[Note from Kevin — This is the continuation of this essay, entitled Setting a Nose Alight, about Pop’s time with the labor union. It had these following two lines under the title:]
from Charles L. Brown
Former Chairman of the Board of AT&T, Circa 1956
Earlier this year, one of my daughters pointed out that the practice of labor relations filled a prominent place in my life and that I have never really written about it. I suppose I should plead guilty as charged. Indeed the practice of labor relations filled an important part of my life from the time I received my discharge from the American Army at age 23 until my appearance as a lobbyist in Washington, DC at age 44 years. From start to finish, my career as a union representative lasted six and a half years. My career as a company representative lasted for a total of eleven years. As you can see, the company career in labor relations lasted almost twice as long as my work for the union.
Earlier in these essays, I wrote an essay called “Setting a Nose Alight.” That was the title on my career as a union representative. Now my eleven-year career as a company representative is one whose title should be “Can You Read This Upside Down?” By the time this essay is finished, I hope to make sense of the second title as the first has already been revealed.
My career as a company representative in labor relations started in 1955. On that occasion, I was promoted from my job in Chicago to an office on the 25th floor of 32 Avenue of the Americas in New York City. Soon I was to learn of the complete domination of affairs in the Long Lines department of AT&T by a small fellow from rural Georgia who went by the name of Henry T. Killingsworth. I would have much preferred an essay to utilize the chronological timeline. But Killingsworth, this small-statured man, was larger than life. He simply dominated most actions that were taken in the Long Lines department of AT&T. The facts are that this domination should have produced good results. Quite to the contrary, his domination led to grave weaknesses in his selection of personnel and their actions.
You may recall in these essays that Killingsworth in a Christmas letter stated that “next year we are going to have to take the slack out of those trace chains.” This had to do with cotton planting in southern Georgia, which is usually performed with a pair of mules and the planters are black men. So in this Christmas letter, Killingsworth was offering the thought that next year we would all have to work as hard as those who were planting cotton with the use of a pair of mules.
Killingsworth was also an intruder on the sale of paper poppies. In one of my essays, I mentioned that the person who sold the poppies in our building on Memorial Day was obliged to get Killingsworth’s approval before the sale. When he asked for Killingsworth’s approval, he was told, “Hell, no, and while you are at it, get rid of that God-damned nun who is begging in the lobby.” That nun was totally inoffensive. She simply sat by the entrance to the subway with a basket on her lap. The fact is that before that episode was finished, the poppies were sold and the nun remained at her chair at the top of the subway steps.
On another occasion, I entered the sacred hallows of Killingsworth’s office. There was a labor relations problem and I was accompanied by George Sparks, the Vice President of Personnel. When Killingsworth asked a question, he received an answer from George Sparks. Instantly, Killingsworth turned to me and said, “You don’t believe that, do you, Ed?” This was the very first time that I ever knew that Killingsworth knew my name.
I hope that you will recall that in my contract bargaining with the union, the issues were never settled until about three or four o’clock in the morning. Because I had come from the union, Killingsworth seemed to take a delight in tormenting me. This was doubly so when I had been up all night settling a contract. When bargaining was completed, I knew enough to go by my office before going home as I suspected that Killingsworth would be calling me. He did that on two occasions, telling me that it looked to him as if we had given the company away. We had done no such thing.
When Killingsworth was finally removed from dominating the affairs of the Long Lines division, there were cheers from every direction. Following one bargaining session after he was removed, I went by my office, having spent the entire night without sleep, as a means of wrapping up a new contract. I knew that Killingsworth was gone, but I answered the phone at about eight in the morning to hear the voice of the new vice president of Long Lines congratulating me.
I came close to swallowing the telephone. Killingsworth’s replacement was a gentleman from Colorado named Lowell Wingert, who was a gentleman, a gentleman’s gentleman. I explained to this fellow that on these occasions after bargaining was completed, Killingsworth usually called me to denounce me for “giving the company away.” This gentleman’s gentleman said that there would be no more of that sort of thing.
When I expressed some doubt as to the identity of the caller, thinking that it may be a cruel joke, Lowell Wingert offered to come by my office to prove that it was he who made the call. Significantly, I was not summoned to his office on the 26th floor; it was Wingert who offered to come by my office. He was a good and great gentleman.
