Ma
r
kS
ha
r
wood1
9
7
6
–1
9
8
2
The six years that I worked as a full-time UFW volunteer taught me organizing skills and
the type of perseverance forced by working in a small team fighting great odds. I also
learned about the life of immigrant farmworkers and about the great cities of my own
country. I mention some of the many people, a few well-known but more who were not,
who guided and accompanied me on this journey.
Between 1976 and 1982, I worked in Los Angeles on Proposition 14; in field offices in
Lamont, Coachella, Calexico, Delano, Watsonville, Oxnard, Salinas, and Santa Maria; in La
Pa
z
;a
ndi
nboy
c
ot
tope
r
a
t
i
onsi
nCl
e
v
e
l
a
nd,Ci
nc
i
nna
t
i
,Da
l
l
a
s
–For
tWor
t
h,LosAng
e
l
e
s
,
Detroit, Rockford (Illinois), New York, Denver, and Chicago. My first visit to many of the
places named above was when the union sent me to work there.
Much of this essay is a narrative of what I did both individually and as part of a group;
when and where I did it; and who was with me at the time. Along the way I include some
reflections and comments on my activities, as well as background information to put the
events in a wider context. I do not include a lot of deeper philosophical thoughts, leaving
that for others. I was not a leader or key person in the union, but I participated in many
v
a
r
i
e
dc
a
mpa
i
g
ns
,a
ndt
hi
sna
r
r
a
t
i
v
et
r
i
e
st
og
i
v
et
hede
t
a
i
l
sa
nd“
f
l
a
v
or
”oft
ha
tt
i
me
.
Obviously, all opinions and comments are strictly my own.
Life in the United Farm Workers movement was full of action and movement, and highs
and lows. As a result, I seem to have 20 years of memories packed into the six years I
actually worked there. The UFW’
swor
k
e
ror
g
a
ni
z
i
ngc
a
mpa
i
g
nsa
ndc
ommu
ni
t
yboy
c
ot
t
c
a
mpa
i
g
nsa
r
eav
e
r
yu
ni
q
u
ec
ha
pt
e
ri
nt
hebr
oa
de
rmov
e
me
ntf
orwor
k
e
r
s
’r
i
g
ht
si
nt
hi
s
c
ou
nt
r
y…whe
r
eonc
et
he
r
ewa
snot
hi
ngbu
tbr
u
t
a
le
x
pl
oi
t
a
t
i
oni
g
nor
e
dbys
oc
i
e
t
y
,t
he
UFW’
s“
we
a
ponsofnonv
i
ol
e
nc
e
”c
r
e
a
t
e
das
t
r
u
c
t
u
r
et
opr
ov
i
des
a
f
e
rwor
k
i
ngc
ondi
t
i
ons
,
respect from the boss, medical and pension benefits, due process against abuse, and many
other advances. I hope that some will find interest in the details of my part in that effort.
The Early Years 1972-1976
Oakland Boycott
I first got involved in 1972, one year after I graduated from U.C. Berkeley, when the union
had turned its attention to the lettuce industry after the 1960s grape strike/boycott had
he
l
pe
dt
heu
ni
onwi
ni
t
sf
i
r
s
tc
ont
r
a
c
t
s
.Di
s
c
ou
r
a
g
e
da
f
t
e
rGe
or
g
eMc
Gov
e
r
n’
sdi
s
a
s
t
r
ou
s
defeat, I responded to a call from the Oakland boycott, then directed by Bob Purcell, to
volunteer in the lettuce boycott. They sent me to check which brands of lettuce were being
sold in local supermarkets. We walked straight into the vegetable cooler to check, not
worrying about permission. During this time I met Fred Ross, Sr. and Jr., and was first
e
x
pos
e
dt
oFr
e
dS
r
.
’
snonons
e
ns
ea
ppr
oa
c
ht
oc
ommu
ni
t
yor
g
a
ni
z
i
ng
.Ot
he
rboy
c
ot
t
organizers whom I met (and later ran into on the UFW staff) were Pete Cohen, brother of
the famed UFW lawyer Jerry Cohen, and ____ Mata, a veteran activist from the San
Joaquin Valley.
While I was a boycott supporter in Oakland, the UFW declared a boycott of Safeway stores
t
ha
twou
l
dnotr
e
mov
eboy
c
ot
t
e
dpr
odu
c
t
sf
r
om i
t
ss
he
l
v
e
s
—ma
k
i
ngt
hi
sa“
s
e
c
onda
r
y
”
boycott, which would have been illegal if farmworkers had been covered under the
National Labor Relations Act, which they were not. The boycott attracted many
s
u
ppor
t
e
r
s
,a
mongt
he
mr
a
di
c
a
lc
ommu
ni
t
yg
r
ou
psl
i
k
et
heBl
a
c
kPa
nt
he
r
s
—f
ou
nde
di
n
Oa
k
l
a
nd—whopi
c
k
e
t
e
daWe
s
tOa
k
l
a
nds
t
or
ec
ha
nt
i
ng
,“
Idon’
tk
nowbu
tI
’
v
ebe
e
nt
ol
d,
S
a
f
e
wa
ys
t
or
e
sha
v
eg
ott
obec
l
os
e
d…”
Palo Alto Boycott
The fight returned to San Joaquin and Coachella Valley vineyards, and the grape growers
f
or
g
e
dt
he
i
rnot
or
i
ou
sa
l
l
i
a
nc
ewi
t
ht
heTe
a
ms
t
e
r
s
—a
st
ol
di
nt
hef
i
l
m Fi
g
ht
i
ngf
orOu
r
Li
v
e
s
—t
obr
e
a
kt
hes
t
r
i
k
e
.Iwa
soneoft
hou
s
a
ndsofv
ol
u
nt
e
e
r
st
hr
ou
g
hou
tNor
t
h
America who responded with intensified grape/supermarket boycotts. On moving to
Menlo Park in 1974, I became an even more active volunteer. Palo Alto boycott organizer
J
i
m Hi
r
s
c
hdr
e
wmede
e
pe
ri
nt
ot
hemov
e
me
nt
—Is
pe
ntmu
c
hofmyf
r
e
et
i
mea
tUFW
events and socialized mainly with other UFW volunteers. I picketed, helped organize
fundraisers, took food donations to Salinas farmworkers, rallied in Modesto against Gallo
and in Sacramento for the Agricultural Labor Relations Act (ALRA), and produced
silkscreen poster to support our campaigns. I learned the words to UFW songs and
collected UFW buttons (my favorite: En las Rosas Sí Se Puede, to commemorate rose
picker organizing in McFarland, California).
I met movement volunteers who remained as friends and mentors for years. When
picketing a liquor store for carrying Gallo wine, I re-met John Brown, who had been my
c
hi
l
dhoodne
i
g
hbori
nOa
k
l
a
ndma
nyy
e
a
r
sbe
f
or
e
—a
ndwhowe
ntont
ohi
sowni
nt
e
ns
e
UFW career. Also during this time, I first met Cesar Chavez when, together with fellow
v
ol
u
nt
e
e
rJ
e
f
fRi
c
hma
n,It
ook c
opi
e
sofJ
a
c
q
u
e
sLe
v
y
’
sne
w book Ce
s
a
rCha
v
e
z
:
Autobiography of La Ca
u
s
at
oLaPa
zt
obes
i
g
ne
dbyCe
s
a
rf
orPa
l
oAl
t
o–S
a
nJ
os
e
boycott supporters. Besides signing, Cesar wrote a little message in each book, and I saw
that he was so in tune with the boycott supporters that he wanted to know which
individuals were receiving each book, so that he could write a personalized inscription. (We
di
dn’
tk
now whowou
l
dg
e
twhi
c
hbook
,s
oCe
s
a
rj
u
s
twr
ot
eg
e
ne
r
a
li
ns
c
r
i
pt
i
ons
—I
bou
g
ht t
he one t
ha
ts
a
i
d, “
I
n ag
e
nt
l
e wa
yy
ou c
a
n s
ha
k
et
he wor
l
d.
”
)
San Jose Initiative Campaign
When the growers capitulated in 1975 and agreed to the Agricultural Labor Relations Act,
giving farmworkers the collective bargaining rights (in California, at least) that other U.S.
workers have had since the 1940s, the UFW began winning representation elections.
Ma
y
bet
hi
sc
a
mea
sas
u
r
pr
i
s
et
ot
heg
r
owe
r
s
—f
ort
he
ye
x
e
r
t
e
dpr
e
s
s
u
r
eonr
u
r
a
l
l
e
g
i
s
l
a
t
or
s
to choke off funding for the Agricultural Labor Relations Board (ALRB), which enforces
the law. The union fought back by qualifying an initiative for the November 1976 ballot to
g
u
a
r
a
nt
e
et
hi
sf
u
ndi
nga
ndma
k
et
hel
a
we
v
e
ns
t
r
ong
e
r
.
