The Silent Treatment

For one entire year, Ron Hewitt had worked in a silent world. From the moment he stepped into the cabin of his crane, no one talked to him; all around, the 300 men he worked with in the foundry of the Staveley Iron and Chemical Co. chatted and joshed with each other, but to Hewitt they spoke not a word, not even hello. It was almost as though his working day were spent in solitary confinement.

Every day he climbed into his little cage 20 feet above the foundry floor, to guide his big, metal-toting crane. His co-workers rapped their hammers on stanchions to gain his attention, then motioned what they wanted him to do. The incoming relief operator scrawled necessary messages on the crane walls. At teatime, while the others horsed around, Hewitt sat alone in his crane.

The Double Six. Hewitt's crime, in the eyes of his fellow workers, was his failure last December to join the one-day walkout of the Amalgamated Engineering Union at the Staveley works in Derbyshire. He had not joined the strike because his own union, the General and Municipal Workers, said not to. Despite the explanation, Ed Boyce, the A.E.U. shop steward, ruled: "The men in this shop .are not going to speak to you for six months." Hewitt might have moved on to some other shop, because he was still in good standing with his own union, but he resolved: "I'm not going to knuckle under."

When the first six months of silence was up, Boyce was still unrelenting. "We must have solidarity," he said, and decreed another six months. If any of the foundrymen felt sorry for Hewitt, they were even more concerned not to defy Boyce. Shop Steward Boyce--who made a trip to Moscow last year, but denies that he is a Communist--runs his little bailiwick ruthlessly. Hewitt's own union said: "Officially we don't know the situation exists." His employers echoed: "It's a matter for the men." Said Boyce flatly: "It's none of the public's business."

The Change of Heart. Last week the second six months was up, and Boyce gave every indication of renewing Hewitt's ostracism. "Tyrants in Overalls," cried London's big Daily Express. "The tyranny among Ron Hewitt's mates is as wicked as any that ever caused workers to form a union."

Several days later, at noontime, Hewitt as usual went off by himself to the canteen for lunch. His workmates, members of the A.E.U., gathered for a quick meeting. The public outcry was beginning to tell on them. Machinist Stan Wetton got up and said: "Our attitude has become un-Christianlike." The other men nodded. Before they adjourned, the men voted to thank Ed Boyce for being such a good steward--but also to lift the ban on Hewitt. When Hewitt came back from lunch and climbed into his cage, Boyce walked over and said: "O.K., Ron, it's all off." Hewitt smiled and shook Boyce's hand. "I don't bear anyone any malice," said Hewitt in a burst of talkativeness. "Let bygones be bygones."

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