Greensboro Contract Part III: Caution to the Wind
Editor’s Note: This is Part 3 of Phil’s latest three-part, first-person saga chronicling an intriguing organizing campaign that took place in Greensboro, North Carolina in the late 1990s.
On the evening of January 4, I met with the committee and proposed a more dramatic return to Sam’s Club that would garner headlines rather than brief mentions by the press. Playing it safe doesn’t generate three-minute spots on the evening news. I organized a second protest directly in front of the store and sent out press releases, embargoed until the event on Saturday. I lined up reinforcements from the Teamsters and IBEW.
On a cold, windy afternoon, fifty union members lined up in front of Sam’s Club carrying picket signs. Within two minutes the manager stormed through the door shouting we were trespassing on private property and demanding we leave. I politely introduced myself and refused.
“I’ll call the police!” he threatened.
I glanced about and saw a full contingent of reporters standing ten feet away with cameras pointed in our direction. “Be my guest,” I told the manager. Weekend shoppers were met with boisterous union chants and presented leaflets written by Mike:
“ATTENTION SHOPPERS: Do you know what’s hiding under SERTA mattresses?
Unsanitary conditions…health and safety hazards…illegal business practices…violations of federal law.”
A squadron of police cars pulled up within five minutes and a lieutenant asked to see the person in charge. I approached, introduced myself with a handshake and presented my business card. “You’ve got to disperse immediately,” he ordered. “This is private property and we’ve received a complaint.”
“Let’s try to work something out,” I suggested. “We’re both out here on a Saturday getting paid to do a job. I’m not some college kid trying to play rebel and make a point. My assignment is to generate some good press coverage and that’s what I’m gonna do. The story can either focus on safety issues at the plant or the police dragging hard-working citizens into patrol cars. How about you give us fifteen minutes for some photo-ops and interviews and then you have my word we’ll leave peacefully?”
“How do we know everyone will leave when you say?”
“Because I’m giving you my word and these folks will do what I ask.”
The store manager watched the lieutenant return to his vehicle as I rejoined the picket line. The bewildered man stormed back inside. That evening and following day the union again dominated the news in central North Carolina. Heavy-D came across like a true “union thug” on local television, saying in his deep voice, “Starlite’s lies don’t change the truth of what they’re doing in our plant every day. I work there and I know the nasty conditions I have to put up with.”
Mike prepared a list of Starlite customers to be divided between me and Katie, accompanied by a committee member. The following Saturday we politely discussed the issues with managers of these retail outlets and suggested they complain to Serta’s corporate office about the conduct of their licensee and how it might impact sales. Shoppers were leafleted in the process.
After six store visits, I drove Heavy-D back home and was invited inside. The local president lived in an attractive, newly built wooden house within an outlying Greensboro suburb. I met his wife and was surprised to encounter a large, heavyset, and deeply religious woman with a domineering personality. It seemed an odd match for my ribald, hard-living friend.
As Heavy-D and I talked on his front porch before I departed, he waved and exchanged greetings with a woman across the street. “I gotta tell you something funny, happened with her over the holidays,” he said. “It’s actually kinda embarrassing…but anyway, she loaned me this movie I wanted to watch. I forgot about it, so she comes to the house and my wife returns it. The lady sits down with her husband and four kids that night to watch…and it turns out to be one of my porno movies that my wife gave her by mistake. Man—did I catch hell for a week!”
“Well you got to admit,” I responded, “I bet the kids secretly loved it and told all their friends about it when they returned to school.” The stout man guffawed and slapped my back.
I offered Lester the choice of a dozen dates to negotiate in January, but he insisted he was unavailable until February 9. The union needed to maintain its momentum rather than succumb to a lull in the action. I met with the committee and proposed the unexpected: a return to Sam’s Club, this time entering the building and leafleting customers. There was a horrified look on everyone’s face and I experienced only silence from the usually outspoken group.
Finally Charles asked, “Isn’t that illegal? You need to present a membership card to get into Sam’s Club and none of us belong.”
“Trust me. With enough audacity and confidence, a person can go anywhere. I’m not gonna lie to you. It could get ugly and there’s a chance some of us might get arrested. But whatever happens to you, happens to me three-fold. I think we can pull this off—but if the worst happens, union lawyers will have us out on bail in a couple of hours. This will be a strictly volunteer mission. There’s no dishonor if someone decides not to be there.”
One of the most essential rules of organizing is to always be straight with folks when putting them in harm’s way, and then lead from the front.
On the afternoon of Saturday, January 23, I gathered with a dozen hard-core activists in the Sam’s Club parking lot. Everyone, including Heavy-D was visibly nervous. A short, slender man known as “June Bug” spoke up. “You have to show a membership card to someone sitting behind a desk next to a turnstile. They’re not gonna let us in! What we gonna do then?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll get us in and I believe I can get us out. Just follow my lead and do everything I say, right in the moment. As soon as we crash the turnstile we split up into groups of two, disappear into separate aisles to leaflet customers, and rendezvous in front of the center aisle in exactly fifteen minutes. Let’s synchronize our watches.”
The press hadn’t been invited to this event as it would have tipped our hand. This would be a frightening demonstration of bloody-minded determination to people in a position to pressure Starlite management. Arguing right and wrong at the bargaining table wasn’t going to generate agreement on any contract articles.
I walked in front of my troops through the large glass door and stopped at the entrance desk. “Gentlemen, can I please see your membership cards,” said the clerk.
