A DARK WINTER

A Growing Depression

In the early and dark months of 1930, Reuben repeatedly stepped away from his linotype machine in his ink-stained apron to clear his head, increasingly clouded by somber anguish over the headlines he was asked to set: “New Stock Market Crash!” “Panic Seizes Stock Market” “Hoover Takes Up ‘Jobless’ Situation” “Senate Launches Investigation of Unemployment” “Stock Market Comes to Stop After Big Drops” “Nation Moves to Check Unemployment”

As a linotype man, Reuben’s job was safe; unemployment in the printing trades was barely at 6%. But the broader scene was much darker; unemployment for all union trades soared from 9% shortly before the crash to over 22% by February of 1930. The building trades were hit especially hard, with a staggering 43% of all workers unemployed.[1]

With its industry built on the brick and tile trade, Streator was hit exceptionally hard. Local staples such Heenan’s department store and the Western Glass company were shut down, exposing as many as 4,000 men and their families to unprecedented poverty.[2] Even the city’s interurban rail, (on which Reub had worked as a child) could no longer afford to run. Unemployment gutted the town and families fled. The bustling boulevards of “Streator on Saturday Night” were replaced with foreclosed shops and shuttered factories. After hanging up his printer’s apron and closing down the shop, Reuben would journey with Lafe down those empty streets looking in vain for signs of hope. They often walked along the tracks, now crowded with hundreds of men, women, and children wandering the country in search of work. Many ended up in what became known as the “jungle,” camps near the rail lines full of decent folk in inhuman conditions. It was cold. The gift of an old jacket or a hard piece of bread was cherished.

Streator’s jungle was a little more than a clearing for a campfire not far from the city barns on Oak Street.[3] As Reuben passed he could hear the jungle buzzard giving instructions, calling for scraps and spuds for the evening meal. Most often dinner was a stew made from whatever leftovers could be scavenged, remnants one camper described as “stuff I wouldn’t feed to a hog.”[4] On occasion Reub would anonymously contribute to the meal—a few potatoes or fresh bread to soak up the thin soup. To fend off the bitter cold, many of the unemployed local miners broke into “worked-out” coal mines to dig out whatever scrap coal could still be found. Like other miners across the nation, they distributed the oily black shards to widows first, then amongst themselves.[5] The fires were small and the winds were fierce. At night in his own home, Reuben held his wife and children closely under their wool blankets.

Soderstrom Fights Unemployment and the IMA

As a representative of the people, Reub would ride the train to Springfield and watch as each town’s depot told the story of a civilization in distress. Families were camped out on every platform and impromptu food lines and assistance centers were set up by charitable organizations and churches to serve the needy. One can imagine the tremendous responsibility Reuben carried with him into the statehouse. He would later state: “If we could keep our people employed, everything else seems to work out some way, in a fairly satisfactory way. But when folks are unemployed and home conditions become bad, then all is in a terrible state of mind; there’s no income there; then things are really bad.”[6]

Reuben campaigned fiercely against the laissez-faire approach of President Hoover and the Manufacturers’ Association, turning to the pages of the ISFL to call for action:

Organized labor, and many employers too, have discovered that unemployment, such as we have now, cannot be conquered by repeated and cheerful and grandiloquent newspaper statements, nor by private verbal expressions of combined wishing and hoping that it should end. Those in control of industry must do something worthwhile to solve this vexing unemployment condition. The duty of every citizen is plain and definite. Hungry people must be fed—that’s clear. Destitution must be relieved.[7]

Lasting support would come through meaningful legislation, and Reuben’s idea was a universally accepted 8-hour work day that fit into a 5-day work week. That was counter to the prevailing 10 to 12-hour workday that was often demanded in a 6-day work week. A more humane schedule would open up more hours for the unemployed. “We are confronted with a real unemployment emergency,” he continued, “And the sooner that all employers discover that the eight-hour day and five-day work week is a step in the right direction, and universally declare for it and establish it, the sooner will this much desired business revival come into existence…Legislation can materially assist in starting industry off on the right road.”[8]

Predictably, Reub’s old adversaries at the Illinois Manufacturers’ Association had a decidedly different point of view. They knew laws limiting the number of hours they could squeeze from a worker would force them to hire more men and women to meet their need. This would in turn increase the size of the unions, reduce the pool of strikebreakers, and ultimately lead to higher salaries when those fully employed demanded a living wage. To Glenn’s successor James Donnelly, however, there was no crisis to manage; just a temporary downturn that Reuben was exploiting to pass new labor laws. The IMA initially denied the existence of a massive economic downturn. “The manufacturers of Illinois had not expected that catastrophe,” writes Alfred Kelly in his history of the Illinois Manufacturers’ Association. “When the stock market first crashed, the Association hastened to assure its constituents and the public that the ‘business situation’ was ‘essentially sound.’ Even as the shadows of economic disintegration deepened, Donnelly and his colleagues declared again and again that economic recovery was a mere matter of the moment.”[9]

