People : Author : Rose Pesotta Tags

Rose Pesotta
Bread upon the Waters
CHAPTER 18
Milwaukee and Buffalo are Different
SOMEWHERE IN THE TALMUD there is an ancient Hebrewsaying:The soldiers fight, the kings are heroes. It comes to mind as I reviewthe rise of the International Ladies' Garment Workers' Union.
To write a truly comprehensive history of the ILGWU and get at the realsource of our organization's phenomenal strength, the historian would haveto visit many an odd corner of these United States in search of originaldata. Behind its growth in the face of political and economic vicissitudesthere would be revealed a legion of men and women unheralded and unsung,rank-and-file people with natural ingenuity, strong working-class loyalty,readiness to sacrifice for an ideal, and all-around unselfishness.
The top leadership gets public recognition for the success of the International,but few outside the union know how much credit is due to members whosenames rarely if ever see the light of print.
Martha Hart of Milwaukee was such a member....
Early in 1934 some cotton dress workers in that city decided that theymust organize the local shops in their industry for self-protection. Theywere working long hours, for less than a living wage. Martha, a girl withno knowledge of union technique, made the first contacts with potentialmembers of the projected union. She began at the plant of the Rhea ManufacturingCompany, one of the largest cotton dress houses in the Mid-West, whichnormally employed from 1,000 to 1,200 women and girls.
To approach these workers was difficult because of their fear of beingdischarged. But Martha, who came of French Revolutionary stock, had determinationand imagination.
A new brand of pudding advertised in the newspapers gave her a happyinspiration. She clipped out one of the ads, pasted it on a piece of cardboard,and bought a couple of packages of the pudding, bright-colored and eye-appealing.Walking into the Rhea factory at lunch-time, she spoke to an elderly womanwho sat eating at one of the machines.
"I have a gift for you," Martha said. "I represent theMiracle Confection Company. To get new customers, we are giving away freesamples of this new and delicious pudding. What flavor would you like?Strawberry, peach, pineapple, vanilla, chocolate, or what? Let me haveyour name and address and a package will be mailed to you."
Women and girls crowded around her. Before she left she had more thana hundred addresses. On succeeding days she got the rest, and repeatedthe trick at the other factories. Then a request to the ILGWU brought ina squad of organizers, headed by Abraham Plotkin, the International's generalorganizer in Chicago, and an intensive educational campaign was begun.One of our most competent men, Plotkin has a wholesome sense of humor andis eloquent both with his pen and on the platform.
Each of the workers was invited by letter to the union's first organizationalmeeting. When they caught sight of Martha Hart their faces first registeredastonishment, then amusement.
"So this is our pudding?" one of them asked.
"Yes," Martha answered, "and the more you have of itthe better you'll like it."
Under Plotkin's guidance, a new local, No. 188, was chartered, and withina year it had more than 1,000 members, with Martha as secretary-treasurer.
As a labor organizer I have learned that one must be ready at all timesto go any place, day or night, in bitter cold, snow, rain, or scorchingsun. In the course of my work, I became geared to pick myself up at a moment'snotice to take train or plane, or drive my car, to serve in an emergency,and invariably I got to the trouble scene on time.
More often than not, after speeding somewhere to save a bad situation,organizers are forgotten, while the local leadership reaps the laurels.But I have usually enjoyed pinch-hitting for fellow workers in the field,and felt that I was doing it for the welfare of the greater number involved.
In Ecclesiastes is the proverb: "Cast thy bread upon the waters:for thou shalt find it after many days." There is, however, anotherversion which I seem to have known since early childhood: "Cast thybread upon the waters, and after many days it will return to thee a hundredfold"
My father believed in that principle, gave of himself freely in serviceto friends and strangers alike, and found innate satisfaction in the doing.Memory of his attitude toward humankind was a sustaining force for me inmy years afield. And the proverb justified itself. Organization campaignsand strikes in one city or another took great toll of nervous energy, andfrequently left me empty and shaken Yet replenishment and reward came inappreciation shown by countless fellow-unionists, and in a host of enduringfriendships across the land, and beyond its boundaries.
