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This is our land, these are our stories

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wm pasz
Post Posted: Thu Nov 20, 2008 4:30 am

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz continued

Life at the corporate head office was pretty leisurely, at least for the Dirtbag and his department. His "special" status and cozy relationship with the CEO put him in a class all of his own. He felt no need to play busy exec on the go and laughed at those who did.

A typical day at the office went something like this: Dirtbag would roll in at around 10 a.m. He'd have his morning coffee, look over the daily papers and maybe chat on the phone with Frank the lawyer and the x-copper turned union leader (I'll call him Willie, for sake of calling him something). At noon he would go for lunch which was generally about 2 hours - sometimes longer depending on whether he went to his favorite watering hole around the corner from the office or a more upscale steakhouse in the financial district (this usually meant he'd be out for the afternoon). After 5, he would sometimes entertain old cronies - guys from the LRB and reps from various unions in his office (where he kept a fully stocked bar) or head downtown for dinner with Frank the lawyer or he'd head over to the grungier side of town and go diving (meaning he'd hit a favorite dive bar or two, sometimes more).

I soon became a frequent lunch, dinner and diving partner. He seemed to like having me along and as far as I was concerned if the co. wanted to pay me $300 a week (which seemed like big $$$ to me at the time) to drink with this asshole, I was good with that.

I used these opportunities to chat him up and pump him for information about Willie and what was going on with his union. The Dirtbag was remarkably tight tipped about this subject, sticking for a long time to the party line he'd given me before about the poor disgruntled workers who wanted to set up a union and just happened to run into Willie, the poor disgruntled cop who was just hanging out his shingle as a union consultant...yadda, yadda....all of which was by now sounding less and less plausible to me.

In order to make his office look impressive, Dirtbag had ordered a set of legal books about labor relations. He never read them of course and made no bones that they were there because Frank the lawyer had a set just like them next to his bar and they just really made him look like he knew a shitload about the law. I started leafing through these books when Dirtbag wasn't around (which was often) and learned some interesting things.

During the preceding decade, it seemed that Ontario had seen a number of very contentious union organizing campaigns. Some of these involved a lot of dirty tricks including the use of undercover operatives who posed as pro-union workers (and even union organizers) but who were really there to rat out the real organizers and feed information to the employers that could then be used to kill the campaigns. I wasn't exactly naive about the ways of the world but something about this shit really shocked me. I suppose it was the underhandedness of it all and the way in which people were betrayed by those in whom they had placed their trust.

I began to wonder about Willie and the Dirtbag - were they part of some kind of dirty scheme along these same lines? How did this ex-copper with no previous involvement in labor issues come to set himself up as a union consultant? How did he organize all these hundreds of restaurant workers over a period of less than2 years at a time when employers in the industry were bat-shit paranoid about unions? Why didn't the company resist? Why did it sign one contract after another within hours of Willie's union being certified at one store after another?

Oddly - maybe because at the age of 21 you don't really expect to find yourself in the middle of a nest of racketeers - it took me some time to put two and two together.

But it was those files - the ones I found in Dirtbag's office one day when he was away - that finally told the story. Before departing on a trip to the west coast where he was planning to get drunk with a bunch of local franchisees, Dirtbag had asked me to organize a bunch of files and papers that he'd thrown into this desk.

Filing wasn't exactly my forte, but this mission was different. No sooner did I get into the thick manilla folders stamped "confidential", than a certain picture began to emerge. There were detailed reports about Willie's organizing campaign - where he'd been, how many workers had signed cards with his union, their names and the names of those who refused or who were promoting other unions. There were reports from a private eye outfit, a local security firm, about the progress its undercover operatives were making "organizing" on Willie's behalf. These were quite detailed, containing the names of workers who were supportive of Willie's union and those who were opposed. Some of the reports made reference to these workers being followed after they left work, others referred to confidential banking and other information that had somehow been obtained about them.

I asked Dirtbag about what I'd found and he finally fessed up. Yes, Willie's union was created by him and Frank (and a crony from the Bartenders Union) to keep legitimate unions out of the company's operations. Yes, the company had provided Willie with the financial resources necessary to start the union and do the whirlwind organizing drive (the money was flowed to Willie through Frank the lawyer).

The whole thing, the Dirtbag claimed, had been done with the best of good intentions. The company knew what was best for those women and it sure wasn't some radical union. What they needed was someone who could deal with their problems but not make any waves. He had been hired to basically run the bogus union he'd helped create - to give the members the illusion that things were getting better and that Willie was the best union leader in all of history.



I wasn't naive about the ways of the world but this shit freaked me out. There was something ugly and sinister about the whole thing. For the first time in a long time I thought about that lurking menace that I had sensed as a child. I felt its presence when I went to work now - around the Dirtbag and Willie the union leader, Frank the lawyer and all those sycophants from the LRB who turned up regularly to drink and suck up to the Dirtbag.

I thought I'd found the son-of-Watergate. The whole thing pissed me off. I felt really angry about the deception that had been pulled on thousands of mostly women workers in an industry that treated them like doormats. From what I saw in those confidential files, they were totally intent on joining a union and had more than enough reasons for wanting to do so. It was shocking that they were surreptitously steered to Willie and his company-backed union.

I confided what I'd found to Anne and she and I spent hours talking in hushed voices about what it all meant and what we could do about it.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sat Nov 22, 2008 5:13 am

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz continued

Anne and I resolved that we were going to shut this corrupt shit down. But how?
Should we call the labor relations board? That didn't seem like a good option. Half of the LRB's officers were the Dirtbag's drinking buddies.

Should we call the cops? Not likely - this sleazy nest was full of Metro's finest (by this time I'd learned that Willie's predecessor was an ex-cop as was the guy who the Dirtbag replaced (the former was fired for milking the union treasury too blatantly while the latter met with an untimely end by driving his car into a tree).

Anne put some feelers out into the activist community but initially those led nowhere. We were surprised to learn that a lot of people knew what was going on, or at least suspected it, but for reasons that really blew me away (any union is better than no union?) obody seemed eager to do anything about it.

Almost everyone we spoke to urged us to be careful - maybe even just leave the whole thing alone - because the guys we were mixed up with were dangerous. They were mixed up with mobsters or messing around with turf (the hospitality business) that was of high interest to the mob.

We didn't need to be reminded. The fact that we were making our discrete inquiries would have made the Dirtbag, Frank the lawyer and Willie the bogus union leader bat-shit crazy with rage. There was no telling what they might do. I had the feeling that I had already stepped way out over the line. It felt scary but good at the same time.

As time passed, with Anne and me still trying to figure out what to do, I was getting to know the Dirtbag and his pals a lot better. Having found out what they were up to, I wanted to know more - how did they manage to get away with this scam? Who else might be involved? What were their plans for the future? Enquiring minds wanted to know.

My inner spy took over. I dropped my tough chick image and bought some power suits. The Dirtbag was thrilled, thinking he was molding me into a younger, smarter version of himself. When I first let on that I knew about his secrets, I made like I thought it was a really cool thing that he was up to. He seemed pleased and thereupon became a lot more open about his labour-management innovations.

One thing I've learned over the years is that big scheming pompous asses love nothing more than to boast about their exploits. Most of the time however they have to keep their lips buttoned and this drives them nuts. So when they think they've found a confidante, they go right to town. And the Dirtbag did just that, filling me in on the gory details of Willie's union, past and present.

Dirtbag and Willie got along famously at first. Willie didn't like unions and for a time didn't even know that he was involved in something unlawful. (Later on he would take a labor relations course and find out that it's not right for a company to control a union.) Willie did what he could to run his bogus union although it was, all things considered, a pretty dreadful union - even for a sweetheart. The only good thing about it was all the cash that came in each month in union dues. Willie quickly found a use for all this dough - he set up a consulting firm and billed his union about 100K a year for his services as a consultant (over and above his salary as general manager).

The presence of Willie's union in the restaurant industry didn’t sit well with the HERE local that had been installed in Ontario by HERE’s mob-connected Canadian leadership in Montreal. HERE Local 75 was run by a guy who would go on to boast about his ties to the Cotroni crime family in the local media. His name was Jean Guy Belanger. He was another Al Capone wannabe and he made no bones about his disdain for the Dirtbag who became convinced that Belanger was out to get him and had put a hit out on him. He confided his concerns to the Ontario Provincial Police which had an organized crime unit.

I recall two detectives coming to see him at the office one day. They didn’t do much to put his mind at ease. They left him with a picture of a local boxer named Eddie Melo who moonlighted as an enforcer for Local 75 and told him to run away and hide if he ever saw this guy. The Dirtbag kept Eddie’s picture on his desk for several months during which time he became even more paranoid. Eventually he began packing a .357 Magnum and scanning the rooftops of nearby buildings for snipers. (He kept a whole collection of handguns at his home. I have to say that it was pretty freaky at the time thinking about this drunk lunatic running around with all this firepower.

- TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sun Nov 23, 2008 12:10 am

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz continued
The Dirtbag never did get shot although for a long time he was over-the-top paranoid about the possibility. He'd slip into the office through a utility elevator and walk quickly down the hall with his dead down and eyes peering suspiciously around. Once in his office, he'd peek through the blinds at the neighboring buildings - checking for snipers on the rooftops, he said.

Eventually he got bored of ducking Eddie Melo (who apparently was in no hurry to whack him) and decided that the worst Local 75 was likely to do was to try raiding Willie's bogus union.

A lot of the initial contracts for the restaurants were expiring and, to eliminate the possibility of a raid, Dirtbag decided to terminate them early and sign a master agreement covering all the stores with Willie's union. This would make it virtually impossible for any other union to raid Willie. As an inducement, he decided that Willie's members ought to have a health and welfare plan and that Willie should be the administrator (something that would provide him with yet another good income stream). He had no problem getting the OLRB to authorize early termination of the existing agreements and, over a few lunches, hammered out the terms of the master agreement with Willie. It really blew me away how companies cry poor when it comes to collective bargaining (and this company would also a couple of years hence) but when it came to keeping real unions away, health and welfare plans just fell out of the sky. Local 75's Belanger was pretty pissed off when the word got out about province-wide master agreement. But the Dirtbag was going to give him a reason to get even madder.

In 1982, the company acquired a small chain of dilapidated restaurants that head office employees came affectionately call the Choke 'n Puke stores. Belanger’s Local 75 had bargaining rights at a few of them and the Dirtbag feared that Belanger now had a presence in the company's operations and might use this as a springboard for further organizing.

To keep Belanger out of any other Choke 'n Pukes the Dirtbag decided that Willie should organize them.
But Willie didn’t want anything to do with the project. He was fearful of Belanger and didn’t want to antagonize him. He said he was too busy already what with looking after a couple hundred restaurants and running the armoured car business he’d started with one of the company’s labour lawyers.

The Dirtbag wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He decided that what Willie needed was some extra help. He reached out to another union buddy – a guy named Stevie Vee who was an up-and-comer in the Machinists Union. Vee volunteered his wife – Sandy – a flight attendant and aspiring union activist for the assignment. Borrowing a page from Willie's union start-up story, Sandy would set herself up as a labor consultant. Her cover story would be that she had been approached by some C&P workers who were interested in joining a union. She would then approach Willie's union and pitch her services to Willie who would retain her as a “consultant organizer”.

I remember the day that she came to the office with Stevie the rising star at the Machinists union. I had to write her f--king pitch letter for her. Willie was there too, looking somewhat uncomfortable but playing along.

The deal was done and Sandy was ready to hit the road organizing the unsuspecting workers who, unbeknown to themselves, had asked Sandy to find them a union.
Dirtbag had me prepare lists of home addresses and phone numbers for Sandy to use in her organizing efforts. I also had to call all the managers at the Choke 'n Puke stores and explain that if a pleasant lady named Sandy came by and wanted to talk to their staff about joining a union, they were to invite her in and make her feel at home.

He also gave me the task of receiving daily reports from Sandy as to her progress. So each day, she would call me and tell me where she’d been, how many workers she’d signed up, any problems or opposition from managers or staff and where she was planning on going the next day. I couldn't believe it. Here I was, only 22, and running a bogus organizing campaign!

This was a sort of big turning point for me. When I first got wind of what was going on in this place, I was really horrified. I mean, I wasn’t naïve or idealistic or anything like that but it freaked me out that this kind of scam was being pulled on thousands of people and these guys were getting away with it. I stuck around mostly to find out more about how they’d pulled this off and thought that maybe one day I might be able to do something about it. But now there was a certain urgency about that.

With my new assignment as Sandy’s handler, I was being drawn into these guys’ shit. Not only was the whole scam repulsive to begin with but I figured that the Dirtbag didn’t throw this one my way just for the fun of it. He needed somebody he could hang out to dry in case things went off the rails and I didn’t want to run the risk of being one of his stooges.

Eventually Sandy’s organizing came to nothing. She was able to get some cards signed but never got to the point of making an application for certification. From the beginning Willie couldn’t stand having her around and went out of his way to make her life miserable. He dragged his feet on getting her a leased car, he refused to give her money to cover her expenses (so I had to arrange with our law firm to funnel her some cash). Then one day Willie just pulled the plug on the whole thing and told Sandy to get lost.

The Dirtbag was livid. Willie made up a story that he’d just been diagnosed with terminal cancer and couldn’t handle any more stress. The Dirtbag believed him for a while (but the guy’s still alive and well 20 years later) but eventually concluded that the whole story was bullshit and that Willie was up to something. He suspected that Willie was getting cozy with Belanger at Local 75 and maybe had sold the membership cards to him or was shopping them to some other unions. He began thinking about getting a replacement for Willie but soon became distracted by other developments.

With the whole Sandy-organizing caper, Anne and I stepped up our efforts to find somebody who would help shut this thing down. A very prominent woman with close ties to the New Democratic Party and the labour movement recommended that we get in touch with a union leader named Frank Benn who at that time was Director of UFCW Region 18 (the former Canadian branch of the Meatcutters Union).

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Mon Nov 24, 2008 10:24 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz continued


We were sort of giddy with anticipation the night that we first went to meet him. We brought Anne's sister along (safety in numbers), not really knowing what to expect. Anne had spoken with him on the phone to arrange the meeting and said he sounded like a decent enough guy, but who knew? Even the Dirtbag could sound like a decent guy on the phone - if he tried hard enough. Outwardly we looked like three young office workers heading off for a night out downtown, but we were on a mission. As we stepped off the elevator in the Loews Westbury Hotel, I could feel my heart thumping.

When he opened the door and showed us into a comfortable suite I started to feel OK. He was not at like the sleazy union guys who hung out with the Dirtbag. No darting beady eyes or shit-eating grins that I was used to seeing on Dirtbag's union buddies.He introduced himself and talked about his union - its history, current major issues, future plans - in an intelligent way that showed a depth of experience and commitment. He reminded me somewhat of guys that my dad had dealings with in his union. He had a quiet sort of dignity and forthrightness there. When he was finished introducing himself, I did likewise and, figuring I was way over the line now just by meeting him, launching into what was on my mind.

We talked for a couple of hours. I told him everything I knew - the whole nine yards - and that this thing had to be shut down or it was going to spread. He said he had known for some time what was going on and had been approached by a number of workers who suspected that Willie was just a company stooge. He'd even spoken to Willie about a merger. (The whole merger thing didn't sit well with me however he explained that it was a far more practical solution than attempting an organizing drive in the face of what would surely be sustained opposition from the company and the bogus union.) Willie had balked at the suggestion of a merger so that seemed to be a non-starter. The only other options that this left were organizing the workers and applying for certification. This would have to be done in the narrow 2 month window before the expiry of the province-wide collective agreement - a very big challenge considering there were a few thousand workers at dozens of locations scattered around Ontario. It was possible though and he didn't dismiss the possibility. The workers were growing disenchanted with Willie and the word was out there that he was in the company's back pocket. There may be some interest in signing on with a real union.

Another possiblity would be to challenge Willie's certificates on the basis that his union was formed with "financial or other support" from the employer (something specifically prohibited under the Labour Relations Act. The problem was that as much as he suspected what was going on, he had no evidence - up to now.

I told him that I had evidence and would be willing to testify about what I knew and also to provide documents. It would have to be a courtroom surprise though because I'd put nothing past the Dirtbag and his hoodlum friends if they had any inkling about what was coming. He said he was interested in doing something for these workers. The fast food industry was growing in leaps and bounds and its workers were badly in need of representation. The idea that they might find it in Willie's bogus union was deeply troubling. He said that he would need to think things through and discuss the options with the International office which would have to support the organizing campaign and legal challenges. His assistant, a young man who was present throughout our meeting, would be in touch with me about next steps.

We left the meeting feeling pretty pumped. Always wary of people I didn't know well, I had a good feeling about this Benn guy. He seemed on the level and genuine. Most convincing was the respect that he'd show us (and we weren't used to this from older guys in suits). What actually most impressed me was the he'd made the point to tell me that if we went ahead there could be nothing in it for me - no money, no job, no compensation of any sort. And this was OK with me as I wasn't in it for anything like that. I was in it because... I felt a sense of obligation to these people, like I had found myself in this situation by some strange fluke and now had the opportunity to make a difference. I sensed the lurking menace at work in their lives and wanted to kick its ass. As I made my way home on the subway I had a feeling that I was hurtling along towards something.