According to Donnelly, unemployment wasn’t the problem; it was a side effect of the “growth of socialism.” Similarly, the true victims weren’t the homeless eating food unfit for swine but the manufacturers, who were unable to pay higher wages or hire more men because of “ruinous taxation” that fed and sheltered those not working. As Donnelly later testified before a hearing of the US House Ways and Means Committee concerning unemployment insurance, “It (this bill) would increase unemployment by aggravating the very conditions which it is attempting to correct, by crippling the agencies which furnish opportunities for employment, by discouraging efforts to relieve unemployment, and by placing a premium on idleness.”[10]

As winter grew dark, it became clear to Reuben that they were on the cusp of massive social upheaval. The question he discussed with Lafe as they walked the streets of Streator was how he, a mere legislator, could more effectively aid labor in these trying times. Lafe had an idea.

DEEPENING DIVISIONS

Reuben Runs for ITU President

Though he lived in Chicago, Lafe still made the 81-mile trip south to Streator whenever he could for Sunday dinners with Reub, talking into the night about events on the ground. Lafe held the same unshakable faith in his brother that had bonded them since childhood, and he believed that it was time for Reub to run for higher office. At first he suggested a run for the US House as the ‘at-large’ Congressman for Illinois, or possibly challenging former Governor Charles Deneen for his seat in the US Senate. As the Soderstrom family gathered at Reuben’s small brick home on Lincoln Avenue to celebrate the New Year, however, Lafe took his brother aside to discuss an even more audacious idea—a run for President of the International Typographers Union.

The International Typographical Union, or ITU, was one of the most powerful unions in all of organized labor. It was the union of the presses, and with that role came prestige and influence. Like other unions, the ITU had factions that supported different positions and people. Unlike their peers, though, these groups had grown into formal political parties, complete with nominations, committees, and campaigns. The conservative Administration Party had formed out of a secret society of printers called the Wahnetas (the “Wahs”), while the opposition coalesced into what became the Progressive Party (“Progs”). By 1930, the Progressives had won control of the organization, with Charles Howard from Chicago Local 16 leading the ITU as President. However, many within the party had grown disenchanted with Howard’s leadership and viewed him as a “closet conservative,” less than willing to assist striking locals. He was also lax in his support of measures that limited hours and he opposed sharing work with unemployed members.

Despite his souring reputation, Howard still had the support of his native Chicago; then came the events of the infamous “Black Sunday.” In 1929, Chicago Local 16 was negotiating with local print shops for a five-day week and a wage increase of $2 and $3 for day and night workers, respectively. According to the officials of Local 16, nearly all employers had agreed to the scale when President Howard intervened on behalf of the shops of the Franklin Association. He ordered the strikers back to work, undermining the entire deal. Howard then held closed-door meetings with the shops and on Sunday, November 10, forced a settlement that effectively killed the five-day work week provisions. Outraged, Local President Worthington DeWolf condemned Howard’s actions, stating “had President Howard kept his hands off we could have settled our job scale in twenty-four hours…I have no confidence in any man, nor would I trust any man, that works in secret with bosses.”[11]

As an active member of Local 16, Lafe Soderstrom kept an ear to the ground and a finger to the wind; he was convinced enough anti-Howard sentiment existed to break his hold on the Progs. In January of 1930, Lafe quietly arranged a dinner in Chicago between Reub and the disaffected officials of Local 16. During the long meal they discussed their common concerns and possible options. Securing the Progressive nomination was soon dismissed as out of the question; Howard still controlled enough of the party machinery to prevent that. A run at the Administration Party ticket would also likely fail as Reub, known for his progressive politics dating back to the Roosevelt Bull-Moose years, would be unacceptable to their base. Still, both these parties were fractured. Disillusioned Progs were ready to leave the party altogether and there were rumors that the Administrative Party was in a similar state. What if these groups combined to form their own party? With the right candidate to organize behind, the new party might have a chance.