It
ookamont
h’
sv
a
c
a
t
i
ont
oc
ol
l
e
c
t
s
i
g
na
t
u
r
e
sa
ndoneda
ys
e
tar
e
c
or
dt
ot
a
la
tt
heQFC s
u
pe
r
ma
r
k
e
ti
nRe
d
woodCi
t
y
—
having refused a lunch break and solicited every single customer I could. Alberto
Escalante, a cartoonist with whom I later worked in Coachella, Delano, and other places,
pr
odu
c
e
dadr
a
wi
ngof“
S
a
mmyS
u
pe
r
S
i
g
na
t
u
r
e
”t
oc
e
l
e
br
a
t
et
hos
ewhodi
dt
hebe
s
t
.
Los Angeles Proposition 14 Campaign
With the initiative qualified as Proposition 14, the union had to convince California voters
to pass it. Now Jim Hirsch, San Jose boycott director Lynn Campbell, and Nancy Carleton
(another very active UFW supporter from Palo Alto) pushed me hard to join as a
pe
r
ma
ne
ntf
u
l
l
t
i
meUFW v
ol
u
nt
e
e
r
.Ir
e
s
i
s
t
e
da
tf
i
r
s
tbe
c
a
u
s
eIwa
s
n’
ts
u
r
ehowIc
ou
l
d
accommodate myself to being a full-time volunteer, with no wage or salary (other than a
s
ma
l
l“
s
t
i
pe
nd”f
orpe
r
s
ona
le
x
pe
ndi
t
u
r
e
s
)
,a
ndhou
s
i
nga
ndf
oodpr
ov
i
de
dbyt
heu
ni
on.
But those I knew who had been doing this for years seemed happy, and I decided I could
doi
tt
oo.
Ir
e
s
i
g
ne
dmyj
oba
tt
heU.
S
.
Ge
ol
og
i
c
a
l
S
u
r
v
e
y
—t
hel
a
s
t“
nor
ma
l
”j
obofmyl
i
f
e
to date.
To the surprise of my Palo Alto friends, I asked to go to Los Angeles to work and started
in the Southeast L.A. area. The director, Conrado Terrazas, had me adopt work habits that
wa
s
t
e
dnotas
i
ng
l
emi
nu
t
e
—r
u
nni
ngr
a
t
he
rt
ha
nwa
l
k
i
ngbe
t
we
e
nc
a
r
swhe
nbu
mpe
r
stickering, and not hanging up the receiver between calls when phoning for volunteers. My
assignment was to organize in Pico Rivera, a largely Chicano suburb east of East L.A. I had
to learn to work with some supporters who had their own proud history as long-time UFW
a
c
t
i
v
i
s
t
s
—t
ol
e
a
dbu
tnota
ppe
a
rc
onde
s
c
e
ndi
ng
.Idi
dn’
ta
l
wa
y
sg
e
ti
tr
i
g
hta
tf
i
r
s
t
,a
nd
some supporters complained to Conrado about my approach. However, I did adapt well to
life as a full-time volunteer.
In the final month, I worked in a large team in greater East L.A. under the direction of
Susan Sachen, who years later recruited me into SEIU, where I still work. We were a
“
br
i
g
a
de
”
—as
t
r
e
e
ta
c
t
i
ont
e
a
mt
opr
omot
ePr
opos
i
t
i
on1
4by“
hu
ma
nbi
l
l
boa
r
di
ng
”(
a
ne
wt
e
r
mt
ome
—s
t
a
ndi
ngwi
t
hl
a
r
g
es
i
g
nsbyt
hes
i
deoft
hes
t
r
e
e
ta
ndwa
v
i
nga
t
motorists to get them to honk in support, or at least notice us), leafleting, and other
activity. Now we slept in a large group on the floor of a Catholic school gymnasium near
L.
A.
’
sChi
na
t
own.Awa
v
eofs
t
r
e
pt
hr
oa
tr
a
nt
hr
ou
g
ht
het
e
a
m,i
nc
l
u
di
ngme
,bu
twej
u
s
t
got medical treatment and kept going.
Farmworker volunteers from around the state came to join in this final phase of the
Proposition 14 campaign. Our stay in the gymnasium was enlivened by the visit a group of
workers from Blythe, on the Colorado River. They had a very colorful leader, Alfredo
Figueroa, who sang farmworker songs and made a great impression on us.
Agribusiness countered us not with a frontal attack on f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
sa
ndt
he
i
ru
ni
on—
whi
c
hwou
l
dha
v
eba
c
k
f
i
r
e
d—bu
tbypa
i
nt
i
ngPr
opos
i
t
i
on1
4a
sami
s
g
u
i
de
dpowe
rg
r
a
b
by Cesar. Harry Kubo of the Nisei Farmers League was set up as their spokesperson, and
hi
sTVc
omme
r
c
i
a
l
ss
a
i
d,“
Ce
s
a
rCha
v
e
zha
sdones
omeg
oodt
hi
ng
s
,bu
tt
hi
st
i
meheha
s
g
onet
oof
a
r
.
”Nodou
btheha
dt
oc
l
e
nc
hhi
st
e
e
t
ht
oa
dmi
ta
ny
t
hi
ngg
ooda
bou
tt
he
UFW—bu
tt
hi
sa
ppr
oa
c
hwor
k
e
d,a
ndPr
opos
i
t
i
on1
4we
ntdownt
ode
f
e
a
t
.Ev
e
ns
o,we
achieved our larger goal, for the growers were alarmed at the increased power that the
union would have had if Proposition 14 had passed, and they eased off their pressure on
legislators and allowed the ALRA to be funded adequately from then on.
After a break, the California UFW staff regrouped at La Paz to plan what came next.
Marshall Ganz, a UFW veteran from the 1960s (and son of a Bakersfield rabbi) who
he
a
de
dt
heu
ni
on’
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ng d
e
pa
r
t
me
nt
,r
e
c
r
u
i
t
e
dt
hebr
i
g
ht
e
s
ts
t
a
r
st
o or
g
a
ni
z
e
farmworkers under the re-funded ALRA and led his new team into the nighttime mountain
c
hi
l
lou
t
s
i
det
heLaPa
zc
onf
e
r
e
nc
er
oom,s
a
y
i
ng
,
“
I
fy
ou
’
r
ea
f
r
a
i
doft
hec
ol
ddon’
tbot
he
r
c
omi
ng
,be
c
a
u
s
ey
ou
’
l
lbeou
ti
nt
hec
ol
dal
ot
.
”Iwa
ss
t
i
l
lne
wa
ndr
e
t
u
r
ne
dt
ot
heLos
Ang
e
l
e
sboy
c
ot
tof
f
i
c
e
.
Be
c
a
u
s
eweha
dl
os
tt
hee
l
e
c
t
i
on,
wewe
r
edu
ef
ora“
s
ha
k
e
u
p,
”a
nd
the union brought Fred Ross, Sr. and Larry Tramutt (now Larry Tramutola, a Bay Area
political consultant) to work with the L.A. staff. We began again to organize supporters and
raise funds for the new organizing drives. During this time I also met the Rev. Chris
Hartmire of the National Farm Worker Ministry who was working out of the L.A. office
and provided great guidance in working with religious leaders.
The shakeup used strong (and from the point of view of the organizers, sometimes harsh)
t
e
c
hni
q
u
e
s
.I
fane
r
v
ou
sor
g
a
ni
z
e
rs
q
u
i
r
me
di
nhi
sc
ha
i
rwhe
npu
t
t
i
ngt
he“
c
r
u
nc
h”ona
s
u
ppor
t
e
r(
t
hec
l
i
ma
xoft
he“
r
a
p,
”i
nwhi
c
hy
oug
e
tt
hes
u
ppor
t
e
rt
opr
omi
s
et
odo
s
ome
t
hi
ng
—g
i
v
emone
y
,
hol
dahou
s
eme
e
t
i
ng
,
pi
c
k
e
tas
u
pe
r
ma
r
k
e
t
)
—heha
d“
a
nt
si
nhi
s
pa
nt
s
.
”I
fa
nor
g
a
ni
z
e
rdi
dn’
tdot
her
i
g
htf
ol
l
owu
p,s
hewa
sj
u
dg
e
di
nf
r
ontoft
hewhol
e
s
t
a
f
ft
oha
v
e“
l
e
f
tl
oos
ee
ndsa
l
lov
e
rt
hepl
a
c
e
”
—t
heg
r
e
a
t
e
s
ts
i
n,f
ori
fy
oudon’
te
ns
u
r
e
s
ome
t
hi
ngwi
l
lha
ppe
nwi
t
hwa
t
e
r
t
i
g
htc
ommi
t
me
nt
sa
ndf
r
e
q
u
e
ntr
e
mi
nde
r
s
,i
twon’
t
.
Or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
swhodi
dn’
tc
u
ti
twa
s
he
dou
ta
ndne
wone
sc
a
meon.