One of my emergency assignments was to Milwaukee. I was asked by ourpresident to go there quickly soon after my return East from Seattle inthe fall of 1985.
A sharp struggle involving the Rhea plant had taken place in the Wisconsincity in the previous September. After a 24-day strike, Local 188 had wonan agreement with that company, including most of the standard provisionsand a seven-and-a-half per cent wage increase. But the management had notthought it necessary to live up to this, and continued to violate severalclauses. So our union submitted demands for an additional 10 per cent wageincrease, and for arbitration of 16 separate grievances, in line with theagreement.
With arbitration soon to begin, Salvatore Ninfo, jovial, gray-hairedInternational vise-president, had suddenly become ill, and I was askedto take over in his place.
When I reached Milwaukee, Martha Hart and Kate Fadness, Rhea shop steward,took me to Ninfo's apartment. He was in bed with a three days' growth ofbeard, and looked haggard. I guessed correctly, however, that his illnesswas not physical; he simply was disheartened.
For weeks Ninfo had spent most of his time at the Rhea plant tryingto adjust union complaints. The management's policy was to humiliate himat every turn. Repeatedly he was made to wait in the outer office, likea soliciting salesman, to demonstrate to the employes that a union representativewas a nobody.
"It's important for you to shave," I told him. "I sawAbe Plotkin last night in Chicago, and he's coming to the meeting thisafternoon. You'd better come, too.... I'll guarantee to bring you backalive."
By 6 p.m. Miller's Hall was packed with dressmakers. I studied theirfaces÷the faces of hard-working people, German, Polish, Ital ian, French,and some of Scandinavian, Irish and English ancestry. They were unfailinglyattentive and aware, I was sure, of events of social significance, thekind of folk one would expect to find in a city with a Socialist mayorand a long working-class tradition. Under Mayor Daniel W. Hoan, Milwaukee'sworkers enjoyed the protection of the Bill of Rights. Police were prohibitedfrom acting as strikebreakers, the co-operative movement flourished, andmunicipal markets helped keep down living costs. But the administrationlacked the power to make garment manufacturers pay adequate wages.
The meeting having been opened by the local president, a slim younggirl with an olive complexion began reading the minutes. I was struck bythe quality of her voice, a deep agreeable contralto. Where had I heardthose tones before? I closed my eyes and searched my memory. The answercame like a flash across a movie screen: Eleanora Duse! I had listenedspell-bound to the Italian dramatic actress at the time of her Americantour in the early Twenties which ended abruptly with her death. The girl'svoice sounded almost like hers; I must talk with her after the meeting.
While Plotkin was speaking Ninfo entered the hall, a salvo of applausegreeting him. Touched almost to tears by this warm reception, he foundit difficult to express his appreciation. The sympathetic attitude of theunion membership made him well again.
The arbitration hearing was set for September 25, with Dr. Arthur Rubinof the University of Chicago as arbitrator. I had met him on the West Coastwhen he was there in the interests of the Cloak and Suit Code.
While Ninfo was busy preparing a brief of the union's case, we tooksteps to reinforce the Rhea workers. At my suggestion Mary Sortino, thegirl whose voice so impressed me, was added to our office foce. Mary andher sister were special machine operators in the Rhea plant. She was willingto take the job, but we had to reckon with her family. The mother, a deeplyreligious Italian, fearing something might happen to Mary if she stayedout late, objected vociferously. We gave her a solemn promise that onlyon meeting nights would she need to stay.
The educational department, directed by Moiree Compere, announced itsfall program, including the publication of a monthly mimeographed periodical,The Emancipator, which was the special concern of Ninfo. We applied tothe WPA Training School in Madison, of which Tom Tippett was head, forthe services of teachers for ILGWU classes in both Milwaukee and Racine.The plea was granted and our educational work in both cities proceededwith vim.
On a visit to Racine, a city of 68,000, some 30 miles south of Milwaukee,I found that our rainwear local needed encouragement and stimulus. Itsmeetings were conducted in the manner of an old fashioned lodge, the memberssitting silent around the walls, not participating. Called upon to speak,I asked them to come forward and occupy front seats.
