They had been summoned, all 200 of them, to rubber-stamp John L. Lewis' next move in the coal crisis. For three days a small brigade of U.M.W. local officials, whom imperious John L. calls his policy committee, had plumped themselves down in Manhattan hotel rooms (at the union's expense) to wait. They slept, ate, drank, played poker, smoked cigars and just sat—until the boss should deem it appropriate to speak. The three-week coal truce was due to expire midnight Nov. 30.
The deadline came & went: 400,000 miners left their jobs and glumly dug in for a "tough Christmas." Playing...
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