The Field Office Years, 1977-1978
Lamont
I
nJ
a
nu
a
r
yof1
9
7
7
,La
montf
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
eDi
r
e
c
t
orJ
i
m Dr
a
k
e
—a
not
he
re
a
r
l
yUFW pi
one
e
r
f
r
omThe
r
ma
l
i
nt
heCoa
c
he
l
l
aVa
l
l
e
y
—a
s
k
e
df
ora
na
ddi
t
i
ona
l
S
pa
ni
s
hs
pe
a
k
i
ngor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
.
I had gradually improved my self-taught book Spanish over the years, and I was selected. I
packed up an old car and drove over the Tehachapi Mountains to Lamont and began a new
pe
r
i
odi
nmyt
i
mewi
t
ht
heUFW.Thi
swa
sa
c
t
u
a
l
l
yt
hes
e
c
ondt
i
meIha
dbe
e
nt
he
r
e
—
La
mont
,as
hor
tdr
i
v
edownt
hemou
nt
a
i
nf
r
om LaPa
z
,wa
si
ns
omewa
y
st
he“
home
”
f
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
e(
j
u
s
ta
sL.
A.wa
st
he“
home
”boy
c
ot
tof
f
i
c
e
)
,a
ndt
heLa
montwor
k
e
r
sha
d
hosted the Proposition 14 volunteers to a potluck dinner in the office one night during our
conference at La Paz.
The Lamont-Arvin area, located in Kern County south of Bakersfield at the end of the San
Joaquin Valley, never got the fame of Delano, where the UFW began in the 1960s, but
many important events in UFW history took place there. Jim Drake remarked that the
further south in the San Joaquin Valley you go, the poorer and more beaten-down the
farmworkers seemed, and he contrasted the Lamont-Arvin farmworkers to workers in the
“
or
a
ng
ebe
l
t
”e
a
s
tofVi
s
a
l
i
ai
nTu
l
a
r
eCou
nt
y
,whe
r
et
hewor
k
e
r
sha
dg
r
e
a
t
e
rdi
g
ni
t
ya
nd
respect from the growers. Driving along rural roads, you would pass hundreds of
f
a
r
mwor
k
e
rhou
s
e
s
—s
ma
l
lwoode
ns
ha
c
k
s
,of
t
e
nu
npa
i
nt
e
d,wi
t
hol
dc
a
r
sou
tf
r
onta
nd
l
a
u
ndr
ydr
y
i
ngont
hel
i
ne
—bu
te
v
e
r
ys
oof
t
e
ny
ouwou
l
ds
e
et
heg
r
owe
r
s
’hou
s
e
s
—l
a
r
g
e
brick mansions surrounded by palm trees and hedges.
Whether for this or other reasons, the labor-management conflict in the Lamont-Arvin
area had a bitter history. Both of the two murdered martyrs from the 1973 grape strike
we
r
ef
r
om t
hi
sa
r
e
a
—Nagi Daifullah and Juan De La Cruz (whose widow I later met in
Arvin). One of the most famous scenes from Fighting for Our Lives, of striker Martha
Rodriguez screaming as she is shackled by Kern County sheriffs, occurred at the DiGiorgio
vineyards just east of Bakersfield on Highway 58. There was a long-established community
of Chavistas, many from the state of Nuevo León in Mexico, who called themselves
chivollones (derived from chivo, goat) and believed they were stingier and more hardheaded than other Mexicans.
Within a day of arriving in Lamont I participated in my first ALRB election campaign,
going with another organizer to visit a freezing-cold carrot field farmed by Yurosek, whose
br
a
ndwa
s“
Bu
nnyLu
v
”c
a
r
r
ot
s
.Thee
l
e
c
t
i
ont
ookpl
a
c
ei
nt
heI
mpe
r
i
a
lVa
l
l
e
ya
ndi
n
Lamont, and we won by a big margin. The first campaign where I had an assignment was a
giant grape company, Tejon Ranch, at the very end of the San Joaquin Valley below the
Grapevine pass, and this one we did not win. As a newcomer, I was sent to organize one of
t
hes
ma
l
lg
r
a
pec
r
e
ws(
whowe
r
epr
u
ni
nga
tt
ha
tt
i
me
)a
nda
l
s
os
omeoft
he“
s
t
e
a
di
e
s
”
(trabajadores de pl
a
nt
a
—y
e
a
r
r
ou
nds
k
i
l
l
e
dwor
k
e
r
ss
u
c
ha
st
r
a
c
t
ordr
i
v
e
r
sa
ndme
c
ha
ni
c
s
)
.
Some of the steadies in the San Joaquin Valley, who usually earned more than regular
harvest workers, were Anglos (English-speaking Americans) or African-Americans,
de
s
c
e
nda
nt
s of t
he “
Ok
i
e
s
”a
nd ot
he
r mi
g
r
a
nt
st
ot
he v
a
l
l
e
yi
nt
he 1
9
3
0
s
.
In our staff meetings I learned the finely tuned assessment methods used by labor
organizers: daily, we reviewed the status of each worker in each crew and judged them
positive, negative, or unknown or undecided. Any worker who is not a strong, open union
s
u
ppor
t
e
rwi
l
lc
onv
e
r
tt
oa“
no”a
s
s
e
s
s
me
ntbyelection day. So the cards were stacked
against us and we could only win with a constant aggressive campaign. But why would
wor
k
e
r
sv
ot
ea
g
a
i
ns
tau
ni
ont
ha
tc
ou
l
donl
yi
mpr
ov
et
he
i
rs
i
t
u
a
t
i
on—a
sJ
i
m Dr
a
k
epu
ti
t
,
v
ot
ea
g
a
i
ns
tt
he
i
r“
e
nl
i
g
ht
e
ne
ds
e
l
f
i
nt
e
r
e
s
t
?
”Fe
a
roft
heu
nk
nown,f
e
a
rofr
e
t
a
l
i
a
t
i
onby
t
hebos
s
,f
a
mi
l
y
,orot
he
rpe
r
s
ona
lt
i
e
st
os
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
s
—a
ndi
ns
omec
a
s
e
s
,pr
e
v
i
ou
s
ne
g
a
t
i
v
ee
x
pe
r
i
e
nc
e
swi
t
ht
heu
ni
on—a
l
lpl
a
y
e
dar
ol
e
.Es
pe
c
i
a
l
l
yi
na
r
e
a
sl
i
k
eS
a
nt
aMa
r
i
a
,
where the UFW did not have strong support, we knew we were in trouble when workers
wou
l
dn’
tde
c
l
a
r
et
he
i
ru
ni
ons
u
ppor
t
,s
a
y
i
ngs
u
c
ht
hi
ng
sa
s“
Cada cabeza es un mu
ndo”
(
“
e
v
e
r
yhe
a
di
sawor
l
d”ory
ouc
a
n’
tk
nowwha
ts
ome
onee
l
s
ei
st
hi
nk
i
ng
)orwor
s
tofa
l
l
,
“
Mañana todos v
a
mosas
a
be
r
”(
“
We
’
l
la
l
lk
nowt
omor
r
ow,
”f
r
om awor
k
e
rwhowon’
ts
a
y
how he or she will vote before the election).
Thi
si
swhe
r
eIf
i
r
s
the
a
r
doft
he“
8
0pe
r
c
e
nt
”r
u
l
ef
oru
ni
onor
g
a
ni
z
i
nge
l
e
c
t
i
ons
:
don’
tf
i
l
e
for an election unless you have at least 80 percent of the unit signed up on authorization
cards, even though you could file with less (under NLRB rules, you need only 30 percent),
be
c
a
u
s
eoft
hec
e
r
t
a
i
nt
yofl
os
sofs
u
ppor
ti
nt
hef
i
na
lda
y
sdu
et
ot
hee
mpl
oy
e
r
’
sa
nt
i
u
ni
onc
a
mpa
i
g
n.S
omeu
ni
onsha
dg
r
e
a
tt
r
ou
bl
el
e
a
r
ni
ngt
hi
s
—whe
nIwor
k
e
df
ort
he
United Furniture Workers (now a division of the International Union of Electrical
Workers, or IUE) in 1985, I was twice ordered to file for an election with less than 50
pe
r
c
e
nts
i
g
ne
don—t
het
he
or
yt
ha
tt
hi
swou
l
dc
r
e
a
t
e“
mome
nt
u
m”a
ndbr
i
nga
ddi
t
i
ona
l
support. In fact, what it built were the circumstances for bad election defeats.
Like the NLRB, immediately after each election, the ALRB agents would gather all the
ballots together (sometimes this meant a long wait due to travel time) and count them. The
counts, especially in close elections, were always tense affairs and sometimes went on for
hours in hot, overcrowded rooms. When the staff attended these we kept our own count
of the tally so that we could know the moment when either victory or defeat was certain.
