A LABOR UNION TOWN

This past Labor Day brought back memories of living in a “company town,” where all our fathers were employed at the Phillips Petroleum plant in Phillips, Texas. Most of our fathers were union members. My classmates reminisced on the Phillips Blackhawks Facebook page about their experiences when the union members struck.   

Many talked about the store created by the union officials to help feed families during the strike. Some of my former classmates shared stories of worried conversations between their parents. They would whisper about the men who crossed the picket lines to work in defiance of the union and the managers taking the striker’s places at the worksite. A cloud hung over our households during those times. We often wondered if our food would last until the strike was over. My father would temporarily move to my grandmother’s home over a hundred miles away to load bales of cotton at the cotton gin factory in Memphis, Texas. Stacking 500-pound bales of cotton is backbreaking work, but he did what he had to do to provide for our family. His income was a fraction of when he worked at the plant, but we survived.

The last strike I remember was shortly before my first year in college. I spent the summer working at Dairy Queen for the enormous hourly wage of 50 cents, which provided almost enough to cover tuition for the first semester. A small journalism scholarship helped bridge the shortfall. I lived at home while attending a nearby junior college for several semesters. Tuition was minimal, especially compared to today’s college costs, but it still felt insurmountable. The dark clouds continued to hover throughout those months of the strike as I wondered how I would pay for subsequent semesters.  

When it felt like the strike would never end, I did some simple math and questioned my father about the effectiveness of the walkout. My father informed me that labor strikes had been very effective in forcing the company to treat employees fairly. When there’s no money coming in for a few months, a slight increase in hourly pay doesn’t compensate for the lack of a decent income for 90 days.

Labor unions began forming in the 19th century and steadily gained membership, peaking in 1954, when over 35% were union members. The purpose of unions was to advocate for employees to increase pay, improve working conditions, provide benefits, and protect members from being wrongly terminated. When negotiations between the union and management were stalemated, the most effective method in achieving labor union goals was to stop work and bring the company to its knees from loss of revenue. Private-sector unions have declined for years, while public-sector unions have gained membership. Public sector employees consist primarily of city employees, governmental workers, teachers, and police. Union employees average 10-30% higher wages than non-union employees in the United States.

As imports of steel, automobiles, and electronics increased in the U.S. during the 1970s, factories began closing or moving to Southern states where labor unions were weaker. Some factories moved out of the country to escape paying higher wages. When President Ronald Reagan broke the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization’s strike in 1981, union membership was immediately declined. President Reagan apparently forgot his previous role as a labor union president in California.

My old classmates commented that our town pulled together during difficult times. Many of us stay in touch even though the small town hasn’t existed for 30 years. Not only were we plagued by occasional strikes, but there were also plant explosions during my childhood. There was never any violence against those who were picketing or against those who crossed picket lines. No one resented the managers who took our father’s places during those times. Our neighbors and the people we attended church with were managers, picket line breakers, and strikers. We had an unshakeable belief that we all have to get by the best we can in this world, and we were stronger working together.  

Our recollections of the walkouts may not be accurate, as many once dimly held memories from decades ago become sweeter as time passes. We then frame long-ago memories around a brightly colored canvas featuring emojis of radiant faces. We love our hometown, even though it’s now just a sweet memory! Maybe that’s how love works.