Cubed

Cubed Plot Summary

Introduction

In the dimly lit countinghouse of a 19th-century merchant, a young clerk hunches over a high desk, carefully copying letters into a leather-bound ledger with a steel pen. Fast forward to today, where a professional might work from a neighborhood café, connected to colleagues around the world through a laptop. The transformation of office work represents one of the most significant yet understudied aspects of modern economic history. This evolution reflects broader social changes—from class formation and gender roles to technological revolution and architectural innovation—that have shaped how we live, work, and relate to one another. Through exploring the journey from clerks to cubicles, we gain insight into fundamental questions about modern work life. How did the physical environment of offices influence productivity and worker satisfaction? What role did gender play as women entered previously male-dominated workplaces? How did management philosophies evolve from scientific management to today's flexible work arrangements? By understanding these historical developments, readers—whether business leaders, office workers, or students of social history—can better comprehend the forces that have shaped contemporary work culture and perhaps glimpse where it might be heading next.

Chapter 1: The Birth of the Clerking Class (1850-1900)

The American office has humble origins in small, dimly lit rooms where clerks labored over ledgers with steel pens and ink. These early office workers occupied an ambiguous social position—neither truly part of the working class nor members of the business elite. They were typically young men from respectable families who viewed clerking as a stepping stone to partnership or business ownership, rather than a lifelong career. The physical environment of these early offices reflected their transitional status in industrial society. The typical clerk worked in what was called a "countinghouse"—a small room containing a high rolltop desk for the partner and perhaps a higher desk in the corner for a handful of clerks. The work was monotonous, consisting largely of copying documents and maintaining ledgers. Business hours were punishing by modern standards, often beginning at seven in the morning, with six in the evening "recognized as quitting time only if the day's work was finished," as one former employee of the Jones and Laughlin Steel Company recalled. Despite the tedium, clerking offered something factory work did not: the promise of upward mobility. Unlike industrial workers, clerks wore white collars, dressed well, and worked in proximity to power. They cultivated what they called "self-improvement" rather than solidarity with other workers. Edward Tailer, a merchant's clerk who kept a detailed diary, captured this attitude when he wrote: "The man who does not at least propose to himself to be better this year than he was last must be very good or bad indeed." This aspiration toward self-improvement and eventual partnership distinguished clerks from factory workers, who increasingly turned to unions and collective action. A distinct clerking culture emerged during this period. Clerks joined debating societies and subscription libraries, forming the core constituencies of lyceums and athenaeums. They developed their own social spaces and intellectual pursuits, yet remained deeply ambivalent about their class position. When they organized, as in the early-closing movement of the 1840s, they carefully avoided the confrontational tactics of manual laborers, preferring to make "solicitations" rather than demands. This reflected their precarious position between labor and management—aspiring to join the latter while still dependent on wages like the former. By the end of the nineteenth century, the number of clerks had grown substantially, especially in cities. The 1855 census recorded clerks as New York's third largest occupational group. As industries consolidated and businesses grew more complex, the demand for administrative work increased dramatically. This period established the foundation for what would become the modern office, with its promise of respectability and advancement that would shape American society for generations to come. The clerking class represented a new way of working—mental rather than manual labor—that would eventually expand to employ millions of Americans.

Chapter 2: Scientific Management and Factory-Like Offices (1900-1930)