Du
r
i
ngonev
ot
ec
ou
nti
nCoa
c
he
l
l
a
,t
heboa
r
da
g
e
ntha
dr
e
a
dnot
hi
ngbu
t“
No”v
ot
e
sf
or
wha
ts
e
e
me
dl
i
k
eha
l
fa
nhou
r
;s
u
dde
nl
yt
he
r
ewa
sa“
Ye
s
”v
ot
e
,a
ndMa
r
i
o____,oneof
the organizers (a long-time UFW veteran, one of the Portuguese-speaking Gallo strikers
f
r
om t
hee
a
r
l
y1
9
7
0
swhom Iha
df
i
r
s
tme
ti
nt
heOa
k
l
a
ndboy
c
ot
t
)
,s
a
i
d“
¡
Es
o!
”(
meaning
mor
eorl
e
s
s
,“
Ri
g
hton!
”
)
.TheALRBa
g
e
nti
mme
di
a
t
e
l
yt
hr
e
a
t
e
ne
dt
or
e
mov
et
heUFW
s
t
a
f
ff
r
omt
her
oomi
ft
he
r
ewe
r
ea
nymor
e“
di
s
r
u
pt
i
ons
.
”
Tejon Ranch ran a full-fledged anti-union campaign. At the pre-election conference where
the ALRB decided details of voting times, voting locations, eligibility lists, and so on,
Te
j
on’
sa
r
r
og
a
nta
t
t
or
ne
yr
e
f
e
r
r
e
dt
oou
rr
e
dUFW f
l
a
g
sa
ndc
a
mpa
i
g
na
c
t
i
v
i
t
ya
s“
t
ha
t
g
a
r
ba
g
e
.
”Whe
nhet
r
i
e
dt
ot
r
e
a
tJ
i
mDr
a
k
ea
ss
ome
onea
bov
et
hel
e
v
e
loft
hefarmworkers
in the room by asking what Jim had done before working for the UFW, Jim put him in his
pl
a
c
ebys
a
y
i
ngheha
dbe
e
n“
ag
u
e
r
r
i
l
l
af
i
g
ht
e
rf
ort
heRe
dChi
ne
s
e
.
”Wel
os
tt
hee
l
e
c
t
i
on
badly in most of the crews. The next day, in a clear sign of retaliation, the company ordered
oneoft
hepr
oUFW “
s
t
e
a
di
e
s
”t
ope
r
s
ona
l
l
yt
e
a
rdownt
hehu
ndr
e
dsofUFW pos
t
e
r
swe
had placed around the huge ranch.
Besides working in organizing campaigns, I organized an Arvin-Lamont community
support committee to prepare for more intensive worker organizing later in the year.
S
u
s
a
no“
Cha
no”Ga
r
z
a(
whoa
ppe
a
r
sa
sapi
c
k
e
tc
a
pt
a
i
ni
nFi
g
ht
i
ngf
orOu
rLi
v
e
s
)
,hi
s
younger brother, Angel, and their large family were among the most prominent Chavistas
in Arvin. In Lamont, Baltazar Saldaña and his son Ev
e
r
a
r
do(
“
La
l
o,
”whowor
k
e
da
sa
UFW organizer) were the core group. At one point, we organized a fundraising menudo
breakfast (Mexican tripe soup) at the UFW hall; I drew laughs from committee members
by my unfamiliarity with the ingredients for menudo, but the event was a success. The
Arvin Chavistas believed that they were stronger supporters than those from Lamont, and
said it was a good thing that the union hall was in Lamont because Arvin residents would
travel there, while Lamont residents would not bother to go to Arvin.
Also during these first few months, I accidentally started on my graphic work in the UFW
organizing. Jim asked the staff to draw samples of an organizing cartoon for the Tejon
Ranch campaign. I had always drawn and painted since I was young, and my design was
judged the best. It portrayed the union as a ship with the names of victorious election
campaigns painted on the side (Yurosek, Arakelian, El Toro, etc.) steaming to the rescue of
a farmworker in a life preserver on the open sea, surrounded by sharks representing the
da
ng
e
r
sofwor
k
i
ngnonu
ni
on—nog
r
i
e
v
a
nc
epr
oc
e
du
r
e
,
noj
obs
e
c
u
r
i
t
y
,
e
t
c
.
Ibe
g
a
nt
odo
drawings for organizing drives, but Jim Drake disapproved of my spending too much time
on this and wanted to keep me focused on pure organizing. Eventually, the needs of the
organization for massive quantities of graphic campaign material overruled him.
Scott Washburn, another UFW veteran who began his career in Arizona, came to Lamont
to run some of these campaigns. Over the years I got to know him well and worked with
hi
m onma
nydi
f
f
e
r
e
ntc
a
mpa
i
g
ns
—La
monta
ndDe
l
a
no,S
a
nt
aMa
r
i
aa
ndot
he
rf
i
e
l
d
offices, the organizing school in La Paz, and boycott operations in the San Francisco Bay
Area, Ohio, and Texas, as well as several political campaigns after I left the UFW staff. He
had a funny, practical way of teaching organizing skills and tactics.
Coachella
In April, as the weather warmed up, I traveled to the Coachella Valley with Wes Fulton,
another UFW staffer in Lamont, to participate in a kickoff march for the grape organizing
campaign there. It was a great, inspiring march with hundreds of workers and led by Cesar.
A marcher sang a corrido composed for the occasion, to the tune of Carabina TreintaTr
e
i
nt
a
,
a
nol
dMe
x
i
c
a
nr
e
v
ol
u
t
i
on
a
r
ys
ong
:“
Voyac
a
nt
a
ru
nc
or
r
i
do/q
u
ee
nl
ahi
s
t
or
i
av
a
quedando/la lucha del campesino/ hoy victorias va ganando. A Coachella vino Chávez/en
u
ndí
ad
epr
i
ma
v
e
r
a
/l
ag
e
nt
eq
u
e
dóa
dmi
r
a
d
a
/l
osdea
q
u
íyl
osdea
f
u
e
r
a
…l
osr
a
nc
he
r
os
s
i
g
u
e
nne
c
i
os
,yl
osv
a
mose
s
f
or
z
a
ndo…”(
“
I
’
mg
oi
ngt
os
i
ng
… t
oCoa
c
he
l
l
ac
a
me
Cha
v
e
z
,onas
pr
i
ngda
y
…t
heg
r
owe
r
sr
e
ma
i
ns
t
u
bbor
n,a
ndwea
r
ef
or
c
i
ngt
he
ma
l
ong
”
)
.
Carabina Treinta-Treinta means 30-30 carbine, and when I sung this song later for
farmworker friends in Arvin, they joked that I supported violence. In fact, all of the
farmworker songs that I learned were adapted versions of earlier songs.
We returned to Lamont after the march, but within a month I was back in Coachella for
the grape organizing campaign. Coachella is the earliest grape harvest of the year. With the
changing seasons the harvest moves north to Arvin-Lamont, then Delano, then Fresno.
This campaign was top priority; Eliseo Medina, another of the original UFW leaders out of
the ranks, was the director for the Coachella Valley (also for Oxnard), but Marshall Ganz
was the organizing director and ran the day-to-day campaign. David Bacon was an
organizer in Coachella whom I had known in childhood. To Spanish-speaking workers, he
c
a
l
l
e
dhi
ms
e
l
f“
Da
v
i
dToc
i
no”byt
r
a
ns
l
a
t
i
ngt
hel
i
t
e
r
a
lme
a
ni
ngofhi
sl
a
s
tna
me… t
he
kind of cultural accommodation that was common among the staff (to Spanish-speaking
wor
k
e
r
s
,Iwou
l
di
nt
r
odu
c
emy
s
e
l
fa
s“
Ma
r
c
os
”a
ndi
nf
a
c
ts
t
i
l
ldos
o)
.Ot
he
ror
g
a
ni
z
e
r
sI
met during that campaign with whom I worked in later years were Ruth Shy and Meta
Mendel Reyes.
We used cartoon leaflets as effective organizing tools, partly because of Mexican cultural
pr
a
c
t
i
c
e
sa
ndbe
c
a
u
s
ewec
ou
l
dc
ommu
ni
c
a
t
ei
de
a
sg
r
a
phi
c
a
l
l
yt
ha
tdi
dn’
tt
r
a
ns
l
a
t
ei
nt
o
words. This was an old UFW tradition dating back to Andy Zermeño, who drew a famous
early cartoon of a huelguista (striker) for El Malcriado during the first grape strike. Abusive
macho supervisors screaming obscenities, fat bosses with money-bulging pockets trembling
in fright at the arrival of the UFW eagle, workers sweating in the fields and dreaming of a
be
t
t
e
rf
u
t
u
r
e
—t
he
s
ea
ndma
nyot
he
rc
ha
r
a
c
t
e
r
sa
ppe
a
r
e
d on or
g
a
ni
z
i
ngl
e
a
f
l
e
t
s
.The
of
f
i
c
i
a
l
c
a
r
t
ooni
s
t(
or“
pr
opa
g
a
ndi
s
t
”
)oft
hi
sc
a
mpa
i
g
nwa
sAl
be
r
t
oEs
c
a
l
a
nt
e
,
adi
s
c
i
pl
eof
Marshall Ganz (when Alberto arrived in Coachella to work in this campaign, Marshall
called for applause when he walked into the staff meeting to be introduced). I began my
“
a
ppr
e
nt
i
c
e
s
hi
p,
”he
l
pi
nghi
m pr
odu
c
el
e
a
f
l
e
t
sa
ndc
a
r
t
oons
.