"You're not wall flowers," I told them. "I know that,because I've heard a lot about the splendid courage and aggressivenessyou displayed in your victorious strike against the Chicago Rubber Company."
I recalled the admiration and respect with which Morris Bialis toldour GEB about the women in that strike, who lay down on a railroad trackin front of a freight train at the factory gates and dared the union engineerto run over them.
The dramatic reminder pleased them and added warmth to the gathering.I had the audience join with me in the singing of some of our union songsand the evening ended pleasantly.
It was agreed that the recording secretary would supply material forThe Emancipator, which would devote a full page to Racine news We alsoarranged to have someone present at their meetings, to help them revitalizetheir local activities.
With the first issue of The Emancipator just off the mimeograph, stillwet with ink, it was taken to the factories for distribution. Kate Fadnessand I went to the Rhea plant at noon. Rashman, the company's productionmanager, asked Kate for a copy. She introduced me to him, and I asked whetherhe had time to talk with me.
He invited me into his office, but immediately went out again. Afterwaiting ten minutes I left a note saying that I could be reached at ourunion office, and if he was interested, he could phone for an appointment.He needed that lesson, telephoned later, and then we talked at length.We, of course, could not settle the local grievances which were now inthe hands of the arbitration board, but our conference smoothed out somedifferences.
Mr. Rashman explained that prior to this he had never been confrontedwith a labor problem. Marketing, styles, and production comprised his job.Evidently he realized that the union was there to stay, and was beginningto take cognizance of the fact that the labor problem also was an importantfactor in the production of cotton dresses, and I gently suggested thathe pay a bit more attention to the well-being of his working force.
Departing I said: "Mr. Rashman, I would advise you to take ourunion seriously. The President of the United States does."
When I visited the Rhea factory again, the newly appointed efficiencyengineer explained to me the new "progressive system" to whichthe employes were being subjected. A battery of eight machines was givena task. Eight operators at those machines had to turn out at least 25 dozengarments per day÷300 cotton dresses! The price rates were based on theunit system, and figured out about 14 cents per worker per dozen, or alittle more than a penny per garment.
The method was simple: A bundle of cut garments was given to a groupof eight. One worker seamed together the shoulders, passing the materialto the next, who made the collar; a third put in the sleeves and so onuntil it reached the eighth operator. She finished the job, by blind-stitchingthe bottom of the garment, which then went to the presser, inspector, andshipping department. The speed of each worker had to be geared to the machineand to the next operation, which was regulated by the engineer's stop watch,and other gadgets, to make 3,400 to 4,000 revolutions per hour, which nettledthe workers, keeping them at a constant high tension.
That system, the efficiency engineer explained to me, was in operationin about 30 plants, and had proved satisfactory to the managements.
Human movements could be made to correspond with the operations of themachines, with no waste of machine capacity, so as to produce the exactamount of work required by the company.
"What about rest and relaxation?" I inquired.
"Oh yes, a worker is allowed 3 5 per cent of rest in each eighthours. Do you know what 35 per cent rest means?"
I confessed my ignorance, so he explained that it amounted to abouttwo and a half hours' rest per day. "Does that mean," I asked,with seeming ignorance, "that an operator has 15 minutes of rest everytwo hours, to walk through the factory and get a breath of fresh air?"
"No, no, not that," the expert hastened to explain. "Thirty-fiveper cent rest means, when a girl wants to stretch out during work hoursnear her machine, or relax when she gets tired÷that is calculated as rest."I was not satisfied with that system. As a machine operator myself, I contendedit was better to work and take a rest when there was need for it. Moreover,as a human being, I refused to be geared to a machine like a robot; forthe benefit of all concerned, I felt that the best way to make it easierfor the workers to produce more was to determine the causes of industrialfatigue and eliminate them at the source, give the employes the kind ofwork they liked best and pay adequately. This would give the worker anincentive to work with enthusiasm and produce more like a human being thana beast of burden.
After a two-day hearing the arbitration board made certain constructiverecommendations for better relations between the union and the company.It also recommended to the company ways to eliminate any misunderstandingin the future by having a union representative present when timing forpiece rates took place, and advised it to refrain from any attempts toform a company union.
