LABOR: The War Dancers

“What’s the atmosphere there in St. Louis?” Vice President Dick Nixon asked, just before he set out on behalf of President Eisenhower last week to try a charm-and-pacification job on the delegates to the American Federation of Labor convention.

“Cool,” said Acting Labor Secretary Lloyd Mashburn.

Nixon then asked an odd question: “Why?”

“You know as well as I do,” Mashburn bluntly replied. The answer was indeed obvious—the delegates were sore and suspicious over the resignation of their fellow unionist, Pipefitter Martin Durkin, as Secretary of Labor. They preferred to believe that Durkin was speaking the truth when he said that the President had gone back on an explicit face-to-face promise to recommend 19 changes in the Taft-Hartley law. Addressing the convention, the ex-Secretary had spoken softly, even admiringly, of Eisenhower, but he had plainly implied that he considered Ike’s denial of his accusation a lie. He cited three main points:

1) The 19 proposed amendments, he said, were not a rough working draft, as the Administration argues, but had actually been on their way to Congress in final form on the very day Senator Robert A. Taft died.

2) Though it was decided to hold back the amendments out of deference to the Senator, and though the Wall Street Journal subsequently set off a wave of criticism from U.S. industry by publishing them, the President personally assured him on

Aug. 19, Durkin said, that the leak would make no difference in his attitude.

3) On Sept. io, the President “informed me that he had changed his position . . . and could no longer go along with the 19 amendments.”

The Silent Treatment. The delegates applauded Durkin vociferously and prepared, almost to a man, to enjoy disliking the Vice President. When Nixon stepped out of an Air Force plane at St. Louis, not a soul from the A.F.L. was on hand to greet him. Next morning, when he walked to the speaker’s platform in the Gold Room of the Jefferson Hotel, not a soul applauded. Though there was a perfunctory scattering of handclaps later, when he began to speak, hundreds of delegates simply sat and looked at him. But if Nixon realized at this point that he had entered a lion’s den, he seemed buoyed by a truly Daniel-like confidence.

He began by speaking of his “good friends” in the ranks of labor. He praised the “splendid . . . aggressive leadership” of A.F.L. President George Meany. “Then down at this table in front of me,” he went on, “I see another good friend, Martin Durkin . . . We are going to miss Martin Durkin in Washington. I am sure Mrs. Nixon will agree with me [that] we are going to miss Mrs. Durkin . . . one of the most gracious ladies ever to be in Washington.” This made scant impression, however, if only because the delegates knew what Nixon apparently had failed to realize—that the Durkins have lived in Washington for years and still do.

An Angry Murmur. “If, at the conclusion of this Administration’s first four years in office, the American people conclude it has served the greedy few.” Nixon cried, “[it] will lose the next election and it will deserve to lose.” A burst of derisive laughter swept the hall. The delegates grew even more hostile as the Vice President set out to explain the controversy between Eisenhower and Durkin as a “misunderstanding” between two “honorable men.” The President, Nixon stated, “has never been guilty of breaking his solemnly given word on anything.” An angry murmur rose as he said: “I trust him and I think the American people indicated that they trust him by [their] overwhelming vote . . .”

But the delegates swallowed their irascibility completely when Secretary of State John Foster Dulles made an appearance. Received with surprising warmth, he said: “You have done more than any other single body to explode the Communist myth. In this matter there should be closer partnership between us” —and got a ringing round of applause when he finished.

It was a big-name convention. Ex-President Harry Truman attended too, and was given an uproarious reception—although he paid for it. Long-winded A.F.L. Ancient Matthew Woll and other speakers, who preceded him at a memorial service for the federation’s former president, William Green, talked for more than an hour. Truman listened restively, and limited his own remarks to five minutes of reminiscence.

Decontamination Squad. Not since 1935, when John L. Lewis took a swing at the carpenters’ Bill Hutcheson, had an A.F.L. convention turned out so much banner news. And it did not stop with celebrities or the delegates’ belligerent reaction to the Eisenhower-Durkin split. With George Meany as president, the federation had a strong hand at the helm for the first time since gentle old Bill Green took office in 1924; and for the first time in many decades, it set out to clean up its own house.

Ambitious Teamster Chieftain Dave Beck leaped into a decontamination job, throwing Joseph P. Ryan and his gangster-ridden International Longshoremen’s Association out of the federation at long last, and setting up a new A.F.L. union to wrest control of the New York waterfront.

Beck, President Meany, and Paul Hall, East Coast big wheel of the Seafarers Union—all members of a five-man committee which is to run the new waterfront union—made it plain that they intended to make the I.L.A.’s expulsion stick. And it was obvious, even as old Joe Ryan was gobbling his last “heavyhearted” words of protest into a microphone on the convention floor, that the Hudson River piers would not be reformed without a battle. In New York, tough I.L.A. satraps began a desperate effort to renew the union’s contract (which is due to expire this week) by reducing their demand for a 50¢ -an-hour wage increase to 10¢.

Words—and Muscle. New York waterfront employers seemed on the point of going along. But the A.F.L. acted fast to deny Ryan’s union the new contract—and its present position as bargaining agent. Beck asked Governor Tom Dewey to exert every influence to keep the employers from signing; the A.F.L. executive council asked “federal, state and city authorities” and “responsible citizens” to swing their weight against a “collusive” contract.

At the same time, gangs of muscular, white-capped A.F.L. sailors took more practical action. Armed, the I.L.A. protested, with jack handles, two-by-fours and crowbars, they invaded Brooklyn piers dominated by Longshore Boss Anthony (“Tough Tony”) Anastasia, and stood significantly by while speakers promised protection for all dockworkers who deserted to the new union. The employers, at least temporarily, took a standoffish attitude toward the I.L.A. At week’s end, as the A.F.L. convention broke up in St! Louis, New York and New Jersey cops were hurriedly preparing for trouble on the docks.