Af
t
e
rt
heCoa
c
he
l
l
ac
a
mpa
i
g
n
e
nde
d,
Iha
df
i
ni
s
he
dmy“
a
ppr
e
nt
i
c
e
s
hi
p”a
ndwa
smos
t
l
ywor
k
i
ngonmyown,
a
l
t
hou
g
hI
later collaborated with Alberto in the Giumarra campaign and the UFW convention in
1977 (see below).
Daily, we worked into the night preparing leaflets and copying them on old Gestetner
mi
me
og
r
a
phma
c
hi
ne
st
oha
v
et
he
mr
e
a
dyf
ort
heor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
s
’
c
r
e
wv
i
s
i
t
sa
r
ou
nd5a
.
m.
t
he
following morning. The campaign at each ranch had its own dynamic and issues, and often
required its own daily cartoon. The grape crews started early to avoid the incredible heat;
when Alberto and I came out of the union office at 1 or 2 a.m., the temperature was still
above 100 degrees.
The cartoons and leaflets we produced criticized non-union working conditions and
highlighted the advantage of working under a union contract. There were a few set types
of
t
e
nu
s
e
di
ne
l
e
c
t
i
onc
a
mpa
i
g
ns
.The“
Ope
nLe
t
t
e
r
”s
howe
dt
hes
i
g
na
t
u
r
e
sofa
sma
ny
workers who would sign, pledging their commitment to their coworkers to vote for the
UFW and not be afraid, and was often distributed the day before the election (leafleting on
election day itself was prohibited by the ALRB). It only worked if a strong majority signed,
as we always assumed that a careful count was made of the published signatures; in a few
cases, the organizers were under pressure to find additional signatures at the last minute
be
c
a
u
s
et
henu
mbe
rwa
sde
e
me
dt
oos
ma
l
l
.The“
Ope
nLe
t
t
e
r
”ha
spa
s
s
e
di
nt
owi
de
ru
s
e
,
often including photos of those who signed, at organizing campaigns of other unions using
the NLRB election method of organizing.
Immediately before elections we usually produced Vote UFW or Vota Asi (Vote this way)
posters, usually on paper of bright red or other vivid colors, showing the UFW eagle and a
checkmark in a box. Late at night before an election, the organizers and other staffers often
visited labor camps or other areas where the voting would take place to stick these posters
onwa
l
l
swhe
r
ewor
k
e
r
swou
l
ds
e
et
he
m.Thea
r
c
he
t
y
peoft
hi
spi
e
c
ewa
st
hef
a
mou
s“
La
Br
u
c
eChu
r
c
hEsCha
v
e
z
”(
l
i
t
e
r
a
l
l
y
,“
t
heBr
u
c
eChu
r
c
hi
sCha
v
e
z
,
”whi
c
hwa
ss
hor
t
ha
nd
f
or“
t
hewor
k
e
r
soft
heBr
u
c
eChu
r
c
hc
ompa
nys
u
ppor
tt
heUFW”
)u
s
e
dbe
f
or
et
he
victorious Bruce Church Inc. election in 1976.
The favorites were always those caricaturing specific bosses and supervisors. Even the way
wer
e
por
t
e
dt
he
i
rna
me
sc
ou
l
dbeawe
a
pon,bya
ddi
ng“
Elor“
La
”i
nf
r
ontofna
me
s(
f
or
e
x
a
mpl
e
,ag
r
owe
rna
me
dFr
a
nkwou
l
dbe“
TheFr
a
nk
”
)
,de
not
i
ngt
ha
tt
hepe
r
s
onwa
s
more like a cartoon character than an individual. Once I was going to show the name of a
not
or
i
ou
ss
u
pe
r
v
i
s
orwi
t
hou
tt
he“
El
”
;Al
be
r
t
os
a
i
d,onl
ypa
r
t
l
yj
ok
i
ng
,t
ha
thewou
l
dha
v
e
t
og
e
tMa
r
s
ha
l
l
’
spe
r
mi
s
s
i
ont
ol
e
a
v
eof
ft
he“
El
.
”
As propagandists or graphic artists, we did not have direct responsibility for signing up or
organizing workers. But we always made sure to go along on some visits to field crews at
work, as well as visits to labor camps, ALRB proceedings such as pre-election conferences
a
ndv
ot
ec
ou
nt
s
,
a
ndot
he
rl
oc
a
t
i
onst
ha
tor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
sv
i
s
i
t
e
d—t
ok
e
e
p“
c
l
os
et
ot
heg
r
ou
nd”
so we would know the issues and the atmosphere, and also so we could see and accurately
depict individual supervisors, labor camps, vineyards, citrus orchards, and other day-to-day
facets of farmworker life. And we did help with direct organizing when there was a need.
Once during the Sam Andrews election in Lamont in June of 1977, I gave a ride to a key
worker from his house in Lamont to the voting site at the far south end of the valley and
got him there to vote just before the voting closed.
The Coachella campaign was a rough one. The Riverside County sheriffs intimidated us
whe
ne
v
e
rt
heor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
se
nc
r
oa
c
he
dont
heg
r
owe
r
s
’“
pr
ope
r
t
yr
i
g
ht
s
.
”Fore
x
a
mpl
e
,
Da
v
i
dBa
c
onwa
sa
r
r
e
s
t
e
dr
i
g
hti
nf
r
ontofal
a
r
g
e
l
yFi
l
i
pi
noc
r
e
wa
tMe
l
Pa
k
—t
hes
he
r
i
f
f
s
refused his request to let him walk out of sight of the workers before being arrested, to
lessen their feeling of intimidation.
David and certain other organizers were thought to be particularly skillful in dealing with
Filipino immigrant workers, a group with whom the UFW’
sr
e
l
a
t
i
ons
hi
pwa
ss
ome
t
i
me
s
strained in spite of the historic alliance between Filipino and Mexican farmworkers that
launched the modern f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’mov
e
me
nti
nt
he 1
9
6
0
s
.The r
e
l
a
t
i
ons
hi
pt
ha
t
developed between Cesar and the government of Philippine leader Ferdinand Marcos was
nodou
bti
nt
e
nde
da
sas
i
g
nofr
e
s
pe
c
tf
ort
heu
ni
on’
sFi
l
i
pi
nome
mbe
r
s
,
bu
ti
tdi
dnotpl
a
y
well with many of our members and supporters.
To reach out to the Filipino workers at Mel-Pak, we produced a drawing of the UFW eagle
enclosing idyllic scenes from the Philippines such as a water buffalo and thatched houses,
wi
t
ht
hes
l
og
a
n“
Me
l
Pa
kwor
k
e
r
sf
ort
heUFW”i
nt
het
woma
j
orl
a
ng
u
a
g
e
soft
he
wor
k
e
r
s
:“
Daguiti Agtar-Trabaho iti Mel-Pak quet adda da i
t
iUFW”i
n Ilocano, the
l
a
ng
u
a
g
eofol
de
rFi
l
i
pi
noi
mmi
g
r
a
nt
s
,a
nd“
Ang mga Trabahadores ng Mel-Pak ay para sa
UFW”i
nTagalog.
In fact, during the Coachella campaign there was tension within the UFW staff over this
issue. Meta Mendel Reyes was one of the organizers who complained that other organizers
did not sufficiently take Filipino workers seriously. She was married to Rudy Reyes, one of
the younger Filipino farmworker leaders, who helped me with translations into Tagalog.
On one occasion, Alberto took me to the Freeman camp, which had long been union
(David Freeman was that extreme rarity, a pro-UFW grape grower who had signed one of
the first UFW contracts), and we heard one of the veteran Filipino leaders deliver a long
emotional monologue about the horrors of field work before the union began. At the end,
Al
be
r
t
ol
ook
e
da
tmea
nds
a
i
d
,
“
Nowy
ouk
now.
”Er
ni
eBarrientos, another young Filipino
activist, later gave me a photo (which I still have) of Cesar visiting workers at the Freeman
camp.
The major problem in Coachella was not ethnic but our continued fight against two
“
i
nde
pe
nde
ntu
ni
ons
,
”r
e
mna
nt
soft
heg
r
owe
r
Te
a
ms
t
e
rs
we
e
t
he
a
r
tde
a
l
sof1
9
7
3
:t
he
Independent Union of Agricultural Workers and the even more ridiculously named
International Union of Agricultural Workers (both IUAW). The Teamsters, ostracized in
many labor circles because of their cooperation with the growers in trying to break the
UFW, had mostly stopped competing in ALRB elections by early 1977, but a number of
individual Teamster organizers, steeped in years of anti-UFW bias, formed their own sham
“
u
ni
ons
.