At a final dinner in Ninfo's apartment we spoke about the manifold dutiesin which am out-of-town union representative becomes involved.
Ninfo, who had been manager of the Italian Cloak Local 48, and a visepresident of the ILGWU for many years, admitted to me that he never hadsuch headaches as in Milwaukee, because in New York in most cases complaintswere first handled by his business agents; when they failed, Ninfo himselfwould phone the firm, and if that, too, was unavailing the case went throughthe regular channels.
"What are the 'regular channels' in New York?" Martha Hartwanted to know.
The case would be referred to the general manager, who would invariablypass it on to the industry's impartial chairman.
But out of town he now learned one had to be all in one÷business agent,general manager, organizer, lawyer, public relations director, family consultant,health adviser, with no limit to one's working hours or physical energies.
"In New York it is all so very simple," Ninfo sighed nostalgically"Before I came here, when I used to read some of the reports in Justicetelling about conditions the organizers found in the field I thought theywere balmy. Now I know."
As we wound up the last phases of the arbitration in Milwaukee, I gotready to leave for the A F of L convention in Atlantic City. From thereI was to go to Buffalo, where the time was ripe for am aggressive campaign,according to Vise-President Elias Reisberg, director of our cotton garmentand miscellaneous division. He had lately surveyed that scene, interviewingsome prospective assistants.
To me Buffalo was known principally as New York State's chief open-shopcenter, and as the American gateway to that glorious natural wonder, NiagaraFalls, romantic lure for honeymooning couples.
Upon my arrival I found that Reisberg had practically promised jobsto two individuals, but neither was willing to work with the other. Atthe YWCA Industrial Division, Ethlyn Christensen and Patty Ellis gave methe low-down on organizing problems in that city.
Aware of the drawbacks but undaunted, and with the aid of Gertrude Stanley,a friendly social worker, I set up an office with all the paraphernaliaand began the usual issuance of colorful literature and a magazine WhatNow? in Polish and English, which, in addition to general news about theindustry, carried a special feature, The Adventures of Stella and Helen,a series of lively talks between two shop workers, comparing conditionsin union and nonunion shops.
Ernest Bauman, whom I engaged at the suggestion of Reisberg, came into assist me. We bought radio time, broadcasting Friday evenings in bothlanguages. Bauman took over the English end. Briefly we would comment onthe weekly labor news, with union songs at the beginning and end of theprogram. Our Polish listeners being Roman Catholics, we quoted Pope LeoXIII's encyclical in favor of unions.
Presently a young Polish organizer from Chicago was recommended forthe job. Attractive and energetic, Marianne Alfons, who knew the hardshipsof factory toil from her own family's experiences, at once took over thePolish phase of the work, and began to make visits to her coreligionists.
But although during these visits we learned much about their difflculties÷theforced kick-back of part of the paltry $13, the legal minimum wage in thecotton garment shops; punching of one's time card by some other employeeso that hours worked were only partly registered, the women we talked withhoped that their boss or forelady would get a lesson, "but I couldn'tafford to get mixed up in it" . . . "I'd hate to go back on relief.". . . "My family depends upon my earnings." . . . "Thismight cost me my job."
Their fear was based on what had happened to some of their more outspokenfriends, who early in 1934 tried to establish a union in the cotton dressfactories in Buffalo. These were gradually eased out of their jobs andnever again could get work in their trade. This threat hung over the headsof young girls who had recently begun to earn a living, and over mothersof large families, whose earnings kept the home pots boiling.
Yet at times I became impatient with others among the Buffalo dressmakersfor what struck me as complacency rather than fear. One Friday I encounteredan odd manifestation of their attitude. After our weekly had been distributedin front of the Barmon Brothers factory I boarded a street car with a groupof women who were reading the latest issue of What Now? with evident relish.So I asked whether they liked it.
"Oh, yes, very much." They wouldn't want to miss an installmentof The Adventures of Stella and Helen I asked whether they listened toour broadcast. They did, and their fathers enjoyed our summary of labornews, while they liked the songs.
