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"Papa." To union members, David Dubinsky is known fondly as "Papa" behind his back, as "Dubinsky" or "D.D." to his face. Waiting to see him in the reception room of his sumptuous office, the visitor does not have to be told when the boss goes by. The door flies open explosively and a stubby little man in slacks and sport shirt bursts out, waving a handful of papers, spouting orders, and trailing hovering assistants like gulls behind a tug. In moments of repose, behind a blond curved desk that was once Edsel Ford's, Dubinsky squirms with one leg curled beneath him in the traditional tailor's pose, while his snapping brown eyes watch his visitor steadily—calm, curious, appraising. He plucks papers from the litter on his desk with a triumphant instinct that would have done credit to W.C. Fields.
How Many Watches? Dubinsky's life is the union. Immensely likable, he is cordial to everyone, but intimate with no one. He takes home to dinner anybody he happens to be working with. Home is what he calls "a good proletarian penthouse" on unfashionable West Sixteenth Street. (Says Dubinsky: "I never tell reporters, because right away they say, 'aha, a labor leader lives in a penthouse,' as though a labor leader shouldn't be comfortable.") He pays $190 a month rent, lives there with his wife, their divorced daughter and her child Ryna, who is the apple of her grandfather's eye. The rooms are crowded with pictures, antiques, and knickknacks. Waving his hand, Dubinsky explains: "See all these gifts, gifts, so many I didn't know what to do with them. How many wrist watches can you wear?" Now when a local wants to show its gratitude, Dubinsky has his secretary tell it what he can use. He points across the room: "Like the Capehart—I wouldn't spend the money."
Handsome, auburn-haired Emma Dubinsky keeps a sharp eye on her husband's occasional extravagances, and reminds him that though he may be a demigod at the office, he is just a husband at home. Recently, the I.L.G.W.U. bought Dubinsky a Cadillac. He is delighted with it, but Emma Dubinsky is wary. "That's all we need," she says. "Dubinsky with a liveried chauffeur."
And Heaven Too. Dubinsky's union and its locals are currently worth more than $26 million. Its membership includes 406,000 of the industry's 450,000 workers. Now there are as many Italians as Jews, as older Jewish immigrants have died off, and their children, scorning the trade, studied to become teachers, lawyers and doctors. I.L.G.W.U. locals are strong in Chicago, Los Angeles, Boston and Philadelphia. In fact, the only major holdout is the Donnelly Garment Co. in Kansas City, against which the union has vainly hurled hordes of organizers for years, at a cost of $500,000.
The I.L.G.W.U.'s domain embraces five buildings in New York (including the old Tammany Hall), 16 in other cities. It runs three FM stations, has just bought an AM station. Its educational department is the nation's best, and the union offers scholarships to Harvard and Wisconsin to deserving young unionists. Its recreation program runs everything from hikes to dance groups.