The title of this essay may cause some consternation. However, before this essay is finished I hope to explain the derivation of the title and to remove any consternation.
This essay will concentrate on what I have always called the post-war years. However, as time has gone on, the post-wars have become a confusing title. The reason for the confusion has to do with the United States military becoming involved in a good many conflicts. In this case, the post-war years refers to the Second World War. I am aware that since the events of World War II we have been engaged in military operations in the Korean theater, the war with Vietnam, the messy war in Nicaragua, the ill-fated venture into Iraq, and, finally, the war that is still taking place in Afghanistan. But for the purposes of this essay, the post-war years will refer to that period from 1945 until 1951. In subsequent essays, it may be that I will deal with the events since 1951. But for now, let us deal with events in the late 1940s and into 1951.
The story of this essay really starts in August or September of 1942. I came to work for AT&T in the Long Lines department in the summer of 1941. When I was hired, the AT&T Company considered me a temporary employee for the first year. When the first anniversary took place, AT&T would consider a person such as myself a permanent employee. Permanent employees are entitled to, among other things, a leave of absence.
When my first anniversary occurred, I pocketed the large raise that I was given which brought my salary to $21 per week. When I applied for a leave of absence to join the United States Army, or the Army of the United States, there was a bit of hostility on the part of the management of AT&T in St. Louis.
For those of you who are history buffs, that period at the end of 1941 and of 1942 marked the ascent of the Germans on the continent of Europe. When I told AT&T that I intended to enlist in the army, Poland had fallen, as had France. England was in great danger. It is fair to say that from the Polish border west, Europe was in the hands of Adolf Hitler and his Nazi cohorts.
I had thought that when I announced my intention to join the American Army, the management of AT&T would give me the leave of absence that I sought and tell me to be well in my army career. But that is not what happened.
At this point, I hope my readers will understand the tremendous influence that AT&T had on the affairs of the United States government. In many respects AT&T regarded itself as the equivalent of the American government. When I asked for my leave of absence, the management more or less told me that my duty was to stay with AT&T. For that reason, they would not give leaves of absence to those of us who were volunteers in the military services.
My friend Don Meier and I found ourselves in identical situations. Don wished to join the Marines and I wished to join the United States Air Corps. When it came to Don and myself, our efforts during the coming war would be devoted to military service and we would deal with AT&T at some later date. The best I could find out was that Don and I were considered as “abandoning the job.” On the personnel file, there was no suffix that said abandoning the job to join the army; it read simply “abandoning the job.” In effect, AT&T considered me as having quit the job, but the words they used were “abandoning the job.”
None of the voluminous material that the public relations department produced ever reached our hands after we announced that we intended to leave. Remember, this was in the summer of 1942. Somewhere toward the end of 1944, the Congress of this country passed a resolution that required that all of the people in the situation that Don Meier and I found ourselves in had to be reinstated in their former jobs. Once that happened, I was met by a deluge of mail from the public relations department of AT&T. They had gotten my military address from my parents. When the war ended in 1945, I returned to AT&T. But if we thought that we would be welcomed back, we were mistaken. AT&T at least in St. Louis held the view that their current employees had performed well during the war years and we were the impertinent newcomers, the veterans who interrupted the flow of their smooth sailing operation.
When I returned to work in November of 1945, I was given a desk near John Baxter, one of the supervisors. Baxter was a Texan who loved to shout into the telephone. His voice was often tinged with anger because his respondents tended to argue with him from time to time. Baxter’s boss was a fellow named W.G. Nebe. He sat in the back of the office, staring out of the window. Apparently desks are placed so that the light comes in over the left shoulder. Nebe had his desk placed in front of the window and he stared out of the window at the buildings on Eleventh Street in St. Louis. One day Nebe came to my desk. This was unprecedented because Nebe never had much to say to hired help. He announced that AT&T had done a re-assessment of my wages and that the re-assessment resulted in my getting a raise of four or five dollars a week. I concluded, along with all of the other veterans, that AT&T was simply screwing us. It was at that time that I joined the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Workers. The Federation was quite anxious to have veterans in its midst. Before long, I found myself headed for greater responsibility with the small independent union. In 1948 or thereabouts, I had become the Vice President of Local 5 of the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Workers.
