John's Vengeance

From the walls of the room, 150 framed caricatures of John L. Lewis glowered at the audience. From a raised platform Angry John in the flesh glowered even more ferociously from under his haystack heap of grey hair. Beside him, in silence, sat his longtime associate Philip Murray.

Lewis was there to oust Murray from the vice-presidency he had held for 20 years in the Mine Workers' Union. The formal basis for the ouster: Murray had accepted other offices. (He is the new president of C.I.O.'s United Steelworkers of America.) Real reason: they had finally parted company over John's political beliefs. This moment was Angry John's vengeance.

Friendship. Lewis, if he would, could have recalled his relations with the tall, solemn Murray--a friendship that began over a quarter of a century ago in Pittsburgh. Lewis was auditor for Sam Gompers' A.F. of L. Murray was a board member of the affiliated Mine Workers' Union.

Since 1916, they had fought labor's tough and grimy battles together--Lewis always the Big Noise, Murray always the loyal echo. Lewis became president of the Mine Workers, Murray his vice president.

When Lewis walked out of A.F. of L., Murray followed. Year and a half ago, at Lewis' tearful pleading, Murray succeeded Old John as C.I.O. president. But no sentimental memories showed last week in the grey, sullen face of John Lewis.

The final break began last September. Murray was in Atlantic City, convalescing from a long illness. Lewis had clumped into the New Jersey resort, and during a boardwalk promenade had demanded that Murray turn against the Administration's foreign policy. Murray refused.

"I Am Not a Jap." The room where the two ex-friends now sat was the basement assembly hall in the grey stone and marble United Mine Workers' building in Washington. The audience: thick-skinned, well-fed members of Lewis' executive board and policy committee. Lewis had called them together to see the show.

Scornfully Lewis opened up, referred to Murray as his "former friend," bellowed that he "called me a Jap." Righteously he thundered: "I am not a Jap." Vindictively, in the hot basement room, he piled maledictions on Murray.

For two days Murray sat and took it. When he tried to speak, Lewis stooges yelled: "Sit down!" Choked with anger, Murray lapsed into unhappy, tight-lipped silence. Even girlish-faced, rotund, hard-boiled daughter Kathryn Lewis took a turn at lashing him. Murray, warning the Lewises that their acts would lead to national disunity, finally walked out.

The next day Lewis ended his performance, declared that the Mine Workers' office of vice president was vacant. The executive board rubber-stamped the action, accepted Lewis' nomination of tough, veteran mine organizer John O'Leary to Murray's job.

For the once-pliant Murray it was the end of a sentimental journey. He had lost no power in C.I.O., most likely had gained prestige. Locals in Lewis' own mine union are already backing away from Angry John. The other C.I.O. unions stood behind Murray. More than any other man in A.F. of L. or C.I.O., he had the backing of a united labor force. This week he will meet with his own C.I.O. executive board. They will discuss, among other things, what to do about former friend John L. Lewis.

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