Unfortunately there were those in the company who tried to emulate Henry T. Killingsworth. When I took up my duties in 1955, I soon recognized that the vice president in charge of personnel was one of those who tried to emulate Killingsworth. His name was Jack Marsh. I was struck by Marsh’s obesity at our first meeting. Later on when we were required to stay overnight in a hotel, one way or another Marsh and I shared a room with twin beds. During the evening, Henry T. Killingsworth called Marsh. I went to the living room of the suite but I could not escape the words of Jack Marsh saying, “Yes, Killy. Yes, Killy.”
In many respects, Jack Marsh recalls Chris Christie, the governor of New Jersey, in my mind. He was exceedingly fat and he was a bully to boot. On this particular morning when he went to dress, he could not bend over far enough to put his socks on his feet. He grabbed a sock and tried to catch his foot in the sock. This was the only way he could poke his foot in the sock.
In other respects, Jack Marsh tried to emulate Henry Killingsworth. As might be supposed, I had nothing but utter contempt for Mr. Marsh, the personnel vice president of the Long Lines department who outranked me by at least two or three full grades.
With that preamble, I expect that we are now prepared to go to work. The labor relations manager was a fellow named Dick Dugan. A purist in the language, Dick always emphasized that the second syllable in his name took precedence. Dick Dugan was a prince of a fellow. He had an engaging sense of humor. However, about six months after I came to New York in 1955, Dick Dugan was tapped for an assignment that eventually led to the presidency of one of the Bell System affiliates called Cincinnati and Suburban Bell. At this point when Dick Dugan exited the Long Lines scene, my duties increased. I was handling all of the third-level appeals on grievances as well as running the yearly bargaining teams.
At this point we had to stand by for another intrusion by Henry Killingsworth. According to the beliefs of Killingsworth, a good man could do any job. And so it was that Killingsworth brought in some of his “stars of tomorrow” in an attempt to run the labor relations job. I never believed in the thought that a good man could do any job. For example, a man with a low boiling point could never be a good labor relations manager. He simply has to absorb a good bit of abuse that has been piled up by representatives of the union. Similarly, there are those of us who might be called the liberal arts majors who could never succeed in the accounting department or perhaps even in the engineering department. But that was all underbrush to Killingsworth’s belief that a good man could do any job.
And so with Dick Dugan’s leaving, I found myself reporting to a new boss named Paul Gaillard. Paul had no training in labor relations and tried to smooth that over by tending to agree with his superiors in the labor relations battles. The director of the Long Lines bargaining unit was a female named Elaine Gleason. She extended normal courtesy to Paul Gaillard and he mistook it as a sign that she was yearning for a man. Accordingly, he set out to seduce her. My guess is that Gaillard never succeeded in his quest to relieve Miss Gleason’s virtues.
At the end of the year, Henry Killingsworth was of the opinion that his means of bringing in the stars of tomorrow was a tremendous hit. He then offered Paul Gaillard to a program that rotated promising stars among the various companies in the Bell System. Though all of my compatriots believed that Paul was a floor-flusher and had no real substance, he was accepted into that rotating program at Killingsworth’s insistence. At the end of two years the Northwestern Company simply fired Gaillard. He was not offered back to Long Lines or did he suffer a reduction in rank; he was simply fired.
Killingsworth next named John Eide to succeed Gaillard. He was the son of the president of the Ohio Bell Telephone Company. Almost immediately John Eide was dispatched to spend a year at Harvard, supposedly studying management techniques. While Eide was gone, a young fellow named Tom Scandlyn was brought in to fill the vacancy left while Eide attended Harvard.
To his great credit, Tom Scandlyn recognized that a lot had preceded him and that he needed help from professionals to establish his position as a spokesman for AT&T in labor negotiations. I first met Tom Scandlyn in 1958. The year I spent with Scandlyn as my boss was entirely productive. When in contract bargaining, the union representatives tried to humiliate Tom and I was quick to come to his defense.
But at the end of the year, Tom Scandlyn left and was eventually rewarded with a vice-presidency. It was at that point that John Eide returned to the scene.
The contrast between Eide and Tom Scandlyn could not have been more dramatic. Whereas Scandlyn was humble, John Eide was arrogant. After all, he had been to Harvard so the rest of us peons should do as he directed us.
The Bell System’s image of its male employees was that they were clean-cut and eager to accommodate. John Eide was a pain in the butt. His clothes were frequently in disarray and he suffered from a runny nose. Because he carried no handkerchiefs, his nose was not blown.
