The Day Steam Died Part 7

According to Coastline negotiator, attorney Anthony Gagliano, from Washington, DC, this deal is the best Coastline Railroad could offer under the current economic conditions. He explained railroads have experienced heavy financial losses in their pa.s.senger service to airlines and automobiles during the last ten years. And now the trucking and airfreight industries are taking away business as well. The wage increase is fair and reduction of sick and vacation days are an economic reality in order for the company to compete, Gagliano told the union representatives.

Tempers flared at the last negotiations meeting when Coastline refused to alter their final contract offer. It was clear they were at an impa.s.se when the deadline pa.s.sed Sat.u.r.day at midnight.

"This is wrong and totally unacceptable and we're through talking," Union leader Sanders said and told management negotiation they would put up the picket line tomorrow. Saunders kicked his chair across the room and walked out of the meeting in a display of defiance.

The long-feared strike is on. Union members were told to report to the picket line at 6 am, according Saunders, and will walk the line 24 hours a day.

Gagliano announced Coastline will welcome back any employees that want to work and will fill any vacant position with non-union replacement workers.

Mornings were different now that Rick was a reporter for the Daily Journal. He and Roy had more to talk about, especially since the strike started.

Rick sat across the kitchen table, blowing on his steaming bowl of oatmeal and asked, "Daddy, when do you have to walk the picket line?"

"I drew the first shift for today."

In an unusual recognition of Rick's maturity, Roy shared his thoughts about the strike with Rick as an equal.

"We have to stick together and see it through. They don't care about the conditions we work in or that Charlie Holden died from breathing paint fumes inside tank cars for years without a mask. There's a lot that goes on every day over there that people don't know about."

Roy took a deep drag on his second cigarette of the morning. He'd switched to filter tip Winstons but still inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nostrils.

"Well, maybe my articles will let them know about some of those things. Your grievances need to be made public," Rick said. "Printing the truth about your work conditions will put pressure on Coastline management."

"You did a real good job on that story in today's paper. Maybe it'll help people understand why we're doing this. But Johnson and his big city lawyers hold all the cards. We can strike, but they can afford to hire scabs to break the union. A strike was the last thing we wanted, but they just wouldn't budge off a lousy five-cent an hour raise. That won't keep most of us in cigarettes, much less help pay the rent or make a car payment."

Roy doused his cigarette in his coffee and left it in the sink. He pulled on his denim work cap and jacket hanging on a hook by the door the same way he did every day when he was working.

On the picket line he and friend, Harold Birch talked about their chances of winning the strike.

"We've made our choice," Harold said. "Now we have to stick it out and hope they come back to the table with a better offer. They'll find out soon that hiring warm bodies off the street won't be able to fix those old engines like we have for forty some years." Harold held up his sign, which read: On Strike for Better Pay and Working Conditions.

Chapter 14.

"Some of Bankstowne's young men went off to war to fight the Germans across the ocean in Europe."

Scabs cross picket line "Get ready, here come the scab buses," Birch called out to the picket line. "Scabs, dirty scabs!"

Taunts were hurled at the busses until one of the scabs was recognized.

"Hey, Roy, ain't that Randy Holmes?"

"Yeah, sure is," Roy replied, disappointed in the young man he was training as an apprentice machinist.

A brick smashed through the front windshield of the lead bus and stopped the caravan. Strikers pried open the door and pulled the replacement workers off the bus, trying to get Randy, a Korean War veteran, who'd worked at the Shops less than a year. Three strike breakers were thrown to the pavement and beaten with fists and baseball bats.

Roy hated scabs for breaking the picket line but didn't like the violence. It just gave Coastline a stronger position at the bargaining table. He and Burch stepped back from the fray and tried to get the strikers back on the picket line. The melee lasted nearly a half-hour before the out-numbered Bankstowne police and Coastline security guards could get the strikers under control. Bankstowne Police and Sheriff's deputies struggled to maintain order at each shift change.

Violence erupts on URW picket line. Tuesday's headline sent shockwaves not only through Bankstowne, but also across the state. Rick's daily articles gave vivid, up-close coverage of the strike violence. The a.s.sociated Press picked up the attack on the buses. Billings also received requests from Dan Jenkins, editor of Raleigh Times Herald for exclusives on Rick's coverage.

"This ain't good," Birch said to Roy after their shift ended. "It's been a week and Coastline ain't budged an inch. Clarence said old Sam Johnson and that fancy D.C. lawyer just sat there like a couple of stuffed toads and told him how lucky we were to even have a job. They threatened to shut the Shops down altogether if we don't give in on some of our demands."

"Well, Harold, we just have to see what tomorrow brings." Roy waved goodnight to Birch and turned off Fifth Street toward home where Mary Beth waited, hoping for good news.

Chapter 15.

"Those who remained worked hard to make sure they contributed their part to support their brothers in combat."

