Con Game

For the second time in seven weeks, U.S. railway unions used a swindler's trick in their tangled, two-year contract fight. The key switchmen who make up trains in pivotal rail yards began reporting sick again in droves--first in Chicago and Detroit, then in dozens of other cities, east, west and south, around the nation. The effect was even more devastating than it was last December when Christmas packages piled up.

In an elephantine gesture calculated to insure him against legal action, Union President William P. Kennedy sent an order to all locals. They were to remember their duty not to strike against the Government ( which seized the roads last August) and, in effect, be good, loyal citizens. It was a good guess that different orders went along the union grapevine; the work stoppages simply spread.

Half-Nelson. Contempt proceedings were begun against the union in Chicago (where the Government was preparing to demand $500,000-a-day fines), in Cleveland and in Washington. The President denounced the workers. But this time the railroaders seemed determined to keep their half-nelson on the country until it wheezed.

Thousands of rank & file union men were angry at going almost three years without a wage raise (largely because their bosses couldn't agree on a few technical details). They were angry, too, at being called unpatriotic. In their anger, they were willing to be mean. So, suddenly, they decided to go in for the mass lie. The pattern of the phony epidemics changed from day to day. On some railroads the wildcatters began drifting back after a few days, but when they did, more reported sick elsewhere. At St. Louis strikers had "tonsillitis"; at Detroit they guessed, soberly, that they "must have picked up a bug . . ."

Gone But Not Forgotten. Early this week, as the switchmen were joined by increasing numbers of other railway workers, a creeping paralysis gripped the nation. Passenger service almost everywhere was erratic or nonexistent. A fourth of the nation's 800,000 loaded freight cars were stuck on sidings all over the country. Industrial workers were laid off by the thousands. The most severe embargo in history was clamped down by the post office: nothing moved by first class mail which weighed more than eight ounces. Planes, trucks and buses were jammed with mail, freight and passengers.

Throughout the tie-up, union officials made it plain that they thought the President was the man to settle the strike. They would welcome a cozy White House session at which Harry Truman would tell the railroads to be more generous. But the President was dead-set against any further White House intervention.

This week, however, as the strike began cutting into the defense buildup, he agreed to let Mobilization Boss Charles E. Wilson broadcast an appeal to the railroad men.

"The safety of our country is in danger," said Wilson. "What you are doing now can hurt the United States more than all the Communist armies in Korea . . . It is impossible, now to recover the time lost in shipment of supplies overseas or the production lost by the plants which have shut down. No matter how serious your grievances may seem to you, they cannot justify the harm you are doing to your country.

"You have a right to a fair settlement of any differences you have with railroad management. But you have no right to stop your country's defense effort. You have no right to strike against your government ... I ask you to report on your next shift."

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