“Thanks Bobby,” Vic said quietly, “I’ll be there, and Bobby I want you to know Frank and I appreciate what you and the rest of the guys are doing. If it weren’t for you guys we wouldn’t have ever made it. See ya’ Monday at 7:00.”
Chapter 23
Monday morning on the Wells street site, the Business Agent of one of the striking locals, Tim O’Conner, in a wide brimmed fedora squarely on his head and a hand jammed in the pocket of his long coat was surrounded by three other men. They were talking to a group of men holding picket signs, when Vic and Frank drove up.
As soon as O’Conner saw them he started waving his ever present cigarette and yelled. “This job is shut down, anyone who crosses this picket line is suspended and mark my words, you’ll never work in Chicago again.”
As the Waynes’ walked in his direction, O’Conner rambled on, getting louder as they approached.
“Wayne Construction has made millions. The owners with their fancy homes in the suburbs are milking every dime outta the working man’s pockets and won’t agree to a small increase in our contract. All they wanta do is exploit the workers. We’re gonna show them that they can’t get away with it.”
The TV camera crews that O’Conner had tipped off had their spot lights zeroing in on him and the news reporters scribbled notes while spectators on their way to work, stopped to watch the union leader shouting threats and demanding that the owners meet the union’s terms.
At seven thirty about thirty tradesmen carrying their tools, led by Bobby Fankel, stepped out of a yellow school bus parked across the street. The group watching the loud confrontation that had attracted the TV crew was much larger now as crowds rushed by on the way to work.
The workmen had left their own cars at an undisclosed location to avoid any vandalism, and walked, eyes straight ahead, toward Vic and Frank.
Bobby nodded, “sorry we’re late boss” he said approaching the job entrance. The other men, in addition to several carpenters, were electricians, drywall installers, plumbers and sheet metal workers who did likewise. Within a few moments the building was humming with the sound of workmen.
O’Conner glared at Bobby, who waited until all the other men started working. “I see you, you sons a bitches. You bastard scabs will never work again. Tim O’Conner don’t forget,” he yelled.
The confrontation causing stares from the spectators looking on, Bobby just turned and walked into the building. After several minutes, the reporters and TV crews turned off the lights, started packing their gear and leaving. The groups watching the scene between the Waynes and the Union Reps drifted away too. O’Conner, after conferring with two pickets he had on the site, lit another cigarette and turned to leave.
Before he got to his car, Vic with Frank at his side caught up to him. “C’mon O’Conner, let’s have a cup of coffee,” Vic said motioning toward a small restaurant down the street.
With a silent shrug and a nod of his head he agreed.
O’Conner was an old timer in the trades. Typical Chicago south side Irish, from the back of the yards neighborhood, he started out as a truck driver working for the city and within a few years became a union representative. Ten years later he was appointed Head Business Agent of the local when his father retired from the job. He had a reputation for being tough but fair. He also was smart enough to look the other way to avoid a messy fight. He knew that this could be one of those times and was worried knowing that the guys had contacted the Waynes’ without going through him.
At the Coffee shop entrance, O’Conner said something to the two men with him and they waited while he entered alone. Once inside, he moved to a booth in the back, pushed his hat back, lit a cigarette, looked at the two Waynes, who were across from him and said in a gruff voice, “you know this ain’t personal, but I gotta make sure that I represent my guys. I know you for a long time now and we’ve never had a serious beef. In fact your guys always stand up for the two of you and the few times there has been trouble, I hate to admit it, but our guys screwed up. Now what can we do to work this out?”
A waitress set coffee in front of them and quickly backed away as they waved her off. Frank started to say something and Vic grabbed his arm, stopping him in mid sentence. In a low voice, hoping to avoid being too eager, Vic took over, “Look we understand that you’re in business the same as we are, and we aren’t looking for a fight, but we do want to work this out, without hurting either of us. Why can’t we just agree to abide by the old contract until you settle the strike? When you do, we’ll honor the settlement.”
O’Conner shook his head, “no, for chrissake, that won’t work. I’ve got to have somethin’ more. After all, every other contractor would go for the same fuckin’ deal and we’ll never get anything.”
“C’mon O’Conner” Vic countered, “you see our guys are gonna work and we’re gonna do everything we can to keep ‘em happy. So let’s work this out, especially on this particular job, so we can both be happy.”
“Screw happy; why don’t you just sign a new agreement and this thing will be over.”
“You know we can’t do that, we’ve got too much invested in these jobs and we can’t go against all the other builders,” Vic answered. “I know we can work this out. It’s not the first time you’ve had to look the other way. You know the guys are gonna work so why fight it.”
The waitress refilled the coffee while the three of them sat quietly. The channel five morning news, showing O’Conner yelling, as the Waynes watched in the street a few minutes earlier, was playing on the television suspended over the table.
O’Conner exhaled blowing smoke into the air and clenched his jaw. Taking a sip of coffee along with a drag on his cigarette he took another deep breath, before replying. “Listen guys I’m gonna say something now that if I ever am asked, I’ll deny until I die.”