The next union election came up early in 1950. I ran for the presidency of that local. For years, the affairs of the local had been guided by a fellow named Gordon Sallee. There was some animosity to me, a newcomer and a veteran trying to supplant an older employee. But as time went on in the presidency, Gordon “Pete” Sallee and I became great friends.
In the spring, I believe of 1950, I became involved in the upper reaches of the Federation. This took place in New York City. There was a point when, in the union election for national director, Carl Peters had asked me to nominate him and make a speech in his behalf. I of course did that.
Some time prior to 1950, I became the administrative representative on the five-member national bargaining team. Finally in 1951 in the spring, the contract involving all of the Long Lines employees was nearing its end. And so it was that the five bargainers along with the two full-time executives, Carl Peters and Ray Boatman, gathered to make plans for the bargaining sessions to take place. The bargaining sessions took place in a large conference room at 32 Sixth Avenue in New York. I took up residence in the Picadilly Hotel, realizing that the bargaining sessions would take about six weeks to complete.
On the first day of the bargaining, an awkward silence came over us as we greeted the company’s bargaining committee. We had lined up on opposite sides of the table. I suppose the management team as well as the union team including myself were taking assessments of each other.
On the management side, they were represented by a gentleman named Gil Jones, who was probably nearing 60 years of age. Mr. Jones was a wonderful fellow and he seemed to appreciate the arguments that we were to make. Next to Mr. Jones sat Vernon Bagnell. He had just been picked to be the first general manager of a new area in Kansas City. Prior to that, he had been the personnel director for Long Lines in New York.
The next person in line was a fellow named Beverly “Bevo” Swango. Swango was a down-home sort who tried to inject some humor to offset the staid circumstances brought about by the presence of Vernon Bagnell. I was fond of Bevo Swango. Next to Swango sat a fellow who had been the District Plant Superintendent in Richmond, Virginia named Claude Ballenger.
Finally, there was a note-taker whose name was Bill. I tried to make friends with Bill by asking him what he did. He said, “When the boss wants a ham sandwich, I go down to the cafeteria and get him a ham sandwich.” I regarded this as a put-down, and in the six weeks of bargaining that followed I rarely ever engaged in conversations with Bill.
On the union side of the table, again starting at the far end, there was a fellow named John Lotz, who was the president of the local in New York City. Lotz was antagonistic toward all of the company representatives as well as some of the union representatives. He probably attended 30% of the meetings we had with the company. Next to John Lotz was Joe Darling. Joe and I became special friends and I looked to him for guidance in matters taking place at this high level in union affairs. Next to Joe sat Carl Peters, the director of the Long Lines Bargaining Unit. He was a fine fellow who was to die from cancer, probably in 1956. Next to Carl Peters was Ray Boatman, who was Peters’ assistant but had no real influence.
Then came a woman representative from traffic named Averill Hildebrand. She was a Kansan who had come to work in New York and who had risen in the union. Then came Ernestine Locknane, the service assistant from Cincinnati. On weekends when everyone else went home, Ernie and I held the fort. And finally, next to Ernie I sat.
I will not take you through all of the jabs and feints involved in the bargaining process. I will just try to pick out two or three items of significance to me.
But before we go there, let us deal with Claude Ballenger, the fellow from Richmond. There came a time when Ballenger, who was not an accomplished speaker, tried to explain to us how meticulously the company granted promotions. Ballenger started out by saying that at least nearly half of the promotions he had recommended never made the grade. As the colloquy proceeded, he raised the ante to somewhere around 60%. This was being observed by Bagnell, the personnel director, and by Gil Jones, the general manager. They were not impressed favorably.
Ballenger continued to tell us of the difficulties that he had had with the stringent requirements of AT&T in promotions. I was making a presentation on promotions that day and Ballenger was the subject of my cross examination. I knew that Ballenger had become nervous in explaining the promotion process at AT&T. The climax came when Ballenger, in an effort to demonstrate his casualness, reached for one of the cigars that were on the conference table. He fumbled endlessly with the cellophane wrapping. When the wrapping was gone, he bit off the end of the cigar without using a cigar cutter. I knew that Ballenger was really in trouble when he put the cigar in his mouth and attempted to light his nose, all the while maintaining a casual atmosphere. When he held the match to his nose, I expect I knew I had him.