Their enthusiasm heartened me. I felt that I had struck a bonanza inthe form of good union material. "When are you coming to our officeto sign up with the union?" They looked at me in astonishment. Ofcourse, they admitted, things were better with our union in town; the bosshad stopped chiseling on their pay, and the forelady was much nicer now.But it never occurred to them that just because they enjoyed our literatureand listened to our radio programs they ought to join the union. They listenedto many radio programs, but none of them bought Chase & Sanborn coffee,nor smoked Chesterfield cigarettes, nor used Sweetheart soap, or Pepsodenttoothpaste, though some did buy Jello because it "took no time tomake." Buffalo is a nasty town in wintertime, the rain and snow keepingpeople indoors much of the time. In that winter at least, the snow remainedon the streets in dirty mounds until the spring thaw.
It was memorable, too, as the only city where I ever witnessed card-playingen masse. Parties were staged by Polish social, religious, fraternal, andlabor organizations. Each group of players held a bridge-table size squareof card-board on their laps. At the end of the game the winner remainedseated and the other three moved on to the next square. Prizes were givento those who won most of the games in two hours of playing. Entertainmentand dancing followed.
After attending several such affairs, I purchased cardboard squaresand some decks of cards, and in a leaflet announced an "open house"card party, with refreshments served free to cotton dress workers. ThenI had the girls in the office teach me rummy in a hurry, so I wouldn'tbe sitting idle when they played.
About a dozen of them responded, one of those a talkative woman whoproved to be a forelady's stooge. The forelady sat in an automobile acrossthe street and observed those who entered. Next day she threatened themwith discharge if they visited our office again.
My work days now were filled with strain and discouragement, all thesharper after I visited other labor unions, where I tried to persuade thehusbands of garment workers to induce their wives to join the ILGWU.
One such meeting was held in a dimly lit basement lodge hall. Aboutthirty members of the painter's local came in individually and took seatsaround the walls, while the secretary-treasurer set himself up in businessat an old desk collecting dues.
Shortly afterwards a slim middle-aged man walked with dignity to thechairman's little table and sat down in the tall-backed chair behind it.Then he stood up. From his back pants pocket he took out a small Americanflag, which he smoothed out on the table, from a side pocket a gavel, froma vest pocket the painters' constitution, and declared the meeting open;another member went about the room whispering in the ear of each, presumablythe password for the next meeting.
Then the "Lady Garment Workers" organizer was introduced tosay a few words. I had little desire now to say anything, in view of thedull formality, but I outlined briefly my mission and received unanimous,ringing applause. The president assured me that the members would do "everythingin their power" to help us. Judging by the meeting, I left convincedthat their "help" would be of no value to us. And it never was.
While in Buffalo Reisberg would ask me to make trips to nearby townswhere New York run-away employers were trying to get themselves establishedwithout the union. Invariably I would hear in these towns the same song:the Chamber of Commerce had built a mill and invited industry to move in,offering free rent, no taxes, and cheap labor. Some designing employer,dodging union conditions, would avail himself of this opportunity. Withinno time the union would follow in his footsteps and make him sign a unioncontract. Forced to pay regular wages, the employer had no reason to remainthere, far from the market, with inexperienced labor and mounting costs.Hence when I came to Hornell, I found a dress factory located in a buildingwhich alternately had housed a hosiery mill and a shirt factory, both ofwhich had been forced back to their former places.
So to many townspeople a union spelled unemployment, and they naturallyresisted unionization. As time went on I became aware that with the snail'space at which I was moving in Buffalo hardly any tangible results couldbe expected. Coincidentally the Akron rubber workers' sit-down kept mebusy for a while. But that spring, during a visit to New York, I urgedReisberg to relieve me of my duties, saying that as I was not of the chair-warmingtype I had no reason to stay on any longer. He agreed with me.
Late in April, on the eve of leaving for Fort Wayne, Indiana, to attendthe United Automobile Workers' second annual convention, I liquidated theBuffalo office. As anticipated, the old chiseling was promptly resumed,and later the National Labor Relations Board ordered one of the local cottondress manufacturers to pay $2,000 back wages to some of its employes.To this day, the ILGWU has not established a local in Buffalo.
• Chapter 19 : Vulnerable Akron: The First Great Sit-Down