LABOR: Little Unprintable Strike

C.I.O.’s big, glowering John L. Lewis, who has many other things to think about, last week had a rank-&-file revolt on his hands. Rank ingratitude, thought John L. Only last spring he had fought and snarled and snorted until he had won for his Pennsylvania miners a boost in pay. And what thanks did he get? A kick in the paunch. All because his miners had been asked to kick in a little more money to the United Mine Workers’ treasury.

A majority of the voting members of U.M.W. had approved the idea of raising assessments from $2 to $6 a year. But District 7, around the valley of Panther Creek, did not approve. Neither did it approve Mr. Lewis’ large-handed contributions to political causes. In District 7 grumbling was heard that shaggy-haired President Lewis had political ambitions, was getting together a hope chest with their increased dues.

Roving pickets swooped through Panther Creek Valley, invading collieries, gathering recruits to the rebellion. They intended to strike at Mr. Lewis by striking and closing the mines. In strange alliance, company detectives stood shoulder to shoulder with Mr. Lewis’ union organizers, swapping blows with rank & filers (see cut). By week’s end an estimated 22,000 men had quit work in the district, mines were closed, and the revolt was spreading to District 9.

Officials at U.M.W.’s magnificent headquarters in Washington wrapped themselves in deep, angry silence. Unofficially it was explained that the assessment boost was to build up a war chest against the day when defense work ends and the recession sets in. But neither Mr. Lewis nor any U.M.W. bigwig would “dignify this little unprintable strike” with official comment.