I am reasonably sure that the upper management of AT&T which was represented at the table by Gil Jones, Vernon Bagnell, and Bevo Swango considered Ballenger a lost cause. As far as I know, he went back to Richmond and may have expired there.
During the six weeks of bargaining sessions, we often ate in the company cafeteria. I had done some early work on the wages paid to the cafeteria employees. I judged them to be substandard. When we debated this proposal or demand, my opponent was none other than Bevo Swango. Bevo Swango tried to say the wages paid to the cafeteria employees at Sixth Avenue were in accordance with the wages paid to other cafeteria workers. He cited primarily dining rooms at 195 Broadway, Western Electric and New York Telephone. Significantly, all of those organizations were the property of AT&T. So in effect, he was saying that the wages paid to our cafeteria workers were in concert with other company workers. But actually he was comparing ourselves to ourselves rather than to outside organizations. Bevo Swango said all of the foregoing comparisons while trying to suppress a smile because he knew that the comparisons that he was offering were totally invalid. I told him, “You are trying to beat me to death with footwork,” which is a boxing term.
At a much later date, Bevo agreed that that was exactly what he had in mind. He knew that comparing the wages at headquarters of AT&T and the New York Company were not comparisons at all. Both of them, as I said, were owned by AT&T. In the process, politely as I could, I let Bevo and his bosses Bagnell and Gil Jones know that I would not be inclined to sign an agreement which did not contain a substantial raise for the cafeteria workers.
There is one other matter having to do with AT&T underpaying employees. That had to do with the construction gangs that were now plowing in the coaxial cables that enabled customers to dial their own calls. Prior to the bargaining session, John Waters suggested that it might be well for me to take a trip to Texas to meet with the Long Lines construction workers who were plowing in cables. John was our construction department union steward in St. Louis.
At the moment, in 1951, AT&T was plowing in coaxial cable from Dallas to El Paso. Those of you who know a little bit about Texas geography will recognize that the distance between those two towns is formidable.
Central Texas accommodations were very few. Restaurants and motels offer basically fried food. Johnny Waters and I spent two days visiting with our construction gangs observing the circumstances that they had to put up with. Aside from being away from home, living in substandard quarters, and eating food any normal person would reject, the company had a long-standing practice. It was called the “board and lodging equivalent.” This means that the company deducted $7 per week from the earnings of the construction workers and called that deduction the “board and lodging equivalent.” I thought this was a thoroughly immoral deduction from the low wages being paid to our construction gangs. Where that phrase came from is a total mystery to me. In fact, if the truth were known, it was also unknown to the people on the company bargaining committee in 1951. At the conclusion of our trip into Texas, we went to hold an evening meeting.
There were perhaps 300 to 350 construction workers who had washed up and who showed up for the meeting. They brought with them great quantities of Coca Cola, which resided in ice tubs on the floor. These fellows were from small towns and were used to hard work. I suspect that not many other telephone workers had to put up with a Caterpillar tractor that had fallen into a ditch and needed to be pulled out. John Waters and I had a delightful time with these members of the construction gangs of AT&T.
Before long, it was nearing midnight and the Coca Cola was about gone. When everyone had had his say, I told the meeting that before we left, John Waters and I wanted to shake each member’s hand. Among other things while shaking hands, I asked the gang members where they came from. It may have been one of the high points of my service to the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Workers. I was overwhelmed by the depth of affection the members showed John Waters and me. To have someone from headquarters in St. Louis come out and talk to them apparently was a great deal. I am so delighted, even to this day, that we had that meeting.
Now back to the bargaining business. Soon it became time to deal with our demand to get rid of the “board and lodging equivalent.” The company had designated Bevo Swango to try to justify that deduction.
I made the point that whenever an employee of AT&T traveled, he or she would turn in a voucher and would expect to be paid for every expenditure while traveling. There were no deductions from the ordinary employee. This practice was confined only to the construction gangs.
