The thrift store near my house has always functioned as a sort of sociological laboratory. Since this latest economic recession the place has been packed to the rafters with customers—during the previous boom period the parking lot was half empty; these days they double-park to get inside.
Most of the customers of this thrift store are poor. The remainder are folks like me, looking for interesting junk. Americans throw away a lot of perfectly good merchandise. There are practically new jackets, shirts and other clothes here, not to mention complete sets of dishes, television sets and beds. Come Christmas you will find entire families here searching for decorations and toys for their children. Most of these people have jobs of some sort—they just don’t make enough money to buy new goods.
Interestingly, many Europeans shop here. Scandinavians, Germans and the English are amazed at the things we consider used up. They bring home clothing mainly, and shoes if they can get them. No duty to be paid on used jackets, you know.
On my way out of the store my eye fell on the hat rack and then upon a cap whose emblem took me back many years in an instant. The cap’s front read “Local P-9 Austin MN.” Nobody who was a unionist during the eighties can forget that union local, or its long struggle to the death.
Most of the customers of this thrift store are poor. The remainder are folks like me, looking for interesting junk. Americans throw away a lot of perfectly good merchandise. There are practically new jackets, shirts and other clothes here, not to mention complete sets of dishes, television sets and beds. Come Christmas you will find entire families here searching for decorations and toys for their children. Most of these people have jobs of some sort—they just don’t make enough money to buy new goods.
Interestingly, many Europeans shop here. Scandinavians, Germans and the English are amazed at the things we consider used up. They bring home clothing mainly, and shoes if they can get them. No duty to be paid on used jackets, you know.
On my way out of the store my eye fell on the hat rack and then upon a cap whose emblem took me back many years in an instant. The cap’s front read “Local P-9 Austin MN.” Nobody who was a unionist during the eighties can forget that union local, or its long struggle to the death.
P-9’s unsanctioned strike was as much a blow against traditional unionism as it was against the employer, Hormel. The local soldiered bravely on through the long months, but was simply starved out in the end. The story of that strike is the story of organized labor during the Reagan years, a story of attack and struggle and defeat, though surely the P-9 story is its saddest chapter, sadder by far than even the tale of the PATCO air traffic controllers.
Its history has been written by many others. I recall sitting in graduate labor studies classes at Rutgers where P-9 strikers and their families appeared to tell their story. At that point they were nearing the end, and not so much expecting to win as to go down fighting. We put on a benefit night for them at a local tavern, donating the proceeds to what they called a strike fund, but which was really just gas money for them to make another stop along the underground railroad of friendly unions, to get a hearing, make their mark before the storm blew their candle out.
Minnesota Governor Rudy Perpich called in the National Guard to protect the replacement workers who took the places of the P-9 strikers. With that the game effectively ended. The era of decent wages in meatpacking was gone. The industry learned many lessons: to relocate into states that were less friendly to unions; to hire recent immigrants, legal and otherwise, who were desperate for jobs and who feared the loss of work more than the loss of rights, dignity, fingers or even life.
And so I am now in possession of this bit of wearable history. The cap is a bit worn and it smells of honest sweat. I will keep it to remind myself of that struggle. Has it really been twenty-five years?
http://www.mnhs.org/library/tips/history_topics/85hormelp9.html
Michael McGrorty
Its history has been written by many others. I recall sitting in graduate labor studies classes at Rutgers where P-9 strikers and their families appeared to tell their story. At that point they were nearing the end, and not so much expecting to win as to go down fighting. We put on a benefit night for them at a local tavern, donating the proceeds to what they called a strike fund, but which was really just gas money for them to make another stop along the underground railroad of friendly unions, to get a hearing, make their mark before the storm blew their candle out.
Minnesota Governor Rudy Perpich called in the National Guard to protect the replacement workers who took the places of the P-9 strikers. With that the game effectively ended. The era of decent wages in meatpacking was gone. The industry learned many lessons: to relocate into states that were less friendly to unions; to hire recent immigrants, legal and otherwise, who were desperate for jobs and who feared the loss of work more than the loss of rights, dignity, fingers or even life.
And so I am now in possession of this bit of wearable history. The cap is a bit worn and it smells of honest sweat. I will keep it to remind myself of that struggle. Has it really been twenty-five years?
http://www.mnhs.org/library/tips/history_topics/85hormelp9.html
Michael McGrorty
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