Phil Cohen War Stories: Confronting Kmart on the PGA Tour!
WAR STORIES By Phil Cohen
During 1993, the Kmart Distribution Center in Greensboro, North Carolina became the company’s first hard goods warehouse to be organized. The newly-opened facility offered lower wages and benefits than its Northern counterparts and unlike them, the majority of workers were nonwhite. Focusing on economics and racism had given ACTWU (now Workers United) a decisive organizing victory, led by Assistant Southern Director Ernest Bennett.
Determined to remain union-free, management stonewalled negotiations by offering a 5 cent raise. The National Labor Relations Board considered this bargaining in good faith, as an offer had been made.
Kmart sold directly to communities throughout the country, running a distant second behind Walmart. Public image became the corporation’s soft underbelly to exploit and attack. Ernest delegated a young, arrogant organizer named Anthony Romano, who imagined himself as the next Che Guevara, to run the first contract campaign. I was assigned elsewhere at the time, but was borrowed to help facilitate major demonstrations.
In August 1993, a thousand workers and a dozen organizers from across the South were bused in for a demonstration at Kmart’s largest super store in Greensboro. Ernest did a masterful job negotiating rules of engagement with local police. Protesters would be left in peace, provided they didn’t cross a police line assembled midway through the parking lot. I was recruited as one of the picket captains.
The night before the event, Organizing Director Monica Russo met with staff starting at midnight. We reviewed our tactics ad nauseam, revisiting the same minute details until 3am.
I considered this an utterly useless waste of time and energy.
I lived my life as if fighting every day for the heavyweight championship: healthy diet, daily workout, no drugs or alcohol, and enough sleep. It gave me an edge over people living the traditional businessman’s lifestyle. Like a prizefighter, I paid special attention to the night before a bout and resented when this was compromised by fanatical union directors.
My hotel alarm rang at 7am and I knew it was going to be a rough day. I drove my car to the Kmart parking lot and crossed the street to rendezvous with my fellow organizers. Picket captains were issued orange vests and ball caps to remain easily visible to workers. Busses from a dozen states rolled in, and by the time all were accounted for, it was a truly formidable sight.
At 9 a.m., we crossed the street in disciplined ranks and held our ground as we encountered the wall of law enforcement. Suddenly, Anthony Romano burst through an opening in the police line screaming, “Follow me!”
Original illustration by Patricia Ford.
Stupefied by exhaustion, and like a good soldier, I instinctively followed orders, along with a dozen workers. Police rushed us like defensive linemen, throwing workers to the ground and handcuffing them with a knee in their back. I realized my mistake the moment it was made. I politely approached a less aggressive officer, presented my business card and told him not to consider me a threat.
We stood together for several minutes as the melee unfolded before he instructed me to board a prison bus where arrestees were being detained. Union officials were hundreds of yards away, their view blocked by a wall of protestors, so I used the hand radio I’d been issued to inform them.
I remained handcuffed on the unventilated bus for six hours. The windows (designed for axe murderers, not union protestors) didn’t open. The bus absorbed the hot August sun, leaving its occupants lightheaded, dripping with sweat and hungry. The thought of entering the municipal jail in this condition, dressed in an orange vest and hat, wasn’t very appealing.
Suddenly, to my astonishment, ours cuffs were unlocked and we were released. The matter was now in the hands of union lawyers. The other demonstrators and staff had long since gotten their photo-op and departed. As I stumbled through the parking lot searching for my car, a group of police officers, some leaning against a car, called me over. It turned out the Greensboro police were thinking of organizing and wanted my advice. For the next two hours I held a union meeting with the police who’d arrested me.
Protesting at a Golf Tournament
Kmart Corporation sponsored the Greater Greensboro Open golf tournament each year; a major event on the PGA Tour featuring all the stars. During the spring of 1994, Ernest saw an irresistible opportunity to embarrass Kmart locally and through national press coverage if we could somehow seize control of the event and use it as a platform to get the union’s message across. He asked for my assistance in pulling this off.
On a warm April afternoon, several dozen Kmart workers and a few organizers infiltrated the tournament. We approached individually from different directions with synchronized watches, slowly heading toward the rendezvous point, attired like upper middle-class golf enthusiasts. I’d gotten a haircut, wore a pink alligator shirt, and lingered to join crowds as players made their shot, then offered a gentile round of applause. The action demanded military precision. We all had to converge on the tenth fairway at exactly 2:15pm.
Ernest and I were the first to arrive, but were joined by the others within three minutes. I lined up half our folks on one side of the rectangular green while Ernest arranged people across from us. We appeared like ordinary fans, eager to see the results of the competition at this location. It’s impossible to keep an event like this secret. The police knew we were coming but expected a conventional demonstration at the clubhouse. They were nowhere in sight.
We were soon accompanied by a swarm of observers as one of the golf stars took to the field. Ernest gave a hand signal and the protesters rushed toward the center of the fairway. Ernest and I were running in front and tension was high. “Where’s our spot? Where should we stop?” he kept shouting at me.
The most strategic location was a gully in the center of the green, sufficiently deep to impede extraction but not block our view. “Right there!” I screamed while pointing. Within moments we were all seated. Dozens of spectators booed and shouted profanities, but they were of no consequence.
It took law enforcement ten minutes to arrive with the media at their heels. Once surrounded, I assumed my customary role, politely approaching the officer in charge and handing him my business card. This sent two messages: I’m a professional and comfortable revealing my identity. It’s counter-intuitive to what police expect and temporarily short circuits their training. I bought us enough time for the cameras to roll, by authoritatively offering intricate legal rationale about our right to be there.
The commanding officer suddenly recovered his wits and ordered his men into action. They swarmed the gully, pulling people out and hurling them to the ground to be handcuffed. A young organizer was foolish enough to resist and got the roughest treatment.
I stood there watching, only a couple of feet from the policeman I’d been talking to, remembering that I had hotel reservations two hours away for an important, early morning meeting. I was the only participant who’d already taken an arrest during this campaign, having been convicted of two misdemeanors the previous year. Another round of offences might well have resulted in at least several days in jail. I willed myself to become invisible while remaining in plain sight.
A few minutes later, I was the only person left standing on the fairway. Law enforcement had departed with their prisoners in custody. I casually turned and walked to my car.
Those who find this implausible must understand that police, similar to wild animals, instinctively sense and respond to fear and aggression. One who can assume complete neutrality during crowd containment becomes like a tree growing in their midst, observed but irrelevant.
The next morning, the Greensboro News and Record headline read “KMART WORKERS DISRUPT GGO” followed by a large color photo, then details about the protest and underlying issues. Halfway through the article, the winner of the prestigious tournament was briefly mentioned.
In 1996, a collective bargaining agreement was ratified at Kmart’s Greensboro Distribution Center, providing substantial yearly wage increases, benefit parity with other facilities, MLK Day as a paid holiday, and rock solid contract language.
Phil Cohen spent 30 years in the field as Special Projects Coordinator for Workers United/SEIU, and specialized in defeating professional union busters. He’s the author of Fighting Union Busters in a Carolina Carpet Mill and The Jackson Project: War in the American Workplace