Soon after the dinner, Reub boldly announced his intention to run as President of the ITU under the banner of the Unionist Party, a new group formed of breakaway Progressives and Conservatives alike. Lafe became vice president of the organization’s Chicago branch and began forming the party’s message. Its platform was a direct rebuke of Howard’s politics, calling to fight unemployment through a five-day week and six-hour day to spread available work amongst all union members. It proposed a more democratic union with reforms to nominations and elections. Last, a humanization of the pension system, long an issue close to Reub’s heart, was also made a central plank.[12]

Formed from competing interests specifically to oppose Howard, the Unionists clearly knew what they were against. What they needed was something to be for, and Lafe believed that something (or someone) could be Reuben. He deftly promoted his brother in speeches and in print as “Our Reub,” using his life’s story as a narrative for the Unionist cause. Party pamphlets introduced Reuben to a national audience as “The Man of the Hour,” ready to lead in this moment of crisis:

Organized labor has only one representative in the Illinois State Legislature—Reuben G. Soderstrom of Streator. Yet Illinois occupies first place among all the states of the nation in the matter of legislation favoring union labor and in the absence of legislation aiding the open-shop movement. And R.G. Soderstrom is very largely responsible for that condition. That he possesses exceptional qualities of leadership—personal magnetism, knowledge, courage—goes without saying. But those qualities do not account for the legislative power he wields…The secret of his phenomenal success is his deep and genuine sympathy for the toiling masses, which manifests itself in his personal contacts, his public utterances and legislative efforts…add to the above a clean, wholesome life and sterling honesty, and you have the picture of a champion of labor who commands the respect and admiration not only of union men and women, but their enemies, throughout Illinois and far beyond its boundaries.[13]

Soderstrom soon became synonymous with the party itself. The fact that he was “not a politician” who “makes no appeal to partisan prejudice” transformed into the party’s slogan of “More Unionism-More Action-Less Politics.”[14] It was a message that resonated. In the following months, Reuben campaigned aggressively. With Lafe by his side, he began securing impressive endorsements of ITU locals across the country. The new party Unionists needed to win the endorsement votes of at least 50 locals to get on the ballot, and it wasn’t long before Reub began marking major victories. First came New York Local 6 (the “Big Six”), one of the largest locals in the nation. The local overwhelmingly endorsed Howard in the last election, but in the early months of 1930 it declared it was “solid for Soderstrom,” endorsing him by a clear majority. Then came triumph in Chicago as Reuben defeated Howard in his home local’s election, leading the Unionists to crow that, “where Soderstrom became known, he was either endorsed or received a strong vote. Where Howard was known, he lost.”[15] As the May election neared, Reuben and the Unionists continued to spread the word around the nation, but they ran into a rough reality: President Howard controlled the information ITU members received in his role as publisher of the Typographers Journal.

On May 28, many of the 70,000 ITU members across the country gathered in their labor temples and meeting rooms to cast votes for the nominated officers, with the final votes from each local communicated to the national headquarters in Indianapolis. Unfortunately for Reuben, the results showed that the Administrative Party (which renamed itself the Conservative Party after a large portion of its membership defected to the Unionists) split the anti-Howard vote; in the end, Reuben’s Unionist ticket came in third with roughly 18% of the vote.[16] Despite a valiant effort and colorful campaign, Lafe’s dream of a Reuben Soderstrom-led ITU was dead.

Still, not all was lost. On April 8, 1930, Reuben again (and expectedly) won a spot on the Republican Party ticket for the general election of the 39th District of the Illinois House of Representatives. Despite the turbulence in many unions, Reuben at least was secure in his statehouse seat. Reuben came in far ahead of all his rivals, earning more votes than all the losing candidates combined.[17]

John L. Lewis and the ISFL’s Mining Implosion

While Reuben campaigned for the ITU presidency, John Walker, the Illinois State Federation of Labor President and a close friend of Reuben’s, was consumed by factional warfare within his own United Mine Workers of America (UMWA). The 1920s had not been kind to America’s miners. Most notable was the 1922 “Herrin Massacre,” a mining strike ending with nineteen strikebreakers seized and slaughtered in revenge for the shooting deaths of three striking miners. Details of the massacre were chillingly gruesome; some of the captured scabs were forced to crawl on their hands and knees into their dug graves before being shot in front of a cheering, bloodthirsty crowd. The public outrage forced the UMWA to cut a deal that effectively forced the miners to end their strike with no increase in pay; this sent disgruntled miners back to work in Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, West Virginia, Alabama, Texas, Utah, and Colorado. Between 1920 and 1929, UMWA membership plummeted from over 600,000 to under 100,000.[18]

It was at this turbulent point that a new figure lumbered boisterously onto the stage of Reuben’s life: John L. Lewis. The two men would soon share not just uncannily similar life journeys, but also at times an office, speaking engagements, and the inner-circle feuds, disputes, and resolutions that would lead labor through the bumpy subsequent decades.