On my way to work the next day, I wondered if the Dirtbag knew. If he had heard somehow or if maybe I'd been seen. The hotel where we'd had our clandestine meeting was a favorite hangout for union guys and ... who knew. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary that day or the day after or the day after that.

As the summer months passed, the Dirtbag became more committed to me. He promoted me, gave me a company vehicle and started actively treating me as his protege. He wanted to teach me all his wisdom so that one day I might follow in his footsteps. Tension was building between him and Willie who was keeping much too low a profile and not doing enough to keep the members quiet. He had been hired for the job, the Dirtbag told me, partially because of his congenial manner and rugged good looks (yikes, I almost tossed my cookies when I heard that one!) which, Dirtbag believed would make him a hit with the mostly female workforce. But all that congeniality and hunkishness was being wasted. Willie should have been out glad handing around the stores but instead he seemed to be hiding from them.

The Dirtbag worried that he might be fixing to sell the union. I was surprised at his choice of words. How could you sell a union I asked him. Well, he explained, you didn't actually sell it like you would sell a car or a house. You would find another union and arrange a merger. Your merger partner would then reward you with a cash payment for various expenses, or a lucrative job where you didn't really have to do any work, or some payments for their pension plan or...all of the above.

I was stunned at this. To me it seemed like this was nothing more than trafficking in human beings. I remember getting this chill up my spine. The need to do something now became really urgent.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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Scott Schroeder
Post Posted: Wed Nov 26, 2008 10:33 pm

Joined: 20 Dec 2007
Posts: 383
Location: Some where on the mountain
S Schroeder continued -

Taking to the streets for refuge came with it the creating a niche or name for yourself. By the time I was in sixth grade I had already developed a real distaste for authority figures, cops, teachers, principles etc. I had also learned the power of the “middle finger”! I was almost expelled from sixth grade for giving a teacher the finger and telling her to F-off. My mom was called to the school and her and I had to meet with the principle. I was becoming a kid filled with anger and rage and it was starting to seep out on the people around me. Oddly enough my mother never told the asshole step father about the incident.

I wasn’t a big kid, I was skinny and lanky so I couldn’t earn a name by fighting or being a bad ass but what I was learning if you were that kid that was doing the crazy shit that others were afraid to do you earned a reputation that was respected by the other kids hanging on the streets. I think my real acceptance came around 7th grade after I had returned from a family trip to Tijuana. I had smuggled a case of big fire crackers(M-200s) over the boarder. I hid them in my parents camper(thankfully) our vehicle wasn’t checked when crossing back over the boarder! When I returned home us kids terrorized the neighborhood by blowing up peoples mailboxes. Man did we love the adrenalin rush from that! By now I had already become very familiar with the effects of alcohol and learned it was much easier to maintain my street credibility crazy kid persona while having a nice alcohol buz going. Getting the alcohol was sometimes the problem for kids in 7th grade, while you could raid your parents alcohol cupboard that was limited before they would get wise to what was going on. My next shenanigan would clinch my niche on the street for my remaining time in Southern Cal. We needed a way to score some alcohol so I came up with an idea. I took one of the big firecrackers and timed the fuse with a cigarette while in a Thrifty store. I buried the firecracker in one of those old sand ash trays that were inside stores back in the early 70's when you could still smoke inside stores, restaurants etc. The ash tray was in back of the store so a few of us went to the magazine rack that was in front of the store real close to the liquor section. When that firecracker went off it was a huge bang and it blew the shit out of the ash tray! All the stores management and employees rushed to the back of the store to see what happened. At that point we grabbed all the alcohol we could carry and walked right out of the store. Thankfully the store wasn’t busy and no one was near the ash tray or we could have hurt someone, but you don’t think of those kinds of things when you’re a young dumb kid trying to impress your street peers.

Around this same time I started to experiment with drugs, mostly weed at this time but that would change in the very near future. Back then it always seemed like someone of authority was always trying to change me or control me and that made me rebel even more. The only person who let me be me was my grandmother(my mom’s mother) When I was at grandma’s house it was the only time I really felt safe and felt I could be myself. My grandmother was the rock of our family at this time and probably the first person to ever mention anything about unions to me. Grandma liked to tell me and my sister about our family history and it was from her that I learned I had family back in St. Paul, Minnesota that worked at the Hormel plant and were union workers. I only knew these relatives were family on my mother’s father side. They’d send one of those Hormel gift packs every year at Christmas time. I never knew much more about that side of my family. Funny how things work, who knew I’d be in the same union in a round about way years later.

Nearing the end of seventh grade life at home was getting pretty bad, mom and the asshole step father fought most of the time and when they weren’t fighting mom was in a deep depression. My father at this point had broken up with his girl friend in Van Nuys and moved from Southern Ca to Northern Ca. He moved to a town called Santa Rosa, Ca where he met another women with a couple of kids and they married. Dad ran a muffler shop there in Santa Rosa. By no surprise dad associated with the biker crowd in Northern Ca as he did in Southern Ca. Dad also was very involved with the dirt track racing crowd as well. Strangely after dad broke up with his girl friend in Van Nuys her and my mother became very close friends, her and her girls would come visit us kids and my mother and try and help my mom pull out of her depressions. She like the rest of our family would fail when it came to pulling my mother out of her black hole.

Early November of 1972 my sister and I were sent to stay with my grandmother for a few days. We had no idea what was going on but being able to stay at grandma’s was ok by us, it meant being in a sane household for a few days. No one in the family told us that mom had disappeared! About 3 days later I had gotten home from school and my grandmother was waiting at the door. She had this cold look on her face and then just blurted out that my mother was dead. I thought she was joking at first! But my grandmother had a serious look about her that I’d never seen before, she told me...now get this! That my mother was killed in a “car accident”. When I realized grandma wasn’t joking I felt my body just go numb! I had no idea what to do with these emotions so I just bolted from grandma’s house and wondered around the streets for hours. It was the day of mom’s funeral that I was told the truth. My mother drove her car to the middle of the Mojave desert, about 200 miles away from where we lived. She took with her a bottle of whisky, bottle of pills and some hose. She washed down the pills with the whisky, put the hose in the tail pipe then into the car and rolled up the windows and left the car running. My mother died November 11th 1972. She was 31.

While I was finally told the truth about my mothers death I was told by the family not tell my sister the real cause of death. I was told she was to young to understand. From that day alcohol, drugs and rock music became my best friends. I could close out the world(or so I thought) and all it’s ugliness by being high and getting lost listening to some good music. It was bands like Pink Floyd, Robin Trower, Humble Pie, Black Sabbath that caught my early interest and helped me block out the world. I would use this escape from reality for many years to come.

TBC

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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sun Dec 21, 2008 3:55 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz continued

In the weeks that followed my clandestine meeting with Frank Benn, a really bizarre began to play out at the office. Dirtbag came to the conclusion that Willie, his handpicked union leader, was jerking him around. He'd heard through his union buddies that Willie was shopping his union around to a number of big unions including the Teamsters, the RWDSU and - much to the Dirtbag's horror - the mobbed up local of the HERE. The asking price was apparently $100,000 plus lifelong employment in cushy jobs for Willie, his wife, brother and the ragtag crew of business agents (mostly ex-cops) that he employed.

The Dirtbag was livid. He had Willie and his associates tailed by some local PI's and his worst suspicions were confirmed. Willie was meeting secretly with officials of these various unions. "I'm sure they aren't gettin' together to sing a few bars of 'Solidarity Forever'" the lousy c__ksuckers," he would stomp around the office.

Willie had to go, the Dirtbag decided. No, no, he assured me one evening as we were out chatting about the day's events, he wasn't going to have Willie whacked. That would be too complicated, not to mention expensive. Willie would be gotten rid of the same way his predecessor was shown the door. He'd be fired. (Well it wasn't really a firing in the technical sense - Willie wasn't an employee of the company in the traditional sense - but, confronted with evidence of his "dereliction of duty" he would be given a couple of tough choices and, it was expected, he would choose wisely and disappear into the air like Willie the First did a few years earlier.

But before any of that could happen, a replacement would have to be found. The Dirtbag had just the guy - Steve Vee, the rising star from the Machininsts union whose wife, Sandy, had orchestrated the bogus organizing drive a few months earlier. The Dirtbag and Steve had grown quite close since then. Steve was a regular drinking and dining companion and obviously had some reason to stick his nose up the Dirtbag's ass.

Stevie was struggling with the idea. On one level, he relished the thought of being the boss of his very own union. On the other, he was leary of leaving his cushy post at the Machinists. Eventually he decided that he was going to have it all. He would take a leave of absence from the Machinists (on the pretext that he was going to stake out this restaurant workers' union for them) and would then arrange a merger and return home like a conquering hero - the heads of 3000 or so women under his belt. The Dirtbag was getting ready to make his move on Willie who was getting very close to closing a deal with the Teamsters when something totally unexpected happened.

Frank Benn and a small group of UFCW organizers began to organize the workers.

As as I stood by and watched, the Dirtbag and his cronies flew into a full-bore manic panic. It was heart-warming to see it up close and personal like this. These arrogant, powerful tough guys and their high priced legal councillors were scurrying around like a bunch of mice who'd just realized the blanket they'd been tugging at was a cat. It was an eye-opening moment for me because watching these guys I learned that the lurking menace wasn't as powerful as he let on and that the unexpected was enough to get him running around chasing his tail.

Many high level meetings were held between the Dirtbag, Frankie the lawyer, the CEO of the ocmpany and other assorted bigshots to try to figure out what to do. It was bad enough that Willie was running around in his underwear with the Teamsters (an expression the Dirtbag used to describe Willie's union fire sale) but now this.

Frank Benn?! What the fuck? How the fuck?! Of all the sons of bitches in the goddammed labor movement - why him? The Dirtbag and I hoisted many glasses as he pondered this latest development. And I sat, looking concerned and attentive, his sounding board. That was on the outside. On the inside, I could hardly contain my glee and amazement. - not to mention a giddy mixture of excitement and fear, sort of like that intense feeling you get on a roller coaster as it crests the top ofa steep incline. The Dirtbag and his dirty cronies were on the run and it was I, me, yeah me, who had set the wheels in motion, but what lay ahead?

For a couple of years now I had felt uneasy and pensive walking around in their little corner of the underworld. Now I started to feel more confident. The Dirtbag didn't seem to be any the wiser. I started pushing the envelope a little.

"What's the big deal about this Benn guy?" I asked the Dirtbag one night when we were out. "Can't we just make him go away with, I mean, some money or some muscle?"

"No," the Dirtbag replied. "That's the problem. This fucking guy can't be bought off or scared off. He's a maximum union true-believer. A real crusader. He really believes in this labor movement bullshit."

There weren't a lot of union guys like him left the Dirtbag told me. Most of them had been "purged" a long time ago. The invective never ceased - commie, pinko, nutbar. If I'd had any doubts that Benn was straight up, my mind was now at rest.

Of course, I knew about it before it began. A few weeks after my meeting with Frank Benn, I got a phone call from the pleasant young man who was with him that evening. Kevin told me that Frank had approached the International - the union headquarters - in Washington about the plight of the restaurant workers and the possibility of organizing them and the International President had given his blessing and had made a sizable financial commitment.

Over a few beers at a local watering hole, Kevin gave me the inside track. The UFCW would launch an all out organizing drive for the workers. It would be a major undertaking considering that there were now close to 4000 of them scattered at locations across Ontario. They had retained a small group of organizers from various UFCW plants who would basically go into the workplaces and try to connect with the workers. The idea was to do this from the ground up - the organizers would try to empower the workers to organize themselves by talking about the power of collective action and promoting the UFCW as a union that could help them do use their own power to change things at work.

The idea, he told me, had been used very successfully in the early days of organized labor and he thought it might work well in this situation. A big chain operation was difficult to organize using conventional strategies like the ones that were used to organize factory workers. You couldn't just send some guys in with membership cards and hope that the workers would line up to sign them. These workers had already had their first taste of union membership and it wasn't a very positive experience. They weren't going to put their faith in any union blindly. On top of that, their location at dozens of different stores throughout a large geographic area made it very easy for the company to employ the standard intimidation tactics.

In order to weather the storm of dirty tactics and legal maneuvering which were a certainty, the union hoped to develop a solid and self-sustaining network of activist workers throughout the company's operations. Rather than running a top-down campaign that made organizers from the union's offices the source of empowerment for the workers, in this campaign the workers themselves would be empowered. The organizers would play a supportive role in relation to the workers by providing information, helping to arrange meetings and other events, filing complaints if the company engaged in intimidation and helping the workers set up their own networks among their work locations. It was hoped that this bottom-up model would speed the card-sigining process and help the workers cope with the anxieties that come with taking a stand against powerful institutions. This strategy was quite unusual I was told. It had been used extensively in the old days of union organizing - way back before joining a union was even a legal right. But it had been mostly abandoned in favor of the top-down model which proved an efficient means of organizing large industrial facilities and other "single location" employers. Kevin hoped that it would work in this case (as the old top-down stragegy was a non-starter in this situation.) On an instinctive level, it made sense to me. It reminded me a lot of the community-based unionism in which my dad had been involved.

It worked like a charm. Over a period of a couple of months in early 1984, the Dirtbag and his cronies were dumbfounded as this grassroots juggernaut steamrolled its way through dozens of workplaces generating enthusiasm among thousands of workers whom they had thought were either too stupid or too apathetic to do anything about the corrupt brand of unionism that had been deceptively forced on them several years ago. Within the locations where they worked, the sense of determination and empowerment was palpable. Even store managers (many of whom detested Willie) were quielty (very quietly) supportive.

In an effort to get a handle on what was happening "on the ground", the Dirtbag called in his undercover operatives. Installed in the locations as new workers, these PI's sent in lengthy reports about what was going on. The reports didn't give the Dirtbag a warm feeling. There was no communist-zionist conspiracy (the Dirtbag and his pals were virulent anti-semites) anywhere in sight. Just a lot of working women talking about what kind of workplace and union they wanted. To make matters worse, it seemed that they were all into it. It was difficult for the PI's to identify the "ringleaders". I have to say that it gave me a warm feeling to watch him sweat and shake as the applications for certification came pouring in to the Labor Relations Board. And then the really big bomb dropped.

As much as the workers' remarkable organizing campaign rattled the Dirtbag to the core of his corrupt being, there was one legal technicality that helped him sleep soundly at night: The organizing campaign was happening well outside of the "open period" when the workers could legally change unions. The master agreement that he and Willie had signed to prevent just such an escape by the workers little more than 18 months earlier still had more than a year to run and applications for certification of a new union could only be made during its last two months. Under existing labor laws, the membership cards filed to support these applications could not be more than 6 months old at the time of filing. So, as things stood, Benn and his crew were well outside of these timelines and their applications would be dismissed by the LRB for this reason.

Then it arrived. A package of documents that had been filed with the LRB by the UFCW alleging that Willie's union had been established contrary to the prevailing labor law and asking that its certificates should be revoked. The UFCW relied on a section of the Labor Relations Act that prohibited the certification of unions that were in receipt of "financial or other support" from employers. Their argument was a simple one - Willie had received financial and "other" support from the company in the initial organizing of the workers. This being the case, the certificates issued to his union should be rendered null and void and his union's rights to represent the workers should be terminated. If the UFCW was successful with this argument, the "open period" problem would evaporate (Willie's collective agreement would vanish along with his certificates) clearing the way for the LRB to issue certificates to the UFCW provided the union had signed up sufficient numbers of workers. According to the applications for certification, the union had strong support in most locations - over 60% in many, which would allow for an automatic certification without a representation vote.

The Dirtbag practically shat himself as he read the pleadings which set out in detail the shady undercover operation that had installed Willie and his union and the many deceptions that followed.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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SFway
Post Posted: Sat Dec 27, 2008 6:00 pm

Joined: 26 May 2006
Posts: 573
Darn it, Wanda...these cliffhangers are driving me nuts.!!! Got to hear how this turned out.

BTW, is "shat" really the past tense? Always wondered about that. Confused

And I will get to the Petrov story soon.
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2008 1:48 am

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
Sorry, been distracted lately. Here's the next. (yes, I believe shat is the past tense, although I'm sure there's some English prof who might disagree with me somewhere.)

wm pasz continued

Under Kevin's direction the organizing team had done a pretty thorough investigation. They had followed up on leads that took them to the undercover operatives who had posed as workers to help Willie's union with its organizing campaign and had dug up some of Willie's paid organizers all of whom had vanished out of sight once his union was organized. At least one had been located thousands of miles away. A number of them said they didn't really know that what they were doing was wrong at the time and now felt badly about their involvement. Some indicated a willingness to testify. Subpeonas were issued to the principals of the PI firm and for some of the undercover plants.

Back at the ranch, the Dirtbag was busy doing damage control and arranging for an alternative merger partner for Willie. The sorta-union-leader was rattled and eager to sell. The UFCW's sudden appearance made him a motivated vendor. He wanted out of this union racket he said. All those militant radicals made him nervous. There was no telling what loonie commie connections they might have. Willie almost closed a deal with the Teamsters who were screwed at the last minute by the Dirtbag who had another buyer in mind.

