"We must restrain ourselves and our hotheaded brothers today. If we do not, there will be no union after the war. Restrictive legislation, worse than anything on the books, will be enacted."
These words, heard by all U.S. labor, had particular pertinence to burly Rolland Jay Thomas' own union. U.A.W., largest union in the U.S. and at times the most ungovernable, was halving wildcat trouble again last week. Seven U.A.W.-organized Chrysler plants [[11,700 employes) stopped making guns, plane and truck parts.
Basis of the dispute: whether A.F. of L. or C.I.O. truckmen should deliver soda pop to the plants. Unioneer Thomas promptly ousted 15 officers of a U.A.W. local for participating in the "soda pop war," instructed his men to ignore picketlines.
Detroit had need of such toughness. It was the heartland of a new flurry of strikes which extended from the Pacific Northwest lumber industry to a toolmakers' plant in Rhode Island. Detroit itself was almost without bread as the result of a walkout of 1 ,000 bakery drivers. In nearby Saginaw, Mich., 2,800 workers were out in three Chevrolet plants, as a result of a fight over a no-smoking rule. Usually mild Charles Erwin Wilson, president of vast General Motors, said Detroit was approaching "industrial anarchy."
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