“There was fear. You kept your mouth shut when you was in strange company. Every time you put a union button on, you were told to leave the plant. You were fired so fast, it made your head spin.
“We’d meet in an old ramshackley building. No doubt, stool pigeons came. Frenchie was exposed. Somebody got up on the platform and said, ‘I know this guy’s a stool pigeon, ’cause I gave him information and it passed right from him to the foreman!’ They trapped the guy. Nobody touched him. He just walked down the stairs.”
He tells of constant betrayals by the AFL International to which they had belonged, and of the subsequent organization of the CIO, led by John L. Lewis.
THE FLINT SIT-DOWN happened Christmas Eve, 1936. I was in Detroit, playing Santa Claus to a couple of small nieces and nephews. When I came back, the second shift
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had pulled the plant. It took about five minutes to shut the line down. The foreman was pretty well astonished. (Laughs.)
The boys pulled the switches and asked all the women who was in Cut-and-Sew to go home. They informed the supervisors they could stay, if they stayed in their office. They told the plant police they could do their job as long as they didn’t interfere with the workers.
We had guys patrol the plant, see that nobody got involved in anything they shouldn’t. If anybody got careless with company property—such as sitting on an automobile cushion without putting burlap over it—he was
talked to. You couldn’t paint a sign on the wall or anything like that. You used bare springs for a bed. ’Cause if you slept on a finished cushion, it was no longer a new cushion.
Governor Murphy
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said he hoped to God he would never have to use National Guard against people. But if there was damage to property, he would do so. This was right down our alley, because we invited him to the plant and see how well we were taking care of the place.
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They’d assign roles to you. When some of the guys at headquarters wanted to tell some of the guys in the plant what was cookin’, I carried the message. I was a scavenger, too.
The merchants cooperated. There’d be apples, bushels of potatoes, crates of oranges that was beginnin’ to spoil. Some of our members were also little farmers, they come up with a couple of baskets of junk.
The soup kitchen was outside the plant. The women handled all the cooking, outside of one chef who came from New York. He had anywhere from ten to twenty women washing dishes and peeling potatoes in the strike kitchen. Mostly stews, pretty good meals. They were put in containers and hoisted up through the window. The boys in there had their own plates and cups and saucers.
Didn’t the guys want a drink now and then
… ?
That was one of the hard ones. Even though you had strict discipline in there, anybody wanted to climb through the window, you couldn’t stop him. He could leave any time he wanted. There was always some of the boys who would take a day off, go out and see how the old woman was doing. When they’d come back in, if somebody didn’t search ’em, why, there’d be a pint.
The plant police would start bringin’ in some women. That was damn quickly stopped.
We had ‘em outnumbered. They may have been anti-union at the time, but it wasn’t more than three or four years later before the plant guards’ union was organized. I don’t blame ’em. They were dependent on their supervisors for jobs just like we were.
Most of the men had their wives and friends come down, and they’d stand inside the window and they’d talk. Find out how the family was. If the union supplied them with enough coal… .
We had a ladies’ auxiliary. They’d visit the homes of the guys that was in the plant. They would find out if there was any shortage of coal or food. Then they’d maneuver around amongst themselves until they found some place to get a ton of coal. Some of them even put the arm on Consumer Power if there was a possibility of having her power shut off.
Any of the wives try to talk the guys into coming out?
Some of ‘em would have foremen come to their homes: “Sorry, your husband was a very good operator. But if he don’t get out of the plant and away from the union, he’ll never again have a job at General Motors.” If this woman was the least bit scared, she’d come down and cry on her husband’s shoulder. He’d more than likely get a little disturbed, get a hold of his strike captain… . Maybe we’d send a couple of women out there. Sometimes you just had to let ’em go. Because if you kept them in there, they’d worry so damn much over it, that’d start ruinin’ the morale of the rest of the guys.