Tommy Bomba was one of the Dirtbag's oldest pals. The two of them went way back to the Dirtbag's early days at the LRB. They were inseparable drinking buddies who got together whenever Bomba was in town on business (which was frequently). Bomba was a "special organizer" with the Hotel Employees and Bartenders Unionl in Montreal. He looked and acted like a mob enforcer (he bore an uncanny resemblance to Paulie Walnuts of The Sopranos) and whenever he was deep enough into a bottle of Scotch (or anything), he would name drop well-known mob figures and tell scary stories about some of his favorite "organizing" campaigns. Bomba was an expert in dirty tricks - window-breaking, explosives-planting, knee-capping and laying on the occasional beating. Of all of the Dirtbag's sleazy accomplices, Tommy was one that I could stand the least. Whenever he came piling into the office, briefcase bulging with liquor store purchases, I knew it would be a long night. He and the Dirtbag would sit around the office until the wee hours, getting shit faced and boasting about their exploits. A lot of the time, the conversation would get so stupid that it was hard to make anything of it. So I was horrified when the Dirtbag told me that he was arranging a sale of Willie's union to none other than his old pal Bomba. It was even more horrifying when the Dirtbag told me the deal had been done and that Willie had sold his union for $100,000 - to be paid for by the company - because it really mattered that Tommy was the new union boss and 100K was a drop in the bucket.

"Tommy? I asked, trying hard to conceal my revulsion. "Why him?

"Tom's a great guy," the Dirtbag replied. "He and I go back. I know I can trust him and work with him."

Unable to quite figure this out, I asked the Dirtbag why, if were so opposed to the Toronto Bartender's union local organizing the company's workers because of its alleged mob connections, why would an alliance with Tommy be any more desirable? After all, the Montreal Bartenders were notorious for their connections (a Quebec commission of enquiry had found the Montreal local to be completely mob-infested just a few years before).

It was in response to this question that the Dirtbag imparted what was probably the most insightful piece of wisdom about the way the world really works that I'd heard before or since.

"It doesn't really matter," he said sucking on a big cigar, "...whether Tommy's with the mob or the Catholic church. What matters is that he and I can work together - that I can count on him to play ball with me and do what I want and that he knows I will reciprocate enough to keep the relationship on an even keel. You see, in anything, any company, business, union, government office, it's people - individuals - that make shit happen. People and their dealings with other people. This whole business about "the company did this" or the union did that or the Board did the other thing, that's for suckers and regular joes. What's a company? It's just a piece of paper in government file somewhere. Same with a union. What is it? A constitution. A pile of letterhead? It's people that make shit happen and I don't mean all the people working together the way we're supposed to believe- it's certain people. Guys who wanna make shit happen and aren't afraid to step out over the line to do it. Look inside any organization and you'll find that's how it is. Look at me. Who the fuck am I? I'm some shmuck with a grade six education. But I've made a lot of shit happen - good for some people, bad for others, always great for me. I've made more shit happen than guys with degrees hanging off their asses. Why? Because I don't have any illusions about who or what makes shit happen. I'm not sitting around waiting for "the company" or "the union" or some other fucking "org" to come to life and do something."

So, Dirtbag's point was that in this case, he could work with Tommy and he could get Tommy to do some shit that was important to him. It didn't matter that Tommy was affiliated with a mobbed up organization or that he was capable of doing violence. The Dirtbag felt that his short to medium term goals could be accomplished through an alliance with Tommy and that was all that really mattered. The long term goals - well, there really weren't any the Dirtbag explained, beyond making money, living comfortably, having a good time. Who gave a fuck? You never knew when you were going to croak anyway.

Tommy's counterpart in the Toronto Bartender's local didn't have the same relationship the Dirtbag explained. It's possible that, if things had worked out differently they might have had the same kind of relationship as he had with Tommy but that's not how it worked out.The two had become enemies and didn't trust each other. "In retrespect (that's how he pronounced it), he's probably got a lot in common with Tom. If things had worked out differently, maybe we could be friends and do the same shit as I'm going to do with Tom. But that's not how it's worked out. I don't trust Jean Guy and he thinks I'm an asshole, so it ain't meant to be. On the other hand, Tom and me, we're cool."

What was it that he wanted from Tom, I asked during one of our conversations. "I want a big fucking wage rollback," he replied with a smirk.

"A wage rollback?" I said incredulously (times had been very good for the business and were expected to get even better). "Really?"

"Oh fuck yeah," he responded. "I know it's ballsy but, hell that's just the kind of guy I am. I think I can get it from Tom if I hand over 4000 members and his retirement plan. That's nothing to sneeze at. I'm shooting for 20%. Minimum 10%. There's gonna be a huge fuckin' bonus in it for me and Tom will deliver a big per cap to the International and rake in about $100 large each year plus pension. That's the best retirement plan a drunk asshole like him can hope for."

The idea made my head spin. That kind of reduction would take the workers back to minimum wage if not lower. It would get rid of their benefits and basically bring them down to the level of non-union workers in the industry. The whole thing seemed completely bizarre. "Do you think Tom can deliver this kind of deal?" I asked, " Considering that Frank Benn and his guys are running around promising these people all kinds of improvements."

"They can fuck off," he said flatly. "Their applications are going to get tossed. There's no way they can decertify Willie and certainly not once he's merged with a real legit North American union like the Bartenders. And as for Tom, he doesn't give a fuck what those bitches say. They'll take whatever deal he puts to them or we'll just get rid of them and hire some cunts that are easier to get along with."

In a way it made it easier - the disrespect, the sheer and utter contempt that the Dirtbag and his pals showed for all these working people. I never really had any moral or ethical qualms about what I was going to do. It always seemed like the right thing and it didn't bother me that I was basically screwing the Dirtbag over playing my undercover role. These assholes did not deserve anybody's respect or loyalty.And somebody had to stop them before they pulled even more unsuspecting people into their disgusting scam.

Kevin had told me right from the beginning, when we first talked about the UFCW's strategy, that they were going to need a witness. Somebody who could testify to the relationship between the company and Willie's union, the Dirtbag and Willie. They had a lot of good evidence as things stood showing that the company helped Willie and his union, financially and otherwise but he was concerned that this wouldn't be good enough. The LRB would be loath to decertify a union based on stuff that happened a few years ago, especially in a case where it had nation-wide bargaining rights for thousands of workers. It was one thing to decertifiy a plant or mom and pop operatio and another to end a bargaining relationship that spanned a much wider geographic area. As farfetched as it sounded, Wilie could deny any knowledge that the company was helping him. In theory it was possible that he knew nothing about the undercover operatives or even the financial assistance that his unoi received from the employer (all of those transactions were funnelled through the company's law firm and so were protected by solicitor-client confidentiality). What the UFCW needed was a witness who could tie Willie to the Dirtbag and provide first-hand evidence about their relationship and their collusive dealings. I was willing to do that.

What this would mean and how it would play out were subjects that consumed a lot of talk-time between Kevin and myself and UFCW lawyers in the fall and winter of 1983-84. As a witness, I had my pros and cons - but more of the former than the latter. I worked directly for the Dirtbag and could speak first-hand about our many conversations where he had candidly disclosed what what going on. The whole Sandy Pardy episode was classic case of labor-management collusion that involved Willie and his union and mirrored the organizing drives that had taken place in previous years. The files and other records that I'd photocopied, showing head office staff tracking organizing activity at the various locations (right down to the names of workers who had signed with Willie's union) - all of this stuff was going to pack a punch. Iin addtion to that were my notes, made over the course of over two years about conversations with the Dirtbag and between him and his cronies. Most of these pre-dated my meeting with Frank Benn and had been made in the off chance that they might be useful to law enforcement agencies at some point in the future. There was also the fact that I had nothing to gain and a lot to lose to from testifying against the Dirtbag. Obviously it would end my employment with the company and make me an unlikely candidate for a job at any other corporate office. Additionally, there was nothing in it for me as far as the UFCW was concerned. There was no money, no job, no anything and that suited me fine. I was going to make shit happen and that was worth something in itself.

The way I saw things playing out was that on the big day, I would be called to the witness stand from my place at the company's side of the table in the hearing room. I would toss a letter of resignation in front of the Dirtbag as I made my way to the witness stand and that would be the end of it. After that, who knew what was going to happen. I thought that I'd probably just go back to my old bohemian lifestyle. I had not yet become fully socialized to the world of full-time employment and hadn't really like what I'd seen of it. Although I lived in a trendy area, my rent was cheap (thanks to Toronto's rent control policy) and I could live OK until whatever I was going to do happened. I saw myself as a rebel traveling enemy terrain - finding my own personal gonzo in this wierd little labor-management scene that I'd tripped over, seemingly by fluke.

Maybe I'd take all those notes I'd made and write a book or make a film or something like that. What would Hunter Thompson do? The future didn't really worry me. Worse coming to worse I'd change my name and get a factory job, buy a hawg and head on down the road. I was still young and life was an adventure. I was going to make shit happen and what could be better? It was the way the Dirtbag said things got done and who was I to disagree. Who knew how it was going to turn out.

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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SamGompers
Post Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2008 10:27 am

Joined: 26 Dec 2008
Posts: 22
Wanda your writing is GREAT! You should be a professional writer, are you published? Also, I've been reading you stuff on Disempowerment, and your piece(s) on "contributors as opposed to workers". Democracy is the only way, and you have the way to express it best.

Thanks

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Sam Gompers
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sun Dec 28, 2008 7:58 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
Thank you Samuel. Me published? Not yet - but who knows. Here's the next part. I may have another later today or tomorrow.

wm pasz - continued

As the hearings into the legitimacy of Willie’s union commenced, you could cut the tension around the LRB’s 4th floor adjudication center with a knife. The Dirtbag was in a foul frame of mind. Sitting in the hearing room with Frank Benn and his crew of organizers angered and unsettled him. As much as he blustered that Benn didn’t have a hope in hell, he was horrified that things had spun this far out of control.

His loathing for Benn was equaled – maybe even eclipsed at times – by his feelings toward Willie, whom he now regarded as a spineless shakedown artist who had failed miserably in his role as union leader and then had the nerve to put the Dirtbag's "project" up for sale when the enemy was at the gates.

Over many steak dinners and copious quantities of booze, he cursed the hapless Willie and lamented his disloyalty. It seemed that putting the brakes on his merger with the Teamsters had taken a supreme effort of will and a good deal of negotiating on the part of the Dirtbag, the company's CEO, its labor lawyer and Tommy Bomba.

“That cocksucker!” he would rant, “He knew he had us on the ropes and he shook us down for 100 grand plus a fucking job.”

The latter element of the deal was the most painful for the Dirtbag. Money was only money and the company had a lot of it but it had been his intention to see the last of Willie as part of the deal. But Willie had done an end run behind his back and cut his own deal with Tommy Bomba. He would stay on as Business Manager of the new Bartenders local (of which Tommy would be President) – for as long as he wanted to be there and at an impressive six figure salary to boot.

He was pissed with Bomba for going along with it although in the end Bomba had sold him on the idea by explaining that it was better to keep your enemies closer. Nobody wanted Willie running around on the loose beating his gums about what he’d been involved in. Who-the-fuck knew how much he’d told the Teamsters and what more he might tell them if he was cut loose and looking for a new source of income. Better to keep the bastard where we can keep tabs on him.

The Dirtbag grudgingly agreed. He was feeling a bit disappointed with Bomba and even their drinking marathons weren’t quite as much fun as they used to be. The Dirtbag was unhappy that the Bartenders weren’t able to stop the UFCW’s campaign through political channels. Bomba had as much as promised that once Willie’s union merged into the HERE organization it was a no-brainer that what would now be a “raid” would end. No one was more deflated that he, when he learned that the HERE Washington office itself had been unable to persuade UFCW International headquarters to pull the plug. “They’re too fucking committed to it,” he blubbered one night over a bottle of Scotch. “They’ve sunk too many dollars into it – over a million I hear.”

But Bomba was reassuring, “Let it go big guy. Let it play out. They’re going to get blown away at the Board and the whole thing will fall apart. Then it will be time for retribution.”

Dirtbag had to admit Bomba was right. Retribution was worth waiting for and it would be sweet. He and Bomba needed to stick together. After all, it was Bomba who had helped him set up Willie’s union in the first place. It now occurred to him that maybe Bomba had done it for more than just the sheer enjoyment. “I bet he’s had his eye on it all along,” he mused at one point. “Nice little retirement package for him, the slippery snake.”

It pained the Dirtbag that his two partners in bogus-union-creating were now making his radar beep. He could allay his misgivings about Bomba as the two now saw each other practically every day and got drunk together practically every night. But the other player in their underhanded troika was another story.

The Dirtbag had first become acquainted with Frank Van Venders in the early days of his career as an LRB Officer. Van Venders was a young management-side lawyer who would appear at the Board to argue against union certification applications. Dirtbag practically fell in love with the bright forceful young man who could take union witnesses apart limb from limb and make LRB chairmen writhe and squirm with his clever legal arguments. With his square jaw and hawkish eyes, he was an intimidating – even sinister – figure in the hearing room. His obsessive disdain for unions made him a sought-after advocate among corporations large and small. Within a few years, he leap-frogged over more experienced colleagues to senior partner and head of the labour law section of the prestigious law firm where he'd done his articles only a few years earlier.

Like most lawyers, Van Venders cultivated relationships with whatever LRB staffers were open to such things in the hope of calling in a favor or two for clients with deep pockets and big problems. He and the Dirtbag quickly became fast friends and not long after that, partners in a covert sideline – creating company unions. Willie’s outfit was their biggest and best one.

During the early part of my time with the company, I was struck at the Dirtbag’s slavish adulation of FVV (as he called him – affectionately). Sure enough, he had Van Venders to thank for his current gig. Van Venders and the company’s CEO went way back and Dirtbag had been hired and given carte blanche to run the union as he pleased on his recommendation. But he was more than grateful. He emulated Van Venders. He drank the same booze, bought his suits from the same tailor, went to the same doctor. When Van Venders had a full bar installed in his office, the Dirtbag followed suit (although it wasn’t as nice a bar – just a beer fridge and a credenza stuffed full of bottles). He drove the same kind of car, used the same kind of phone, even bought the same guns as Van Venders.

The two of them were inseparable and were frequent drinking companions. The Dirtbag would often regale me with stories about the mischief they’d get into together. My favorite was the story about how the two almost got busted for DWI one night after having a few too many. (This one was so funny that I thought I’d repeat it.)

After leaving the bar one night, the two decided to head over to Van Vender’s stately home for a home-cooked meal. As they wound their way through the cul de sacs in the lawyer’s shi-shi neighborhood, they attracted the attention of the long arm of the law. Noticing the flashing roof gear, they took evasive action – being way too drunk to talk their way out of getting arrested. After pulling some haywire maneuver, they shook of their tail long enough to ditch the car in Van Vender’s driveway and escape on foot into the back yard where they holed up in a doghouse. There they lay spooned together trying hard to keep from bursting out laughing as they listened to the bewildered copper speaking with an equally bewildered Mrs. Van Venders about her husband’s whereabouts and the mysterious appearance of his car in their driveway.

Eventually the copper gave up and left. The two staggered out of the doghouse and stumbled around the yard, pissing themselves laughing about how close they’d come to getting busted and doing high-pitched impersonations of the copper and Mrs. Van Venders.

Apart from these escapades, the Dirtbag also considered Van Venders an important mentor in labor relations and a source of wisdom about political and social issues. The Dirtbag’s interest in these was minimal – he had a simplistic view of the world and anything that didn’t affect him directly, didn’t interest him. But Van Venders had great interest in these things and some pretty scary views. Among other things, he believed that the western world was on the verge of a hostile takeover by a communist cabal that was gaining a firm foothold in North America by infiltrating trade unions and government agencies. This in itself was pretty standard conservative cold war paranoia but Van Venders’ version was liberally sprinkled with racism and anti-semitism. He was convinced, for instance, that the LRB had been taken over by a “secret Jewish cabal” that was biased in favor of unions and their commie overlords. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a full-on battle of the races was looming in which the black population would launch a massive campaign of terror against the white race. It wasn’t clear if this racist Armageddon was connected to the Zionist –communist conspiracy and the Dirtbag would usually lose interest in by the time I asked but it was sure going to be some interesting times. In anticipation, he and Van Venders had bought some land far away up north where they would hole up while the race war was raging. Who would win and what the two of them would do when it was over, was also somewhat vague.

But now, when he needed him most, the great Van Venders was nowhere in sight. As much as he was righteously indignant about the raid and had harsh words for Frank Benn and his crew of commies, he was keeping a low profile. To represent the company at the LRB hearings, he’d assigned a couple of younger lawyers from his department – who were similarly taking a low key approach.

He would still be in the background, he assured the Dirtbag, calling the shots about strategy and making sure everything was well in hand, he just wasn’t going to make himself prominent in the proceedings.

The Dirtbag knew what Van Venders was up to and it pissed him off. Over the past couple of years the big shot lawyer had insinuated himself into the national political establishment and cozied up to some of the biggest players in national politics. On occasion he mused about running for public office or bagging a plum political appointment in the Labor or Justice departments.

