“Do you believe him?”
“Yes. I don’t like to give in to the unions, but the reality is that without them, we have no newspaper. They can shut us down. More than one publication has collapsed because it tried to buck the unions.”
“What are they asking?”
“The usual. Shorter hours, raises, protection against future automation…”
“They’re squeezing us, Craig. I don’t like it.”
“This is not an emotional issue, Mrs. Chambers. This is a practical issue.”
“So your advice is to give in?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
“Why don’t I have a talk with Joe Riley?”
The meeting was set for two o’clock, and Leslie was late coming back from lunch. When she walked into the reception office, Riley was waiting, chatting with Leslie’s secretary, Amy, a pretty, dark-haired young woman.
Joe Riley was a rugged-looking Irishman in his middle forties. He had been a pressman for more than fifteen years. Three years earlier he had been appointed head of his union and had earned the reputation of being the toughest negotiator in the business. Leslie stood there for a moment, watching him flirting with Amy.
Riley was saying, “…and then the man turned to her and said, ‘That’s easy for you to say, but how will I get back?’”
Amy laughed. “Where do you hear those, Joe?”
“I get around, darlin’. How about dinner tonight?”
“I’d love it.”
Riley looked up and saw Leslie. “Afternoon, Mrs. Chambers.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Riley. Come in, won’t you?”
Riley and Leslie were seated in the newspaper’s conference room. “Would you like some coffee?” Leslie offered.
“No, thanks.”
“Anything stronger?”
He grinned. “You know it’s against the rules to drink during company hours, Mrs. Chambers.”
Leslie took a deep breath. “I wanted the two of us to have a talk because I’ve heard that you’re a very fair man.”
“I try to be,” Riley said.
“I want you to know that I’m sympathetic to the union. I think your men are entitled to something, but what you’re asking for is unreasonable. Some of their habits are costing us millions of dollars a year.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“I’ll be glad to. They’re working fewer hours of straight time and finding ways to get on the shifts that pay overtime. Some of them put in three shifts back to back, working the whole weekend. I believe they call it ‘going to the whips.’ We can’t afford that anymore. We’re losing money because our equipment is outdated. If we could put in new cold-type production—”
“Absolutely not! The new equipment you want to put in would put my men out of work, and I have no intention of letting machinery throw my men out into the street. Your goddam machines don’t have to eat, my men do.” Riley rose to his feet. “Our contract is up next week. We either get what we want, or we walk.”
When Leslie mentioned the meeting to Henry that evening, he said, “Why do you want to get involved in all that? The unions are something we all have to live with. Let me give you a piece of advice, sweetheart. You’re new to all this, and you’re a woman. Let the men handle it. Let’s not—” He stopped, out of breath.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I saw my stupid doctor today, and he thinks I should get an oxygen tank.”
“I’ll arrange it,” Leslie said. “And I’m going to get you a nurse so that when I’m not here—”
“No! I don’t need a nurse. I’m—I’m just a little tired.”
“Come on, Henry. Let’s get you into bed.”
Three days later, when Leslie called an emergency board meeting, Henry said, “You go, baby. I’ll just stay here and take it easy.” The oxygen tank had helped, but he was feeling weak and depressed.
Leslie telephoned Henry’s doctor. “He’s losing too much weight and he’s in pain. There must be something you can do.”
“Mrs. Chambers, we’re doing everything we can. Just see that he gets plenty of rest and stays on the medication.”
Leslie sat there, watching Henry lying in bed, coughing.
“Sorry about the meeting,” Henry said. “You handle the board. There’s nothing anyone can do, anyway.”