Together Again

At Miami Beach's Roney Plaza Hotel, in a pink-and-grey room hung with old French prints of pastoral love scenes, six leaders of U.S. unionism met one morning last week to negotiate a union of their forces, the American Federation of Labor and the Congress of Industrial Organizations. "If we can't get together this time," said A.F.L. President George Meany through his cigar smoke, "we'd better give it up." By evening they had agreed--after years of bickering and battle--to merge A.F.L. and C.I.O. into one big federation, 15 million strong.

Old Scar. The merger will heal a schism dating back to 1936, when John L. Lewis provoked the A.F.L.'s expulsion of his C.I.O. The A.F.L.'s old craft unions, e.g., carpenters, teamsters, plumbers, had signally failed to organize workers in mass-production industries, steel, autos, rubber, etc. As chief of the nation's largest industrial union, the United Mine Workers, John L. was confident that he could organize the mass-production industries--and he made a spectacularly successful start. The C.I.O. spread strife and union buttons across the land with sit-down strikes and picket-line battles, and Republic Steel's Tom Girdler became a hero to some businessmen when he snapped: "I won't sign a contract with an irresponsible, racketeering, violent, communistic organization like the C.I.O."

In time, Republic and hundreds of other companies signed up. The C.I.O.'s rapid growth inspired the A.F.L. to competitive organizing efforts. The C.I.O. leadership was weakened by dissension, some of it turning around Lewis' personality, more caused by worker resentment at Communist infiltration of high positions in the C.I.O. At one time Lee Pressman, then a Communist, was the C.I.O.'s general counsel, and several of its large unions, including the electrical and the maritime workers, were Red-led. During the war the A.F.L. gained faster than the C.I.O., and it held its gains better in the postwar period.

Since the war, the C.I.O. has cleaned out its Communists. The A.F.L. has moved further and further from its old restrictionist craft-union pattern. (Lewis and his miners had long since departed.) Politically, the two groups had little to argue about. The A.F.L. had abandoned its old political independence, and the C.I.O. had stopped its flirtation with the idea of a labor party. Both A.F.L. and C.I.O. had become adjuncts of the Democratic Party, although many members--perhaps 33% of those who voted--went Republican in 1952.

In 1953 the A.F.L.'s Meany and C.I.O.'s Walter Reuther, both newly elected, signed a no-raiding pact and set up a joint unity committee that met repeatedly. When the Roney Plaza meeting opened last week, said a C.I.O. man, "there was nothing left to fight about."

New Friends. The day began with a good omen. Handsome Dave McDonald, president of the United Steel Workers, one of the three C.I.O. negotiators, could hear through the left ear for the first time in seven years ("miraculously" cured by a doctor in his hotel). The six unionists were affable but brisk and businesslike. For seven hours they negotiated with professional ease. Lunch was brought in (club sandwiches, cake and coffee).

By evening the C.I.O.'s Reuther, with less than half as many members as the A.F.L.'s 10 million, was ready to accept A.F.L. leadership of a united federation. On the other hand, the A.F.L. accepted some C.I.O. conditions, including strongly worded bans on inter-union raiding, union racketeering and racial discrimination. While lawyers put the agreement on paper, the labor leaders laconically announced "constructive progress." That night they went over the five-page text to tone down "emotional" language.

Next morning, joking and relaxed, they met in the Roney Plaza's rose-carpeted Ocean Lounge. Reuther heard C.I.O. Secretary Carey reading aloud a Miami Herald report on the "labor bosses," and exclaimed smilingly: "I resent that. Why don't they say 'Trade Union Statesmen Gather in Miami'?" Meany. a cigar clamped in his teeth, sat at the piano and ripped off jazz melodies. The C.I.O.'s Carey put on a shirt printed with the labels of all A.F.L. unions. By noon the last comma was in place, and the full committee of 20 A.F.L. and C.I.O. men met on the Ivy Terrace for a steak lunch. Then newsmen were called in, drinks passed around, and the great news was announced.

A Better Day. The merger will take time. A constitution must be written and approved by both A.F.L. and C.I.O. conventions, probably in the fall, and a new name chosen (possibly Congress of American Labor). Over the next few years, A.F.L. and C.I.O. staffs, treasuries, state and local councils will be meshed. The no A.F.L. and 34 C.I.O. unions remain intact, but mergers will be encouraged between competing unions (as in textiles, paper and chemicals). Within the new federation C.I.O. unions will form a department with its own funds and director (perhaps Reuther). But the A.F.L. will supply 17 of the 27 vice presidents, plus the president. The almost certain choice: dogged George Meany, 61, a onetime Bronx plumber.

Walter Reuther, who remains president of the million-man United Auto Workers, and who at 48 may well aspire to be the next president of the united labor movement, announced, "I will be very happy to step down as president of the C.I.O. and support the leadership of George Meany." For himself, Meany proclaimed new drives in the future to "organize the unorganized," especially in stores, service trades and white-collar work.

"I really think." declared jubilant George Meany. "that it's going to be the beginning of a better day for the workers of America." Not a word came from the unaffiliated United Mine Workers' John L. Lewis, now 75, who started the great schism to begin with.

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