“Bastard doesn’t want any of this shit sticking to him,” the Dirtbag lamented. He was right on that.

It was interesting watching the divisions develop between this circle of old friends. When the going got tough, the tough started covering their asses and looking after their own agendas. It seemed a good thing for the workers, as the hearings began. On a certain level it was almost funny. But then, the thought that such a bunch of nutbars and bottom-feeders could determine the workplace representation of thousands of workers was sort – frightening.

That said, they weren’t about to let Frank Benn and the UFCW walk over them. Collectively, Dirtbag, Tommy Bomba, Willie and their team of legal defenders were a force to be reckoned with. A good portion of the first few months of hearings was spent on procedural wrangling and other technicalities. By the time the first witnesses were called, the LRB panel that was adjudicating the case looked bored and skeptical of the UFCW’s motives.

But as the witnesses were called and the documentary evidence went in, it became clear that a covert campaign to deceive thousands of workers had been organized and executed with considerable skill and no regard for the law.

The UFCW’s legal team was headed by a well-known local labor lawyer named Michael Mansky. Mansky had an impeccable reputation as a smart and astute guy who could get any group of workers certified regardless of the counter-campaigns and union-busting tricks their employers might launch against them. He was respected by the LRB and feared by his management-side colleagues.

In action, Mansky was worth the price of admission. The guy was sharp, methodical and no-nonsense in his approach. One by one the subpoenaed witnesses from the PI firm and Willie’s original campaign workers owned up to what they’d done. It was hard to dispute though, given the mountain of documents – their reports – that were entered as evidence. Still it was heart-warming watching Mansky, leaning back in his chair, toying with a large fountain pen like it was a death ray, as he peppered the nervous witnesses with questions to which the answers made the adjudicators’ eyes widen and jaws drop.

The Dirtbag, Willie and the company CEO did what they could to weasel out of the jam. All denied any knowledge of the covert PI firm’s activities. The CEO testified that he knew nothing about the scheme. Yes, he knew there was some union organizing thing going on but he left that to his underlings to look after and was certain that they would deal with it in an above-board manner. The Dirtbag similarly disavowed any knowledge. The covert stuff had taken place just before he was hired so he knew nothing about it. The reports, invoices and other documents that were submitted as evidence had been sent to the company’s Director of Security who was now – conveniently – dead. Possibly this man had arranged the whole thing for reasons. Who knew?

Willie was also in the dark about any assistance he may have received from the company. His story was so implausible that the adjudicators appeared visibly amused as he recounted how he’d become involved with unions and service industry workers. He was as mild-mannered beat cop and antique dealer who was looking for a career change. He had an interest in labor relations and decided to hang out his shingle as a consultant. No sooner had done so than he was approached by some disenchanted restaurant workers who wanted to form a union. The rest was history.

Yes, the campaign progressed well he admitted. So well that within a few months thousands of workers had joined and his union was certified all over the map. That justs went to show how disgruntled the workers were and how great an organizer he was. No, he wasn’t aware of any covert PI’s helping him out. Nope – that was news to him and he’d have put a stop to it if he’d gotten wind of it.

As far-fetched as it sounded, in the absence of evidence that would make a liar out of Willie, there was a chance – although a slim one – that his denials might get him off the hook. The adjudicators were certainly not impressed with this evidence. He came off as evasive, cocky and slippery but still…

So it was with much anticipation that the day arrived when Sandy Pardy was going to take the stand. Sandy had been contacted by Mansky’s office a few days earlier and told that she was about to be subpoenaed for her role in the botched organizing attempt of a year earlier. She freaked out and agreed to cooperate.

The morning of her appearance, she arrived with her husband, Stevie Vee, the up-and-coming Machinists Union business manager who looked like he’d just been pulled out of dumpster. He apologized profusely to the Dirtbag for his wife. She’d been caught off guard by Mansky’s people and was scared to death of what might happen to her. In a panic, she’d contacted her own union (where she was a steward) and had been told to by their legal people to tell the truth. Stevie had been in touch with the legal staff at the Machinists’ headquarters and had been told to let her tell her story and hope for the best. His director had flipped out when he’d learned what was going down. Steve denied any knowledge of what had happened and said that Sandy must have been led into the scheme by some unscrupulous guys who used her and then sold her out when the UFCW got wind of what had happened.

“Everything’s going to fuckin’rat shit!” the Dirtbag exclaimed to me over a cigarette just before the hearing was to resume. “Rat shit! It’s all gone to rat shit!”

But as the hearing commenced that day, Michael Mansky stunned the Dirtbag, Willie, Steve, Sandy and, most of all, me when he announced that he was releasing Sandy from her subpoena and would not be calling her as a witness.

“What the fuck?” I asked Kevin that evening during a phone conversation. “What the hell did he do that for?”

Kevin told me that the move had surprised him too, as Mansky had spent considerable time interviewing Pardy over the past couple of days and thought she’d make a good witness. She was very sincere and believable and had a good recall of dates, times and her activities. Then, the morning she was to testify, he told Kevin that he’d had some second thoughts. He didn’t think that the Board would believe Pardy. She was too nice and meek and he thought she’d meltdown under cross-examination. Besides, the organizing campaign that she did was all after the fact and involved a different chain in the company’s operations. It had nothing to do with Willie’s initial organizing drive and so the Board was unlikely to read much into it.

But you’ve gotta be kidding, I said incredulously. It shows a collusive relationship between Willie and the company. He had thought so too, he said but Mansky’s misgivings made some sense and he was the expert after all. Besides, we still had my testimony to come and that would be a lot more convincing and relevant.

The following day the Dirtbag was in a much better frame of mind. Sandy Pardy’s last minute disappearing act was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time.

“I wonder why they decided not to call her?” I asked him, still reeling from the shock.

“Get this,” he whispered with a devilish grin. “The night before, Steve’s lawyer called Mansky and asked him as a favor to the Machinists Union and Sandy’s union to back off.”

“Really? They’ve got that much pull with Mansky?” I asked, making sure I looked pleasantly surprised.

“Mansky’s made a fortune going to bat for unions. His buddies do work for the Machinists. He doesn’t wanna piss in their wells or create bad blood. Plus, he might wanna get a little action from them himself one day and this wouldn’t endear him.”

I didn’t believe it. That would be just too sleazy. But a few days later, I got the shock of my life when Kevin called to tell me that, on Mansky’s advice, they weren’t going to call me either.

Why the hell not? I wanted to know. “Mansky thinks the Board won’t believe you,” he explained. “He thinks it will just be too much for them to swallow that you’re for real They’ll think you’re making it up or that you’ve got some axe to grind or that you’re just too calm and cool about what you’re doing to be believed.”

I was getting quite pissed about the way this was going. I thought calm and cool was a good thing and so were the notes, the first hand accounts, all that kind of evidentiary stuff. Finally, he leveled with me.

“The reality is that Mike doesn’t feel comfortable with you,” Kevin said. “ You make him nervous. He can’t understand how you can sit there across the room from us and look like you’re one of them, not let on for minute that you’re even nervous about what you’re doing. He’s asked me a couple of times if it’s possible that you’re just playing us. Of course I know you’re not and I’ve told him that, but it’s in his gut and these guys really rely on their guts.”

“So I’m giving Mansky the shits and we’re going to lose the case?” I was livid. “After all the stuff I’ve told you guys, I’m on their side? Is that why I tipped you off to the beating Bomba’s thugs were going to lay on your organizers last week?”

“Look,” Kevin responded in that patient way that I’d come to appreciate over the past few months, “the guy’s good. He knows what he’s doing. These guys make judgment calls all the time and this is just another one of those. He doesn’t think we’re going to lose the case,” Kevin responded. “He thinks the evidence that’s gone in already is enough to convince the Board.”

I let it go. I wondered who Mansky might be doing a favor for this time. I hadn’t really taken the Dirtbag seriously when he told me what prompted Mansky’s last minute decision to cut Sandy Pardy loose. More of his bullshit I thought at the time. Now I wondered.

In a way I was relieved. At about the time that the LRB hearings began, a whole other adventure had begun for me, and it had been occupying a lot of my waking moments and increasingly sleepless nights. Maybe it was better this way. The “other thing” was bigger and more intriguing. Everything for a purpose my friend Anne used to say. So I would sit back and watch the LRB thing play out and the other thing…I felt a sensation of cold fingers on the back of my neck whenever I thought about it.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Mon Dec 29, 2008 3:03 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz - continued

The realization that hearings would actually take place into the UFCW’s allegations was something of a watershed moment for the Dirtbag and his cronies and they got busy preparing their defense. This included manufacturing documents that would then be introduced as evidence of the legitimacy of Willie’s union and its relationship with the company. Others had to do with a smokescreen of technicalities that the Dirtbag and Van Vender intended to create to prolong the proceedings and create some legal loopholes that might cause the LRB to toss the UFCW’s case.

Documentary evidence must be introduced through a witness. I was chosen for the task. Normally this kind of witness stand stint would be no big deal. You basically identify the document, swear that you are either the person who created it, oversaw its creation or is its custodian and that it is what it portends to be.

The idea of taking the witness stand and swearing to the authenticity of bogus documents made me uneasy. I didn’t want to do it but I couldn’t think of a way to weasel out of it either. I talked to Kevin about my concerns and he in turn took them up with Mike Mansky. Mansky was unequivocal: I could not get involved in presenting bogus documents to the LRB. Whatever the reasons, it would completely blow my credibility and possibly leave me open to criminal charges.

He arranged for me to see another lawyer about my dilemma and that lawyer recommended that I let him refer me to an appropriate law enforcement agency. The idea of hooking up with cops didn’t sit well with me. There were more sleazy ex-coppers floating around this situation than you could shake a night stick at and they didn’t just get sleazy after retirement. Still, there weren’t many other options. I agreed and a short time later was contacted by a couple of detectives for what was then the Metropolitan Toronto Police Department.

We met in a restaurant one night in the spring of 1984. They were your typical plainclothes coppers. Big guys that you could pick out in a crowd. They were interested in the evidence manufacturing but more interested in the Dirtbag’s associates especially those who had a habit of name-dropping mafia guys. Our meeting lasted about an hour. They thanked me and said that they were going to refer the matter to a more specialized law enforcement group.

Shortly thereafter, I was contacted by a soft-spoken man from the Ontario Provincial Police. He introduced himself and we arranged a meeting – the first of many – at an old waterfront OPP office across from Toronto harbour. Det. Black (not his real name) told me that he was part of a special group called the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit. The SEU employed specialists from major law enforcement organizations (in our case, the Toronto Police, OPP and the RCMP). Its mission was to investigate and prosecute organized crime.

He told me that there were a number of areas of interest in what I had told him. Evidence tampering was one, threats of beatings and other forms of intimidation were another, lawyers who instructed clients to lie under oath were another, illicit payoffs for selling union members were another. – In the context of labor relations all of these activities added up to labor racketeering and that was a form of organized crime.

Det. Black told me that the SEU had a keen interest in this kind of racketeering. They were particularly interested in lawyers who used their positions to facilitate these kinds of rackets and in possible connections between local rackets and well-known North American crime families.

He asked me if I could provide a chronology of my involvement with the Dirtbag and his cronies as well as a “who’s who”, copies of the bogus documents that I’d been asked to prepare and that I would be asked to introduce into evidence at the LRB and, if I still had them, the typewriter cartridges that were used to prepare these docs (this was the era of the IMB Selectric – a few years before computers started showing up on office desktops).

The Detective told me that if I was willing to tell him what I knew, cooperate to the extent that I could, it would help in the cause of law enforcement. He could not make promises about my safety although would try to proceed with as much caution as was possible and to protect my identity to the extent that was possible. We discussed the possibility of my being a witness in criminal proceedings and what that might mean. I said I was willing to do it but would need to understand more about what it might mean when the time came.

Over the spring and summer of 1984, Det. Black and I would have a number of meetings. I provided him with the chronology, the who’s who and the documents he requested. As our meetings progressed, he became more and more concerned and grave.

I actually liked Det. Black. After my initial meeting with the two Metro coppers I was a little ambivalent about any further get-togethers but Black was different. A soft-spoken, nerdish man with thick horn-rimmed glasses, he had a down-to-earth friendly air about him. At first I thought it was probably just part of his shtick but eventually I came to believe that it was genuine.

At a meeting on an evening in July, he leveled with me about where things stood. The guys I was involved with were mixed up with organized criminals – mobsters from Montreal, Buffalo, Hamilton and other places who were infiltrating unions and co-opting their leaders to gain access to pension and benefit funds. Some were very interested in establishing a presence in the hospitality industry. These were dangerous people he told me and I was in danger if they ever found out that I was talking to police or anyone else about what I knew about them.

The SEU wanted to proceed with an investigation but would need me to cooperate. Would I be willing, he asked, to surreptitiously record their conversations?

Wear a wire? Holy crap, I thought. This was like the movies. Sign me up, I said. And sign up I did. Det. Black produced a series of forms explaining what each one was, and I signed each one. A giddy sense of excitement mixed with dread came over me.

Det. Black arranged for me to go to an RCMP office on Jarvis Street to get wired up for sound a few days later. I showed up at 8 a.m.. I needed to be at the LRB for another hearing day at 9 a.m. Two women officers showed me the recording unit which was a lot bigger than I anticipated and showed me how to fasten it around my midriff. There was also a wire that I had to keep separate – this acted as an antenna or receiver and could be kept in my purse or tote bag. I was to turn it on any time an interesting conversation might develop and drop off the big recording unit asap after anything interesting was recorded.

Feeling like I was packing a 50 pound weight around my waist, I left and headed off to the LRB. Like most people I’ve heard from who ever engaged in secret taping, I was certain that everyone could see the damned thing or that it would make some unexpected beep or buzzing sound. The first day was nerve wracking, especially the first time I turned it on (over lunch with the Dirtbag and Tommy Bomba) but everything went off without a hitch and as the days passed, I got used to my new undercover partner.

Over the next several weeks I would tape dozens of conversations between the Dirtbag and his cronies. In some of these Bomba bragged about his underworld connections in Montreal, in some he and the Dirtbag plotted violence against the UFCW organizers and sympathetic workers, in still others the two discussed the concessionary contract they were going to sign when the UFCW’s campaign was over.

Shortly after I started submitting the tape recordings, Det. Black had me in for a chat. The investigation so far had turned up some interesting information. In order to proceed further, however, certain precautions would have to be taken. Would I be willing, he asked, to enter a witness protection program?

The question really threw me. We talked about what this would mean and why he thought it was advisable. I wasn’t really interested in it. This undercover gig was beginning to wear on me and the thought of moving to some strange place far away from everything that was familiar, under some other identity didn’t appeal to me at all. Black pressed the point. It wouldn’t necessarily be so bad he said. I was still young and had a whole life ahead. It would be an easy move as I had no kids or spouse to relocate.

I asked him why this was really necessary. He replied that police work is undertaken to preserve human life. Where witnesses’ lives are in danger, steps must be taken to protect their safety. Witness protection programs exist for this reason. Where investigations and prosecutions rely on the participation of witnesses whose lives will be in danger if they continue to live out in the open, these programs are a viable option – sometimes the progress of an investigation depends on the willingness of witnesses to enter a program. There’s no point in proceeding with an investigation, Det. Black explained, if the odds are very high that you won’t be able to successfully prosecute because a key witness is dead by the time you get to court. And this was just such a case, he added.
These are very dangerous people he said. My life was already in danger. If they knew I was talking to police, taping their conversations, chances were good that I’d be dead within a few days. I needed to think about it from this perspective. Was it better to be alive but in some other city with a different name or dead here at home.

At this moment I felt a certain gripping sense of anxiety. I told the detective that I would think about it and let him know. He told me to consider that the investigation was unlikely to proceed if I decided against it. Doing my best to look cool and unconcerned, I left his office and headed home.

I’ll never forget that evening and the car ride home. It was very warm out but I was covered in a cold sweat. I felt sheer and abject terror. I had done well so far, to keep my head and stay cool. I’d become so practiced at this that it had become a point of pride (it even freaked out certain lawyers). Along the way, I had wondered quite often if I would get caught out, how it might happen, what the Dirtbag might say, what I might say back. There were times when I wondered if he knew or suspected. Certainly I had felt anxious at those times but I could deal with it.

I had come to think of myself as doing an undercover assignment. It went out of my way to act the part I was playing. I dressed and acted like the ultimate upwardly mobile twenty-something manager. When I wasn’t at the office or out with the Dirtbag I would be at home, laboriously typing up the day’s events. I developed a keen interest in books about spies and people who otherwise lived dangerously for a cause (as the cold war was still on, there was no shortage of good non-fiction about Soviet-era moles who came in – or didn’t come in from – the cold.)

But this was different. It wasn’t that I hadn’t contemplated that the Dirtbag might do more than just fire me if he ever found out. But the detective’s message to me very clearly this evening had been that it wasn’t a question of might and it wasn’t even the Dirtbag that I had to worry about. It was no longer just him and Willie that I had to worry about, it was the mafia. I thought about Anne’s mother who was blown up by the mafia. And those stories that sometimes appeared in the local media about guys turning up dead in the trunks of cars – victims of mafia violence.