In the great AT&T Company, with all its majesty, $7 per week was being deducted from the wages that it paid these construction workers. I must say here that the wages paid the construction workers were, in my estimation, substandard to begin with. Bevo Swango tried to justify the board and lodging equivalent question by contending that it was the tradition in the construction gangs to have this deduction. My point was that it was immoral to deduct $7 per week from the already low wages paid to these employees. Saying that it was simply the long standing practice should not ever justify continuing such a practice.
Again, I informed Bevo Swango as well as the other company representatives that I would not be willing to sign a conclusion to this bargaining session that did not put an end to the board and lodging equivalent question.
I was on very strong footing because I was backed up by Averill Hildebrand and Ernie Locknane. Joe Darling was in my corner, come hell or high water. John Lotz was a non-entity and Carl Peters and Ray Boatman could be handled perfectly with those on my side because they were not formally members of the bargaining committee.
And so the 1951 bargaining with the Long Lines Department of AT&T continued as the midnight deadline approached. At that time, and even to today, the bargainers will hold an evening session up to the deadline. In our case, the deadline was extended until the contract was finally approved about 6:30 in the morning.
Before the contract was concluded, AT&T made several offers that we judged to be substandard. First, there was no raise for the dining service workers and second, the board and lodging equivalent was not removed. I tried to make it clear to the company representatives that there were a number of us who would not sign such an agreement until those two items were taken care of. I strongly suspect that Gil Jones, the general plant manager, told his committee that the union meant business and that no agreement would be reached until their objections were accommodated.
Finally, around two or three o’clock, the company produced an offer that was acceptable to us. It contained a four dollar raise for the dining service workers. Interestingly, for the first time in many many years, there was no such provision for a “board and lodging equivalent.” Around 6 or 7 AM, argument for the 1951 contract was concluded.
I do not recall our team having a meal during the final processes. But when the bargaining was completed, we went to the ninth floor cafeteria to have breakfast. Several of us were eating around a large table. Now you may recall a cafeteria worker who has been the subject of my essays.
Her name was Lila. Lila had a trumpet-sounding voice as she singled out people to needle. Lila, for example, always was on me about the St. Louis Cardinals, whom I supported as my home-town team, as distinguished from the Brooklyn Dodgers. The Cardinals had lost a game and I knew that old Lila would be all over me. But when the contract was finally concluded, word quickly reached the cafeteria workers. Lila left her station on the serving line and came over to sit with us on the bargaining committee. She knew what had happened to their raises. Finally Lila interrupted by saying to those of us on the bargaining committee, “I love every damn one of you.” The fact that we had spent six weeks or more in preparing for this outcome bothered us not at all. When Lila said, “I love every damn one of you,” it made it all more than worthwhile.
Unfortunately, I left to take another job very quickly after the bargaining session so I have no report on what the gang members would say about losing the board and lodging equivalent deduction. But I am quite certain that they must have been greatly pleased. To have AT&T deducting $7 per week from the wages of a man who made only $40 a week was unconscionable.
Upon completion of the bargaining sessions, Gil Jones quietly said to me that the two of us should have a drink together later on in the afternoon. I, of course, immediately accepted. I arrived at the quiet club that Mr. Jones had recommended. He was waiting at a table for me. The long and the short of it is that Mr. Jones told me that Bagnell, the former personnel director, was now assuming a general managership in Kansas City and would be calling me to offer me a job. It was almost unimaginable that a person would arrive into the management of AT&T by serving an apprenticeship in the non-management ranks as a union representative. I credit Gil Jones, Vernon Bagnell, and Bevo Swango for this development.
When I returned to St. Louis to await the call from Mr. Bagnell, the union members were more than just cordial. On the other hand, there were two employees whom I had known for a number of years who were belligerently uncordial. But I had had my reward when Lila said that she “Loved every damn one of us.” Receiving such praise from Lila meant more to me than I ever expected.
Now it is some 60 years later than the events that I described in the 1951 bargaining session. Union ranks are on the decline. At AT&T I suspect that the union ranks are pretty thin these days. But I also know that the unions that exhibit a bit of courage can straighten out such things as the board and lodging equivalent deduction and the substandard wages paid to cafeteria workers.
