Phil Cohen War Stories: Confronting Cone Mills!
WAR STORIES by Phil Cohen
During the 1980’s, Cone Mills was one of America’s largest textile corporations with plants sprawled across the Carolinas, manufacturing denim for Levis and other jean companies. In 1984, a hostile takeover by Western Pacific was thwarted through a leveraged buyout by 47 Cone executives who acquired all shares of stock and took the company private.
In order to finance this massive investment, they assimilated the pension fund, replacing it with an ESOP (Employee Stock Ownership Plan.) Workers received shares based upon seniority. The intent was to restructure the corporation, leading to an IPO (initial public stock offering). Workers were promised a huge payday when this occurred, as the value of their shares skyrocketed.
Five of Cone’s sixteen plants were represented by the Textile Workers Union of America, so the pension conversion required their agreement. Unfortunately, union lawyers and officials failed to study the fine print.
Several years later, the union entered a merger to form the Amalgamated Clothing and Textile Workers Union (currently Workers United). Its Southern Regional Joint Board unleashed an aggressive plan, headed by Assistant Director Ernest Bennett, to rebuild long-neglected locals.
In 1990, Ernest turned his attention to Cone Mills. Like most domestic textile companies it had downsized. But three large union plants remained, representing 3,500 workers with a paltry 30% membership.
Ernest worked with union researchers to identify a significant issue around which to rally workers. They learned the corporation was laying the groundwork for its IPO. The 47 management owners had maintained control of all common stock and stood to become extremely wealthy. The workers’ pension had been replaced with junior preferred stock that slowly accrued value like bonds. But this type of security isn’t floated during an IPO nor is it traded on the major stock exchanges.
Ernest dubbed the shady executives “The Gang of 47” and brought in a team of organizers to educate workers through meetings and leaflets. But the company’s scheme wasn’t illegal, and litigation would have been futile. Vast sums of money were at stake and the only way to get workers their fair share was through formidable leverage.
ENTER PHIL COHEN
Ernest assigned me to run the campaign at the finishing plant in Haw River, where 350 workers dyed and processed denim produced in other locations before shipping to customers. I studied the grievance article of the contract, noting it stated that the aggrieved employee or employees would meet with management. I exploited this language by having hundreds of workers sign grievances pertaining to plant policies and bringing them all to meetings. It was an overwhelming experience for the plant manager. When he finally refused to meet in the conference room with more than “a handful of employee representatives,” we ambushed him during break periods and forced him to address issues before an irate crowd.
The combination of astute contract enforcement supported by organizing tactics significantly impacted working conditions. The most significant was limiting the employer’s right to force people to work twelve hour shifts, seven days a week, in ninety degree heat without any time off for months.
Cone’s union facilities had separate three-year contracts that were negotiated simultaneously. But wages and benefits were bargained annually as the result of wage opener language, providing the perfect foundation for an internal rebuild. We were able to agitate and inspire support to improve workers’ lives on a yearly basis while continuing to educate them about the pending IPO and equitable share of profits they deserved.
During the fall of 1990, economic negations were gridlocked. Ernest and I met in his hotel room where he sought my opinion late one night, lying stretched out on his bed while I sat on the floor.
“We need to draw blood,” I told him.
“How do we do that?”
“We stage a one-day strike in Haw River. I can put at least a hundred people at the gate. Cone will have no idea how long it’s gonna last. It will be a shot across the bow and scare the shit out of them.”
“What about striker replacement?” asked Ernest. “We don’t want this to backfire on us.”
“I’ll file Board charges and turn this into a ULP strike.” (Under American law, employers can replace workers engaged in an economic strike, but not if they are protesting unfair labor practices as defined by the National Labor Relations Board.)
The strike was dramatically successful in achieving its desired impact upon both workers and management. Two weeks later, we ratified agreements in all three plants including 4% raises and a new holiday.
The next year was spent winning grievances and building membership. I published a newsletter with the back page titled VICTORIES, describing every grievance won and the shop stewards involved. It turned the most active stewards into local celebrities. I was assigned to also direct the campaign at the Salisbury mill, where 1,100 workers spun yarn and wove it into denim.
Cone management was again unresponsive during the 1991 wage opener, complaining that earnings had fallen short of their business plan, leaving them with only $41.4 million in profits. I had an artist draw a leaflet cartoon mocking the absurdity of their position and filed Board charges in preparation for a one day strike in Salisbury.
“Cone sings the Blues” courtesy of Patricia Ford.
Salisbury was a small town located north of Charlotte in an area still dominated by old-South culture. On the appointed morning at 6 am, two hundred workers carrying Unfair to Labor signs picketed at the plant gate. The plant manager ran out screaming, “You can’t do this!”
“That’s where you’re wrong sir,” I told him. “We are doing this.”