The turn of the century marked a dramatic transformation in office work. The small, intimate countinghouses gave way to vast, factory-like spaces filled with rows upon rows of desks. This transformation was driven by several factors: the growth of corporations, technological innovations like the typewriter and telephone, and the influence of scientific management, or "Taylorism," named after its chief proponent, Frederick Winslow Taylor. Taylor, born in 1856 to a wealthy Philadelphia family, became the unlikely architect of modern office organization. After working as a machinist and later as an executive trainee, Taylor developed an obsession with efficiency. He believed workers were deliberately slowing down their pace—a practice he called "soldiering"—and that management lacked proper knowledge of how long tasks should take. His solution was to break down work into its smallest components, time each motion with a stopwatch, and establish the "one best way" to perform every task. These principles, published in "The Principles of Scientific Management" in 1911, gained widespread attention after lawyer Louis Brandeis cited them during a railroad rate case. Taylor's disciples quickly applied his principles to offices across America. W.H. Leffingwell, one of Taylor's followers, published "Scientific Office Management" in 1917, applying time and motion studies to tasks like envelope stuffing and letter opening. "There are millions of unnecessary motions," Leffingwell wrote, "and when one begins to investigate an office with an eye for these alone, one comes to believe that most of them are in the office." The physical environment of offices changed to reflect this new philosophy. The ornate Wooton desk, with its numerous cubbyholes and foldout wings, was replaced by the "Modern Efficiency Desk"—a flat metal table that gave clerks and their papers nowhere to hide. For office workers, the experience was transformative. They became aware of their bodies and motions in time in ways they never had before. Every movement was scrutinized, every minute accounted for. The viscous silence of the old office was sliced through with the clacking of typewriters and adding machines. Workers clocked in and out, their days regulated by bells and whistles. Managers could easily observe workers as they passed down long aisles. The old slipshod informality gave way to rigid hierarchies and constant supervision. Yet amidst this mechanization, some visionaries sought to create more humane office environments. Frank Lloyd Wright's Larkin Administration Building in Buffalo, completed in 1906, featured innovative ventilation, abundant natural light, and amenities for workers. Though still organized along Taylorist principles, it suggested that efficiency and worker comfort might coexist, pointing toward future developments in office design. This tension between efficiency and humanity would continue to shape office environments throughout the twentieth century. The scientific management era fundamentally altered the nature of office work, transforming it from a craft practiced by autonomous clerks into a standardized, mechanized process performed by interchangeable workers. This transformation paralleled similar changes in factory work, blurring the once-clear distinction between white-collar and blue-collar labor. The effects of this revolution would be felt for decades to come, establishing patterns of workplace organization and management that persist in many offices even today.

Chapter 3: Women Enter the Office: The White-Collar Revolution (1920-1950)

The American government began hiring female clerical workers in the 1860s when the Civil War depleted the male workforce. Francis Elias Spinner, the U.S. treasurer, overcame opposition by assigning women to light tasks like sorting bonds and currency. To his pleasant surprise, they excelled—and could be paid less than men. A maximum salary for women of $900 a year was established in 1866, compared to $1,200-$1,800 for men, establishing a pattern of gender-based wage discrimination that would persist for generations. This gender transformation accelerated dramatically in the early 20th century. In 1870, only 3 percent of clerical workers were women; by 1920, women comprised nearly 50 percent of the three million clerical workers in America. The typewriter played a crucial role in this shift. Advertisements for the Remington typewriter featured female "angels" with delicate fingers hovering over keyboards. Christopher Sholes, who designed the first commercially produced typewriter in 1867, called it "obviously a blessing to mankind, and especially to womankind." The machine and the female typist became so closely associated that the word "typewriter" initially referred to both the machine and its operator. Women became concentrated in specific roles: by 1926, they held 88 percent of secretarial positions and nearly 100 percent of typist, stenographer, file clerk, and switchboard operator jobs. These positions were considered appropriate for women precisely because they were dead-end jobs. As W.H. Leffingwell wrote, "A woman is to be preferred to the secretarial position, for she is not averse to doing minor tasks, work involving the handling of petty details, which would irk and irritate ambitious young men." The gendered division of office labor created a two-tier system where men occupied management positions while women performed routine tasks with little opportunity for advancement. Yet despite these limitations, office work offered women unprecedented economic opportunities and independence. For working-class women like Rose Chernin, who had labored in a factory making ammunition shells, the office represented escape: "I looked at those girls, sitting there, cleanly dressed at their desks. And I thought, There is another world." Schools emerged to train women for office work, with institutions like Katharine Gibbs School (founded in 1911) teaching not just typing and shorthand but also proper office deportment—how to dress, speak, and behave in a professional environment. The entry of women into offices created new anxieties about sexuality in the workplace. Guidebooks advised women to respond to unwanted advances with "tact and politeness." Films like "Baby Face" (1933) portrayed women using sexuality to advance their careers. Some companies responded by segregating their workplaces by gender. The Metropolitan Life Insurance Building had separate entrances, hallways, elevators, and stairways for men and women, reflecting widespread concerns about mixing genders in professional settings. By the 1940s, the "white-collar girl" had become a stock character in novels and films, usually portrayed as seeking marriage rather than career advancement. Yet the office had fundamentally transformed gender relations in American society, creating a space where men and women interacted daily outside the home—a development whose full implications would only become apparent in later decades as women began to challenge the limitations placed on their professional advancement.