Morale was very high at the time. It started out kinda ugly because the guys were afraid they put their foot in it and all they was gonna do is lose their jobs. But as time went on, they begin to realize they could win this darn thing, ‘cause we had a lot of outside people comin’ in showin’ their sympathy.
Time after time, people would come driving by the plant slowly. They might pull up at the curb and roll down the window and say, “How you guys doin’?” Our guys would be lookin’ out the windows, they’d be singin’ songs and hollerin’. Just generally keeping themselves alive.
Sometimes a guy’d come up to you on the street and say, “How the guys doin’?” You say, “They’re doin’ all right.” Then he’d give ya a song and dance: “I hear the boys at Chevrolet are gonna get run out tonight.”
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I’d say, “Hogwash.” He’d end with sayin’: “Well, I wish you guys the best of luck because, God damn, when I worked there it was a mess.” The guy’d turn around and walk away.
Nationally known people contributed to our strike fund. Mrs. Roosevelt for one. We even had a member of Parliament come from England and address us.
Lotta things worked for the union we hadn’t even anticipated. Company tried to shut off the heat. It was a bluff. Nobody moved for half an hour, so they turned it back on again. They didn’t want the pipes to get cold. (Laughs.) If the heat was allowed to drop, then the pipes will separate—they were all jointed together—and then you got a problem.
Some of the time you were scared, because there was all kinds of rumors going around. We had a sheriff—he came in one night at Fisher One and read the boys the riot act. He told ‘em they had to leave. He
stood there, looked at ‘em a few minutes. A couple of guys began to curse’im, and he turned around and left himself.
National Guard troops were there. Some from Pontiac, some from Detroit. I lived within a block where they camped. I would pass these young fellas every day. One boy, pretty young, he had a union button on. Was it his union button or was it his dad’s? I walked up to him. “Your captain allow you to wear that button?” He says, “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out.” (Laughs.) They were twenty-year-olds. Well-behaved boys. No rough stuff, nothing untoward happened.
The men sat in there for forty-four days. Governor Murphy—I get emotional over him (laughs)—was trying to get both sides to meet on some common ground. I think he lost many a good night’s sleep. We wouldn’t use force. Mr. Knudsen was head of General Motors and, of course, there was John L. Lewis. They’d reach a temporary agreement and invariably the Flint Alliance or GM headquarters in Detroit would throw a monkey wrench in it. So every morning, Murphy got up with an unsolved problem.
John L. was as close to a Shakespearean actor as any I’ve ever listened to. He could get up there and damn all the adversaries—he had more command of language. He made a speech that if they shoot the boys out at the plant, they’d have to shoot him first.
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There were a half a dozen false starts at settlement. Finally, we got the word: THE THING IS SETTLED. My God, you had to send about three people, one right after the other, down to some of those plants because the guys didn’t believe it. Finally, when they did get it, they marched out of the plants with the flag flyin’ and all that stuff.
You’d see some guys comin’ out of there with whiskers as long as Santa Claus. They made a rule they wasn’t gonna shave until the strike was over. Oh, it was just like—you’ve gone through the Armistice delirium, haven’t you? Everybody was runnin’ around shaking everybody by the hand, sayin’, “Jesus, you look strange, you got a beard on you now.” (Laughs.) Women kissin’ their husbands. There was a lotta drunks on the streets that night.
When Mr. Knudsen put his name to a piece of paper and says that General Motors recognizes the UAW-CIO—until that moment, we were non-people, we didn’t even exist. (Laughs.) That was the big one. (His eyes are moist.)
Gregory
He was born in Flint in 1946 and has lived in its environs most of his life.
THE SIT-IN strikes? No, it doesn’t ring a bell with me. What were they?
My grandfather worked for the GM plant in Flint. I had an uncle working for Body by Fisher, another one for Buick. He used to talk about his work, my grandfather. About standing in line, waiting for a job. He did auto work for forty-five years. But he never mentioned the sit-in strikes.
