Education: Striking Scholars

A hilly, grimy stronghold of John L. Lewis’ United Mine Workers and of their aggressive labor unionism are the rich bituminous coal fields of Alabama’s Walker County. Last month Walker County’s miners came home to hear shocking news from their children’s mouths. Three of the county’s schoolteachers, who had been organizing their 375 colleagues into a Teachers’ Association and were trying to pet an A. F. of L. charter, had been fired for “incompetence, outside activity.” To this familiar gesture, the miners made a familiar answer. Last week Walker County’s Central Labor Union Council, having unsuccessfully demanded the dismissal of crusty School Superintendent Albert Sidney Scott, had called a good share of the county’s 17,000 schoolchildren noisily out on strike.

Miners’ wives clutched their children by the hand, jeered “Scab!” at any neighboring moppets who ventured to class. One zealous unionist smashed a schoolroom window with a brick. Another threatened to horsewhip a teacher. Now thoroughly agitated, the Teachers’ Association met at Jasper Courthouse, unanimously agreed to keep clear of the A. F. of L., assured Superintendent Scott that no teachers were on strike. Whereupon Superintendent Scott appealed to Alabama’s Governor Bibb Graves to get the students back to school.

To Walker County Governor Graves dispatched his Superintendent of Education, his Commissioner of Labor, and lean Lawrence Lee, his own labor expert and onetime law partner. Sputtered the Governor: “These children shall not be crucified to attain any end, whatsoever. . . . And that’s saying a lot.”

At week’s end word went out through the hills that the unions had accepted Arbiter Lee’s proposal of a truce, and Walker County’s striking scholars began to file reluctantly back to class.

Outside big, red-brick Memorial High School in Campbell, Ohio, one morning last week 800 pupils milled excitedly, shouting at 200 who were pressed anxiously against the windows inside. Those outside were “on strike” because School Superintendent Andrew S. Klinko had abruptly shifted Memorial’s popular journalism instructor, sandy-haired 29-year-old Michael Graban, to a grade school. Up sped a squadron of police, ordered the strikers to disperse. When they refused, the police, hardened by many a riot in nearby steelmaking Youngstown, tossed two tear gas bombs into their midst, drove them coughing and sneezing down the street.

Next day as Campbell simmered over that outrage, with Mayor John J. Borak scolding Police Chief Frank Cunningham and Chief Cunningham scolding his men, the Board of Education ended the strike by shushing Superintendent Klinko, promising to look into Instructor Graban’s case itself.