Chapter 4: Corporate Culture in the Organization Era (1950-1970)

The post-World War II era witnessed American business at its zenith, with U.S. companies controlling 60 percent of global industrial production. This economic dominance manifested physically in the skylines of American cities, where skyscrapers became symbols of corporate power and prosperity. The glass-and-steel towers of Manhattan and Chicago represented not just architectural innovation but a new corporate culture that would define American life for a generation. Skyscrapers had existed since the late 19th century, but the postwar period saw a revolution in their design and meaning. Earlier skyscrapers like the Woolworth Building featured ornate, neo-Gothic details that disguised their commercial purpose. The new International Style buildings, exemplified by Lever House (1952) and the Seagram Building (1958), embraced modernist principles of simplicity and transparency. Their glass curtain walls, made possible by air conditioning and fluorescent lighting, created vast, open interior spaces where hundreds of office workers could be housed in standardized environments that reflected corporate values of order and efficiency. Inside these gleaming towers, a distinctive corporate culture took shape. William H. Whyte's influential book "The Organization Man" (1956) described a new social type: the corporate employee who valued conformity over individualism, security over risk. Companies like IBM developed thoroughgoing cultures of uniformity, with employees wearing identical dark gray suits and white shirts, and learning company songs and slogans. Personality tests screened out nonconformists, ensuring a homogeneous workforce that would embrace corporate values and goals without question. The physical environment of the office reinforced these values. Executive suites on upper floors featured luxurious furnishings and panoramic views, while lower-level employees worked in open areas with standardized desks. Yet even as hierarchies remained rigid, companies sought to create the appearance of democracy. When Connecticut General Insurance built its suburban headquarters, executives worried about creating an "ivory tower" for officers that might seem undemocratic. The solution was to give executives larger offices but with the same furniture as everyone else—maintaining hierarchy while projecting an image of corporate unity. Many corporations began moving to suburban "campuses" during this period. Bell Labs in Murray Hill, New Jersey, resembled a university with its low buildings set in parklike surroundings. Connecticut General's headquarters, designed by Skidmore, Owings and Merrill, offered employees swimming pools, bowling alleys, tennis courts, and classes in everything from languages to automobile repair. These amenities served both to attract workers and to extend corporate influence into their personal lives, blurring the boundaries between work and leisure. For women, the organization era offered limited opportunities. Most remained confined to secretarial or clerical roles, with little chance for advancement. The "marriage bar"—the expectation that women would leave the workforce upon marriage—began to weaken, but the "office wife" phenomenon persisted, with female secretaries expected to attend to their bosses' personal needs. Meanwhile, actual wives of executives found themselves performing unpaid labor for their husbands' companies, hosting dinners and attending corporate events. The organization man depended on both his office wife and his actual wife to maintain his position in the corporate hierarchy.

Chapter 5: The Cubicle Revolution: Redesigning Work (1960-1980)

