A New Way to Strike

For years, John L. Lewis had played one role--the massive, threatening, bully-boy champion of his miners. Last fall he was challenged, fined, and--the U.S. thought--stripped of his power to strike. But the great opportunist, the master of vendetta, was only temporarily thwarted, not subdued.

To John Lewis the mine blast which killed in men at Centralia, Ill. (TIME, April 7) was his opportunity for revenge. Under the guise of a "memorial" shutdown to let his miners mourn their dead, he found a new and gruesome way to strike, despite Government ownership of the mines, despite the Supreme Court.

As millions of shocked U.S. citizens began asking who was responsible for the tragedy, John Lewis strode forward, shouting an accusing answer. One man and one man only, he cried, was to blame.

Rumbling. Who was the culprit? Not the mine management which had allowed deadly quantities of coal dust to gather in the tunnels at Centralia No. 5. Neither was it Robert M. Medill, the cynical, hard-drinking director of the Illinois Department of Mines and Minerals. Medill had sought political contributions from mine owners. He had refused to listen to an inspector who had pleaded that the Centralia mine be closed as a deathtrap. Medill resigned in a hurry--but Lewis showed no interest in him. He was after bigger game.

He roared it down the halls of Congress, he spat it in headlines: "the archcriminal" was the Secretary of the Interior, hulking, 237-lb. Julius ("Cap") Krug.

Tramping ponderously into a crowded congressional caucus room, John spoke of death and terror in the bowels of the earth. When he mentioned the widows and children of Centralia's dead, his voice sank to a whisper. He cried: "If we must grind up human flesh and bone in the industrial machine . . . then before God I assert that those who consume coal owe them and their families protection. ... I care not who in heaven or hell oppose it. . . ." Roaring, whispering or hammering the table, he always swiveled back to his target--Krug.

He spoke for more than five hours. He wanted Krug fired. "Our people," he said, "are tired of working in Krug's slaughterhouses." Krug was guilty of "criminal negligence." He spoke with rumbling irony of Krug, "the Hercules with the size twelve shoe and the size five hat."

Rawhiding. Was John L. Lewis himself in any way responsible? He had seldom paid more than lip service to mine safety, and had let damning mine inspection reports go unread in his Washington headquarters. Though he was empowered to demand the closure of unsafe mines, he had never mentioned conditions at Centralia. The thought that he was in any way responsible apparently never crossed John Lewis's mind. Whoever else might be guilty, he was triumphantly, righteously innocent.

Krug remained silent; he suffered Lewis's rawhiding without complaint. Then he ordered 518 Government-held mines closed for safety reasons. Lewis bawled with triumph: "This is Krug's deathbed confession. Oh, God, what a monstrous, grotesque mistake that he is in the position which he occupies."

Under the continued pounding, Krug cracked. He gave the miner's chieftain an almost unbelievable opportunity to extend his "memorial holiday." He asked the U.M.W. to submit the names of "any other mines which the [union] considered so hazardous as to require closing. . . ." Lewis's triumphant answer: all but two of the 2,531 U.S. coal mines operated by the Government were unsafe and would therefore be shut down.

Revenge. That was the deadfall, and elephantine Cap Krug, goaded beyond endurance, had stumbled into it. This week the nation, with a 40-day coal supply on hand, had its miners' strike after all. How long would it last? There was no telling. Safety inspection of all the mines might take two months. There were a thousand quibbles with which John could harass the Government--and keep his men out.

But for their time in idleness the miners could hope for no more pay, no shorter work week, for none of the conventional rewards of a strike. And could the mines really be made safe? At best, mine safety was a relative thing. Said I. N. Bayless, president of the Union Pacific Coal Co., owner of the two mines certified as safe: "On the day of inspection these two mines just happened not to have anything wrong called to the attention of the inspector. Many other mines are equally safe."

The miners, and even John L. Lewis, who was once a miner himself, knew that Bayless was right. In coal mining there is no absolute safety. Improvements have been made over the years, but the death rate is still high. Last year 974 miners died in rock falls and other accidents--most of them unnoticed beyond their home-town papers--compared with 2,452 in 1923 and 3,197 in 1907.

The focus of public attention might help improve the situation further; but mining would remain the most dangerous trade a man could follow. The point was that last week John Lewis--a man who has spoken much but done little about mine safety--was using the hard lot and misfortunes of his miners to wreak revenge on a Government which had dared bring him to bay.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.