I felt a deep heavy burning sensation in my chest that would come and go frequently over the next few months and a odd feeling of separation from the world around me (sort of like an invisible veil that you can’t see but somehow sense that it’s there making everything just a little bit blurry). I’m not sure if it was the fear of turning up dead somewhere that scared me the most or if it was simply the knowledge that I had now stepped so far over the line that life would never really be normal again. Even if everything stopped right at that moment and everyone disappeared – the cops, the UFCW, the Dirtbag, all his friends – and everything returned to some comfortable state of normalcy, life would never really be the same because once you step out over this line you are somehow different from everyone who hasn’t.

I had the sense that I was completely, utterly alone. There was no one to talk to about any of this. Anne had quit the company months earlier and was traveling around Europe. Kevin had said we shouldn’t really talk about whatever I was doing with the cops - and the cops had said this too. My circle of friends would have thought I was nuts to even contemplate getting involved in such a thing. I sure couldn’t tell anyone at work. It dawned on me that I was 24 and living in fear of being murdered. Not something you tell people about over coffee.

So I just kept on going, wondering what would happen next. I spent a lot of time looking in the rear view mirror and checking over my shoulder when I walked down the street. Sleeping was getting to be a problem and I would often stay up late into the night writing up my notes from the day before or reading spy books. I started sleeping with the light on after waking one night in a sweat, certain that I’d seen the outline of a shadowy figure standing in the bedroom doorway. I wondered how much longer I could stay in this game.

At the office I was more concerned than ever about keeping up an impeccable front. The Dirtbag didn’t seem to suspect anything. I found that I actually felt the best when I was at the office and with him. He was slowly losing it as the pressures of what was now becoming a long battle with the UFCW caught up with him. His relationships with his old pals were strained to the breaking point. He was openly hostile towards Frank Van Venders and his team of young lawyers (he now suspected that Van Venders was plotting behind his back with Frank Benn). Things were getting rougher between him and Tommy Bomba who was beginning to waver on his earlier promise to deliver a wage rollback (not out of any sense of obligation to the workers mind you – Bomba feared an angry backlash from the workers and possible decertification). Short of friends and increasingly paranoid, I seemed to be the only person he trusted. (What a strange world, I would something think.)

He slid deeper and deeper into suspicion and paranoia. There was no doubt in his mind that the UFCW had somebody on the inside. They couldn’t possibly have come as far as they did otherwise. Somebody had tipped them to the PI firm that was used for organizing, somebody had to have told them about Sandy Pardy. Somebody had tipped them to Bomba’s goons who were set to break up a number of meetings the UFCW organizers had called in recent weeks. Who the hell was it?

He hired PI’s to check up on Bomba, Willie, even Van Vanders. He wanted to know the details of their personal lives, financial affairs, phone calls – everything. Somewhere, there would be a clue that would connect these guys to the UFCW. He did the same with the UFCW organizers but gave up after only a couple of them – disgusted with how frugally and modestly these people lived.

On a certain level it was almost entertaining knowing how totally off he was and that his real problem was right under his nose. An important lesson in this was that big pompous asses are known to make huge errors in judgment.

I had to say that it did worry me as the Dirtbag continued his sleuthing, that sooner or later he might take it into his head to check me out. Fortunately there was nothing of interest in any public or private record. I had not money issues, no income from any other sources, I used pay phones to communicate with Kevin or we would sometimes meet in some out of the way location. Only my meticulously detailed notes, squirreled away though they were, might draw some questions – but then someone would actually have to break into my apartment for that. After a while I began to regain some confidence. I wasn’t dead yet.

The Dirtbag still trusted me. He even confided to me that Van Venders thought thought I was the UFCW “plant” and warned him to get rid of me. The suggestion so shocked and upset him that he told Van Venders to fuck off and stop talking bullshit. I had never like Van Venders and it was pretty clear to me that the feeling was mutual. I had to laugh to myself how awful it must have been for him getting told off by the Dirtbag like that. On the other hand, if Van Venders suspected, so did the other assholes – probably.

About the only thing that gave me a sense of comfort was that the UFCW’s campaign continued to roll along with strong support across the map. Although various dirty tricks had been employed by the Dirtbag and Tommy Bomba in an effort to roust out the ringleaders and encourage the other members to support Tommy and the new HERE local to which they all now belonged, things weren’t going so well. Firstly, it was difficult to tell who the ringleaders were. In many cases, it seemed that everyone was as leader. A network of informal communication had sprung up among the different work locations which made it really difficult to do any kind of effective propaganda.

A decision by the LRB earlier in the year had invalidated the merger which left Bomba with the task of having to sign the workers up as members and file applications for certification for the HERE local.

The organizing effort didn't go particularly well. Bomba’s new crew of business agents did little to inspire confidence among the workers. They looked and acted like goons. Most had little if any union organizing experience (many were friends and relatives of Bomba’s and Willie’s who just happened to need well-paying organizing jobs.) The whole merger between Willie’s union and HERE was widely viewed as a sham, intended to block the UFCW’s organizing campaign.

The LRB hearings into the UFCW's allegations about the origins of Willie's union had concluded and we were waiting for a decision.

The master collective agreement had now entered its "open period". In case the LRB dismissed the allegations and declined to decertify Willie's union, the UFCW undertook another card-signing campaign. If need be, these cards would be used to file ordinary applications for certification during the open period. Signing up thousands of workers, over a large geographic area, twice was a formidable undertaking but it was happening. The workers, many of whom had now waited a year since the campaign began, were signing new membership cards, as resolute in their support for the UFCW as they were when the campaign began.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Mon Dec 29, 2008 6:49 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz

The LRB decision arrived in October 1984. It brought good news and bad. The Board found as fact that a covert campaign had been orchestrated by the company to assist Willie in organizing its workers. The Board had harsh words for the company, calling the covert activity insidious, deceptive and a clear violation of the laws. That said, however, the Board declined to decertify Willie’s union. There was no evidence, the Board said, to establish that Willie and his union were aware of this covert assistance. Besides, so much time had passed, a collective bargaining relationship was in place, and all things considered there was no point in disrupting that.

Around the same time the SEU officers I’d met at the Jarvis Street office asked me to come in for a meeting. They told me that they were discontinuing the investigation. They were short of resources and had to be selective about which cases they could pursue. This case would be difficult. My decision to not join the witness protection program was a consideration, as was the many more months that they anticipated would be required to bring the investigation to a conclusion. The recording equipment was also a problem. In some cases, it seems the equipment had malfunctioned and the recordings could not be retrieved. In others background noise made it difficult to follow the discussions. It’s not that there wasn’t anything there, they said. It just wasn’t a case they could pursue right now. They thanked me for my assistance and I thanked them for the experience.

Again, I was more relieved than anything else. This undercover crap was killing me and didn’t seem to be going anywhere. Things had become so strained between the Dirtbag and his pals now that they rarely ever conspired together anymore. Besides all that, things were looking up on the organizing front.

Dirtbag, Willie, Tommy Bomba and all da boys were ecstatic about the LRB’s decision but not for long. While the decision meant that Willie’s union still held representation rights for the workers, the contract was in its open season and the UFCW’s second wave of certification applications were pouring in. Bomba and his boys had filed a few of their own but their numbers were smaller and their support was weaker. The way things looked as 1985 began was the UFCW would receive automatic certification at some locations (including some of the largest), and representation votes between the UFCW and Bomba’s HERE local would be held in most others. Bomba’s local was not favored at many (if any) of these.

The future looked bright for the UFCW and for thousands of workers in a major service industry corporation. On the verge of winning representation rights at a huge number of workers in a large chain operation, they would have a beachhead from which other campaigns throughout the service industry could be launched. The campaign itself cold stand as a model for organizing in chain store operations – the network of courageous workers (most of them immigrant women) could continue their activism inside and outside their workplaces, inspiring and empowering others.

Yes, there was still the matter of bargaining a collective agreement, but the company could not afford to play hardball at the bargaining table either. For all of the Dirtbag’s scheming, a wage rollback wasn’t in the cards – the company was very profitable and a system-wide strike would be deadly to its business and its position in the market.

In February 1985 I was laying on a Florda beach finally feeling good about things. It had been a long strange journey but things were looking up. The whole adventure was almost over. The LRB would be dealing with the UFCW certification applications shortly and representation votes would be scheduled a few weeks from now. I was still alive and seemed to have some through the whole adventure unscathed. I wondered what I would do when it was over. I didn’t see myself staying around the office for much longer. I wanted to write a book about the campaign – with features about some of the worker activists who made it happen. There was a lot of interest in organizing service industry workers at this time (a group of department store workers had just unionized) and this might provide some insight that could be helpful.

Then I heard them. A few feet away from me a group of older men had set up were sitting beach chairs were settling in for a chat. At first it was just the usual small talk. I didn’t pay much attention. Then they started talking about union stuff, some problems at some meat packing plant in the Midwest, I was mildly curious but didn’t pay much attention. Their voices got softer and trailed off and then came back more audibly. Something about a problem in Canada and Frank Benn …organizing some restaurant workers. And then… Cliff Evans was in town the other week…to put a stop the organizing campaign. He met with Wynn…Wynn wants to end it.

I was stunned to say the least. To this day this is one of those bizarre coincidences – right-place-right-time that just leaves a person gobsmacked. I strained to listen more closely but they had moved on to other, less interesting, topics. Eventually they packed up their chairs and left.

I tried to figure out what this meant. It didn’t sound like good news. A problem in Canada that had to do with Frank Benn and some restaurant workers getting organized. Well, there was no doubt what that was about. And Cliff Evans…going to Washington …to stop the campaign. That was the bomb.

I knew about Evans although I had never met him. He was another one of the Dirtbag’s old cronies. He was also pretty tight with Tommy Bomba. The Dirtbag had mentioned that the two of them came from the same union way back when, but I hadn’t heard much about Evans during the campaign. As far as I knew he was in charge of the UFCW’s supermarket workers’ division. The idea that he might have some role in undermining the campaign sounded too farfetched to believe. How? And why? Still, it worried me.

I called Kevin and told him about my coincidental encounter on the beach. He wasn’t concerned. Evans? He wasn’t a threat – maybe he’d like to undermine Frank Benn because the two of them would be rivals for the leadership of the union in a couple of years but stopping the campaign? That wasn’t possible. The International had just approved further funding to cover the ongoing costs of the campaign and legal fees for the LRB issues. The whole thing was just about over anyway. Evans meddling wouldn’t get him very far even if it was really happening.

When I returned to work following my vacation though, I quickly found that Evans was indeed meddling and it was no joke.

Worried to death about the outcome of the representation votes, the Dirtbag had reached out to his old pal after a chance encounter at an airport bar earlier in the year. Evans had big ambitions and was coveting the Canadian directorship. (When the UFCW was created in 1979, two co-directors - Evans and Benn - were appointed to head up the Canadian operation. They were respectively the former Presidents of the Retail Clerks and Amalgamated Meatcutters. The deal was that when one either retired or otherwise left the scene, a sole Canadian Director would be appointed.)

The opportunity to get Benn out of the way must have appealed to Evans because he sprang into action. Over the next two months, a stunning backroom deal was hatched among senior representatives of the UFCW, HERE and the company. I won’t go into the details here as I set them out a few years ago in a fictionalized piece called The Backroom Chronicles which appeared on the old MFD site and is still available in its archives. But a quick rundown of what happened would go like this:

Evans went to Washington to meet with UFCW International President Bill Wynn. He persuaded Wynn that Benn was out of control and needed to be stopped. The whole organizing campaign was premised on a bunch of lies and allegations that the LRB had already tossed out. Benn was raiding a HERE local – in violation of AFL-CIO and CLC rules – and was about the drive the company whose members it rightfully represented into bankruptcy with the prolonged legal battle that his campaign had spawned. The LRB was about to toss out his applications for certification and, in any representation vote, the HERE local would trounce the UFCW, creating a huge embarrassment for the union right across North America.

Wynn swallowed it hook, lineand more lies. He had an affinity for Evans. Both were from the Retail Clerks organization and so shared the Clerks’ business-friendly values. Wynn didn’t much care for the Meatcutters side of the newly merged organization, thinking them too militant and hard-ass for his liking. In the process of consolidating his power in the huge new union, the idea of ridding himself of a Meatcutter or two sounded appealing – especially the one that had made the merger so politically difficult in Canada.

Wynn dispatched his second in command, a bland bureaucratic pigeon-like guy called Douglas Dority, to orchestrate a deal that would end the campaign. As Benn still had considerable political clout within the UFCW, it had to be on the quiet. Once terms could be reached with the major players – which included the Dirtbag – the deal would be put to Benn for signature. Refusing to sign wouldn’t be an option.

Dority and Evans had a series of meetings with Tommy Bomba, the Dirtbag and a VP from HERE International during March and April 1985. These meetings were held covertly, without Frank Benn’s knowledge (well, OK he did know about them but it wasn’t Dority who told him). During these meetings a deal was cut. The major elements of the deal were:

The UFCW would end its organizing campaign, withdraw almost of its applications for certification and unfair labor practice complaints (a number of these had been filed regarding a variety of intimidation tactics, including a couple of dismissals of union activists).

The UFCW would be allowed to seek certification at only 8 locations (out of more than 40). For the most part, it was the Dirtbag who decided which locations they would get. None were larger urban stores where their support was the most solid.

Tommy Bomba’s HERE local would get everyone else. Some 40 locations and over 1000 workers – most of whom badly wanted to rid themselves of his sleazy brand of representation.

The UFCW would commit to refrain, forever, from organizing any workers anywhere in the company’s operations – ever..

The UFCW would agree to a “me too” collective agreement based on whatever Bomba’s local signed off in negotiations that would begin shortly.

I suppose the reason that good guys get beaten is that they consistently underestimate bad guys’ capacity for treachery. Good guys in unions are especially prone to this as they believe that scheming backstabbers within their ranks share – shortcomings aside – their bedrock beliefs about workers’ issues and aspirations. I think that this is one of the reasons that the leadership positions in so many unions are filled with the self-serving and unscrupulous. It certainly happened within the UFCW.

As the backroom drama unfolded, I tried desperately to warn Benn and Kevin about what was simmering away behind their backs. They believed what I said but I had the impression that they didn’t think it would come to anything. They couldn’t really fathom how they could be so badly betrayed by their own President.

It seemed to me that this was the time for Benn to pull out all the stops and use the considerable political leverage he had in Canada and within the Meatcutters side of the union in general or at least to confront Evans about his treachery – but it just didn’t happen.

As things turned out, Dority waited until Benn was out of the country at an ILO conference in Europe and ordered the much younger and more obedient Kevin to sign the deal on his behalf. He complied of course – what else could he do? And so it ended.

The members were livid. The whole thing was unbelievable. They thought they were only weeks away from voting for their union – instead they were handed back, like so many boxes of product to Tommy Bomba and the much-reviled Willie. Nothing could be done, they were told by the very same organizers who had stood by them for the better part of two years. The International offices of the two unions had decided this was for the best. Now, together, they could be that much stronger taking on the company at the bargaining table.

It was so much shit. The Dirtbag had a surprise in store for the whole lot of them.

By the time the backroom deal was done, the Dirtbag was walking on air. He could hardly believe how he’d pulled victory from the jaws of defeat – or persuaded his old pal Evans to grab defeat from the jaws of victory. Full or bravado and arrogant self-confidence, he prepared for negotiations. It was time for Tommy Bomba to make good on that wage rollback he’d promised way back when.

But Bomba wasn’t going to have anything to do with any wage rollback. He couldn’t, he explained. The members were already after his hide. It was bad timing. This was going to be a first contract for his new local – he had to bring home some kind of increase. A rollback was outta da question. Nobody in their right mind would bargaining a rollback in circumstances like this. Nobody except Doug Dority of the UFCW.

The Dirtbag was incensed with Bomba’s lack of cooperation. The nerve of that bastard Bomba – “We had an understanding, we paid big dollars for this. I was always part of the plan.” Oh well, the Dirtbag had another ace up his sleeve.

A few rounds and a steak dinner later he had persuaded Evans of the company’s dire need for wage concessions. Evans was good with the idea but said he’d need the International’s blessing. On a morning in May, Evans, Dirtbag and I boarded a flight to Washington. While in the air, the sleazy Evans coached the Dirtbag about how to hit Dority up for concessions – what might work best, where to put the emphasis. The slimey little bastard could hardly conceal his discomfort with me (during the secret talks he had told the Dirtbag that both he and Dority were certain the Benn had someone on the inside. He never said who it might be and the Dirtbag didn’t believe him – preferring instead to think that Benn had probably bugged everybody’s phones). The Dirtbag clearly saw himself as in a position of power with Evans and treated him with something bordering on contempt. But the spineless Evans didn’t seem to mind – he sucked up, fawned, and made nice.