In 1958, the Herman Miller Company hired Robert Propst, a professor of art at the University of Colorado, to head their research wing. A restless intellectual with patents in everything from playground equipment to heart valves, Propst turned his attention to the office, which he saw as fundamentally flawed. Traditional offices, with their rigid layouts and sedentary work patterns, failed to support what he called "knowledge work"—a term popularized by management theorist Peter Drucker to describe the mental labor that was becoming central to the economy. Propst began interviewing office workers and studying their environments. He concluded that office design needed to balance physical activity with concentration, provide visual stimulus, and adapt to changing needs. Working in his research facility in Ann Arbor, Michigan, he developed prototypes for a new kind of workspace, with standing desks, display surfaces for reference materials, and modular components that could be reconfigured as needed. His vision was revolutionary—an office that would adapt to human needs rather than forcing humans to adapt to rigid environments. His research coincided with broader cultural shifts of the 1960s. Management gurus like Douglas McGregor were advocating "Theory Y"—a humanistic approach that assumed workers naturally enjoyed work and would exercise self-direction if given the opportunity. Anthropologists like Edward T. Hall were studying how space affected human behavior, coining terms like "proxemics" to describe the study of personal space. These ideas influenced Propst's thinking about office design, leading him to create environments that respected human dignity and autonomy. The result was the Action Office system, introduced by Herman Miller in 1964. Unlike traditional office furniture, which was fixed and standardized, the Action Office consisted of movable panels and work surfaces that could be arranged in various configurations. It was designed to give workers privacy while also facilitating communication, to support different work postures, and to adapt to changing needs. Propst envisioned a dynamic, flexible environment that would liberate workers from the constraints of traditional offices. However, the system that would transform American offices wasn't the original Action Office but its successor, Action Office II, introduced in 1968. This system featured three walls arranged at 120-degree angles, with work surfaces and storage attached to them. It was designed to be flexible and adaptable, but economic pressures and corporate culture transformed it into something quite different: the cubicle. Companies quickly realized they could use Action Office panels to subdivide space efficiently, packing more workers into less square footage. The 120-degree angles gave way to 90-degree corners, creating the familiar box-like cubicles that would become ubiquitous in American offices. Propst was horrified by this development. "The cubiclizing of people in modern corporations is monolithic insanity," he later said. Yet the cubicle spread rapidly through American offices, driven by tax laws that allowed companies to depreciate furniture more quickly than building improvements. By the late 1970s, the cubicle farm had become the standard environment for white-collar work, a development that would shape office culture for decades to come. What had begun as a humanistic attempt to improve the office environment had been transformed by economic imperatives into a symbol of corporate conformity and dehumanization—a ironic legacy that continues to influence how we think about office design today.

Chapter 6: Digital Transformation of Office Work (1980-2000)

The 1980s and 1990s witnessed a technological revolution that fundamentally transformed office work. The personal computer, introduced with the IBM PC in 1981 and the Apple Macintosh in 1984, gradually replaced typewriters and adding machines. By the mid-1990s, computers had become standard equipment on virtually every desk, connected by networks that allowed unprecedented sharing of information. This technological shift changed not just how work was done but what work was done. Word processing eliminated much of the drudgery of typing and retyping documents. Spreadsheet programs like Lotus 1-2-3 and later Microsoft Excel automated calculations that had once required teams of bookkeepers. Email began to replace memos and phone calls as the primary means of office communication. These tools made individual workers more productive but also created new demands and expectations. The ability to revise documents easily led to more revisions being requested. The speed of email communication accelerated the pace of work. The constant availability of information created pressure to process and respond to it more quickly. The physical environment of the office evolved in response to these changes. Computer workstations required different furniture and layouts than typewriter desks. Ergonomics became a major concern as workers reported repetitive strain injuries from keyboard use. The need to accommodate computers, printers, and network cables drove office design in new directions. Modular furniture systems evolved to incorporate cable management and support for multiple devices. The beige computer terminal became as ubiquitous in offices as the typewriter had been a generation earlier. Corporate restructuring also reshaped office environments during this period. The wave of mergers, acquisitions, and downsizing that swept through American business in the 1980s created a climate of insecurity. Companies sought to reduce real estate costs by shrinking individual workspaces and adopting open office plans. The average size of a workstation decreased from 600 square feet in the early 1970s to 250 square feet by the late 1990s. The cubicle, once seen as a symbol of dehumanization, now seemed almost luxurious compared to the "bullpen" arrangements that replaced it in some offices. At the same time, a countervailing trend emerged in some sectors. Technology companies, flush with venture capital during the dot-com boom of the late 1990s, created playful, unconventional office environments designed to attract young talent. Companies like Google and Apple built campus-like headquarters with amenities ranging from free food to game rooms and nap pods. These offices rejected the sterile cubicle farms of traditional corporations in favor of spaces that encouraged creativity and collaboration. The office became not just a place to work but a recruitment tool and a physical expression of corporate culture. The rise of mobile computing and telecommunications began to challenge the very concept of the office as a fixed location. Laptops, cell phones, and later smartphones made it possible to work from anywhere with an internet connection. Some companies experimented with "hoteling"—providing unassigned workspaces that employees could reserve when needed—while others encouraged telecommuting. By the late 1990s, futurists were predicting the "death of the office" as technology freed workers from the need to gather in a central location. Yet despite these predictions, offices persisted and even thrived, adapting to incorporate new technologies while continuing to serve their fundamental purpose as spaces for human interaction and collaboration.

