antebellum America? Whether it does or not, it seems unlikely to prevent continuation of one of the liveliest debates in American economic history. Professors Vedder and Gallaway contribute their findings to the controversy, and conclude that the rate of profit on manufacturing capital before 1860 was much lower than recent work has suggested.

Nowhere was the postwar growth of multinational corporations more dramatic than in the petroleum industry. The major oil companies of the western nations were soon banded together in a complex of joint exploration, producing, refining, and marketing organizations. But efforts to advance criminal prosecution of the American companies under the antitrust laws soon ran head-on into overriding considerations of national security. The hardening of the Cold War, complicated by internal political weaknesses in Iran, persuaded both President Truman and President Eisenhower to soft-pedal litigation. In the end, criminal prosecution of joint production enterprises became civil suits against marketing and pricing agreements, which were settled by consent decree. This, according to Professor Kaufman, amounted to attacking “the tail but not the head or body of the energy tiger.”

Of the myriad end products of the steel industry, none played a more strategic role in the evolution of the modern, vertically integrated enterprise than barbed wire. A unique solution to America's unique agricultural problem, the product attracted numerous manufacturers in the 1870s and 1880s. Profit margins, despite efforts to limit production and fix prices by means of pools, declined steadily, and firms that were not integrated backward into the production of rods (from which wire is drawn) had difficulty competing. Excess capacity and depressed prices convinced industry leaders like John W. Gates, Isaac L. Ellwood, and Charles F. Washburn that what was needed was a modern, fully integrated corporate holding company embracing every barbed wire manufacturer of consequence. The result was the formation of American Steel & Wire Co. in 1899 which, two years later, became an important component of the U.S. Steel Corporation.

Rarely does a relatively unknown professor of economics publish a book that sells more than 200,000 copies in a few months. When critics accuse the same economist of being normative, political, of manipulating data, of misunderstanding basic economic theory, and of wanting to impoverish everyone, surely it must be because he is on to something. Other commentators, perhaps a bit prematurely, are claiming that his book is the economics book that will define twenty-first-century debate.

Like many other American corporations, Intel was outcompeted in manufacturing by Japanese firms in the late 1970s and the first half of the 1980s. By 1985, it became clear that the corporation's weakness in production endangered its long-term survival. Responding to the Japanese challenge, Intel's upper management instigated a fundamental reform of manufacturing. At their behest, production engineers and managers adopted Japanese manufacturing technologies and operating procedures. They put microchip fabrication on a scientific footing. They developed new ways of transferring processes from development to production and standardized the firm's factories. This major transformation enabled Intel to reach manufacturing parity with Japanese chipmakers by the early 1990s.

Now considered a quintessential Hong Kong household food product, Vitasoy won the approval of local consumers only in the post–World War II period as its producer capitalized on the discourse of modern nutritional science, leveraged technological breakthroughs, and positioned the soy beverage to respond to a growing clientele experiencing economic growth and lifestyle transformation. In the emerging market and sociocultural conditions of postwar Hong Kong, Vitasoy's producer created a local beverage that articulated for the city a modernity that originated in a Chinese national discourse but then blossomed into a celebration of the lifestyle that economic progress enabled.