There came a time when it was necessary to go to Chicago to handle a grievance matter. The night before the meeting Eide announced that he was going to Cicero, which is a section of Chicago. Cicero is the meanest and toughest section of Chicago and I would not have gone there under any circumstances. So I went to bed and Eide departed for Cicero. At around two in the morning, my phone rang and it was Eide saying he was in trouble because he had bought so many drinks, he could not pay for them. He wanted me to come to Cicero to rescue him. I told him that was clearly out of the question. I called the manager of our hotel and found out that Eide had used a credit card. The hotel was willing to advance him the money he needed to be put on his credit card. The manager of the hotel agreed to summon a cab to go to Cicero to pick up John Eide. The cost of the cab was, of course, Eide’s responsibility. When the meeting with the union took place in Chicago, Eide showed up ten or fifteen minutes late looking like a drunk, which he was.
Now we fast forward a little bit to a bargaining situation at which we reached a crucial point. Tony Seghy, the number two man in the union, was from Cleveland. That was also Eide’s home town. And at a crucial point, Eide privately called Tony Seghy and offered to pitch in the company’s position in exchange for future favors. This violated the most cardinal rule of labor relations. I of course did not know of this telephone call until later in the morning.
Tony Seghy was as outraged as I would have been, were I in his shoes. He immediately reported this to Elaine Gleason, his boss, who went instantly on the phone to Bill Whittaker, the vice president of personnel of AT&T Long Lines. Whittaker had succeeded George Sparks. Whittaker called Eide to his office and determined that the report was true. He then went to Killingsworth and told him that he wanted Eide fired and that he could never work for him again. That is precisely what Whittaker should have done.
Instead, Killingsworth hemmed and hawed and transferred Eide back to a traffic position. Whittaker demanded in the strongest terms that I be promoted to the job that Eide had. This was the same position that George Sparks had also had when he recommended me for that promotion. Killinsworth said no. Much to his credit, Bill Whittaker said that he would no longer bring in people to be my boss. From that time forward, I was a division-level manager and would report to a vice president. And for a number of years that is the way the organization operated.
John Eide continued to go downhill and sometime in the late 1970s he committed suicide by inhaling the fumes of his motor vehicle. Somewhere around 1960 or 1961, the management of AT&T finally learned that Henry Killingsworth was an impediment to the progress of the Long Lines department. Whereas at the Long Lines department he was in charge of about 20,000 employees, he was moved to headquarters at 195 Broadway where he was given a job where he had a secretary and two other employees reporting to him. He started off this new assignment by telling his three employees that they must work much harder. Apparently Killingsworth had not abandoned the idea of taking the slack out of the trace chains.
Around 1962 or thereabouts, I was transferred to the general headquarters of AT&T and was given the job of handling the International Brotherhood of Teamsters who were threatening to invade the Bell System. The Teamsters viewed the communications workers as an easy target. Not long after I arrived, I received a phone call from a news reporter who claimed he was looking for the man who had been placed in charge of the anti-Teamster effort. I told the caller, who later turned out to be a Donald J.R. Bruckner, that I was the guy.
For the next year or thereabouts, I sent Bruckner my theories of what the Teamsters were up to. He was always punctilious about protecting my identity. Bruckner was the labor relations editor for the Chicago Sun Times. He was a fine fellow and he and I enjoyed several lunches together.
Later on in my assignment as the anti-Teamster director, the vice president of the New York Telephone Company in charge of labor relations there was aroused by the accuracy of Bruckner’s reports. There was one occasion when Ken Whalen, the vice president of labor relations in the New York Company, came to my boss’s office. That was Stanley G. Erickson. Ken Whalen was more than interested in the accuracy of the reports of the Teamsters that he had read in the Chicago Sun Times. The three of us were standing near an entrance to Erickson’s office and Whalen asked how this reporter, Don Bruckner, could get such accurate information. I interrupted by singing a little ditty called, “I used to work in Chicago.” Actually the ditty was an off-color one. It got the job done.
At that point, Ken Whalen knew that I was the source of the newspaper reports. Within a short while, Whalen picked up other duties and opened a spot for me at the New York Telephone Company. I was given a promotion, which Long Lines had denied me, and I was paid an appropriate rate which gave consideration to the depressed pay rate at Long Lines.