Strike violence escalates The second week of the strike found Bankstowne relatively calm, until a violent explosion went off by the Yadkin River pump station and shook the ground for miles around. The blast destroyed the pump and twenty feet of pipeline that supplied water to Bankstowne Shops. Without water, the Shops and the steam engines that pa.s.sed through for refueling and repair work couldn't operate.

"Can you help me catch the phones? Rick's college friend, George Klinger yelled from the broadcast booth, his headphones temporarily slung around his neck. "Something crazy is going on."

Rick slid his chair to get in front of the phone lines. "Got it. What's the ruckus about?"

Rick and George had become friends after Rick started hanging out regularly at the local radio station WXAS after his shift at the newspaper. It was a quiet place to relax, and George occasionally asked him to read a commercial over the air.

"Something about a loud explosion," George said. "Take down any information you can. We need to get it on the air."

George slid his headphone back on then flicked on his microphone.

"Okay, we're sending out the Platters' Twilight Time for all you cool guys and gals out there tuned in to Bankstownes' all music no chatter on Music Till Midnight." George flipped off his mic and dashed to the Teletype room to see what the steady stream of clatter was all about so late at night.

"Hey, Rick! Come here. You won't believe what's coming off the wire!"

Rick hung up the phone and rushed to see what George was so excited about. He looked at the tear sheet in George's hand and exclaimed, "Holy s.h.i.t!" then stared in shock as he continued to read.

Raleigh (AP) North Carolina Gov. Steve Mathews has authorized National Guard Adjutant, Maj. Gen. Randolph Ackerman to deploy 200 troops immediately to the site of a strike against Coastline Railway Shops in Bankstowne.

In an emergency news conference just completed Gov. Mathews announced a large explosion destroyed the Shops water supply system and escalated the violence beyond the ability of the local police to protect the citizens and workers at the Coastline Railway facility. In ordering the troops to Bankstowne, the Gov. sternly warned this kind of behavior will not be tolerated. END "Thanks for the biggest scoop of my life," Rick shouted over his shoulder as he bolted out the door.

"Hey, come back here! You have to help me answer the phones!" George called after his friend.

Left all alone, George dashed back to the broadcast booth, flipped on his mic, and stopped the record. "We interrupt Music Till Midnight to bring you a breaking news story. Governor Mathews has just authorized sending National Guard troops to the Bankstowne Shops after a large explosion destroyed the Shops pump station on the Yadkin River. Stay tuned for further breaking news on this story. Now back to Music Till Midnight."

"I've been trying to reach you since we got the word from the governor's office," Billings said as Rick burst into his office. "Here's the teletype text. Call the mayor, Sam Johnson, and the union people."

"But sir, do you know what time it is?"

"It's almost midnight, but this can't wait," Billings said in a strained voice Rick had never heard before. "Try to get statements from all of them. I need press-ready copy in an hour. Use my office. I'll be in the pressroom, pulling the front page run off-line. Go!"

Rick went into Billings' office. The chair was stiff yet worn, and the desk itself was bigger than Rick's workstation in the reporter's pool.

After taking a moment to admire what a real office felt like, he picked up the phone and dialed his father.

After several rings, a groggy Roy answered on the other end. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Daddy, it's Rick. I know it's late, but something happened at the pump station tonight."

"Pump station?"

"Do you know anything about the explosion? Did you hear the governor is sending troops?" Rick spoke rapidly, barely giving his father time to hear the questions, let alone understand them.

"Calm down, son," Roy said, the exhaustion in his tone audible. "What's going on?"

"That's why I'm calling you. Call anybody you can to find out what is going on. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes. I'm on deadline."

"An explosion at the pump station you said?"

"That's right. The governor is sending in troops."

"Sounds bad," Roy said, finally seeming to grasp the situation through sleep's haze.

"Fifteen minutes and I'll call you back. Oh, and Daddy . . . thanks."

Governor sends troops to Bankstowne after explosion. Rick's headline story jumped off the front page at early risers in Bankstowne who usually read their paper quietly over a cup of coffee.

"I can't believe this happened," Roy said to Mary Beth as she read the story over his shoulder in shock. "Rick really is on top of things." Roy's pride in Rick's work wasn't dampened by the anguish he felt over the strike violence.

"It must be hard for him to write about all the bad things happening to our friends," Mary Beth said.

"Some have become bitter enemies because of lost jobs and the threat of losing their homes."

Rick had been sitting on his Whizzer motor bike in the dark of pre-dawn across the street from the Shops main gate since 5:30. He watched the caravan of National Guard transports pull up at 6:00 am and disembarked 200 bayonet-ready troops. Muscle spasms shot pain into his empty stomach at the sight. He hadn't eaten or slept all night.

Rick clipped on his press pa.s.s and moved closer to hear what was said by the officer as he spoke to Sam Johnson and his staff inside the gate.

"Captain Thomas Scoggins reporting as ordered by Governor Mathews and Adjutant General Randolph Ackerman of the North Carolina National Guard. My men are deployed to secure the main entrance and have established a perimeter surrounding the facility," Captain Scoggins said.