Born and raised in Iowa, Lewis became a miner at age 15 and moved to Panama, Illinois, where he eventually became president of his UMWA local. In 1911, he was hired by Samuel Gompers as a union organizer and rose quickly through the union ranks, becoming President of the UMWA in 1920. Even as a young man, Lewis had a flamboyant style and was known for his grandiloquent rhetoric, as well as his combative disposition and dictatorial style of leadership.[19] As the situation in the mines deteriorated in the late 1920s, many argued that the pugnacious Lewis seemed primarily invested in consolidating his own power and authority. He cut local relief spending and choked off benefits for unemployed miners, with aid dropping from over $3 million annually to under $17,000 by 1929. He even suspended the annual United Mineworkers’ Convention indefinitely, claiming insufficient funds.[20] Funding for the UMWA’s administration, however, was kept strong, with Lewis using UMWA budgets to enhance his authority and patronage.

All this aroused the ire of many local and regional leaders, who balked at what they viewed as Lewis’s hardball tactics and neglect. They accused the President of “downright blundering, mad, unreasoning, stupid, destructive and disloyal leadership.”[21] Local leaders Alexander Howatt of Kansas, Frank Keeny of West Virginia, and John Brophy of Pennsylvania were particularly incensed by Lewis’s “abandonment” of their states’ miners. They started a “Save Our Union” campaign to unseat Lewis, who punched back by labeling them communists and expelling them from the Union.[22] Still, regional opposition persisted, particularly in Illinois District 12, which comprised more than two-thirds of the union’s dues-paying membership, including ISFL president John H. Walker himself. In an effort to break his opponents, on October 10, 1929, Lewis used charges of corruption to suspend the charter of District 12, remove the elected officials, and replace them with a provisional administration of loyalists answerable only to Lewis himself.

This was too much for the local miners to bear. The majority of the district refused to accept Lewis’s cronies, and with the support of Howatt, Keeny and Brophy, the Illinois miners went to court to stop him. They claimed that Lewis’s actions were invalid because he had unilaterally suspended the UMWA constitution, and they immediately called for a convention of their own in Springfield, for March 10, to restore the UMWA back to its original form. But as soon as they did, Lewis called for his own convention in Indianapolis the same day.

Now, every local in the UMWA was forced to make a choice: would they stand with the miners of John Walker’s Illinois District 12, or fall in line with Lewis? The choice was especially hard for Reub’s close friend Walker. The ISFL president was widely respected and beloved; Reub later described him as someone “I was very fond of…I thought no greater man ever lived.”[23] It was because of this reputation that Lewis’ rivals, at a secret meeting in Chicago, asked Walker to help lead them. As Lewis biographer Melvyn Dubofsky writes:

At their Chicago conclave, the insurgents wisely chose a slate of prospective officers…For the two primary administrative posts, president and secretary-treasurer, the insurgents selected John H. Walker and John Brophy. Walker could be charged with neither personal ambition nor selfish motives, because he had to relinquish his secure and prestigious office as president of the Illinois Federation of Labor in order to serve the insurgent coal miners.[24]

Walker was faced with a stark choice. He was now officially leading an expelled group of miners and the Illinois Federation of Labor, but he couldn’t be both for long. In the end, according to Reuben, there was only one option:

The group of miners that John H. Walker was identified with sort of formed a new miner’s union, at least it was a dual organization of miners, with the result that John H. Walker felt that he ought to resign and stay with his group. It was no fault of his at all. It was just one of those things that sometimes happens in labor organizations, and he remained with his crowd…he stayed with the expelled crowd and was compelled to resign from the State presidency.[25]

So Walker, just like Reuben within the ITU, stayed with his crowd and made an improbable run against the entrenched leadership of his union. On March 10, Walker attended the insurgent convention at Springfield. As a result, ten days later AFL President Green, who refused to recognize the splinter group’s legitimacy, asked for Walker’s resignation as president of the ISFL. Walker submitted his notice to resign on April 9, and on May 5 the ISFL Executive board accepted his resignation, installing Vice President Fitchie as Interim President. For the first time in 17 years, the ISFL was without an elected leader.

As summer approached, our 42-year-old protagonist found himself tossed about in the turbulent world of labor politics. His old friend and ally Walker had been forced out of the ISFL while his adversary Howard had re-won his leadership post with the ITU, all against the backdrop of a deepening national depression. Then came the opportunity that would change Reuben’s life forever, and he moved quickly to seize it.

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