Labor: A Common Thread of Trouble

Detroit's unexpected labor turmoil this year has had an unreal, occasionally downright unbelievable quality right from the start — but last week it turned into a full-fledged nightmare for the U.S. economy. As the United Auto Workers' strike against Ford entered its second senseless week, it seemed certain that some, and perhaps much, of the damage to the economy will be lasting.

Any chance that the auto industry might top 8,000,000 units for calendar 1964, said Ward's Automotive Reports, "has been K.O.d." The industry has al ready had one of its worst introduction periods in recent history, thanks to the 31-day General Motors strike, and two poor months back to back could make their effects felt this winter not only in Detroit but around the entire U.S.

Still unwilling to settle such noneconomic matters as longer washup periods and the allocation of overtime, members of Ford local unions continued to walk out. The company closed 24 plants from Alabama to Minnesota, laid off 33,500 nonstrikers to bring the total of men out of work to 59,000.

Ford's passenger car production is al ready 75% below capacity and unless the walkout ends this week, said President Arjay Miller, the nation's fourth biggest company will screech to a com plete stop. The U.A.W. aggravated the problem by also striking Mack Trucks and White Motor Co.

Angry Lieutenants. In fact, as the nation looked around last week, it was faced with a sudden storm of labor turmoil. After 12 to 15 months of comparative labor calm, strikes or the threat of strikes suddenly hovered over such important industries as paper, rail roads, shipping, meat packing and steel.

Through many of these disparate disputes ran one common thread: a rebel lion against national union chiefs by angry lieutenants, ambitious local lead ers and restless rank and file. A new and independent union that recently ousted two less militant A.F.L.-C.I.O. unions shut down two-thirds of the West Coast paper industry by calling the first strike there in 30 years. In steel, the prospects of a strike next spring have been heightened by a battle for the presidency of the United Steelworkers (see THE NATION). And it is painfully obvious that Walter Reuther has had his hands full trying to control his disputatious local U.A.W. leaders.

This tendency to defy established un ion leadership is caused partly by a kind of anticolonialism on the part of locals that want to play a bigger role, partly by the political and technological challenges — such as automation — that have created a climate of discontent in U.S. unions. To many in the rank and file, labor's aristocracy seems old, aloof, often tyrannical, and too busy discoursing on foreign policy or participating in university colloquia to keep in touch with grass-roots concerns. Some annoying habits of union leaders that are ignored so long as they deliver—frequent travel, conspicuously high living—begin to pall when there is less left to deliver. Unionists call this the "high-hat issue" or "uppity unionism." To escape its onus, one U.A.W. troubleshooter in Pittsburgh refuses to wear white shirts, and a top officer of a food employees union says: "I wouldn't drive a Cadillac these days if you gave me one."