LABOR: Road to Peace

• Share

While the high commands of the two great U. S. labor forces were assembled in simultaneous convention last month— A. F. of L. in Denver, C.I.O. in Atlantic City—they agreed in a sudden exchange of insulting telegrams to hold a formal peace conference. Last week the two delegations met in Washington—three men from A. F. of L., ten from C.I.O. From the start the conference seemed doomed. Superstitious reporters noted that the delegates numbered 13. Even the site of the conference, the creaky old Willard Hotel, was inauspicious, for the Willard itself is involved in one of those labor disputes that greys the hair of the National Labor Relations Board—a dispute variously known as the "warm applesauce case" or the "case of the peacock china."*

Only ray in this atmosphere of almost universal gloom was the leadership of the peace delegations. Speaking for A. F. of L. at the big oval table on the third floor of the Willard was George Harrison of the Railway Clerks, stocky, 42-year-old head of A. F. of L. railroad department and president of the potent Railway Labor Executives association.

Speaking for C.I.O. was Philip Murray, 52, calm, suave chairman of the Steel Workers Organizing Committee. He it was who negotiated the details of C.I.O.'s contract with U. S. Steel Corp. A Scot from Lanark, his opponent in those negotiations was another miner's son, Benjamin Franklin Fairless, last week named as Big Steel's next president (see p. 59). (As they started their talks, Steelman Fairless, recalling that his father, too, had been a union man, said to Laborman Murray: ". . . Call me Ben." In his soft burr, Mr. Murray replied: "Yes, Mr. Fairless.")

Though Philip Murray and George Harrison are two of the ablest labor negotiators in the land, their assignment was nearly superhuman. They strained for cordiality, addressed each other as "George" and "Phil." They posed reluctantly for newsreel cameramen shaking hands—without sound effects. Mustering a sour smile, Phil Murray observed: "This will look pretty fishy." And George Harrison answered: "Yes, when they see this the rank & file will decide here's where we sold them down the river."

Meeting in closed sessions, the conference soon got down to business. Then the C.I.O. delegation went into a huddle with John L. Lewis, emerging to slap down a three-point peace proposal:

1) A.F. of L. to adopt a policy of strict industrial unionism not only for mass production workers but also for maritime, service, public utility and basic fabricating industries; 2) formation of an autonomous "C.I.O. department" within A.F. of L. with sole jurisdiction over industrial unions; 3) a joint A.F. of L.-C.I.O. national convention to ratify the agreement.

First to leave the session after this uncompromising document was thrown at A.F. of L. was tough Joseph Curran, president of C.I.O.'s new National Maritime Union. Asked why the meeting had broken up, he snapped: "Hell, you can't expect men to come out of a dead faint and go right on negotiating." George Harrison, added the hardboiled seaman, was "still quivering."