HERE COMES JOHNNY LAW
Ten minutes later, several dozen members of law enforcement, representing three agencies, lined up across the street, accompanied by attack dogs. It reminded me of newsreels from the civil rights movement. I approached them with a friendly greeting and handed my business card to the officer in charge.
“You’ve got to disband immediately,” he ordered. “You failed to get a parade permit from the town three days in advance.” I’d deliberately made the decision to ignore the local ordinance in favor of blindsiding management.
“I don’t mean any disrespect,” I said, “and understand you’re doing your job. But I’m also doing a job and we’re not going anywhere for now. But if you can hold off until the shift begins at 7, I guarantee only several people will remain at the gate for the duration of the strike. If your men still want to drag all these hard-working Americans off to jail now and create more chaos than this town has seen in decades, that’s your decision to make.”
We shook hands and I returned to the picket line, distributing leaflets, discouraging those reporting to work, and making sure folks didn’t block traffic or the plant entrance.
The next day, I learned management had replaced nineteen strikers. I was devastated, having put them in harm’s way with assurances of safety. But there was no time to feel sorry for myself. I named them The Salisbury 19, put out another leaflet, and turned them into folk heroes.
Under the law, replaced strikers aren’t actually fired but rather laid off. Large textile mills suffered from constant attrition and within several days all had used their seniority to fill open positions, but with less pay and on undesirable shifts. I filed new Board charges.
The Republican dominated NLRB issued a Complaint in response to the first set of charges but ruled the violations didn’t go the heart of bargaining and upheld the layoff and its consequences. Union attorney Dave Prouty (presently a Biden appointed NLRB head) appealed the decision and lost. But 3,500 workers received an additional 4% raise.
Cone Mills announced its initial public stock offering during the summer of 1992, to be underwritten by Prudential Bank. Ernest decided the union would take over Prudential’s corporate office in New York’s financial district on the day of the IPO. We drove a bus load of Cone workers and several organizers up north the day before. My job was to orchestrate a boisterous distraction and confront security while Ernest ushered the main contingent into the bank’s penthouse suite.
Word had leaked and Prudential knew we were coming. So, I did exactly what they expected. I led a dozen people to the center of the skyscraper’s main lobby, where we engaged in loud chanting, displaying picket signs. My folks wore union t-shirts but I was dressed in a smart blue pin-striped suit with my long hair slicked back. Security descended upon us like a pack of wild dogs. These weren’t ordinary security guards but rather the elite, most of whom were former Special Forces who’d decided to go for the big money. They shouted orders that we leave the building at once.
I approached a man who appeared to have authority, introduced myself, presented my business card, and embarrassed him into shaking my hand. I began reciting complex legal rationale based upon nonexistent law about our entitlement to remain. Several men aggressively surrounded me but I held them at bay with more convoluted gibberish and references to my attorney. Finally, a burly guard grabbed me by the arm and loudly demanded we leave. I pivoted, swung my right arm under his and then back, knocking his hand off.
“Don’t you put your hands on me!” I screamed, as he stared at me in disbelief. I scanned the lobby with the corner of my eye and saw Ernest quietly leading his group into an elevator.
“Oh, have you been asking us to leave?” I said to the now utterly bewildered guard. “We’d be happy to do so.” Once outside, I figured we might as well remain useful and formed a picket line in front of the building.
Five minutes later, half a dozen police cars showed up. A barrel-chested sergeant approached me and bellowed, “Who the hell are you people?!” I handed him my card and he turned to his officers.
“It’s the union,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” Looking back at me he remarked, “Just don’t kill anyone.” The patrol cars sped away. It was a remarkable difference from our recent police reception in Salisbury and a perfect example of how unions are perceived in the North versus the South.
After an hour of picketing on a lightly trafficked road I became bored and led my folks upstairs to join forces with Ernest and his crew. As the elevator door opened, I beheld an astonishing spectacle. Ernest had made friends with Prudential’s top executives and everyone was sitting around, talking in small groups. I befriended the security captain in his office, where he proudly displayed a photo of himself with Idi Amin from his days as a covert operative.
The union’s raid on Prudential Bank received national press coverage and cost Cone executives $30 million in expected profits from the IPO. A month later, they signed an agreement distributing $15 million to their workers, based on seniority and number of junior preferred shares held.
Six months later, Bill Clinton took office and began appointing new leaders to the NLRB. Dave Prouty defied protocol by appealing the failed appeal regarding the Salisbury 19. The prior decision was reversed. They were all reinstated to their previous jobs and made whole for lost wages.
On a pleasant spring afternoon, I was house-calling Cone employees in rural counties surrounding Salisbury to capitalize on our victories and build membership. An ill-tempered man expressed disinterest, citing how we’d ruined the lives of nineteen employees during the strike. I handed him a copy of the NLRB ruling.
“Give me that damn card,” he said.
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.