Wildcat
By noon the next day, Monday, November 30, 1970, the three major network television stations had set up in Cranston, chomping at the bit to dive into this story of death, deception, and Big Labor. “Is the union out of control?” ABC from Cleveland asked from where it had set up on the Gazebo to Honor the War Dead on the Cranston Town Square. Had dissident elements taken over the United Auto Workers International Union after the death of Walter Reuther on May 9 of this year? Was Cranston the battleground for that takeover?
Just down the road from the plant and union hall, NBC from Columbus panned shots of the factory complex and picket lines, its broadcasters concentrating on the circus-like atmosphere of the wildcat strike. “Look there at that one skinny little fellow without a shirt out here in this cold weather,” Pat twanged in his Midwestern dialect. “Amazing stuff here in Cranston,” Pete answered.
Cranston’s own CBS station was set up in front of the Imperial Hotel where its reporters knew, from past practice, that the real action—the GM press conference—would be. While waiting for GM to make an announcement, the cameras panned a Nickles Bakery delivery truck, and followed its driver to the side door of the hotel with his rack of bread and rolls for the daily delivery. Then they panned the Isaly’s Dairy store down the way, watching patrons come and go.
Darius Delaney was standing before the hotel room mirror checking his appearance one more time when the phone rang. It was Sylvia Porter! This was big, Darius told himself. If Sylvia Porter was calling him, then his career was on track. “You’re my favorite columnist! I’ve been reading your work for many years!” he gushed.
“That’s sweet. But you know that the only way for GM to make money is to end this work stoppage,” she said, going immediately into advice mode.
Word out of Detroit, she informed him, was that this was an illegal strike, that the UAW could not condone violence no matter what its purpose. That is true, he agreed. But what really made this strike different was that GM was going to show the United Auto Workers once and for all who was the boss. If need be, Darius told Sylvia, GM was prepared to close the Cranston plant. And with this verbal commitment to all out war with the United Auto Workers and her assurance that he would be quoted in her New York Post column the next day, Darius alerted the press in front of the hotel that he was calling a news conference for 2:18 p.m. He was asked immediately by the CBS reporter why the odd minute time? Why not just 2:00 o’clock? “Because that is when I say.” The GM brass would be here by evening, but until then Darius was in charge. Darius, who was quoted by Sylvia Porter!
John Dunham got the call from Darius and forced himself into action. As he was shaving, he was wondering why his father-in-law had not returned his call. Harold and he had not talked since Saturday morning when Harold, still shaky from the brain damage from the moonshine on Friday, and his wife had said their goodbyes and headed back to Detroit. He really needed to talk to Harold and get this strike settled. But Harold was mad at him, blaming him for his “illness” on Friday. Damn, John said over and over in the shower, the old man had better get hold of him quick.
The only conversation that John had had with anyone about the strike was with Milt Jeffers, and the two of them had agreed that they could settle this thing with a six pack, a handshake, and the burning of some pictures. And they had been prepared to do that this very afternoon until the position of each side became entrenched by Detroit and appeared on the national news. As it was, each of them had been told by their respective superiors in the company and union that they were to do nothing.
The NBC camera truck had been creeping closer to the United Auto Workers union hall all morning. And now, just after lunch, they were in the UAW parking lot. Pat had at first been afraid of the guys, but as he watched them come and go, some of them with their wives and children, the fear had subsided. They had been invited onto the union hall property and had been told of a union meeting scheduled for 2:00 o’clock.
“Hell,” Pete told him. “These are just working blokes, just like my daddy on the railroad. I know this bunch.” And Pete was right. Ninety-nine per cent of the guys in the plant were like his dad and dads everywhere. They were married. They had kids. They were buying little houses. They were Little League coaches, church members, brothers, and grandfathers.
Two black Cadillacs were headed into Cranston on Route 30. Inside each car were four very large men. One group represented General Motors. The other group represented the International United Auto Workers Union. The four GM men were there to take control of GM’s stamping plant. The four UAW guys were there to take control of the local union. At 1:45, one car parked down the road from the union hall and the four men, dressed in dark business suits, opened the trunk of their car. They put on long coats and could be seen adding items of various shapes and sizes to their pockets. Pete swung the NBC camera towards the men, and one of them immediately peeled off from the group. “You need to leave this property immediately.”
“Well, we were invited….”
“That was not a question. Turn off the camera and go away.”
They started throwing their gear in the van. “But we’re parked in and we….”
“Leave the van. We will guarantee its return.”
Bewildered, the two network reporters started down the highway on foot. “Why should we listen to him?” Pat asked.
Pete stopped and watched the big man join the other three in front of the union hall. “Because he’s a big son of a bitch?”
On the stage inside the union hall, Milt Jeffers was at the microphone. “The purpose of this meeting,” he shouted, “is to bring you up to date on the strike situation. As you know, several of us have been fired. The International Union has ordered us back to work. We are here to vote on whether to go back or stay out.”
Jimmy came dancing onto the stage shaking his fist in the air. “Bring ‘em to their fucking knees,” he shouted. His was shirtless and had that crazy look about him that he got when he drank moonshine.
“Shut the fuck up, you idiot,” one of the guys in the front row called. “Yeah,” others joined in. “Shut the fuck up.” The guys had lost a lot of money in the last two and a half months. They were in no mood for Jimmy’s clown act. Jimmy stopped and stared down at the crowd, mistaking his union brothers for the enemy. He was ready to launch himself off the stage at them when he was grabbed in a bear hug by one of the big men from Detroit. At the same time, Milt Jeffers was picked up by two of the men, one of them on each side of him. Both Jimmy and Milt were carried toward the nearest exit, Jimmy squirming like a wild animal caught in a trap, Milt going quietly. In front of the union hall along Route 30 sat Sheriff Greene, two other cruisers, the city police chief, and a state patrol car. Sandwiched between the police cars was an ambulance, and Milt and Jimmy were stuffed into the back of it.
On the union hall stage, the remaining big man from Detroit bellowed into the microphone, “There is only one vote here today, and it is mine. You will report to work tomorrow at your regular starting time.”
Downtown, Darius and John stood in front of the Imperial Hotel. Exactly at 2:18 p.m. Darius began speaking into the NBC microphone. “I have called this news conference to clarify GM’s position on this illegal strike and on our relationship with the United Auto Workers. I talked to Sylvia Porter this morning and….” Darius was hoisted into the air by two of the GM big men from Detroit.
“Put me down,” he shouted. “Don’t you know who I am?”
John Dunham had seen these guys in action before and knew this game was over. He followed meekly to the waiting ambulance where Darius could be seen with his nose pressed against the glass, peering incredulously as his empire crumbled.
The other big man took the microphone. “GM’s announcement here today is that the strike is over. All issues have been resolved. All workers are to return to work tomorrow morning at their regular starting time.”
Chapter 10
The First Joint Program