”The
s
es
ma
l
lor
g
a
ni
z
a
t
i
ons
,s
u
ppor
t
e
dbyt
heg
r
owe
r
sa
sdoc
i
l
ea
l
t
e
r
na
t
i
v
e
st
ot
he
UFW, competed successfully in many elections in Coachella, Salinas, Santa Maria, and
elsewhere.
During the UFW grape campaign, the representatives of both IUAWs had a reputation for
being thugs. Marshall Ganz had tires slashed and a car windshield broken, and in one case
a
nI
UAW or
g
a
ni
z
e
rpu
tabu
l
l
hor
nr
i
g
htu
pt
oJ
i
m Dr
a
k
e
’
se
a
ra
ndt
u
r
ne
dt
hes
i
r
e
nonf
u
l
l
blast. Jim, who had come to Coachella for this campaign, later said he had closed his eyes,
g
r
i
t
t
e
dhi
st
e
e
t
h,
a
ndr
e
pe
a
t
e
d“
nonv
i
ol
e
nc
e
,nonv
i
ol
e
nc
e
”t
ohi
ms
e
l
f
—bu
thi
she
a
r
i
ngha
d
been damaged. Once we had an unfair labor practice charge (commonly referred to as a
“
ULP”
)t
ode
l
i
v
e
rt
ooneoft
he“
i
nde
pe
nd
e
ntu
ni
ons
”
—weha
ds
e
e
ns
omeoft
heu
ni
on’
s
representatives eating lunch in a local restaurant, so I went with two or three other staffers
t
ode
l
i
v
e
rt
hec
ha
r
g
e
.Oneofu
sdr
oppe
dt
hec
ha
r
g
eont
heI
UAW r
e
p’
spl
a
t
eoff
ood,a
nd
he immediately jumped up, turned around, and grabbed at me (I was standing the closest)
a
ndt
r
i
e
dt
os
t
u
f
ft
heULPc
ha
r
g
edownmys
hi
r
t
.Wel
e
f
ta
ndt
hec
ha
r
g
ewa
sde
l
i
v
e
r
e
d—
nobodywa
shu
r
t
,bu
tt
hi
swa
st
y
pi
c
a
loft
hebe
ha
v
i
oroft
he“
I
nde
pe
nd
e
nt
”a
nd
“
I
nt
e
r
na
t
i
ona
l
”u
ni
ons
.
This competition is the reason for the Una Sola Union slogan appearing in many of the
l
e
a
f
l
e
t
si
nt
hi
se
s
s
a
y
—Onl
yOne(
Tr
u
e
)Uni
onf
orfarmworkers.
Calexico Field Office
Fa
c
e
dwi
t
ht
he
s
eobs
t
a
c
l
e
s
,
pl
u
st
heg
r
owe
r
s
’
f
i
e
r
c
er
e
s
i
s
t
a
nc
e
,
wel
os
tmos
toft
hee
l
e
c
t
i
ons
during the Coachella campaign except at some smaller ranches. The grape season ended
and the organizers moved away to other campaigns. Before returning to Lamont, I went
for a few weeks to work in the Calexico field office on the Mexican border in the Imperial
Valley and I returned there the following year.
The Imperial Valley is separated from the Coachella Valley by the Salton Sea, by the
Riverside-Imperial county line, and by a stark difference in atmosphere and attitude. The
lettuce workers (lechugueros) and vegetable workers of the Imperial Valley at that time
we
r
es
t
r
ongu
ni
ons
u
ppor
t
e
r
sa
ndt
heg
r
owe
r
sc
ou
l
dn’
te
a
s
i
l
yi
nt
i
mi
da
t
et
he
m.Lu
p
e
Cordova, a lettuce worker and UFW organizer I worked with later in Calexico, used to
pe
r
f
or
m al
i
t
t
l
es
k
i
tc
ont
r
a
s
t
i
ngt
he“
br
a
v
e
”l
e
t
t
u
c
ewor
k
e
rwi
t
ht
he“
t
i
mi
d”g
r
a
pewor
k
e
r
.
On the other hand, Scott Washburn thought that supporting the union for the lechugueros
wa
sa“
bu
s
i
ne
s
s
”orpr
a
c
t
i
c
a
lde
c
i
s
i
ona
sawa
yt
oe
a
r
nbe
t
t
e
rwa
g
e
sr
a
t
he
rt
ha
nou
tofa
sense of belonging to a movement as in the San Joaquin Valley. Who really knows a
pe
r
s
on’
smot
i
v
e
s
?Al
s
o,t
hei
ndu
s
t
r
i
a
lna
t
u
r
eofl
e
t
t
u
c
epr
odu
c
t
i
on—wi
t
hg
i
a
ntl
e
t
t
u
c
e
pa
c
k
i
ngpl
a
t
f
or
mst
r
a
v
e
r
s
i
ngt
hef
i
e
l
dsa
ndma
nys
pe
c
i
a
l
i
z
e
dj
obsi
ne
a
c
hc
r
e
w—pr
oba
bl
y
fostered an atmosphere ripe for organizing.
This difference between the grape and vegetable industries was mirrored in the names of
the companies. In the grape and tree fruit industry, the company names were famous for
reflecting the varied ethnic origins of the men who founded the firms, mostly from winegrowing regions of southern Europe such as Italy (Giumarra, DiGiorgio),
Croatia/Yugoslavia (Malovich, Zaninovich) and Armenia (Karahedian, Mosesian). In the
lettuce and vegetable industry, company names reflected Anglo-Saxon ownership (Bruce
Church, Inc., the Ga
r
i
n Co.
)
,s
omeJ
a
pa
ne
s
e
Ame
r
i
c
a
n(
“
Ni
s
e
i
”
)owne
r
s
hi
p(
S
a
k
a
t
a
,
Oshita), or simply impersonal corporate America (Inter-Harvest, Holtville Farms).
Whatever the reasons, during my time in the UFW we were much more successful in
organizing lettuce and vegetable workers than grape workers, and in the Imperial Valley,
we won every election. But what nobody can take away from the grape workers is that they
were brave enough to found the union in the first place.
In summer, the Imperial Valley is, if anything, even hotter than the Coachella Valley. Much
of it is below sea level, an ancient desert depression made fertile by Colorado River water.
Across the border is the bustling city of Mexicali, capital of Baja California state and home
ofmos
toft
hev
a
l
l
e
y
’
sfarmworkers, who cross the border daily with legal permits to work.
Thewor
k
e
r
s
’mi
l
i
t
a
nc
ypl
u
st
hel
i
v
e
l
ybor
de
ra
t
mos
phe
r
ema
det
heCa
l
e
x
i
c
of
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
ea
fascinating place to work; I spent more time there than in any other field office and it made
the greatest impression on me. The Calexico staff could cross into Mexicali at any time to
visit workers, get cheap automotive services like body work, and relax off-duty in
inexpensive restaurants and clubs. North through Mexicali flowed the sewage-filled New
Ri
v
e
r
,
a
n“
a
c
c
i
de
nt
a
l
”r
i
v
e
rf
or
me
dbyt
hes
a
mec
a
na
lov
e
r
f
l
owt
ha
tc
r
e
a
t
e
dt
heSalton Sea,
into which the river flows.
Iwor
k
e
donaf
e
w pr
oj
e
c
t
sdu
r
i
ngt
hos
ewe
e
k
s
.S
u
mme
ri
st
het
oma
t
os
e
a
s
on—bu
tt
he
work is at night under giant floodlights to avoid the brutal heat. I went to the vote count
for the election at Hubbard Tomatoes at around 1 a.m. and witnessed a 95 to 26 UFW
victory. Driving home at around 3 a.m. and up since early the previous day, I fell asleep at
the wheel and came within inches of smashing head-on into a telephone pole at 40 miles
pe
rhou
r
—ami
s
t
a
k
eIha
v
ene
v
e
rr
e
pe
a
t
e
d,bu
tt
hi
swa
sa
noc
c
u
pa
t
i
ona
lha
z
a
r
dofUFW
or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
s
,a
ndIk
ne
wofc
a
s
e
sofc
a
r
sbe
i
ng“
t
ot
a
l
e
d”bu
tl
u
c
k
i
l
ynos
e
r
i
ou
si
nj
u
r
i
e
s
.For
about a week I worked with another staffer named Mario on a giant banner advertising the
upcoming UFW constitutional convention in Fresno. The UFW practice was to hold
constitutional (i.e., union officer election) conventions in odd years and political
conventions (to endorse candidates) in even years. When we hung the banner outside the
union hall, all of the UFW staff gathered under it to have a group portrait taken, including
Calexico office director Oscar Mondragon, whom I first met during that time, and many
other organizers who went on to work in many different campaigns.