The culture at the New York Telephone Company could not have been more different from the culture at the AT&T Long Lines department, particularly under Henry Killingsworth. They were willing to listen to reason and they backed my efforts to overhaul their labor relations department. I must laud the New York Company environment and express my great admiration. The two years that I spent at the New York Telephone Company were among the happiest of my 17 years of labor relations experience in the Bell System.
One of the reasons for my happiness had to do with my secretary. She was Lorraine Grant when she accepted the job working for me. Before long, Lorraine Grant became Mrs. Murray. It was a delight to work with Lorraine Grant and the rest of the folks at the New York Telephone Company.
As a matter of interest, the International Brotherhood of Teamsters had internal troubles involving their president, Jimmy Hoffa. All things considered, the threat from the Teamsters to enter the telephone business disappeared. I suspect that their effort to invade the telephone business was one reason and the failures of Jimmy Hoffa were another. And so we end this threat by the Teamsters, but in effect, it was the Teamsters who got me the promotion that AT&T Long Lines had so long denied me. Finally, justice at last.
At this point I believe that I have fulfilled at least in part my daughter’s request that I tell her about that segment of my life that had to do with labor relations. For a young man such as myself, 17 years of such experience was entirely rewarding and demonstrated the depths to which some human beings can dive. On the wrong side of history there was of course none other than Mr. Henry Killingsworth. For my money, he was a villain par excellence. He established the bar for inappropriate management policies. Unfortunately his influence extended for many years in the people he promoted. Jack Marsh, the obese fellow, and John Eide were two of his emulators. The fact is that I kept my sense of humor throughout all of those 17 years. My sense of humor has made it possible for me to enjoy my 43 years of work for the Bell System.
There is a degree of difficulty in condensing those 17 years into a piece for an essay. I could have written a good deal more but I believe that the essence of what transpired in this long career is reflected in this essay.
This morning when I was looking for the name of Lowell Wingert, my wife was searching through my files. There were many memorable moments. For example, there was the remark by Henry Joyner about one of the union representatives. Henry said very calmly that this young fellow was more than annoyed; he was “sorer than a boiled owl.” That was a Henry Joynerism. And it cannot be topped.
There was also an occasion when the AT&T bargainers included Charles L. Brown, who went on to become the Chairman of the Board of AT&T. On this occasion, Charlie and I were seated together on the company side of the bargaining table. The union sat on one side with its eight representatives and the company sat on the other with a lesser number of representatives.
On this occasion, Charlie Brown mentioned to me that the union representative directly opposite him was attempting to read his notes. This woman was a robust specimen who came from Philadelphia and had a reputation for being one of the nastiest representatives of the union.
Charlie said that she had been reading his notes upside down. I knew this to be the case because I could see her moving her lips. Apparently as she tried to read Charlie’s notes, she would enunciate the words. Charlie Brown was a gentleman in every respect. He put up with this as long as he could until he took a tablet of paper and in large block letters he wrote, “Can you read this upside down?” With Charlie sitting next to me, I knew what was happening. When the woman representative of the union reached those lines, she repeated them sotto voce, under her breath, and she suddenly realized that those lines were aimed at her. Her face reddened and she threw up her arms, as if to say, “It wasn’t me.” But the fact is, it was her. I will always treasure that moment when Charlie Brown stopped the reader of his up-side-down notes. It was a classic.
Charlie Brown is dead now. I miss him. He was on two of my bargaining teams. During those years, I believe that he was widowed. He was intending to go to Spain. When the bargaining was taking place here in Greenwich Village in New York, he and I set out to find some Spanish restaurants so he could practice his Spanish. Charlie and I became good friends. It distressed me to learn that later in life, after his retirement, Alzheimer’s Disease crept up on him. Charlie was a gentleman’s gentleman.
There is much more to say on the subject of labor relations but I believe that this essay plus one with the title “Setting His Nose Alight” should be the extent of my involvement in the labor relations field.
My observation after all of these years in the labor movement and in civilian life is that insecure men are often tyrants. On the opposite side, secure men are rational in their approach to life and their decisions are well founded. As an example, I cite Henry Killingsworth, the grand villain, and his acolyte Jack Marsh as those who were insecure in life. On the other hand, I would cite Charles Brown, Henry Joyner, Lowell Wingert and multitudes of others who are comfortable in their own skins and see no reason to punish those who are their subordinates. Tom Scandlyn and I remain friends to this day. Unfortunately, many of those who are insecure wind up in positions of great authority.