Looking back some 60 years later, the time I spent representing those dining service workers, the construction gangs, the traffic operators, and the craft employees may have been the happiest time in my life. Some months after I had become President of the local in St. Louis, my boss, Bill Knapp, told me, “You have not tore your britches yet.” That was meant entirely as a compliment. My dealings with AT&T management were always firm but with a good sense of humor. I wanted to be sure that the humor was interpreted in such a fashion that my britches might not be torn.
I realize that this essay is a bit long and that it may involve some “inside baseball.” But when an employer attempts to exploit his workers, that employer will keep on doing that until he is met by people or a superior force to turn things around. I am aware that the feelings of some of my readers may be on both sides of this question of union representation. But for me, who has had extensive experience with unions, I will always contend that unions are a positive influence on the affairs of men and women who have to work for a living.
I am still thrilled by Lila’s expression of thanks and I know that the construction workers were most appreciative as well. So I must contend that my soul, wherever the soul is, will rest in peace. It gives me great pleasure to know that 60 years ago I used my voice to speak for those who had no voice at all. So I say that my soul is at peace and I am happy with all of these memories.
And if any of you run across Claude Ballenger, the man who tried to light his nose, please give him my best regards. He furnished a comic relief at a time when it was greatly needed.
E. E. CARR
September 6, 2012
Essay 693
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Kevin’s commentary: As a quick question for Pop, I would very much like him to clarify this thought: “He announced that AT&T had done a re-assessment of my wages and that the re-assessment resulted in my getting a raise of four or five dollars a week. I concluded, along with all of the other veterans, that AT&T was simply screwing us.” I took it to mean they were supposed to have been getting these wages the whole time, and AT&T was delayed in giving them what they originally deserved?
In any event much of Pop’s life has been and continues to be about standing up for the little guy, and this essay is a shining example of that.
The other thing that strikes me is the power of the memory that is able to call this many details back from the events of sixty years ago. These memories are coming from roughly three times longer than I’ve been alive and the man still remembers the first names, last names, and order at the table of everyone involved. Pretty damn incredible.
From Pop:
Hey Kevin,
Your supposition is correct. You may recall that when I enlisted rather than being drafted into the Army, AT&T showed me as “abandoning the job.” During the three and a half years that I was gone, AT&T did not give me full credit for the raises that had been granted to other active employees. When I returned in 1945 I was at least $4 or $5 behind the employees who never served.
At the same time, one of the most popular radio programs, and later on television, AT&T sponsored The Bell Telephone Hour and bragged about how they missed the boys who were overseas. The net result is that AT&T was cutting corners and when I determined that this was the case, I offered my membership to the Federation of Long Lines Telephone Employees, the union.
Clearly AT&T was bragging about how they were concerned about “the boys in service” but that did not keeping them from screwing those who had enlisted.
Now about remembering the names of those on both bargaining committees. There are reasons for me to remember the names. Gil Jones was an older fellow who went out of his way to tell me that Vern Bagnell would soon be offering me a management job. And he bought the drinks that night.
Vern Bagnell who was an engineer’s engineer, nonetheless succeeded in promoting me from a position on the union bargaining committee to a low level management job. This was the only case that I have ever heard of where such a thing happened. Bagnell must have been a magician to get this through the top brass at AT&T.
Bevo Swango was a down home kind of guy whom I very much enjoyed debating with.
And Claude Ballinger, the man who lighted his nose, was a special case. He was as dumb as a bagful of doorknobs.
On the union side, I have many reasons to remember our bargaining team. Joe Darling was my roommate on several occasions. Carl Peters asked me to nominate him for the top job. Ernie Locknane and Averill Hildebrand were two lovely women who sided with me when showdowns occurred. There is one other member of the union team named John Lotz. John was a bitter, bitter fellow who attended only about 30% of the bargaining sessions. How he ever got elected to the bargaining committee remains a great mystery to me.
As for the company note taker named Bill, I never even learned his last name. I realize that this is reaching back 61 years but somehow those names are stamped on my memory and I will probably be reciting those name when I finally croak.
Pop