Pausing, the big man opened his coat as the sweat began to form on his forehead. Then he leaned in a bit and in a soft voice continued, after looking over his shoulder to be sure no one was in ear shot.
“Look, after this morning, I have no choice, I gotta continue to go public and condemn you all over the place and give you all the trouble I can without actually shutting you or any of your people down. I also have to claim that the other unions will suspend any of your guys that cross our picket line. In the meantime, if your guys continue to pay their dues and all the fringes personally, the other trades won’t give a shit as long as I don’t lean on them. Your guys will stay in good standing without anybody ever knowing about it. When the contract is settled, you’ll make up the back pay at the new rates. Then I’ll fine you for violating our agreement and you’ll sign on with us.”
The Wayne’s knew that trusting O‘Conner was a chance they would rather not take, but the jobs, particularly the one on Wells for them and the two refugees, were important to their survival. They looked at each other and Frank watched as Vic turned to him, gave a short nod as if asking what he thought. Frank had no re-action, other than to wait for Vic to say something.
O’Conner fussed with his big hands for another cigarette and sipped his coffee, watching Vic return his gaze and nod slightly.
Finally Vic pursed his lips tightly before saying, “Tim, we’re gonna trust you on this. I know you can’t give us anything in writing and if all this doesn’t work out right we can end up with our asses in a sling, but our guys want to work and our clients are depending on us. Now, let’s shake hands and walk out of here friends and go back to work.”
Grabbing Vic’s extended hand and then Frank’s, O’Conner said, “I’ve been around a long time and I got to tell you I’ve never had a bunch of guys do what your guys are doin’ today. I also heard enough stories about how you run your operation and treat your employees to know that you deserve what they are doing, so don’t worry about me. And don’t worry about some of the things you may read or hear about me while this s
trike is going on. It’s like you say, I’ve got a business to run and sometimes I got to let my people know I’m fighting for ‘em. Not everyone is like you two; now why don’t the two of you walk outta’ here. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”
Leaving the restaurant a few of the reporters who had stayed behind tried to ask Vic and Frank questions, but they just kept walking and refused to comment. O’Conner, when he came out a few minutes later, had plenty to say, accusing the Wayne brothers of violating their agreement and saying that they were through building in Chicago. He would see to it, he said and that they would be sorry.
On the job site Vic called the men together and told them that at this point they were all probably going to be suspended but if they paid their dues and fringe benefits personally, he would guarantee that everything would be alright.
When they were through Frank asked if he meant what he said, and Vic replied, spitting the words out in a soft growl, “Frankie, these guys and our clients are depending on us to take care of them and I don’t give a shit what it takes, we’re gonna do it.”
Seeing Frank’s worried look, Vic touched his arm, saying in a softer voice, “don’t worry, didn’t you notice when we came in and shook hands, I stuffed an envelope in his pocket. Well, there was a thousand bucks in it.”
“Oh for cryin’ out loud, I shoulda known, “he smiled. “You always come through.”
Vic turned and walked to his car smiling and after turning the key, sat motionless for several minutes. Still smiling he pulled away from the curb, shaking his head, thinking he wasn’t sure of anything.
Later that day, wearing work clothes and a hard hat, Frank, using his old skill as an Army motor sergeant drove through the picket line in an 18 Wheeler and delivered supplies to the job. A little later Vic in an old leather jacket and jeans, arrived in a two and a half ton truck with additional equipment. Two office workers came along and helped unload. Each day they continued the deliveries, vowing to keep it up until the strike was over.
The strike lasted four more weeks, during which the union continued to blast the Wayne brothers and tried to harass the workers. The work went on however and all the projects were eventually completed on time. Most of the other contractors fell behind and a few, like Ajax and Johnson Brothers even went belly up because of defaulted loans.
Five weeks later, after some loud haranguing by O’Conner, the union claimed that they were able to settle with the company and publicized the fact that a large fine was levied due to their contract violation, however they refused to go public with the amount. Wayne construction paid the token one thousand dollar fine and Bobby Frankel and all of the other workmen were quietly re-instated.
Afterward for several years, Tim O’Conner and the Wayne brothers refused to talk in public. Privately they would meet for lunch from time to time and O’Conner and his wife went on a few vacations to Las Vegas and Mexico, with all expenses paid by Wayne Construction. As head Business Agent of one of the city’s largest Trade Unions, he also pledged to Vic privately one day, that if he or Darlene, who he knew from her work with the Democratic Party, ever ran for office they could depend on his support, which Vic knew was his way of encouraging him or her to run for an elective office.
Darlene laughed when he told her, saying it was not for her, but teased him that she knew it was his dream to run for office and with backing from someone as powerful as Tim O’Conner he would have an important man in his corner.
The encounter with Tim O’Conner had firmly established the Wayne’s reputation for standing up to the union and getting the job done. Vic refused however to discuss what had transpired with the union and made Frank swear that he would never tell a sole about their deal with O’Conner. It was nobody’s business. They were just doing their job taking care of their employees and helping their clients.