But I tend to take comfort from two communications which are in my possession. In 1964, after my encounter with Ken Whalen of the New York Company, I went to take up my duties in that company. Shortly after it was announced in the newspapers that I had been promoted to the New York Company, a message arrived from Elaine T. Gleason, my old adversary when I was bargaining for Long Lines. If I can locate it, I will include it here. In effect, Elaine said that the affairs of the New York Telephone Company were in good hands. I appreciated that immensely.
And finally, when I announced that I was leaving the Bell System to take up retirement after 43 years of service, there was a message from my old friend Charlie Brown. He was then Chairman of the Board of Directors of AT&T and I appreciated his taking the time to communicate with me.
We have reached the end of this long essay and the observations that I offered earlier. When one takes up employment with a large corporation, one can expect that there are those with reason who will treat him decently. One must also expect that when a man is afflicted with insecurity, a tyrant is produced. In my case, I had a little bit of both. Taking one thing with another, the good guys in the telephone business and in the labor field greatly outnumbered those with tyrannical concerns.
When I started this essay, I believed that it would pivot primarily on the personalities that I encountered along the way. That is exactly the way that it has turned out. Again, I must say that the good guys far outnumbered those with evil intent. I am greatly sorrowed by the fact that those with evil intent still exist. But that is the way it is. You pays your money and you take your chances.
E. E. CARR
September 20, 2012
Essay 697
~~
There is much to address here.
A) AT&T had a chairman named Charlie Brown. Good grief!
B) Pop’s memory is fantastic
C) Given B), I hereby request the full lyrics to “I used to work in Chicago”
D) It’s great to see Tom’s name come up! He’s a cool guy and a reader of these essays. Not long ago, he wrote this response to Pop’s essay about country speak.
E) I do hope that Pop finds Elaine’s letter. Or more technically that Judy finds it, unless Elaine had the habit of writing in Braille. I’m not even sure if Pop reads Braille, come to think of it.
F) I think I have to give Killingsworth a little bit of slack. I mean, the man was never had any choice but to become “Mr. Killingsworth” which, let’s face it, is such an obvious villain name that comic books might even reject it for being too obvious. Seriously, they’d introduce the ‘Killingsworth’ character and all the readers would plant their foreheads squarely in their palms and wonder how on earth his arc would play out. So yeah, he was just living up to his name.
Pop came through with the lyrics!
Hey Kevin –
You inquired about the lyrics to that beautiful hymn, “I used to work in Chicago.” Ordinarily at this time of night I am doubled over in praise of Jesus, but a do recall one or a partial verse of “I used to work in Chicago.” It goes on this order
I used to work in Chicago in a department store,
A lady came in and asked for some screws
I asked her what kind at the door
But screws she said and screw her I did
So I don’t work there anymore.
All of the rest of the lyrics are of this mildly vulgar nature. Let me know if your heart has been uplifted by this recitation.
Pop
And then —
Hey Kevin –
Further thoughts on verses to “I used to work in Chicago.”
I Used To Work In Chicago
(Everyone sings words in capital letters. Tune is similar to “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”; the underlined word are the words that change from verse to verse.)
I USED TO WORK IN CHICAGO AT AN OLD DEPARTMENT STORE,
I USED TO WORK IN CHICAGO I DON’T WORK THERE ANYMORE
A young man came in for some paper
SOME PAPER
FROM THE STORE?
Paper
he wanted, a ream
he got
I DON’T WORK THERE ANYMORE!
I USED TO WORK IN CHICAGO AT AN OLD DEPARTMENT STORE,
I USED TO WORK IN CHICAGO I DON’T WORK THERE ANYMORE
A young man came in for some jewelry
SOME JEWELRY
FROM THE STORE?
Jewelry
he wanted, a pearl necklace
he got
I DON’T WORK THERE ANYMORE!
And similarly:
Carpet he wanted, shag he got
Ruler he wanted, my 12 inches he got
Nail he wanted, screw he got
Fishing rod he wanted, my pole he got
Meat he wanted, sausage he got
Beef he wanted, porked he got
Coffee he wanted, my cream he got
Helicopter he wanted, my chopper he got
Camel he wanted, hump he got
Stamps he wanted, licked he got
Fuck he wanted, fucked he got