THE CONGRESS: The Great Labor Debate

It was the roughest, bitterest brawl of the 86th Congress. Into Washington poured sacks full of mail from the folks back home. Lobbyists swarmed through Capitol corridors. Worried Congressmen cussed, consulted and conspired. Moving toward a vote in the U.S. House of Representatives was the year’s most intensely debated legislation: a labor bill aimed at ending the racketeering and hoodlumism that had become all too evident in some unions, especially the mighty International Brotherhood of Teamsters under its president, James Riddle Hoffa. The House had three choices before it:

THE SHELLEY BILL, sponsored by California Democrat John F. Shelley. Mildest of the three, it would merely require labor unions to open their books for inspection. It carried the faint blessing of A.F.L.-C.I.O. Chief George Meany, but not of Teamster Hoffa, who opposes reform of any kind.

THE ELLIOTT BILL, chaperoned by Alabama Democrat Carl Elliott. A step beyond the Shelley bill, it imposed some restrictions on blackmail picketing and secondary boycotts, in addition to requiring financial disclosure. Closest to the Senate’s Kennedy-Erwin Labor bill (TIME, May 4), it was supported by the Democratic House leadership under Speaker Sam Rayburn.

THE LANDRUM-GRIFFIN BILL, jointly sponsored by Michigan Republican Robert P. Griffin and Georgia Democrat Phillip M. Landrum. More restrictive than the other bills, it imposed severe limitations on picketing and secondary boycotts, ordered labor leaders to respect rank-and-file rights under pain of jail sentences, extended state-court jurisdiction in labor disputes. The bill was backed by House Republicans and Southern conservatives, and got the nod of President Eisenhower.

Reversing the Trend. Fortnight ago, surveying his troops before the battle, G.O.P. Leader Charles Halleck knew he was in trouble in his effort to push across the Landrum-Griffin bill. Although his friend and coalition ally, Virginia Democrat Howard Smith, assured him that Southern conservatives were lined up solidly behind the bill, Halleck found that some 20 of his own Republicans, all from industrial areas, were prepared to go over the hill, vote for one of the weaker bills. Moreover, the trend was against Halleck: his rasping, hard-driving methods had caused resentment among the G.O.P. rank and file, and he was in danger of losing even more Republicans.

In desperation, Halleck persuaded the President to go on television with an eloquent and perfectly timed appeal for strong labor reform. That reversed the trend: last week, on the eve of the great debate, the House got its biggest pile of mail since Harry Truman sacked General MacArthur.

While Ike gave him his biggest assist, Halleck gratefully accepted some help from a hostile source. An alltime high tide of lobbyists (400 Teamsters, 200 from the A.F.L.-C.I.O., other hundreds of grey flanneled N.A.M. and U.S. Chamber of Commerce men) had swept into Washington to join the struggle. Some of the labor persuaders unwittingly played into Halleck’s hands by trying to use blackjack tactics on Congressmen. “If you vote for the Landrum bill,” one bakers’ union man warned New York’s liberal Republican John Lindsay, “we’re going to have to work you over in 1960.” Lindsay, outraged at such tactics, changed his nay decision to solid support for the Landrum-Griffin bill.

Jimmy Hoffa himself came through swimmingly. At a dinner for his 400 lobbyists, he promised to “elect” a Congress that would dance to Teamster pipes. When he heard this, Missouri’s Democrat Clarence Cannon, who had pledged his vote to Sam Rayburn, announced that he would have to vote for Landrum-Griffin.

On the other side of-the fight, Sam Rayburn’s top lieutenant, Missouri’s Richard Bolling, based his strategy on a civil-rights sleeper that had somehow slipped unnoticed into the Landrum-Griffin bill. The Southern conservatives would never vote for a bill containing such a clause. If Bolling could keep his civil-rights ploy undiscovered until past the parliamentary deadline for amendments, he could then reveal its presence and split the ranks of Southern conservatives. Craftily, Rayburn’s strategists laid a booby trap for Southerners who were routinely hunting for civil-rights hookers by leaking a phony tip to Columnist Drew Pearson that the hooker was in Section 102. Pearson dutifully printed the news, and the Southerners who rushed to read that section soon relaxed—no civil-rights stuff there.

Reversing the Strategy. Bolling’s plan was witlessly blown by a man who had been forewarned: ultra-liberal California Democrat James Roosevelt. While Bolling & Co. sat silent and shocked, Jimmy Roosevelt arose on the House floor and blurted the red word that Bolling had hoped to spring at the very last minute. Jimmy had found a “silver lining” in the Landrum-Griffin bill. And he told the Southerners just where to find the actual civil-rights sleeper, hidden in Section 609. The Southerners panicked just as Dick Bolling had predicted, but it was still 24 hours before the final vote—and it proved to be ample time to work out an amendment to get the civil-rights sleeper out of the bill.

Then trouble flared up where Sam Rayburn should least expect it—deep in the heart of his own 20-man Texas delegation. The pro-Ike mail from home was building up tremendous pressure, and much as they hated to leave their old leader, many Texans were thinking of defection. Their dilemma was compounded by another Texan, Senate Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson, who warned Mister Sam that for Texans to vote for anything less than the toughest possible labor bill would ruin them back home. Inevitably, word filtered out, and one by one the Texans made their decisions.

In the first important vote, the Shelley bill “went down to defeat. After three days’ debate, the Landrum-Griffin bill was ready for the crucial test. While scores of union lobbyists glared down from the galleries upon the gladiators, the bill was put to a teller vote in the Committee of the Whole. Result: 215 to 200 for Landrum-Griffin. Speaker Rayburn resumed the chair, called the House to order for the climactic roll-call vote. As the clerk droned out the names in the tense silence, Halleck paced nervously behind the rail on the Republican side, and Democrat Dick Bolling began to tick off the defections. At last it was Speaker Rayburn’s painful duty to announce the result: “On this vote,” he said in a firm voice, “ayes 229, nays 201.”

It was a bitter blow for Rayburn, who had lost 16 of his Texans. It was even worse for Teamster Hoffa and for George Meany. “Victory for the antilabor forces,” snapped Meany.

There was still trouble ahead for the Landrum-Griffin bill: it faces a tug-of-war when the Representatives and Senators sit down in conference committee to work out a compromise measure that will satisfy both branches. For Dwight Eisenhower, the House vote was a striking demonstration of his influence on the U.S. In a memorandum from Gettysburg he said: “With, I am sure, millions of Americans, I applaud the House of Representatives for its vote today.”