Att
ha
tt
i
meIa
l
s
ome
tAr
t
u
r
oRodr
i
g
u
e
z(
Ce
s
a
r
’
ss
oni
nl
a
w)
,whot
ookov
e
ra
sUFW
pr
e
s
i
de
ntu
ponCe
s
a
r
’
sde
a
t
hi
n1
9
9
3
.
Il
a
t
e
rwor
k
e
de
x
t
e
ns
i
v
e
l
ywi
t
hAr
t
u
r
o(
“
Ar
t
i
e
”a
she
called himself then, particularly with English-speaking volunteers), providing support for a
traveling organizing brigade, and later in the organizing school and boycott operations.
Lamont Field Office
By July of 1977 I returned to Lamont and provided graphic support for several more grape
elections, mostly successful. During one of these campaigns, at Ranch Number One, I
visited the ranch during the pre-election conference held by the ALRB and produced a
cartoon of the scene showing each of the supervisors and owners. They were shown angry
at several ALRB decisions during the conference that were considered hostile to the
g
r
owe
r
’
si
nt
e
r
e
s
t
s
;
wee
nde
du
pwi
nni
ngRa
nc
hNu
mbe
rOnebyahu
g
ema
r
g
i
n(
2
0
3t
o2
4
)
.
We got a boost in Lamont among another ethnic group represented among the grape
wor
k
e
r
si
nt
heS
a
nJ
oa
q
u
i
nVa
l
l
e
ya
swe
l
la
sCoa
c
he
l
l
a
—Ar
a
bi
c
s
pe
a
k
i
ngfarmworkers
from Yemen. The Yemeni farmworkers were well-organized in Lamont (as in other areas),
and we got word that they had met as a community and voted to support the UFW in the
organizing elections. Filipino farmworkers also worked the Lamont vineyards, so for some
campaigns we produced materials in Spanish, Arabic, Tagalog, and Ilocano. We got help in
our Arabic translations by a local doctor in the Lamont medical clinic. We got to know one
of the young Yemeni farmworker leaders, Hamid Nasser, who (I believe) worked as a
UFW organizer during some of the campaigns in Coachella. Once, while I was stationed in
Lamont, Hamid invited some of the staff to his apartment where he prepared a Yemeni
meal for us, seasoned by lots of black pepper.
Nagi Daifullah, killed by Lamont police during the 1973 grape strike, was the martyr of the
Yemeni farmworkers. One of the memorable scenes from Fighting for Our Lives shows
his funeral procession, with a local religious leader chanting Islamic verses. Unfortunately,
controversy over Middle East politics intruded: the original cut of the film showed the
Yemeni workers carrying a large portrait of Gamal Abdel Nasser, the Egyptian president
who was a political hero in the Arab world. But here Nasser was unpopular for his
confrontation with the West and support for the Soviet Union; later versions of Fighting
for Our Lives did not show the Nasser portrait.
Giumarra Campaign
Now the San Joaquin Valley grape harvest was approaching its peak, and the union
plunged into an ambitious new campaign: Giumarra vineyards. This Kern County company
was the biggest table grape grower and a legendary old UFW adversary dating back to the
1960s. Like the Coachella drive, this was a massive campaign that pulled in a lot of the
u
ni
on’
sr
e
s
ou
r
c
e
s
.Ma
nyi
mpor
t
a
ntl
e
a
de
r
sc
a
met
opa
r
t
i
c
i
pa
t
e
,wi
t
hJ
i
m Dr
a
k
ei
nov
e
r
a
l
l
charge. Even Fred Ross, Sr., who had concentrated on training boycott organizers for
many years, went along on some visits to grape crews to sign up workers. Support for the
Giumarra fight was the focus of the UFW convention in Fresno at the end of August. Yet
given our recent history in the grape industry, we all knew this would be a very tough
campaign to win.
The Gi
u
ma
r
r
ac
a
mpa
i
g
ng
a
v
emet
heoppor
t
u
ni
t
yt
ol
i
v
ea
ndwor
ki
nt
heu
ni
on’
shi
s
t
or
i
c
heart in Delano. I stayed in Agbayani Village, a retirement compound originally started for
Filipino farmworkers, located in Forty Acres, where the UFW began as the United Farm
Worker Organizing Committee (UFWOC) in the 1960s. This is where Cesar conducted his
early protest fasts that won him worldwide fame and where Robert Kennedy and Walter
Reuther came to show their support. Although not as exciting in later days as the Imperial
Valley, it felt like a great honor to be able to live and work there, even if only briefly.
Giumarra fought against our campaign with the usual intimidation, anti-union propaganda,
and personal pressure from supervisors. In the non-union ranches, unless the grower used
a labor contractor, the supervisors in charge of crews did the hiring and sometimes also
provided transportation, food and/or housing to the workers during the harvest season. So
awor
k
e
rwhowe
nta
g
a
i
ns
tt
hei
nt
e
r
e
s
toft
hes
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
—s
u
ppor
t
i
ngt
heu
ni
on—f
e
l
the
or she was jeopardizing his or her job and ride to work. The ALRA stipulated penalties for
unfair labor practices modeled after the National Labor Relations Act (which excludes
farmworkers), but abuses still occurred constantly during organizing.
There were some bright moments. One day I went with some organizers to visit a new
grape crew. In many of the well-established vineyards, the grape vines top out very high off
the ground, and when the grape leaves are thick in summer, walking through the vineyard
feels like exploring a hedge maze. We turned the corner on one row and started down the
ne
x
tr
owa
ndr
a
nr
i
g
hti
nt
oaf
a
mi
l
i
a
rUFW a
c
t
i
v
i
s
tf
r
om t
heCoa
c
he
l
l
ac
a
mpa
i
g
n—now
working for Gi
u
ma
r
r
a
—whoha
dbe
e
nf
i
r
e
df
orwe
a
r
i
ngaUFW bu
t
t
ona
ndr
e
i
ns
t
a
t
e
don
orders of the ALRB. He immediately joined the campaign and agreed to sign up his
coworkers.
Just as we were producing leaflets and graphics as part of our organizing campaign,
Gi
u
ma
r
r
ac
ou
nt
e
r
e
du
swi
t
hs
ophi
s
t
i
c
a
t
e
dc
a
r
t
oonspl
a
y
i
ngont
hewor
k
e
r
s
’
f
e
a
r
sa
bou
tt
he
union. Typical anti-union themes were the union robbing workers of their money, the
u
ni
onf
i
r
i
ngwor
k
e
r
sf
orv
i
ol
a
t
i
ng“
u
ni
onwor
kr
u
l
e
s
,
”a
ndc
a
r
t
oonsma
k
i
ngf
u
nofu
ni
on
organizers, their tactics, and their motives. Some cartoons satirized individual UFW
organizers just as we satirized individual supervisors or bosses. Arturo Mendoza, later a
me
mbe
roft
heUFW e
x
e
c
u
t
i
v
eboa
r
d,wa
spor
t
r
a
y
e
dt
a
k
i
ngawor
k
e
r
’
smone
yf
or“
du
e
s
,
f
i
ne
s
,a
ndmys
a
l
a
r
y
.
”Vi
c
t
orGa
r
c
i
aa
nd,l
a
t
e
ri
nS
a
l
i
na
s
,J
ohnBr
own,we
r
ea
l
s
ot
a
r
g
e
t
sof
such cartoons. A series of cartoon panels showed a young woman organizer seducing
workers to get them to support the union. Another leaflet quoted a worker complaining
a
bou
t“
Eldosporciento que es un dolor de cabeza, y el despacho que es un dolor de
e
s
t
óma
g
o”
—“
The2pe
r
c
e
nt[
i
.
e
.UFW u
ni
ondu
e
s
,whi
c
hwe
r
eaf
i
x
e
d2pe
r
c
e
ntof
income] which is a headache and the dispatch [i.e. the hiring hall], which is a stomach
a
c
he
.
”
That these attacks did resonate with some workers showed how hard it had been to build
this union out of nothing in the hostile environment of agriculture. The UFW could not
have survived without a steady dues income to support organizing and representation
activities, and even so was forced to constantly seek outside donations and not pay its staff
a salary like other unions but only a stipend for basic living expenses. Similarly, the hiring
hall was necessary to break the power of the labor contractors and other abusive hiring
me
t
hods
—u
nf
or
t
u
na
t
e
l
y
,wedi
dhe
a
rs
omec
ompl
a
i
nt
sofpa
s
ta
bu
s
e
sa
ndf
a
v
or
i
t
i
s
mi
n
ha
ndi
ngou
t“
di
s
pa
t
c
he
s
”(
wor
kr
e
f
e
r
r
a
l
s
)
.Whe
nIc
a
met
owor
ki
nt
hef
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
e
s
,I
be
l
i
e
v
et
heu
ni
on’
sl
e
a
de
r
s
hi
p wa
sa
wa
r
eoft
he
s
epa
s
ta
bu
s
e
s
—whi
c
h ha
d be
e
nt
he
e
x
c
e
pt
i
on,nott
henor
m—a
ndha
dwor
k
e
dt
oe
l
i
mi
na
t
et
he
m.Bu
tnoma
t
t
e
rhow ba
da
potential hiring hall abuse could be, it could not compare to the ingrained abuse of some
labor contractors or growers who took bribes in return for jobs, transported workers in
unsafe vehicles, housed them in substandard housing, and fed them with substandard
f
ood—a
ndt
he
nt
ot
opi
tof
f
,c
ha
r
g
e
dwor
k
e
r
sf
ort
he
s
es
e
r
v
i
c
e
s
,s
ot
he
ys
ome
t
i
me
se
nde
d
up owing the boss rather than receiving any wage at all.