The work stoppage that occurred in 1973 while often remembered as a difficult time for construction in Chicago, was also remembered as the year the Wayne brothers became one of city’s premier builders. The strike had been followed closely by the two major Chicago papers, the Tribune and Sun Times and the local TV news programs. Several stories and pictures of Vic and Frank in work clothes and hard hats, driving trucks and working on the construction sites appeared throughout the strike. Chicagoans loved the story of the two executives that took off their suits and ties and went to work to keep their jobs going. It was the type of thing that earned their respect and admiration, in a city that understood hard work.
Chapter 24
David graduated from Calhoun Prep near the top of his class in 1966 and that fall entered Emory University in Atlanta to pursue a pre-med course.
As Shirley had anticipated, the decision to send him away to school had been the right one. The year before, Howie had been arrested and charged with running a call girl ring. His picture along with the names and pictures of three women alleged to be working as prostitutes at hotels near the Miami Convention Center appeared on the late newscasts and in the morning papers. A follow-up story appeared several weeks later when Howie was found guilty and paid a twenty five hundred dollar fine. Thankful that David was away at the time, Shirley, trying to avoid embarrassing confrontations with neighbors, kept a low profile when at home.
With David gone, Howie’s hours had become more irregular. In addition Shirley had found discarded betting slips in the trash that led her to believe he was gambling more frequently and for larger stakes. Since he was rarely around, she was devoting more time to working in real estate and building her reputation. Her earnings the previous year were almost thirty thousand dollars, most of which went for David’s schooling. It pleased her to know that she was able to cover the expense without asking Howie for help.
Shortly after David left for Emory, Shirley met Charley Hughes, a divorced former school teacher in his mid-fifties. Over six feet tall, slim and partial to floral print shirts and attractive ladies, he had made a sizable fortune in real estate. Shirley had heard through the real estate grapevine that he was looking to sell a small oceanfront hotel he owned on a valuable piece of land in the hot area of Deerfield Beach. She called him asking for an appointment to discuss the property and after a playful ten minute conversation, he agreed to a meeting at the site late that afternoon.
Shirley pulled up at the appointed time and eyed the hotel; a wide three story building of white stucco with pink awnings. A curved driveway led to the entrance covered by a pink and white striped canopy leading from the parking lot. There was no doorman and the cars in the parking area were mostly older models. She immediately knew the building wasn’t particularly valuable, but the location was fantastic and would command a good price. Fluffing her hair and reapplying her pale lipstick in the rearview mirror, she saw a man she assumed was Charley Hughes approaching her car.
“What, no receptionist?” she asked, leaning out the window quickly tucking the lipstick into her purse.
“Naw, I believe in good old Southern hospitality,” he said, opening the door to her white Coupe De Ville, as he extended his hand, “Nice car,” he said with a quick nod of approval and introducred himself. “Now let me show you around.”
After taking her on a tour of the site, Charley welcomed her into his office; bowing slightly, smiling and making a grand gesture with his hand as she entered.
“Come sit on the couch, it’s more comfortable Shirley. I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name.”
“Not at all, Mr. Hughes, I prefer it,” she said pausing inside the door.
“Charley, please.”
Smiling, she looked up as he winked and guided her by the arm to the large sofa.
“Beautiful office you have,” she said relaxing into a corner of the cushy, silver couch. “But how come the lovely paneled walls with fancy French furnishings and plush carpet in a modestly priced hotel like this? Isn’t it out of place?” She said, noticing t
hrough an open door, the attached luxuriously furnished bedroom looking out on the ocean. Better not to mention that, she thought.
“Not really; this isn’t my regular office, it’s where I like to come and relax. When I bought the place twelve years ago, I took one look at the view of the ocean crashing against the surf less than a hundred yards away and decided to fix this place up as a sort of personal retreat. I’ll miss it when I sell, but I’ll find another one.”
Getting up, she walked to the large sliding glass doors facing the water. “God, this view is beautiful! I can see why you like it.”
“How ‘bout a drink?” he offered, moving to a small bar behind the couch. “I usually have one this time of day.”
“Sort of early for me,” she replied, turning to see him mixing a Manhattan.
“You sure, It’s been a long day,” he coaxed.
She turned back to the window, taking a deep breath. “Well okay,” she relented. “Do you have any cabernet?”
“Coming right up,” he nodded, admiring her silhouette in front of the window.
He brought her the cabernet and retrieved his drink from the coffee table in front of the couch and stood there.
“Now, Shirley,” he drawled. “C’mon over here and tell me why I should give you my business.”
“Because I’m the best, Charley, and I know I can take good care of you,” she answered, not turning.
“I don’t even know how you got my name. I’ve been dealing with the same broker for years and never even heard of you before you called.”
“Then why did you let me come here and waste my time if you want to give this place to someone else?” she smiled, still not turning his way as he chuckled.
“And about the name, I’ve got my sources, the same as you.”
“Well, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, especially my own, but I liked the way you sounded when you called. All businesslike, but there was something about your voice and you really did a good selling job on me. I like that.”
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