We were put up, at the UFCW’s expense, in a nice hotel where we met Mr. Dority the following day. The Dirtbag didn’t even have to try. After giving Dority a lackluster spray of lies about the company’s dire financial situation, the accommodating Dority suggested a two-tier wage scale which, he claimed, the union had done with other employers recently and which seemed to be working well. The Dirtbag couldn’t believe his luck. From there we went straight to HERE headquarters where the Dirtbag announced to HERE Vice President who had been involved in the backroom deal that the UFCW had committed to a two-tier wage scale. The HERE guy was not amused and wasn’t eager to follow suit. However, the Dirtbag promised to make it worth his while by giving HERE voluntary recognition for a bunch of new locations (he had no intention of making good on this commitment) and the deal was done.

The Dirtbag partied all the way home.

Over the summer of 1985, both the HERE and UFCW signed identical collective agreements with the company. Both contained two tier wage scales that essentially would create a large workforce of minimum wage earners whose only real benefit was a health and welfare plan administered by Willie’s family. Membership in the plan was voluntary but the company contributed monthly premiums for workers whether they were enrolled in the plan or not.

I was dazed and confused. The whole episode was now over. I knew what had happened but couldn’t understand why it happened. How could Bill Wynn so easily and callously betray so many people? The backroom deal seemed to me to have been one big people-trading exercise. The fact that it all took place in a smoky bar where the negotiators ate like pigs and were half snapped by the time it was all over just added to the callousness of it all. I didn’t get it.

Frank Benn had been sidelined and would retire within a couple of years and it seemed that the slippery Evans was going to be the new UFCW Canadian Director.

It was time to move on. I decided to put the whole thing behind me. Maybe one day it would make sense but for the time being I was done with it.


TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Tue Dec 30, 2008 5:29 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
Added a couple of closing paragraphs to the last post. The saga continues...

wm pasz

Ten years passed. It was 1995 and I was working as a mediator at the Ministry of Labor. It was a great job took me out to thousands of different workplaces. I really loved the work and the exposure to the thousands of different workplaces gave me huge perspective on what was wrong with the workplace and workplace relations. The past few years were a placid period in my life. I’d gotten married and had now had two young children. My job was secure (I was actually thinking of becoming an MOL lifer) and the money was good.

My adventures of the previous decade were far behind me. I rarely ever thought about them. Occasionally I would hear bits and pieces of high strangeness about the UFCW –

Cliff Evans ascension to the Canadian Directorship had caused a near insurrection within the union, although one that he seemed to have put down with an iron boot.

There was talk on the street about some weird stuff he was doing with the union’s pension plan – something about buying up hotels with pension money as a means of organizing hotel workers. This attracted a lot of attention in the labor relations community as it was quite an unorthodox practice and, on top of that, hotels were HERE turf.

And speaking of HERE, there had been some high strangeness involving its two Toronto locals. The loud-mouthed President of Local 75 (the Dirtbag’s arch nemesis, Jean Guy Belanger) had been blabbing to the media about his mob connections. Shortly thereafter he staged a daring breakaway from the local, taking his exec board and crew of business agents with him. Gawkers couldn’t believe he hadn’t been whacked for this brazen act of disloyalty – but he hadn’t. In fact, he set up an independent union and set out on a mission of raiding HERE’s hotels. Enquiring minds wanted to know who was funding his new enterprise and his legal battles with HERE International.

Back at my former place of employment, Tommy Bomba’s HERE local was in trouble as well. It seemed that slick Willie had pulled the same breakaway stunt as Belanger, resurrecting his old company union and raiding Bomba’s HERE. Bomba was remarkably good humored about the whole thing, ceding the 4000 member local to Willie without a fight.

The Dirtbag had retired and passed away shortly thereafter. I met him for lunch a month or so before he died. We talked up old times. He was somewhat bitter about how things had worked out. For all his hard work and effort in bringing about the end of the UFCW’s organizing drive, he’d received little in the way of appreciation. He was put out to pasture a couple of years later when he became quite sick with liver issues. I jokingly suggested that one day I might write a book about the whole thing and enthusiastically encouraged the idea. “Tell ‘em everything. All the dirt, all the double-dealing, don’t leave anything out. And me – make sure you make me out to be the biggest bastard of the lot!” I said I’d think about it.

But these things were now nothing more than curiosities. I took a passing interest, but nothing more.

Then a couple of really strange things happened. These were in the category of weird coincidences – like the time that I overheard the old union guys on the beach in Florida talking about Cliff Evans putting a stop to the organizing drive. Two in particular made me do a double take:

It was January 1995 and I had a mediation assignment with a benefits administration company that was based in the UFCW national office in west end Toronto. I arrived early (as was my custom) and was enjoying a coffee and smoke in my car when a van pulled up next to me. I recognized the driver – a guy named Claydon Long who had been part of the breakaway group at Local 75. I had always liked Claydon. He was a good guy even though his boss, the self-admittedly mob-connected Belanger, was a piece of work.

I hadn’t heard of what had become of Belanger and his boys. Their hotel raid had fallen flat and they seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth so seeing Claydon here was a bit of a surprise.

I waved at him. He looked at me with a shocked expression, jumped out of his car and ran over to my window.

“What, what, what are you doing here?” he stammered, looking pretty freaked out.

“Well, nice to see you too,” I greeted him. “Official government business.”

The poor man looked like he was going to die so I quickly explained, “I’m doing a mediation with some benefit company that has an office here.”

“Oh,” he seemed somewhat relieved.

“And what are you doing here?” I asked, now quite curious about his reaction.

“I, I, I…I have an office in this building,” he blurted out as if recalling a right answer.

“Well, that’s great,” I said, “Got time for a coffee?”

“Oh I’d really like to but I can’t, no I really shouldn’t,” he seemed genuinely conflicted. And then, “Oh why not! There’s nothing wrong with having a coffee.” He sounded almost defiant.

We went inside to a small coffee shop off of t he lobby. He looked around as if to make sure the coast was clear and darted to a table at the back.

Once we were seated, I asked innocently, “So, what’s new with you?”

“I wish I could talk about it…I’m sure you’ve heard…about the breakaway and all that. It’s been really tough. I can’t talk about it now. I’m not happy with the way things are being done but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.”

The man was clearly unhappy and conflicted about something. I tried to prod him a bit but didn’t get very far.

“One day when the time is right, I will talk about it,” he said. “About everything. But now I can’t”.

We made some pleasant small talk and went our separate ways. He looked over his shoulder as he left and darted somewhat furtively down a corridor and out of sight.

My mediation session was finished by noon and so I dropped in on Kevin (from the organizing campaign – we had kept in touch over the years) who also had an office in the building. “Tell me something,” I asked. “What are Jean Guy Belanger’s boys doing holed up in your building?”

“They’re here?” he asked.

“Yes, they’re heeeeere,” I replied. “I had coffee with one of them this morning. Seems to me they’ve built a nest here somewhere. What’s up with that?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said. “I guess Mike has them working on something.” (Mike was Michael Fraser, Cliff Evans’ nephew, who was the President of the UFCW largest Canadian local – Local 175.)

“And what might Mike have the Belanger crew working on?” I was now curious as all hell.

But Kevin said he hadn’t a clue. His local was pretty autonomous and he had little to do with Fraser or any of the other UFCW big shots. I left it at that.

The chance encounter really puzzled me. Something strange was afoot at UFCW headquarters. I would sure never have put them and Belanger together. Not in a million years. I told my colleagues back at the office about what I’d found in the UFCW parking lot and they thought it was damned strange as well.

“Cliff Evans is up to something with those guys,” one of my office mates said. “I think the UFCW are funding their independent union and their raid on the HERE’s hotels.”

It was a strange proposition but again, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it.

A few months later, I had an assignment at a west end hotel. It was just off of Hwy 401 at Keele Street. Something of a local landmark, the two star joint had a colorful history. At one time known as the Triumph Hotel, it was now a Howard Johnson. It was believed by some to have been a mob hangout. A famous local Mafioso was believed to have eaten his last meal here – just hours before his body turned up in the trunk of a car at the airport parking garage. It had once had a thriving disco (Anne dragged me there a few times – I was not a disco person) but had fallen on hard times in recent years.

There had been a bankruptcy a couple of years ago and it had been closed for some time. Now re-opened and supposedly renovated, it was a popular place for union business. I had heard that this was one of the hotels that the UFCW’s pension plan owned.

I don’t recall the issue or even who was there from the union at the time but I had the most unusual conversation with an older gentleman who was there as the management representative.

His name was Rick Kingsley and knew him from back in the day. He had worked as a labor relations executive with a big hotel chain that had gone bust a few years before but had thought that he had long since retired. (I had met him a couple of times while out prowling the city with the Dirtbag.) He explained that he had indeed retired but was now doing some consulting work in the industry and had picked up this account.

While I was waiting for the union reps to discuss a settlement proposal, Rick invited me into the office he was using. He said he had something he wanted to show me.

“You’ve heard about what’s happened here?” he asked quietly.

“I know there’s been a change in union, is that what…? I wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“Do you know who owns this place?” he whispered.

“Oh yeah, it’s the pension plan isn’t it?” I replied.

“It’s…” he pressed the side of his nose with his index finger.

“Really?” I was pretty incredulous. “Are you sure?”

“Here,” he said pulling a document out of his briefcase. “Have you seen this?”

It was a decision of the Ontario court called Stamos v. Belanger – it was part of the legal fallout of the HERE Local 75 breakaway attempt by Jean Guy Belanger and his guys. It looked interesting but it was a long decision and there was no way that I could read the whole thing as I sat there.

“Could I take a copy with me?” I asked.

“Oh no,” he said. “I couldn’t possibly let them see me copying this. Read it, read it. It will be very important that you know about this decision one day.”

I started leafing through the thing but in all honesty I wasn’t all that interested.

“Write down the citation,” he said finally, “and take it with you. Remember, this case will mean a lot to you one day.”

I wrote down the cite and got back to the mediation. Kingsley was beginning to annoy me with this cryptic stuff. I didn’t really believe his gestured comment about the ownership of the hotel and thought that the aging process might be catching up to him.

I finished the assignment and headed out, only to have him remind me one more time about the court decision and to make sure I remembered it.

I no longer had time for this cloak and dagger crap – which seemed intent on following me around.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Wed Dec 31, 2008 4:35 pm

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz



Nothing would ever have come of these chance encounters if it weren’t for the Internet. At best they would be curiosities – “WTF moments” that might leave me momentarily puzzled but that would never lead to anything more.

Then it came. In 1997 we got our first home computer. It came with a dial up Internet connection and the standard Win95 suite of software. We had the most archaic technology at the MOL and I was unfamiliar with either the Internet or the Windows computer software during the time I worked there. I was now with a professional employees union and had just started using Windows 3.1 and an office intranet – both of which I thought were pretty cool. I jumped in and never looked back. This electronic stuff had a lot going for it.

The Internet fascinated me and I would spend hours surfing around, like a kid in a candy store, exploring everything that came into my mind at any point in time. I had a very strong sense that this world wide web thing was going to change a lot of things and not just the way we ordered airline tickets or did banking. Surfing the web made me feel smart and well, sort of – free. Going where you wanted to go, clicking out if it was boring or not relevant, looking up reports, articles and other information that you couldn’t possibly have accessed in the offline world – this thing rocked.

Something that I found equally fascinating – and you’ll find this weird I know – was the sound that the modem made as it connected to the net – that staticy chirping sound. It occurred to me at one point that it reminded me of the sounds from my parents’ shortwave radio that used to fascinate me as a child – when I thought that the static and the strange mechanical voices that would sometimes come from out of nowhere as I turned the tuning dial what I imagined were a portal to some other world - the world where the lurking menace lived. Was the Internet connection similarly a portal to a whole other world? The world behind the static? I didn’t know it in these early days but I was about to slip through a portal – albeit a metaphorical one – and case my own lurking menace around and around a digital universe. No shit – it was going to be one wild ride.

As the 20th century drifted to its end I was busy contemplating where I was headed in life. I was pushing 40 and, from a conventional perspective, I had lead something of a charmed existence. I had fluked my way into a field – labor relations – that was considered highly specialized and where really knowledgeable people were always in demand. Whatever else it gave me, my initial job with the Dirtbag and his pals, had given me a wealth of knowledge about labor law, LRB proceedings, collective bargaining and other highly specialized processes in the labor relations field.

The company had been a large conglomerate with many operating divisions (the action that I’ve described in the preceding posts happened in one of those) and, when I wasn’t out with the Dirtbag attending hearings or keeping track of late night barroom negotiations, I did a lot of stuff that labor relations people typically do – grievance meetings, training, health and safety administration, job evaluation and so forth. I also negotiated a crap-load of collective agreements (over three dozen by the time I was about 27 – all without a strike or lockout).

Although I had come by my knowledge in an unorthodox situation, it was nonetheless valuable and useful. Another hugely ironic byproduct of my time with the Dirtbag was the I made a lot of good contacts at the LRB and with the numerous law firms that the Dirtbag used. The man was such a coarse, belligerent pig that I made a much better impression by comparison. My efforts at keeping a cool head and putting on a professional act during this period inadvertently earned me a reputation for being analytical and unflappable under fire – both considered highly desirable traits and brought a number of job offers my way in the years after I left the company.

Unlike most of my colleagues who were most concerned about the vertical trajectory of their careers, my interest was in broadening my understanding of the workplace and workplace issues. Rather than look upwards, I zigzagged around, opting for jobs that would give me the widest perspective. It was a good strategy too. Not many people in this field can say they’ve worked as a management rep, union rep, government mediator and few have actually set foot in as many workplaces, public, private and not for profit, as I had.

Yet, by the time Y2K was looming on the horizon, I was seriously wondering what it was all about. Vaguely dissatisfied with the LR scene, but not really knowing why, I decided to go back to school.

I re-enrolled in university, into a program oriented around workplace studies. One of my profs was a woman whose academic work had focused on the service industry and unions. For her PhD thesis she had spent the better part of a year working at a fast food restaurant and had written a number of articles and books about the difficulties associated with organizing workers in this industry.

For one of our major assignments we were told to write an gave us an essay that, drawing on our own workplace experiences, discusses the difficulties faced by unions in organizing workers in today’s service economy. Well, I guess it was meant to be. It was time for a trip down memory lane.

I headed off to the furnace room and hauled out the half dozen packing boxes that had been gathering dust in the basement of our home (and our previous home and the apartment before that) for well over a decade. Tearing off the packing tape and peering inside for the first time in over a decade, I was surprised at the mountain of documents that I’d assembled – and snuck out the back door – while working for the Dirtbag. Turning the yellowing pages, some handwritten some typed, many in a secret short-hand that I’d developed, I was surprised both at the events (some of which I had forgotten) and at how much it had all meant to me at the time.

In the dusty boxes I found notes from the barroom bargaining sessions, airline tickets from the trip the Dirtbag, and I took with Cliff Evans to UFCW headquarters in Washington DC, even an old picture I’d snapped of the two of them scheming over a few drinks at the Washington hotel where they laid the groundwork for the spectacular round of concession bargaining that would follow. I could almost smell the cigar smoke and the BO in those pages – and hear their coarse conversation as numbers (of people) were hawked back and forth – who would get what, how many heads, when, how the deal would be pitched to them.

I began…

Quote:
It had all started with the union man. He came to the burger joint where they worked, asking their manager if he could speak with them about joining a union. Dumbfounded, the store manager showed him the door but he persisted, suggesting that the store manager call head office and check with the head of the security department. The store manager did so and when asked by the security chief about the union man's identity, told the store manager to allow his request. The union man sat down with the restaurant workers. Few had ever thought about joining a union. Some did not think that restaurant workers could join unions. Still others had heard of workers being fired for daring even to mention unions. The union man soon put their minds at rest.

Creating a union was easy, he told them and he would show them how. He knew people at the head office. They were familiar with the kind of union he had in mind and did not object to it if the workers wanted to join. All the company cared about was that its workers join a good union, one that was right for them. There were some very bad unions out there - unions that were just out to take workers' money and squeeze companies out of business. These were the unions the company did not want. There were other kinds of unions, however, the kind that worked well for the workers and for the company. The union man said he was an expert in these kinds of unions and knew the company would approve. Once the union was established, he would organize their co-workers throughout the company's operations. The workers were somewhat bewildered at first but his easy manner and their managers' apparent tolerance of him put them at ease. Having their own union held out the promise of improved working conditions and better pay and few workers needed it more than they.

What the workers did not know was that the union they thought they were creating was actually the product of the efforts of three men: a prominent Toronto labour lawyer, an Officer of the Ontario Labour Relations Board and an International Organizer with the Hotel and Restaurant Workers and Bartenders International Union. The groundwork for the organization the workers thought they were forming on that day in April 1975 had been laid months before, at the corporate head office. Company officials had selected them as good prospects to lead the new union based largely on their malleability and loyalty to the organization.


The paper went on to discuss union corruption and the role that it played in dampening workers’ interest in joining unions. I covered off the conventional wisdom about what made organizing service industry workers difficult (casualized work, multiple locations, employer opposition and so forth) but argued that there was something far more insidious that was getting in the way. A business-oriented “old boy” culture within service industry unions themselves was at the root of the problem. A lack of respect for the workers themselves and an ideological alignment with the bosses led to lackluster campaigns, bad contracts and poor servicing. None of this was striking any kind of chord with the unorganized who didn’t see any tangible benefit to joining unions.

