National Affairs: YOUNGSTOWN, OHIO: A Steel Town on Strike

WHEN the air is clean around here,” says a longtime resident of Youngstown, “we’re not happy.” In good times, the city’s steel mills along the dirty Mahoning River roll out nearly 10% of the nation’s steel, and a sooty haze from the smokestacks lingers inescapably in the air. Last week with the steel mills strikebound since mid-July, the air in Youngstown was ominously clear.

One jobholder out of four in metropolitan Youngstown (pop. 225,000) is a steelworker, and thousands of other breadwinners, notably the railroaders who haul to and from the mills, are directly dependent on steel for their living. Thousands more, from the busmen who drive steelworkers to their jobs to the doctors who treat their illnesses, are indirectly dependent on the now-silent mills. When the mills are strikebound, Youngstown feels a tightening pinch. But this time, after 2½ months of shutdown, Youngstown is enduring its pinch with remarkable serenity, surprisingly little hardship.

Since early August, 2,855 Youngstown steelworkers and their families have gone on relief (average payment: $20 per month per person), but the strikers on relief, mostly Negroes and Puerto Ricans, make up only 9% of the city’s 31,000 steelworkers. The others are scraping along on the savings that they hoarded up in anticipation of the strike and on the liberal credit granted by Youngstown’s strike-seasoned merchants.

By skimping in a lot of little ways—buying cheaper meats, turning out unneeded lights, doling out quarters instead of dollars to their five children—Steelworker Frank Sekula, 41, and his wife Betty have managed to stretch their savings far enough to meet their necessary outlays without piling up any new debts. Betty Sekula, veteran of many strikes, has only a faint trace of bitterness in her voice when she says: “I don’t think that either side in this strike is thinking of the betterment of the men. I don’t see where we’re going to gain anything. We’ve been holding our own, but it’s awfully heartbreaking to see all the money we’ve saved disappear day by day.”

Even with skimping, and shoving big purchases off into the post-strike future, many strikers are running into debt. Steelworker John Novasich had some savings piled up when the strike started, but now he is a month behind on his mortgage payments, has yet to pay the doctor bill for the operation his wife underwent last June, and is wondering how he can scratch the $160 he still owes on his son’s tuition at Youngstown University.

Retail merchants are finding the strike’s impact uneven. Jewelry stores are empty. “Business is as bad as it was in 1932,” says Jeweler Harold Klivans. But hardware stores have thrived selling paint and other do-it-yourself items to strikers; many a steelworker has taken advantage of the strike to paint the woodwork and put up long-postponed shelves. Stores that grant credit freely have fared much better than those with no credit plans. “We’re hurting and hurting bad,” says Assistant Manager Robert Engler of a cash-only dime store on downtown Federal Street. But Bertram Lustig, owner of seven Youngstown shoe stores, says that “surprisingly, September was a pretty fair month. What saved us was credit. We’ve sort of become a bank.”

Along with the problem of too little money, strikers carry the burden of too much time. During the first few weeks of the strike, many of them found it pleasant to have leisure for fishing and do-it-yourself projects. But then boredom set in. “I wish it was over,” sighs Steel Mill Machinist Louis Webb, saturated with TV. “I like to work.” Even worse than boredom for some strikers is a growing feeling of helplessness as the strike drags on and savings dwindle. “Sometimes when I go to bed,” says Frank Sekula, “I think: Here I am a head of a family, and there’s nothing I can do. I think how helpless I am.” Says Steelworker Albert Hudack: “There’s nothing much we can do about going back to work. There’s nothing much we can do about anything.”

Even with their problems of money and morale, Youngstown’s steelworkers and their families are neither angry nor restive—not yet, anyway. “We’ve had a steel strike in the Mahoning Valley almost every two years since the war,” said Union National Bank President Asael Adams Jr. “There’s very little clamor or bitterness. People are quiet and peaceful. Maybe they’re getting used to steel strikes.” Added Steelworker Matt Inchak as the strike stretched into its twelfth week: “I’ll stay out twelve more weeks if we have to. I’ve been out on strike before, and I’m still living.” And as long as Youngstown—a city that lives on steel —feels that way, there will be very little pressure on the United Steelworkers of America, at least from its members, to end the strike.