In Pullman 's Car Shopsby Lawrence McGurty I was 19 years old in the winter of 1934-35. The only jobs which I had been able to find after leaving school were as a part-time clerk in a little neighborhood grocery store at 78th and Wallace, and delivering newspapers. Word spread, however, that the Pullman car shops were reopening. The old sleeping cars were being called in to be air-conditioned. Like most Chicago neighborhoods, we had a street gang. Ours was the "Blackhawks," and our hangout was Stuart's Grocery Store. One of our leaders, Swede Reedy, lived on Lowe Avenue between 78th and 79th streets. One of his neighbors was a Mr. Reed, who was the plant superintendent of the Pullman Shops. Our gang soon learned that Swede had gotten a job at Pullman through Mr. Reed's influence. The prospect of a full-time job led me also to Mr. Reed, and I gave up my grocery clerking and newspaper routes. My instructions were to report to the employment office at 109th and Cottage Grove Avenue . Each morning I would take the 79th streetcar to Cottage Grove , transfer to the Cottage Grove line and ride to 109th. At 7:30 a.m. a clerk would appear in a large room crowded with expectant workers and call names. There was a predominance of white faces in and I later discovered that the few black men who the shops were restricted to the cleanup detail. All of us who were on Mr. Reed's list had been told to keep coming back every day until our names were called. This meant that we had to pack a lunch, have 14 cents carfare each day ( Yes! Car fare in Chicago was 7 cents a ride, with a free transfer.) , and that we had to give up any chance of seeking work elsewhere that day. This procedure was common in the 1930s and resulted in union contracts with provision for recall to work by seniority. I was assigned as a steamfitter's helper. The Pullman Shops were huge, high-domed and barn-like structures with steel beams latticed overhead. There was little window space, and what there was had a crust of black soot. The shop space had machinery along the walls and tracks through the center on which the cars stood. There were no locker rooms, no lunchrooms, no facilities for cleanup, and no vending machines for coffee or soft drinks. We workers came in our work clothes and returned home with clothes and bodies still carrying the dirt of the day. The shops appeared to this newcomer to be vast, gloomy, noisy and chaotic; and yet there was a feeling of anticipation and pride to be a part of such a great enterprise, all mingled with the bewilderment. At first there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the activity. I was assigned to an experienced steamfitter named Carlson. He was an immigrant from Sweden and quite impatient, or so I thought, with a young and green helper. I believe that Carlson may have re sented me since he had relatives or friends who needed work and he, no doubt, figured that I had gotten the job through "pull" in the front office. At any rate, it seemed to me that he was very short-tempered, and did not welcome the task of telling me what to do. The steam fitting trade was completely foreign to me, and the new language consisting of "unions," "elbows," "pieces;" “threads," "gunk," and many others which I have long since forgotten, was difficult for me to master, especially since Carlson's Swedish accent made understanding the terms of the trade even harder. I had to assemble all the proper lengths of pipe and joints needed. There was no organization of materials or tools. The fitters furnished their own tools, but all the supplies were stacked alongside the pipe cutting and threading machines. In the entire area of the shop I could find only two such machines! The helpers were expected to cut and thread all the pipe necessary for the car job, locate a can of gunk, find a cart on which to wheel the material to the job, and most important, to keep an eye on the steamfitter's tools, since some workers had a tendency to "borrow" a needed tool, or if another helper had cut a pipe inaccurately, he might help himself to one of yours! When the cart was loaded with the correct number of pieces, the next task was to locate the Pullman car to which we were assigned. It could be anywhere in the vast area, so it was necessary to rush around looking for the car number and getting the supplies to the proper site. Carlson was a skilled craftsman, and, although I was kept hopping around handling my supplies, or handing him a needed tool, I gradually picked up his techniques. After watching him for about a month and learning the details of fitting a car, I reached a point where I could do the entire operation from start to finish. When Carlson realized my new abilities, he had me start work on the next car while he would check out and complete the first one. It was only after both of us were working independently that our "rate" became a problem. All work at Pullman was based on piece work. 0ur rate was based on the number of cars completed. I don't recall the exact rate, but it was in the neighborhood of $7.00 a car. This was divided with the steamfitter getting $5.50 and the helper $1.50. During my learning period it was hard for Carlson to complete two cars a day. This was true for all the crews. However, after the helpers became able to do the job, many of the crews were able to finish as many as five cars a day. That $37.50 a week looked very good to me in 1935. But, this was not to be for long. The Pullman Company was a citadel of the "open shop", non-union. Workers, skilled or unskilled, had no control over rates or other conditions of employment. The company arbitrarily set the rates and would reduce them as soon as the workers began making good money an a job. To make matters worse for the steamfitters, many of the helpers were moved up to the steamfitter classification. Helpers who had learned how to fit a car thought this a great opportunity. However, the company had shrewdly calculated that within a short time, with additional steamfitters, all the cars would be completed. I worked approximately two weeks as a steamfitter when the news came that we were finished. Those with an "in" were reassigned, while others were laid off. Some were assigned to tearing out the old electric wiring, others to placing electrical conduit piping under the cars. I worked on the conduit, as I now had the confidence of youth that I could master anything. I was given a blueprint and a list of materials and began working on my first car. After some initial difficulty, I managed to fit all the piping together under the car. Proudly, I called the foreman to inspect my work. He looked it over and informed me that everything was in place, except that it was all reversed! Despite reading the blueprint backwards, I was still able to make money on the job, but the speed-up was still at work and the electrical work came to an end. I was told that I could be reassigned, perhaps; but I kept coming day after day, in vain. After about ten days of this frustration, I learned of a job at the Globe Varnish Company at 76th and Loomis. This job was as a label paster and handy man. Here, too, I was in an unorganized plant, subject to the whims of the boss; but I was learning how impotent the individual worker is, without the strength that comes with organization. My next job in a meat packing plant led me into the union. Lawrence McGurty October 17, 1971 (Mr. McGurty was a sixth grade school teacher in Oak Lawn Hometown District 123 when he gave this interview.) |
Kathy Setlak, president IFT Field Staff |
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| Tonia Havard-Dew |
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© Copyright AFT, Local 943 - 2006. All rights reserved.
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