I presented the story of the restaurant workers as an example of a missed opportunity for service industry organizing and talked about how the business-unionist culture that was rooted in Cliff Evans side of the Canadian UFCW had manifested itself in behaviors and decisions that undermined and eventually killed a promising organizing campaign.

I got an A on my paper and an urge to open an old can of worms. I organized my archive of materials and set about writing a detailed history of what happened to these workers, from the time the plot to organize them was hatched to end of the UFCW campaign. I wasn’t really sure why I was doing this. Maybe it will be useful to somebody one day. In the least, it was a very interesting story for anyone who wanted to study counter-organizing dirty tricks, corrupt unionism and related subjects. The finished product which had the working title “Sweethearts”, ran to 73 pages. It has never been published but maybe one day.

While writing my historical account, I began surfing the web for information about union corruption. In no time, I had found enough to keep me busy reading, printing and highlighting for months. I was amazed at how much there was – corruption and online information about it.

I was amazed at how readily I was able to access reports and articles that, without the Internet, I would never even know existed. The 1978 report of a Presidential Commission on organized crime and labor unions was an example. I had heard of this report but had never thought I’d be able to get my hands on a copy. Yet there it was. I was stunned at the extent of mob infiltration in unions like the HERE (mobbed up from top to bottom it seemed – no wonder those coppers told me I was walking a fine line), the Laborers and the Teamsters (of course, I’d heard of Jimmy Hoffa but like many people thought corruption in the Teamsters was a thing of the past).

I was also very surprised to learn of the sustained decade-long effort on the part of US law enforcement agencies to root the mobsters out of these unions. Court-appointed monitors were had been installed within the Teamsters and HERE (HERE President Edward T. Hanley had just resigned to avoid prosecution on a raft of racketeering offences), Laborers leaders were busy ratting out hundreds of mobbed-up associates in an effort to save their own skins. Who knew?

A number of web sites operated by reform-minded union members were also online by this time. www.laborers.org, www.heretics.net, www.tdu.org and a very informative site called www.reapinc.org. REAP, it turned out was a reform group within the UFCW (the acronym stood for Research, Education, Advocacy, People). Law enforcement efforts to promote greater union democracy seemed to have led to a proliferation of these union reform groups (Teamsters for a Democratic Union being the best-known).

The REAP site was fascinating. Although the UFCW did not figure in the ranks of the mobbed-up unions that were the subject of the law enforcement investigations, it sure did seem to have its problems with corruption.

The information on the REAP site provided a great deal of context and finally helped me understand why Bill Wynn was so easily influenced by his scheming Canadian lieutenant and why the 4000 or so restaurant workers were as expendable as they came to be. The UFCW leader’s strategic blunders in the Hormel strike of the mid 1980’s (I remembered hearing something about this back in the day – something about how some radicals were screwing up a contract settlement in some meat packing place) and his efforts to root out and sidelines perceived rivals from the “other union” (the meat cutters) now put things in perspective.

In another series of odd coincidences I wound up crossing paths with some of the boys from the organizing campaign. (I’ve read that sometimes if you think about something intently, you might manifest it. I’m not sold on this idea though, having many times thought intently about a big lottery win only to find that someone else must have been thinking about the same thing – and more intently. Still it was kind of odd.)

Through the latter part of the 1990’s I ran into some of Willie’s old crew. They were now working for the UFCW. It seems that after wresting control of the restaurant workers from Tommy Bomba’s HERE local, Willie merged his union into the UFCW. Willie himself called me up from out of the blue one day to tell me that he had “sold his interest” in the union and was out of the business entirely now. One of his guys told me he got a big payoff for his end of the sale – a lifetime of payments from the UFCW’s pension plan.

While researching another paper – this time about union democracy – I had heard from an old friend from the campaign. He had now risen to an important position with the UFCW. We arranged to meet for lunch at the Howard Johnson hotel (where I’d had the strange encounter with the older gentleman and his court decision a couple of years earlier).

We met. I congratulated him on his election. He thanked me but said that he wasn’t elected but rather, appointed by a small committee of carefully chosen representatives whose role it was to basically rubberstamp a recommendation of the Canadian Director. I commented that this didn’t seem very democratic.

He said that this was the way things were done in the UFCW. The union couldn’t really afford to be democratic anymore. I pressed him on this and he said that the union was too big and too complicated an organization to be left to the members. It had too interests including business interests and relationships that needed to be carefully managed.

“Business interests?” I asked. “Like what?”

“Well, like this hotel for instance,” he replied proudly. “We own it – through our pension plan.”

“Really eh?” I said, trying to think of a good follow-up question, but it turned out that I didn’t have to.

“We also own a hotel in the Bahamas,” he continued enthusiastically, “and a resort.”

“The Bahamas,” I was genuinely surprised. “Why would the union want to own a resort in the Bahamas?”

He leaned forward with an impish look, “Look,” he said, “we’re dirty now.”

“Dirty? What do you mean – dirty?” I asked.

“We’re dirty,” he whispered pressing the side of his nose with two fingers, “Dirty like HERE and the Teamsters.”

“Really?” I asked trying to look more intrigued than shocked. “How’d that happen?”

“It was through the pension plan,” he replied. “They got in through the pension plan.”

“So you see,” he continued, “democracy really isn’t an option for us.”

We finished our lunch and I headed off. I could hardly believe what I’d just heard. The UFCW had its problems, as I’d learned in much detail over the past while but I hadn’t really found anything about them that connected with organized crime. Maybe I hadn’t been looking hard enough. Maybe they’d just flown under the radar? But with the DOL, DOJ, the FBI looking for mobsters milking pension plans, how could that be? But that was the US and this was Canada. From what I’d seen online so far, mobbed up unions didn’t seem to exist here.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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wm pasz
Post Posted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 1:05 am

Joined: 29 Jan 2006
Posts: 1219
Location: Toronto
wm pasz

I was beginning to feel a real curiosity about what was up with the UFCW. Tapping into my network of labor contacts around Toronto I learned that I wasn’t the only one. The union’s exploits had been raising eyebrows all over town.

Cliff Evans had retired – supposedly – in 1992. This had baffled a lot of people as he had served only one term as Canadian Director, a job for which he had schemed and manipulated for the better part of the 80’s. The word on the street was that he had retired to run the union’s pension plan (which had been up to some unorthodox investing). Some believed he was still running the union through his nephew, Michael Fraser, who had just been appointed the union’s new Canadian Director.

The Belanger crew (the former HERE Local 75 guys) who had broken away and turned up at UFCW headquarters seemed to have vanished after their hotel raid went nowhere. Belanger was believed to have returned to his native Montreal where he was working at a supermarket. Some of his boys were now UFCW business agents. The whole escapade had drawn so much attention that people still talked about it.

The restaurant workers who became UFCW members when Willie sold his interest in their union were now part of a shadowy UFCW local that had once been Evans’ home turf. They included a business agent who had been charged (by never convicted) in a brazen daylight armed robbery.

At about the same time that Willie sold his interest, another shady local labor leader also merged one of his three unions with the UFCW. Everyone in town who worked in labor relations knew of the notorious Tommy Corrigan and his stable of unions that included locals of the Teamsters, Textile Processors and Novelty Workers unions. The Textile Processors local, which was now UFCW Local 351, included a number of local hotels including the Howard Johnson on Keele Street, which I mentioned in earlier posts. The UFCW sure seemed to want into the hotel biz – and HERE was being surprisingly quiet about it.

This was very strange. The UFCW had never publicly stated any intention to get involved in the hotel industry and such a move would have been really controversial as hotels were historically HERE turf. I smelled a rat – or a pig.

Since the secret deal went down in the spring of 1985, I felt a special kind of disdain for Cliff Evans. It wasn’t just that his duplicitous machinations had so badly betrayed so many workers, that was bad enough but there was something else. There was a certain bland spinelessness about him. I remembered watching him as the bargaining progressed late into the night – his greasy bald pate and dark beady eyes, always squinting. I thought he looked sort of piggish, like a chattering little pigman in an out of fashion pastel suit. When I was writing my lengthy chronology about those events the memories came flooding back. I remembered his flat, almost monotonous tone, as the bargaining over who would get how many bodies progressed, and the enthusiastic butt-kissing he laid on the Dirtbag.

This short excerpt describes what happened when the Dirtbag balked at giving the UFCW some stores as part of the deal.

Quote:
Dority and Evans tried hard to win him over. There would be no problems, Evans committed as Dority looked his most compassionate best. The UFCW, at least the part of it that he ran, was not out to cause the company grief. Benn would be completely out of the picture. The stores would be folded into a local under Evans' jurisdiction and Evans would personally see to it that there were no problems. He understood [Dirtbag’s] dismay. If it had been up to him, the campaign would never have happened. And then, in a final act of obsequiousness, Evans offered his humblest and most sincere apology to [Dirtbag] for the whole thing. All he needed were a couple of the Metro locations - something that would allow them to walk gracefully away. [Dirtbag] was unmoved, however, and the talks broke off in the early morning hours.

Although frustrated that he had not obtained a deal on the worst possible terms for the UFCW, [Dirtbag] was somewhat buoyed by Evan's performance, describing him as "our kind of guy". His sincere apology had tugged at [Dirtbag’s] heart. As he began to warm up to the idea of having the UFCW in some of the stores, the germ of an idea occurred to him. With Evans in charge, he could maybe get those wage concessions he so desperately wanted after all. The idea intrigued him. Yes, he could look more favourably on the UFCW demands for some of the locations in exchange for a commitment to wage concessions when it came time to bargain. He did not think that Evans would have any problem with concessions. He could blame the whole thing on Benn whose efforts had so bankrupted the company that it required concessions to remain viable. There could even be a strike at a store or two with Benn still in the picture. The International could then move in to remove Benn and Evans could step in and do a concession deal. This would then set a pattern for the rest of the stores - including those in HERE's territory. The plan excited him - he had not felt this good since he had put the screws to the workers at [a store in Ottawa].


The Dirtbag had Evans’ number – the sleazy Pigman even exceeded his expectations!

I had only seen Evans once in all the years that followed. At a labor conference in the mid-90’s I came upon him chatting with Michael Mansky – the lawyer who had handled the UFCW’s case before the LRB and who had decided, at the last minute, to forego calling me as a witness. Kevin told me his local no longer used Mansky as he was a guy who played both sides against the middle. His firm was still involved with other UFCW locals and the pension plan.

What happened next was the beginning of my Internet odyssey that has now spanned 8 years (and counting). During that time I found myself chasing my very own lurking menace – that sleazy little Pigman. And I caught up with him too and found him with his snout in a very deep trough. It all started with google.

I began googling the UFCW and corruption and found no end of hits.

Dozens of websites presented an evolving history of the union’s descent. A kleptocracy of sorts had installed itself in locals across North America and was living large while the members swallowed concession after concession at the bargaining table.

I will include the most famous kleptocrat (well-known to many in union reform circles and worthy of a mention here.) - Joe Talarico, President of a UFCW local in upper New York state:

Quote:
Top Boss Goes to Prison for Union Embezzlement
"[H]e thought of himself first and the union members second. He and other members of his family used the union as a personal asset," said U.S. Labor Department's Joseph S. Wasik in discussing Joseph C. Talarico, the now-former Int'l. Secretary-Treasurer (i.e. #2 post) of the United Food & Commercial Workers Int'l. Union. Talarico was sentenced Jul. 28 in U.S. District Court to 30 months in prison and ordered to pay $1.1 million restitution to UFCW Local 1 in Utica, NY, for embezzling over $925,000 from union members. He was banned from union office for 13 years.

But the scheme that ran 1984-97 went beyond Joseph Talarico, who was the Local 1 president before he took his international union post in 1995, to include his brother, son, daughter and brother-in-law. The Talaricos illegally used union funds for a wide range of personal purposes, including landscaping and lavish renovations to their homes. Joseph Talarico also had the hair on his head paid for with money stolen from Local 1. According to the U.S. Attorney's Office, union funds paid for the boss' $10,000 hair transplant and a union airplane flew him from Washington to Saratoga Springs, NY, where the hair job was done. The embezzled funds were on top of the family's already lavish annual compensation from the union. The Talaricos made more than $1 million in union salaries and legitimate expenses in 1996. "It sounds like greed to me," said Assistant U.S. Attorney Andrew T. Baxter.

The other family members face similar situations. This ended the Talaricos' grip on Local 1 that dates back to 1953 when Joseph Talarico's father Samuel J. Talarico, Sr., founded it.

[Buffalo News 07/30/98, BNA Daily Labor Report 07/29/98 & Utica Observer-Dispatch 02/10/98]


Rather than giving Talarico the boot, UFCW leaders rushed to his defence. This from the REAP web site:

Quote:
HOW THE UFCW LEADERSHIP RESPONDS TO CORRUPTION
After International Union Vice President Leo Cinaglia was convicted in federal court for taking a bribe from an employer, former UFCW International Union President William Wynn praised Cinaglia at an International Union executive board meeting for not informing on others in the union. An Interynational Union President's more appropriate response would have been to condemn Cinaglia for taking bribes from the employer and selling the workers out.

When former UFCW International Secretary-Treasurer Joseph Talarico pled guilty in federal court to stealing more than one million dollars from his former local union's members, current UFCW International Union President Douglas Dority and former International Union President Wynn stated the following in letters to the federal court at Talarico's sentencing.

Letter to Judge Frederick Scullin, Jr., from Dority, dated September 3, 1997, read: "I am writing this letter on behalf of a very dear and close friend of mine, Joseph Talarico. During my time with him (Talarico), I was able to closely monitor his actions and found that he was not only intelligent and creative, but also very honest and forthright with people.... ...In my mind, his (Talarico's) integrity is unquestioned."

Letter to Judge Frederick Scullin, Jr., dated October 7, 1997, from former International President Wynn: "He (Talarico) is one of the most decent, honest and loyal persons we have ever known" (Emphasis added.)

Shocking statements from top UFCW officials to make about an International Union officer who stole more than a million dollars from the members.

When REAP exposed a million-dollar housing scam that former International President Wynn pulled on the union, UFCW officials went around the country holding fund-raising affairs for him in order to replace the hundreds of thousands of dollars he was forced to pay back. When Talarico was indicted for embezzling union funds, officials within UFCW tried to put together a nation-wide legal fund for him.

In a span of four years, the two highest ranking union officers of the 1.3 million member UFCW Union (International Union President and Secretary-Treasurer) were forced to leave office for trying to steal more than two million dollars from the members. Their reward for these misdeeds and betrayal of the members was praise from their peers, fund-raising events and a big pension check every month for the rest of their lives. It is, therefore, not difficult to figure out why the UFCW leadership is not alarmed about corruption within the union.

A brochure calling Talarico a “labor faker” and contrasting his portrayal by the UFCW (as a great unionist) and the US Department of Labor (as a great embezzler) made the rounds on the Internet.

After International Union Vice President Leo Cinaglia was convicted in federal court for taking a bribe from an employer, former UFCW International Union President William Wynn praised Cinaglia at an International Union executive board meeting for not informing on others in the union. An International Union President's more appropriate response would have been to condemn Cinaglia for taking bribes from the employer and selling the workers out.


Oh that Bill Wynn. I had met him on one of my trips to Washington with the Dirtbag and Cliff Evans. The Pigman introduced us to him in a bar. I remember seeing him perched, like an evil gnome, on a barstool. He sort of grunted a hello and got back to his drink.

From what I could see on the REAP and other web sites, the leaders of this kleptocracy masquerading as a union earned some of the highest salaries (the national president earned over $200,000 in 1999) while members’ wages were plummeting towards the minimum wage.

But there wasn’t much on the Internet about my little Piggy. There was a lot of information about the sad state of affairs for Canadian grocery workers who had taken one hit after another while the big supermarket companies got bigger and fatter. I surfed high and low but kept coming up empty-handed.

So I decided to broaden my searches to cast a wider net and I hit the jackpot.

An archived newspaper article from the Financial Post a couple of months earlier called “They Ordered a Union Like a Pizza”. I could hardly believe my eyes.

Quote:
They Ordered a Union like a Pizza
By: Hugh Finnamore

CAW is challenging collusion that traps workers in unions. The Canadian Labour Congress (CLC) threatens to enforce its “no-raid policy” because the Canadian Auto Workers (CAW) union has signed up members of the Service Employees International Union (SEIU). Buzz Hargrove, CAW’s president, says he’s prepared to depart the CLC to defend Canadian workers’ democratic rights to join any union they choose.

I smell bad fish, but we won’t get into that here. What is important, though, is that Buzz Hargrove has shone a light on longstanding union collusion that is responsible for keeping thousands of Canadians trapped in indifferent, abusive and sometimes corrupt labour unions.

I speak from experience. Before my conscience caught up with me, I was an international union official who relied on the no-raid pacts and CLC policies to keep thousands of unsuspecting dues-payers in unions, which are nearly impossible to leave.

Canadian laws give workers the right to join a union. It is against those laws to use coercion or intimidation to prevent the exercising of that right. Those laws also specify a time during the term of a collective agreement when union members may vote to switch unions. This is commonly called the “raiding period.” The CLC constitution and its coercive sanctions fly in the face of those laws and make them meaningless or inoperable. Workers who wish to change unions are turned away at the other union’s door.