Charles Stewart Mott
A vigorous ninety-four, he’s the oldest member of the board of General Motors. In the early part of the century, he served as three-time mayor of Flint. As head of the Mott Foundation, he is responsible for many philanthropies. He says of himself: “Old man Mott is working days and nights, and Sundays, not knowing when to quit. I’d be busy if I were three people.” He is weary of being reminded of his remarkable resemblance to the the late British film actor, C. Aubrey Smith.
ALFRED P. SLOAN came to GM in 1932 and was made president. He was a master of corporate procedure. He brought order out of chaos. For every one share of stock in 1913, we had 562½ shares in 1935. We enlisted the help of the DuPont company. At one time, they held twenty-four percent of the stock. I don’t know what we’d have done without them. Since that time, it’s gone up and up and up.
I never became involved in the labor matters. Even in companies where I own all the stock, I leave those matters to those better able to handle it. I’m not the kind of person that worries, certainly not about something that’s water over the dam. I get more pleasure out of the foundation business than anything I can think of.
At board meetings, labor matters were described but not discussed. We had a vice president in charge of labor relations, a very able chap. He was in close contact with the directors of GM to see that he didn’t cross them up—that he does things the way they approve of. We meet the first Monday of every month. Sometimes, he’d appear to tell us what the situation was. We’d merely approve.
I knew Frank Murphy. (Laughs.) I don’t like to speak ill of a dead man, but he certainly lacked an awful lot of things that might have been good. Frank was Mayor of Detroit in the early Thirties. I remember him saying: “The water department of Detroit is in terrible shape. We supply water to contiguous communities, and they can’t pay. Water companies are tough things… .” Well, I own six or eight or ten, I guess, water companies. And they’re the easiest things to run. I said to him, “If they take water and don’t pay, all you have to do is apply to the courts and demand payment. You’d collect.” He didn’t understand… . He was Governor during the sit-down strikes, and he didn’t do his job. He didn’t enforce the law. He kept his hands off. He didn’t protect our property.
You feel the National Guard should have evicted the sit-downers?
They had no right to sit-down there. They were illegally occupying it. The owners had the right to demand from the Governor to get those people out. It wasn’t done. The same as today.
Communities allow all this hoodlum stuff. It’s an outrage. When you have people breaking into stores, and you have police and the National Guard with things loaded, and they don’t stop those people—it’s terrible. They should have said, “Stop that thing. Move on, or we’ll shoot.” And if they didn’t, they should have been shot. They’d have killed a certain number of people, but it would have been a lot less than would have been killed afterwards. It’s an absolute duplicate of the Thirties, with the sit-down strikes.
What are your memories of Franklin D. Roosevelt?
Someone said to me: Did you see the picture on those new dimes? It’s our new destroyer. It was a picture of Roosevelt. He was the great destroyer. He was the beginner of our downhill slide. Boy, what he did to this country. I don’t think we’ll ever get over it. Terrible.
Do you remember seeing lines of unemployed men … ?
I recollect there were such things.
POSTSCRIPT:
A Flint cab driver, on the way to the Mott Foundation Building observed, “He’s a great man. If you live in Flint, that’s one name you get used to. He’s done great things for us… . Sure, I remember the sit-down strikes. Boy, did they wreck this town … the way they destroyed property. The papers here were full of it. I tell you… .”
Scott Farwell
He is twenty-two. “My mother’s family owned a large part of a large city. We had a summer home of twenty bedrooms: It was somewhat rough in the Thirties, but my sister went to a girls’ school, where the tuition today is $4,000 a year.
“I come from a WASP upper middle-class suburb and was raised on the myth that everybody can make it. In reality, everybody can’t make it. If a guy makes a million dollars, he can do so only because another thousand people are making $3,000 a year.”
BOOKS TOLD us about guys jumping out of windows. But it didn’t tell us GM made fantastic profits all those years. Our textbooks tell us everybody got fucked. That isn’t true. A lot of guys, Joe Kennedy, for instance, made tremendous profits during that period. The vast majority got fucked up by the high guys. It’s the textbooks that are fucked up.