"Brother chairman! I don't give a damn how important this is. It's hot as hell in here. Will someone open some windows?"
It was the cry of a woman, one of 500 sweltering delegates who met one evening last week in San Francisco's musty old Labor Temple. They had met before 8 p. m. They did not adjourn until 5:25 next morning. Their business was indeed important: Harry Bridges, the lean little Australian-born leader of San Francisco's 4,000 International Longshoremen—the John L. Lewis of the West—was trying to snitch the San Francisco...
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