Chapter 7: From Open Plans to Remote Work (2000-Present)

The dawn of the 21st century brought a renewed enthusiasm for open office plans, driven by both economic considerations and changing ideas about collaboration. Companies tore down cubicle walls to create vast, open spaces where employees worked side by side at long tables or clusters of desks. Technology firms led this trend, with Facebook's headquarters featuring what Mark Zuckerberg called "the largest open floor plan in the world," housing thousands of engineers in a single room. The aesthetic appeal of these spaces, often featuring industrial elements like exposed ductwork alongside sleek, modern furniture, became part of companies' branding strategies. Proponents of open offices cited several benefits: they encouraged communication and collaboration, broke down hierarchical barriers, and created a more democratic workplace. They also cost less than traditional offices with private spaces, allowing companies to reduce their real estate expenses. The influence of Silicon Valley spread to more traditional industries, with even conservative financial firms adopting elements of the tech office aesthetic. Ping-pong tables, casual meeting areas, and coffee bars became common features in offices across sectors, reflecting a broader cultural shift toward more informal work environments. However, research began to challenge the purported benefits of open offices. Studies showed that they increased distractions and noise, reduced privacy, and actually decreased face-to-face interaction as workers used headphones and email to create psychological barriers. A 2018 study published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society found that when companies switched to open offices, in-person interactions dropped by about 70 percent while email use increased. Workers reported higher levels of stress and lower job satisfaction in open environments. The pendulum began to swing back toward designs that balanced collaboration with concentration. In response to these criticisms, office design evolved toward "activity-based working"—providing different types of spaces for different tasks. A typical office might include open areas for collaboration, quiet zones for focused work, meeting rooms of various sizes, and informal spaces for casual interactions. The goal was to give workers choice and control over their environment, allowing them to select the appropriate setting for each task. This approach recognized that knowledge work involves a variety of activities, each requiring different levels of interaction and concentration. The COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 forced a massive, unplanned experiment in remote work, accelerating trends that had been developing for years. Millions of office workers suddenly found themselves working from home, connecting with colleagues via video conferencing and collaboration tools. Companies that had resisted remote work were forced to adapt quickly, investing in technology and developing new management practices to support distributed teams. As the immediate crisis passed, many organizations adopted hybrid models, with employees splitting their time between home and office. This shift prompted a fundamental reconsideration of the office's purpose. If routine tasks could be done remotely, what was the office for? Increasingly, companies began to see offices as places for collaboration, socialization, and cultural reinforcement rather than individual work. Office designs evolved to emphasize these functions, with more meeting spaces, social areas, and fewer individual workstations. The pandemic also heightened awareness of health and wellness in office design, with improved ventilation, touchless technology, and antimicrobial surfaces becoming priorities. As we move further into the 21st century, the office continues to evolve in response to technological, economic, and social forces. The rigid, standardized environments of the past are giving way to more flexible, diverse spaces that can adapt to changing needs. Yet the fundamental questions that have shaped office design for over a century remain: How can workplaces balance efficiency with humanity? How can they support both collaboration and concentration? And how can they reflect and reinforce the values and culture of the organizations they house?

Summary

The evolution of office work from the clerk's high desk to today's flexible workspaces reveals a constant tension between competing forces: efficiency versus humanity, standardization versus personalization, hierarchy versus democracy. Throughout this journey, the physical environment of the office has both reflected and reinforced broader social and economic trends. The factory-like offices of the scientific management era embodied industrial capitalism's obsession with efficiency. The corporate towers of the organization era expressed the power and stability of postwar American business. The cubicle represented an attempt to balance privacy with communication that was ultimately compromised by economic pressures. Today's diverse workspaces reflect our more fluid, technology-driven economy. This history offers valuable insights for navigating the future of work. First, technological change always brings both opportunities and challenges—from the typewriter that opened office doors to women while confining them to specific roles, to today's digital tools that enable remote work while blurring the boundaries between professional and personal life. Second, the most successful office environments have been those that balance organizational needs with human ones, recognizing that productivity ultimately depends on well-being. Finally, the office has always been more than just a workplace—it's a social institution that shapes identities, relationships, and culture. As we reimagine work for the post-pandemic era, we would do well to remember these lessons, creating environments that support not just efficiency but also dignity, creativity, and connection.

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Nikil Saval

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