"We attended when you fixed the hour," cried John L. Lewis. "We departed when weariness affected your pleasure. Our effort . . . has been in vain."
In a cigar-fogged suite in Washington's Shoreham Hotel, negotiators for the nation's soft-coal operators drooped dejectedly. For a weary month they had failed to lure labor's one-man theater into writ-fag a new contract for his United Mine Workers. Now the nation was living on stored coal. And now, because his only specific demand (for a miners' health & welfare fund) had been turned down, Lewis was about to halt even the pretense of negotiation. Balefully...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
