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Rapture in the teachers union
I got my very first public high school teaching position in Chelmsford, MA right after I got certified to teach.
But we had only had one day of school when we were called to a union meeting that night downtown. The union was the American Federation of Teachers, the more militant of the two teachers unions. I heard that they were going to recommend that we go out on strike.
Needless to say, this was not exactly welcome news to me. All I wanted was to get a good start to the year with my courses. But instead of teaching geometry and calculus, I had to stand in front of classes I didn't yet know and try to defend a probable strike. But I wasn't privy to the history which might justify it.
We (all the teachers in the Chelmsford system) met in a large auditorium in town. The union reps were sitting on the stage. (Were we there to witness a performance? Evidently.)
Our Union President Steve spoke first. He described in detail the grievances against the school administration. It made the Declaration of Independence seem like a love letter to King George by comparison. (I later found out that Steve was a history teacher at the high school.)
Then, subito, a bigger gun stepped out of the wings. This was an organizer from the State A.F.T. He was a parody of the pugnacious Irishman whose complexion and oracular style could both be described as 'florid'. If Steve presented our struggle as a political insurrection, this man described it (in a broad Boston working class accent) in terms of a religious crusade. His tirade ended with the words, 'And I promise you, if you falter now, it'll be THE THUHTEENTH STATION OF THE CROSS!'
(I wondered whether that gentleman had ever been a priest or a boxer or both.)
It finally came time for a vote (by closed ballet.) Did I have any idea how I would vote? Absolutely! After speeches like the above, how could one not feel flushed with religious fervor? Of course I voted to strike!
The votes were counted, and President Steve read the results: "There are 261 votes to strike, and 178 votes not to strike. The ayes have it: the vote is to strike." And then, before the full import of that could sink in, he continued:
"There is a proposal that this vote be considered unanimous. All those in favor signify by saying 'aye'." Many people though not nearly everyone yelled 'aye'. "Those against signify by saying 'nay'." Several teachers yelled that word. Steve; "The ayes have it. The vote is unanimous."
That was the single most surreal moment of my life!
Once the vote was taken to strike, the well-oiled union machine swung into action. State reps told us that the administration would immediately seek a court injunction against the strike, and that a judge would declare it illegal. Theoretically, we could all be arrested. It hit me: we were up against the Power of the State! I began to regret my vote just a bit
So we came out early to hold signs and walk picket lines. (I marveled at how those signs had been printed up literally overnight. Were the unions, I wondered, like the so-called Military-Industrial Complex - needing strikes, as that monolith needs wars, to sustain itself?) Although the weather was still pleasant, my feet had grown much colder as I marched with people I didn't know in protest of things I had no idea about. And, I feared it could go on and on with no end in sight. Why had I allowed myself to be seduced by means of religious ecstasy?
I needn't have worried: unknown to us, the Administration was much more upset over this strike than we were. After all, there had never been a teachers strike in Chelmsford before. The Superintendent was particularly upset.
In point of fact, he was apoplectic. He became so crazed that after three days he cracked up. As he drove to work that day, the sight of picketers at one school so incensed him that he drove his car up onto the grass and attempted to run over those hapless demonstrators!
At that point we knew we had won.
P.S. There were other inept administrators in Chelmsford. See 'Firing Lines: Chelmsford' for two notable examples.
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