"Captain, we're glad to see you. Our first bus load of workers will arrive shortly. That's when your men need to be ready. I believe you have been briefed on the violence and clashes between the strikers and incoming workers. Is there anything else you need from me?" Sam asked. He'd already chewed his first cigar of the day to a stub.

"My men will be prepared to receive the busses at 0700 hours. Rest a.s.sured we are prepared for any contingency, sir." Captain Scoggins wheeled an about face and instructed his First Sergeant to carry on with the orders of the day.

Rick flashed his press pa.s.s to go through the picket line and ranks of soldiers then hurried through the main gate to catch up to Sam Johnson.

"Mr. Johnson, can I have a word with you?"

Sam greeted him with a smirk, spitting bits of his chewed cigar and tobacco juice close enough to splatter on Rick's shoes. "Well, look here, if it isn't the cub reporter from the local college."

"No sir," Rick answered. He dug deep to stay civil and professional. "I'm still at the college, but I'm reporting this story for the Daily Journal. Can we speak on the record?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you, sir. I must inform you that because of the national interest in this strike, what you say could be picked up nationally by the a.s.sociated Press."

"Is that a fact? In that case let's go into my office and talk, young man."

Sam's office was comfortably decorated with an oversized executive desk in front of the back wall showcasing a near life-sized portrait of Thaddeus Banks. It was by far the cleanest office in the soot-covered building.

"Your daddy and his union friends made a big mistake in calling this strike," Sam said, seated behind his desk.

Rick bit his lip to keep from saying something he would regret. He'd already lost the initiative of first strike to set the tone of the interview. "Sir, this interview isn't about my Daddy. It's about the company's position concerning the grievances brought to the bargaining table over reduced benefits and the small pay increase offered in a booming economy. Coastline profits are up twelve percent over the past five years, but no reinvestment has been made in the equipment or facilities to improve working conditions. How do you respond to those grievances and requests for improvement by the union?"

"Requests? Son, you've lived here long enough to know the union doesn't make requests." Sam unwrapped a fresh Havana cigar and shoved it into his mouth, rolled it from side to side, and then bit down hard. "They've made demands and threatened to strike at every contract negotiation for the last twenty years." Sam took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Banks is an old man now and has turned the corporation over to his son, John Banks Jr., who isn't to be toyed with. Bankstowne is lucky I'm here to act as a buffer between him and the union." Sam grinned. "That last statement is off the record."

"Okay, but according to maintenance records the Shop facilities haven't been kept up to date. No ventilation in the Back Shop, for instance, and no heat in the winter. And-"

"Let me stop you right there and make the rest of the world aware of what we're dealing with here, okay?" Sam got up and walked over to a large easel and jerked a cloth covering it off. He flipped through a series of charts with red and black numbers.

"This facility was built more than fifty years ago to repair steam engines. Those are now being replaced by diesels as fast as we can buy them. The bottom line you see here," Sam said, pointing to a red number with a minus sign in front of it, "tells us it would be cheaper to build a new facility in Atlanta than update this one. By keeping this facility open until we become completely dieselized, and that day is coming soon, we're providing jobs that are the sole support of this town.

"You're correct," Sam said. "Coastline has shown a good profit the last five years. But this facility lost money every one of those years. Fortunately for Bankstowne, it must be kept open as the only steam repair center until we complete the diesel conversion. At that time this place will be shut down, a fact the union doesn't seem to understand. It can't be helped."

Sam removed his cigar and spat a brown stream of tobacco juice toward his antique bra.s.s spittoon. He sat back down and said, "I'm bending over backward to keep these Shops open as long as I can. But the truth is with the growing losses to airfreight and trucking compet.i.tion and the cost of new diesels coming on line, the financial drain of this facility is hard to justify."

Sweat beads formed on Rick's forehead. He'd lost control of the interview from the start, and Sam just tossed him a live grenade.

"That's our position, son. Times have changed. To survive, we all have to make sacrifices to stay at the forefront of that change. So, it's important for Coastline to settle this strike without further delay." Sam looked straight into Rick's eyes. "We intend to do that one way or the other."

"Are you saying that if the union doesn't accept the offer currently on the table, you'll close the Bankstowne Shops down permanently?"

"No, son. I said the union needs to understand the circ.u.mstances of this operation and come to an agreement to extend the life of this facility and their jobs for as long as possible. We can operate with or without them. We would prefer to continue our long-term relationship with the workers whose efforts have made Coastline what it is today."

"So, you are using the strike to shut down the Shops permanently if the union doesn't give in . . . is that correct?"

"I believe I've answered your questions. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a lot of work to do." Sam started shuffling papers on his desk as if Rick wasn't in the room. The interview was over.

Chapter 16.

"After the War to End All Wars ended, the soldiers came home and resumed their lives in Bankstowne during a brief respite before war broke out again."

Strike could close Bankstowne Shops permanently. The morning headline was a gut check for the union members. Rick waited for Roy's reaction to his interview with Sam Johnson at the breakfast table.