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Beyond argument, automation increases productivity. In theory, that increased productivity should create more than enough new jobs to make up for those lost by men to machines. And that, in turn, should keep the union rosters filled. But it has not worked out like that. Between them, for example, the U.A.W. and the Steelworkers have lost more than 400,000 members, mostly to automation, in the past five years. Organized labor has made few compensatory gains. Most of the new jobs are held by white-collar workers, who have composed a majority of the labor force since 1955. These white-collar workers are notably reluctant to join unions, particularly since management is willing to give them most of the benefits that the old lunch-bucket unionists had to fight for.
At the same time, thousands of the union members displaced by automation have been forced to take any sort of job they can get, whether it be dishwasher or ditchdigger. This trend, too, has decreased union membership. Explains an A.F.L.-C.I.O. officer: "These men are hard to organize because of the gut competition for that sort of job. If a man is hungry enough, he'll take what he can get and undercut the next fellow by a nickel an hour just to get the job. It's dog eat dog."
In meeting labor's dilemma, the driving force must come from labor itself. All the governmental paternalism in the world cannot solve labor's basic problems—but the Government can certainly urge and encourage, and Arthur Goldberg seems ready, willing and able. Goldberg is far from being the handsomest man on the New Frontier, yet he is compellingly attractive when he talks—and he loves to talk. ("He can," says an admiring Labor Department aide, "talk for two hours on one hour's briefing.") Goldberg's energy seems inexhaustible, and his personal qualifications are beyond question. Says Arizona's Republican Senator Barry Goldwater, an outspoken critic of labor who could hardly be farther removed from Goldberg both politically and philosophically: "Goldberg is a very decent fellow, a very capable man and a brilliant lawyer. He's been a good Secretary of Labor up to now."
A strong case could be made for the idea that Goldberg's entire life has been spent in following the path that has taken him to the big desk in the Department of Labor. His father, Joseph Goldberg, fled czarist Russia in the 1880s and wound up in Chicago, where he acquired a horse and wagon, hauled produce to downtown restaurants, and by 1892 had saved enough money to bring his wife and daughter to the U.S. Arthur was the family's seventh and last child.
As a boy, Arthur worked. He got his first job at twelve, running errands at a shoe factory for $3 a week. Says he: "They were not very particular about child-labor laws then." While in high school, he learned some harsher facts of labor life. Working for $6 a week as a suit packer in a clothing store ("I can still pack a suit pretty well"), Goldberg and some fellow employees protested at being forced to work extra hours at no extra pay. The result was decisive: "We were fired."