Out of the composing room of the strikebound Philadelphia Record stalked a squad of grim-faced A.F.L. printers. They marched across the street to Rosen's saloon, a hangout for Record workers. In the bar, they walked up to a group of strikers, tossed them the proofs of a statement that was running on Page One. Said one bitter printer: "Well, you guys have finally managed to close the paper."
The thunderstruck strikers, members of the C.I.O. Newspaper Guild, hurried outside. Sure enough, their picket line had melted away. There was no longer a Philadelphia Record...
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