In one assignment I worked on, a large Canadian grocery chain “custom ordered” a Local union from one of North America’s largest international unions. Yes, they ordered it just like you would order a pizza—extra “flexibility,” and hold the high wages. The deal was that in return for five to six thousand yet-to-be-hired employees, the union would create a “friendlier” Local union to represent its employees.

The company wanted a Local that would be covered by a no-raid pact and would give the employer at least a 25% competitive advantage over its competitors. I helped set up that Local union, and then helped structure a long-term collective agreement designed to restrict movement within the employer’s operations. The idea was to create a system in which no union would challenge our right to collect dues and other employer-paid monies. A seniority system was created that discouraged movement within the employer’s departments and work sites: If members can’t communicate, they are powerless to challenge the union or employer.

Was this deal a big secret within industry and labour circles? Not at all. Was this deal an exception? Not really. Weren’t the union members outraged? Of course they were, but what were they going to do—decertify? Not likely. In their minds, a bad union is better than no union at all. And in many jurisdictions such as B.C., the law says the entire bargaining unit must decertify. You cannot decertify one, two or a few stores.

Rank-and-file union members don’t have the money, opportunity or expertise to organize grass-roots revolt. In fact, one B.C. grocery chain fired an employee for talking union reform, and another’s representatives searched an employee’s personal effects for union reform literature, telling him his “activities must cease within the workplace” or it “could result in the termination of [his] employment.”

Unions do have the money, opportunity and expertise, but that’s where the inter-union and CLC no-raid pacts and policies come into play. The CLC constitution prohibits one CLC union from recruiting or even talking to another union’s members.

Trade unionists will argue that enforcement of such a policy keeps unions focused on representing members and fighting employers rather than expending precious resources fending off competing unions. Heck, you’d think they’ve never heard of client satisfaction as a way to raid-proof their bargaining units.

Few, if any, unions are trade- or craft-based today. It doesn’t matter what industry or business work-ers are in; if they have a heartbeat, any union will sign them up. One international union goes as far as to exhort its organizers to increase “market share.” That’s a business term if I’ve ever heard one. Unions are no longer brotherhoods, fraternities or guilds; they are businesses whose purpose is to serve the interests of their shareholders.

The big difference between the corporate business and the union business is that governments more tightly regulate corporations. Government enforcers would have an employer roped and hog-tied if it ever conspired to restrict trade or prevent customers from finding another supplier. However, for some reason, it’s OK when unions do it.

I commend Buzz Hargrove and the CAW for promising to uphold the Charter of Rights and Freedoms for Canadian workers. However, it remains to be seen whether the CAW has the fortitude to carry out its threat, or if it will bend to the wrath of the CLC and federations. The provincial and federal governments must step in to enforce laws that should have stopped the CLC Charter violations and other union collusion that is detrimental to Canadian business and its employees.

Hugh Finnamore is a senior consultant at Workplace Strategies Inc.


Who was this Finnamore guy? I’d never heard of him (like most Torontonians I often make the mistake of believing that the world ends somewhere west of Pearson Airport – yes, which is named after Bill Pearson Smile - and east of the Metro Zoo. He wasn’t from around here, that was for sure. So where did he come from? And what did I just hear him say?!

I speak from experience. Before my conscience caught up with me, I was an international union official ...In one assignment I worked on, a large Canadian grocery chain “custom ordered” a Local union from one of North America’s largest international unions. Yes, they ordered it just like you would order a pizza…The deal was that in return for five to six thousand yet-to-be-hired employees, the union would create a “friendlier” Local union to represent its employees…I helped set up that Local union, and then helped structure a long-term collective agreement designed to restrict movement within the employer’s operations.

Holy crap! Who is this guy?! I recall thinking, as I sat gobsmacked, reading and reading.

He sounded like a higher echelon corrupt union guy (these kinds of special projects aren’t left to the second stringers). What was very strange was that he was talking about his projects in a remorseful kind of way. I must look him up I thought. A few seconds later, I found his web site and contact info.

(What I want you to focus on now is the speed with which a couple of key connections were made – a group of people who, prior to the Internet, would never cross paths or find each other, hooked up about a subject of intense mutual interest within a span of less than 24 hours.)

I got busy composing a suitable email to introduce myself. I was taking my time figuring I had better make it a good one since I really wanted to connect with this Finnamore guy. I was about half done when from out of nowhere Finnamore emailed me.

Quote:
From: "Hugh Finnamore"
To: wanda2000@hotmail.com
Subject: Business Unions
Date: Tue, 26 Sep 2000 08:11:52 -0700

Hi Wanda,

I've heard you're doing some research and writing on Business Unions. Over a 20-year period, I've been a Teamster Business Agent, a Textile Processors Local 299 Secretary Treasurer, a UFCW Business Agent and a UFCW
International Representative. I now represent management as a Labour Relations Manager and I run a Labour Relations consulting firm, Workplace Strategies Inc. http://home.istar.ca/~finn/index.htm

I recently wrote some National Post articles that may interest you. If you go to the NP's WEB site at http://www.nationalpost.com/ and type in Finnamore in the "60-day search" box you will find a couple, and if you
then type in "Finnmore" (without the a) you will find another.

I understand the FBI and DOJ are in the midst of investigating the UFCW in Washington D.C. They are interested in my testimony and documents saved
from my UFCW days.

If I can be of help with your research or writing project, feel free to call me during the day at [phone number].


This guy was one of Piggy's captains, I thought. And he'd worked under the notorious Tommy Corrigan. What luck. But how the hell did that happen, I was dumbfounded. This guy was out west (when I found his site, I realized he was based in Vancouver which explained why I hadn’t heard of him before). But how did he know about me? Then I figured it out.

A couple of weeks earlier my web surfing had turned up a fascinating web site called UFCW Local 1518 Members for Democracy, operated by a group of supermarket workers who were members of a UFCW local in British Columbia.

I will never forget the sheer joy I felt as I began to read their compelling mission, hard-hitting commentaries and frank statements about the kind of union they wanted. It was evident that the material on this site was written by working people – not paid “communications” professionals or union staffers. Their message was not a regurgitation of old labor bromides nor was it anti-union. These people wanted a certain kind of union and they made no bones about what that was and why.

Their site differed from other union reform web sites that I’d already visited. It had news items that were updated on an almost daily basis. These items related to what was going on in their world – a lawsuit they had filed over a stolen election, letters they had written to UFCW leaders, stories about activists in other UFCW locals. There was also an active online discussion forum – a rarity on union and union reform sites back then – where reformers spoke their minds about their issues and often squared off in heated debates with union staffers and UFCW defenders. There was even a interview that the leader of the Members for Democracy activist group had given on local radio program.

I really liked this web site and found myself developing a keen sense of respect for the small group of people – whom I’d come to know as Scott, David, Sharyn and Kelsey – who created it and were keeping it going. Reading over their material, it seemed to me that these were real people with genuine concerns and ideas expressing themselves in a frank, articulate way that really connected. I’d checked out a lot of web sites that I’d found interesting, but this was the first one that made me feel engaged. It was like a community.

I was especially captivated by Scott’s commentaries (here’s one called Managing Expectations that exposed – quite succinctly I thought – some of the methods that are used to deceive working people whose employers and unions are in cahoots.)

Evidently the MFD’s online presence wasn’t sitting well with the UFCW leadership in Toronto. An email exchange between UFCW Canadian Director, Piggy’s nephew, and Scott McPherson was posted in the News section:

Quote:
----- Original Message -----
From: <mj_fraser@canada.com <mailto:mj_fraser@canada.com>
To: <slek@ufcw.net <mailto:slek@ufcw.net>
Sent: Saturday, September 23, 2000 5:12 PM
Subject: "Members for Democracy"

I recently decided to visit your web page after hearing about your group during the past year.

After viewing your website, I was left uncertain as to weather or not your organization supports the idea of organized labour at all! You have chosen to publish articles written by the National Post which is - with out a doubt, the most anti-union and anti-labour news publication in the history of Canada. The National Post, owned by Conrad Black is currently being boycotted by the Canadian Labour Congress, the American Federation of Labour, and the International Labour Organization. By publishing/reffering (sic) to National Post articles on your web site, you are insulting millions on union members!

As well, you have chosen to publish aricles from the Kitchener - Waterloo Record (another Conrad Black paper) that criticizes the recent salary increases of Local 1977 executives. I agree that the idea of a 64% pay increase seems ackward, but Brian Williamson and his executives have nothad pay increases for almost 6 years! Their recent salary increase puts them at the Canadian average for labour union leadership. The salaries of UFCW executives is adjusted and voted on by local members. Local UFCW Presidents are very hard working individuals and are paid fairly according to the amount of work that they have to do. By attacking this, you are literally weakening the UFCW and the Canadian labour movement. This leads me to wonder about weather or not you really have the welfare of UFCW members at heart.

Much of your information on your web page is incorrect and repetitive (sic). You seem to know very little about the Labour movement - let alone the UFCW.

I do not support your "fight for democracy" in the UFCW because I know that the UFCW is one of the most democratic unions in Canada. I might be a little more supportive of your cause if you were sincerely fighting for the well being of UFCW members. >From the looks of it, it seems like you are trying to cause trouble and stop the union from providing service to its members.

In Solidarity,

Michael J. Fraser
Canadian Director, UFCW


Arrogant prick, I thought. But Scott took no prisoners. His reply was also posted - .

Quote:
Dear Brother Fraser,

I must say that my original optimism in learning of your visit to our web site was short lived, and I am at a complete loss as to the worth of your correspondence. You chastise the MFD for both publishing and referring to published works on the UFCW in various newspapers--you mistakenly claim to be owned and operated by Conrad Black. You even go so far as to accuse the MFD of being anti-union for doing so. You refer to the "boycott" of Mr. Blacks companies and subsidiaries, yet you have failed to grasp the fact that it is Mr. Black who owns canada.com, your e-mail service provider! In light of this, it would appear to me that your "boycott" is one of convenience and not of true substance. I put to you sir, that in actual fact what your office is truly opposed to is the airing of UFCW's dirty laundry, and the public scrutiny it so richly deserves.

I am at complete loss as to your justification of the 64% wage increases of the executive officers of local 1977. Never in the history of UFCW has this union ever secured such a lofty raise for it's members, and I question the credibility of anyone who would use the feeble argument that "they had not had a pay increase for almost 6 years!". It appears as though, like the aforementioned incident regarding Conrad Black, you again have failed to recognize the double standard. The very executives, who felt they deserved such an enormous raise, had the unmitigated gall to recommend a six-year collective agreement that secured virtually nothing in terms of increased job security and benefits and brought about what amounted to a six-year wage freeze. Surely sir, you are not suggesting that our dues paying members are not entitled to the very same considerations as those of the UFCW executives you so vehemently defend?

You go on to boldly pronounce that the MFD, by attacking the hogs at the trough we ..."are literally weakening the UFCW and the Canadian labour movement."

Precisely how does accountability to the membership that foots the bill weaken the movement? I put to you sir that if a rift is developing within the labour movement, it is due to the pork-barrel patronage so many of Canada's C.L.C. affiliates sequester to, and the ever growing gap between the executive officers of these unions and the members who make up the rank and file. Like pigs to the trough, you have dipped into the pockets of millions of unsuspecting members and betrayed their trust, and that is what is weakening the Canadian Labour Movement!

You say, "I do not support your fight for democracy" I expected nothing more from an individual, such as yourself, who was not elected by the rank and file members of UFCW to his current post. What do you know of democracy in UFCW when you were given a patronage coronation to the highest-paying, most influential UFCW position in Canada. Perhaps your memory has once again failed you. We are the very group of members who had to resort to filing a lawsuit with the Supreme Court of British Columbia against UFCW Local 1518 and UFCW International, for several voting irregularities, including ballot tampering! Lets see you put your position on the line and turn the election procedure over to an independent accounting firm, run against the likes of me and let the rank-and-file membership vote and perhaps then, sir, you can boast of democracy within the UFCW!

Lastly, you have accused our web page of being "incorrect and repetitive" if the truth repeated bores you, then don't waste your time reading the truth. However, since we are having this chat, I'd like to take this opportunity to formally requesting an up to date copy of the Local 1518 local business agents and support-staff collective agreements so that I may comment on them and provide our viewers with fresh reading material. Likewise, I'd like to request your pay and other monies paid from all UFCW sources including Local 175. Did you receive $180,000 in severance and a car when you left to take on the Canadian Director's job? What are the severance terms for Local 175 leaders? I ask because leaders and "media consultants" have boldly stated that any member may request and receive this information, and I am formally doing so now. I want to also extend to you the opportunity to refute in writing any inaccuracies on our web page. It is not the intent of the MFD to bare false witness against any individual, and we wish to address any inaccuracies immediately.

I look forward to our continued correspondence and dialogue in the best interests of all UFCW members coast to coast.

With Kind Regards

Scott Mcpherson <mailto:scottmcpherson@ufcw.net>
UFCW Members for Democracy, local 1518


(Fraser would later claim that he never wrote the initial email. His office advised that he subsequently refused to communicate with members by email because of the purported hoax. UFCW lawyer John Evans - offspring of Cliff the pigman - wrote a nasty letter threatening legal action if the email was not removed. The MFD'ers complied rather than waste time fighting with Fraser and Evans. So here it is again - for posterity.)

I felt a sense of affinity with the MFD’ers. They were stepping out over the line, breaking the rules, refusing to sit quietly on the sidelines - they were outlaws - outlaws on the Internet. I felt an urge to reach out to these people if only to offer up some words of encouragement. So I did – the day before my mysterious communication from Finnamore.

Quote:
From: wanda2000@hotmail.com
To: scottmcpherson@ufcw.net
Date: Monday, September 25, 2000 6:07 PM

Hi Scott,
I came across your web site a few weeks ago while doing some research
for a paper I'm writing on union democracy. You are to be commended for
what you are doing. I am a former labor relations practitioner
who had extensive dealings with the UFCW on both sides of the border in
the 1980's and was witness to what is probably the biggest sellout of
worker interests in recent history. I won't go into details here
(although you can let me know if you're interested in this story) but
all I can say is: the company was beside itself at the hatchet job the
union did on its own members. Two years of concerted union busting
didn't accomplish what a few fat cats were able to pull off at a
downtown Toronto bar in one night. Even today, I still hear that these
guys are the employers' union of choice because they're so full of
themselves.

Anyway, just letting you know you are doing great work - don't stop now!

P.S. I'm thinking about writing a book on the subject of the business
unionism - could I quote you or reference the materials on your site?


And much to my delight, Scott responded -

Quote:
From: scottmcpherson@ufcw.net
To: "Wanda S"
Date: Tue, 26 Sep 2000 11:01:23 -0700

Dear Wanda,
Thank you for your kind words regarding our site, they are very much appreciated. I of coarse would love to here " the story " you have about the night in a Toronto bar, and perhaps one day you'll share it with me. If there is anything in our site that would be of use to you in your writings by all means go ahead and use them. For me what is important is that our message gets out and is understood by people. I do not believe in owning ideas, which in essence is what words and articles truly are. In fact I am very flattered that you would even consider any of the material I had a hand in writing and would be happy to help you in any way. However, if you quote me and use my name I must insist on knowing the title of your book and where to purchase it so that I may show my mom ( lol )

All kidding aside, I wish you the best of luck in your pursuits, and please feel free to contact me anytime. The more business unionism is talked about in academia the better the chance journalists and other professionals will be able to grasp its concept, bring it to the attention of the masses, and ultimately rid the Canadian Labour movement of this destructive force. Your interest and efforts in this endeavor are truly appreciated by all of us who have, and continue to carry the banner of rank and file empowerment, and for that I thank you.
Sincerely

Scott Mcpherson
UFCW Members for Democracy



I would soon learn that upon receiving my email, Scott discussed it with David Brighton (the MFD Chairman). Both thought it was intriguing but were somewhat taken aback by the frankness of my comments about where I’d been and what I’d seen. They forwarded it to Finnamore with whom they’d already become acquainted (thanks to the Internet) and he, in turn, contacted me.

All of these connections took only minutes to come together – a few minutes of searching and however long it took to compose the emails and click “send”. In the world before the Internet we would never have crossed paths but in the connected era, our meeting up became almost inevitable. Seek and you shall find is a virtual guarantee online.

As much as the speed of our meeting up amazed me, in the months and years ahead I would marvel many times at the resilience and productivity of these connections.

Early MFD Commentaries

These articles will give you some idea of the quality of the writing that appeared on the early site as well as the issues that the Members discussed and the clarity of their mission.

MFD Mission Statement

A Letter to Members

Breaking the Silence and Setting the Record Straight

An Open Letter to All Democratic Unionists

San Diego Sunshine

Membership: Commodities and Marketshare

Our Business Agents’ Contract

Mistaken Identity (This was a piece Scott McPherson and I co-authored in January 2001. It was my first posting on the MFD site.)

Note: The above links are available through the Wayback Machine web archive so the graphic elements of the pages don’t display perfectly and some links won’t work. This version of the site was online until July 2001.

TBC

_________________
Time is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. Truth is on the side of the oppressed today, it's against the oppressor. You don't need anything else. - Malcolm X
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