I reached into my pocket and then suddenly pushed through the turnstile with the group at my heels.
“Hey! Come back!” shouted the agitated woman. “You can’t do that!!”
But we had done it, and within moments, dispersed down the shopping aisles and began leafleting customers, most of whom already knew who we were.
The protesters all converged within ten seconds of the appointed time and we calmly walked toward the exit. I looked to my right and saw the store manager staring at us in disbelief. “How are you today?” I asked in my most businesslike voice. “Nice to see you again.”
The ecstatic protesters paused to surround me in the parking lot before entering our cars. Their eyes were shining with amazement that we’d actually gotten away with it.
I called Ernest Bennett that evening to update him on the campaign. He remained unsuccessful at getting my dinner receipt reimbursed, but promised to continue trying.
The February 9 negotiations produced results for the first time, with agreements reached regarding seniority, job bidding, leaves of absence, and job standards. Management’s arm was clearly getting twisted by retailers and Serta’s corporate office. But we weren’t there yet.
Mike Zucker had spent the New Year meticulously organizing support from UNITE affiliates and other unions across the country. On February 16, 1999, union workers in thirty-one cities marched in protest against urine-soaked mattresses.
Two days later, I received a call at the Greensboro office from Lester Gibbons. “Phil, how can we make this go away?”
“You and Dominic meet me at the Holiday Inn on Thursday night and I’ll tell you.”
I consulted Mike about the upcoming meeting. “Right now, you’ve got as much leverage as you’re going to get,” he said. “Grab the most you can, because if you don’t, things will start going downhill.”
What transpired will no doubt shock the sensibilities of politically correct liberals who’ve never had boots on the ground. But the truth is that the framework of every major dispute settlement, whether involving unions or nations, is laid during off-the-record meetings. For the necessary bridges to be built, both parties must feel comfortable openly speaking their minds without fear of being quoted legally or publicly. Professionals of all persuasions, who care about maintaining their reputations, respect the sanctity of an OTR. I engage this forum knowing what workers want with the sole objective of satisfying their demands.
I sat at the table in a small, dimly-lit conference room across from Lester and Dominic at 9 p.m. They’d come prepared to concede unresolved contract articles with minimal discussion. But we hit a brick wall when it came to money.
“We’ve shown our flexibility regarding language,” said Lester, “but my client is looking for an economically neutral contract. We can move pieces around so long as there’s not a significant cost increase beyond the raise you already convinced us to give last month.”
“After all that’s happened, I can’t ratify a contract without meaningful economic improvements. I don’t shove agreements down peoples’ throats.”
“Well, unfortunately then, it looks like we might be stuck.”
But we weren’t, because I’d come to the table with an ace up my sleeve. “You have six employees in the Tape Edge department with an extremely loose rate that’s easy to beat. They’re averaging $30 per hour at straight time and $45 during twenty hours of weekly overtime. Tighten their rate to be comparable with other departments and you’ll have money to spread around to other employees.”
The room fell silent as the attorney digested my unexpected response. “That’s a very interesting suggestion,” he finally said. “But do you think you’ll be able to get these guys to vote for ratification?”
“I can handle them,” I said with confidence, knowing nonmembers aren’t allowed to vote.
Lester started punching numbers into his calculator and scribbling on his notepad. “I think we can work with this,” he said.
We spent the next two hours hammering out a tentative package that included raises, a signing bonus, and significant improvements to medical insurance, retirement benefits, holidays and vacation. It would increase Starlite’s labor budget but within limits considered tolerable.
“You understand this doesn’t become final until it’s formally discussed at the bargaining table, the committee agrees to recommend it, and the membership ratifies.”
“We can accept that,” said Lester. “But we have one final condition on our part. We’re looking for a global settlement, meaning all Board charges and OSHA filings are withdrawn.”
“I’ll have no problem with that once we ratify. But Dominic needs to get with his management team and make them understand that repeat violations will result in new charges. Regarding soiled mattresses, I have a simple solution. We put a clause in the Health and Safety article along the lines of: An employee asked to handle an unsanitary mattress may notify their supervisor who will inspect and if necessary remove the item. This will naturally be subject to grievance and arbitration.
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” said the attorney. A bargaining session to discuss the package with the committee was scheduled for February 22.
It must be understood that this late-night meeting could have never occurred on-the-record. An unfortunate aspect of society’s class structure is that management will never be truly candid in the presence of employees. Moreover, a deal to reduce the earnings of nonmembers to benefit members is patently illegal for both parties to engage in. But boy scouts don’t win campaigns and come away with great first contracts.
On Monday morning, the committee was amazed at how quickly the process had evolved and promised to offer an enthusiastic recommendation to the members. Two days later, the contract was unanimously ratified. The new agreement included:
An additional 30 cents added to base rates and 40 cents to hourly rates each year
A $250 signing bonus
The wage package would yield a 17-percent pay increase during the three year contract
Free employee medical insurance with reduced family costs
A third and fourth week of vacation based on seniority plus a new floating holiday
A 401(k) with company contributions
It was exhilarating and touching as workers lined up to shake hands with me and the committee and express their gratitude.
Long after the contract was signed, I finally received the overdue $642 dinner expense from the International.
Heavy-D died of a heart attack several years later at age 43. If the Vikings were right about Valhalla, he’s there right now, getting drunk and feasting with other heroes.
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.