As many organizers observed, the hand that gave the worker the anti-union leaflet was the
s
a
meha
ndt
ha
tg
a
v
ehi
m hi
spa
y
c
he
c
k
—s
oi
twa
sbou
ndt
obet
a
k
e
ns
e
r
i
ou
s
l
y
.Gi
u
ma
r
r
a
’
s
campaign of intimidation and propaganda defeated us by a vote of 900 to 673, with 191
striker or other votes that were not counted since they would not have changed the result.
The next day in the Lamont office, Jim Drake had us remove all vestiges of the Giumarra
c
a
mpa
i
g
n—l
e
a
f
l
e
t
s
,s
i
g
ns
,ba
nne
r
s
,a
nda
ny
t
hi
nge
l
s
ec
onne
c
t
e
dt
oGiumarra, so that we
could move on.
Calexico Field Office
Giumarra was the last of the grape organizing campaigns that I worked in. In November or
December 1977, I moved to Calexico to work providing support for the organizing team
that Arturo Rodriguez was putting together.
Shortly after I arrived back in Calexico, we got great news. On December 13, 1977, the
ALRB certified the UFW as the official winner of the representation election at Bruce
Church Inc. (BCI). Lettuce grower Bruce Church (called la Brocha by workers in the
Imperial Valley and Salinas) was like Giumarra in the grape industry, a fiercely anti-union
industry giant. On November 30, 1976, in the first great organizing wave after the
Pr
opos
i
t
i
on1
4de
f
e
a
t
,t
heUFW ha
dbe
a
t
e
nt
heTe
a
ms
t
e
r
sby4
6
2t
o3
1
1
,pl
u
s1
7“
No
Uni
on”v
ot
e
s
.Thec
ha
l
l
e
ng
e
da
ndv
oi
dba
l
l
ot
st
ot
a
l
e
d1
1
3
,s
ot
her
e
s
u
l
twa
sac
l
e
a
rUFW
victory; predictably, BCI filed objections to the election, stating that such activities as UFW
or
g
a
ni
z
i
nga
c
t
i
v
i
t
i
e
sha
di
nt
i
mi
da
t
e
dt
hewor
k
e
r
sa
nd“
t
a
i
nt
e
d”t
her
e
s
u
l
t
.Al
mos
tay
e
a
r
later, after an intensive investigation, the ALRB dismissed the objections and ordered BCI
to negotiate a contract with the UFW. This decision obviously boosted our spirits,
vindicated our organizing tactics, and set the stage for the many election victories in 1978.
As stated above, the Teamsters mostly pulled out of agricultural organizing after that,
although Teamsters Local 890 in Salinas still represents workers at lettuce/vegetable
growers like Bud Antle, as well as associated businesses like Basic Vegetable Products, a
packinghouse in King City where the workers won a celebrated 25-month-long strike in
2001.
The Bruce Church story did not end there. Despite the ALRB decision, BCI still refused to
negotiate fairly, and ultimately, Bruce Church and its flagship brand Red Coach lettuce was
our main target during my years in the boycott, starting in 1978. The battle with Bruce
Church lasted for many years: When Cesar died in Yuma, Arizona, in April of 1993, he was
there to defend the union against a multimillion dollar lawsuit brought by BCI against the
Red Coach boycott. Finally in 1995, UFW president Arturo Rodriguez reached a contract
settlement with the new president of Bruce Church, Steve Taylor. Predictably, news reports
personalized this victory by saying it had only become possible once the original
a
nt
a
g
oni
s
t
s(
Ce
s
a
ra
ndpr
e
v
i
ou
sBCIpr
e
s
i
de
ntTe
dTa
y
l
or
,S
t
e
v
e
’
sf
a
t
he
r
)we
r
eg
onef
r
om
the scene.
Besides brief visits to Mexicali, the Calexico staff had the opportunity to make longer
excursions into other destinations in Baja California such as Ensenada and San Felipe, a
beach resort on the coast of the Gulf of California (also known as the Sea of Cortez) south
of Mexicali. During the Christmas-New Year break in 1977, my former boycott organizer
from Palo Alto, Jim Hirsch, came to visit and we spent a weekend at San Felipe together
with another Calexico staffer.
Watsonville Field Office
Unlike 1977, 1978 was a year of steady victories rather than glorious defeats for the
c
a
mpa
i
g
nst
ha
tIwor
k
e
di
n—pa
r
t
i
c
u
l
a
r
l
yi
nt
heI
mpe
r
i
a
lVa
l
l
e
y
,Ox
na
r
d,a
ndt
hei
ni
t
i
a
l
phase of the Salinas campaign. Most memorably, the Oxnard campaign among the
l
i
mone
r
os
,whi
c
h bu
i
l
tof
ft
hewor
k
e
r
s
’s
t
r
i
k
ea
tCoa
s
t
a
lGr
owe
r
s
,wa
sc
l
os
et
oa
spontaneous worker revolt against abusive bosses in an industry that the UFW had not
done much work in before.
The first Calexico election was Desert Seed in December 1977, which we won by 95 to 26.
In January 1978, we took a brief excursion to Watsonville. In Watsonville the office
administrator was Lisa Feldberg, with whom I later worked in Calexico and, after leaving
the UFW, on Central America solidarity work in San Jose. At Miranda-Ariel mushrooms in
Wa
t
s
onv
i
l
l
e
,
wef
a
c
e
dy
e
ta
not
he
ri
nde
pe
nde
nt“
u
ni
on,
”t
heCa
l
i
f
or
ni
aI
nde
pe
nde
ntUni
on
(CIU), which seemed to have been created by this grower specifically to defeat the UFW.
Oscar Mondragon, the office director of Watsonville as well as Calexico and a great source
of Mexican folklore, suggested one of our organizing leaflet titles: Río r
e
v
u
e
l
t
o—ganancia
de pe
s
a
c
a
dor
e
s(
e
s
s
e
nt
i
a
l
l
y
,“
Tr
ou
bl
e
dwa
t
e
r
s
—f
i
s
he
r
me
n’
sl
u
c
k
,
”whi
c
hwa
si
nt
e
nde
dt
o
mean that only the boss wins when workers or unions fight among themselves). Ultimately,
a
ss
oof
t
e
nha
ppe
nswhe
nwor
k
e
r
su
nde
r
s
t
oodt
ha
toneoft
he
s
ephony“
u
ni
ons
”wa
st
he
bos
s
’
sc
hoi
c
e
,t
heCI
U de
f
e
a
t
e
du
s
.AtMi
r
a
nda
Ar
i
e
la
nd l
a
t
e
ra
tne
a
r
byMont
e
r
e
y
Mushrooms, which the union organized successfully, I was able to visit the mushroom
production areas, which are like nothing else in agriculture: cool, dark caverns where
workers tend the fungus with plentiful applications of fertilizer.
Calexico Field Office
Re
t
u
r
ni
ngt
o Ca
l
e
x
i
c
of
r
om Wa
t
s
onv
i
l
l
e
,Ar
t
u
r
o’
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngt
e
a
m won f
i
v
es
t
r
a
i
g
ht
e
l
e
c
t
i
onv
i
c
t
or
i
e
s
.
AtHol
t
v
i
l
l
eFa
r
ms
,
as
ma
l
lc
a
r
r
otg
r
owe
rl
oc
a
t
e
di
nHol
t
v
i
l
l
e
,
t
he“
c
a
r
r
ot
c
a
pi
t
a
lofCa
l
i
f
or
ni
a
,
”t
hewor
k
e
r
sc
ompl
a
i
ne
da
bou
ta
nu
nu
s
u
a
l
l
ya
bu
s
i
v
es
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
,
nicknamed El Búfalo (The Buffalo), a big man who swore continually and pushed the
wor
k
e
r
sbe
y
onde
ndu
r
a
nc
e
.Ba
s
e
dont
hewor
k
e
r
s
’de
s
c
r
i
pt
i
ona
tame
e
t
i
ng
,Ipr
odu
c
e
da
drawing of El Búfalo, which was a big hit. In all of our campaigns, workers loved to see
s
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
sorg
r
owe
r
s
—ov
e
rwhom t
he
yha
dnopowe
ra
ta
l
la
si
ndi
v
i
du
a
lwor
k
e
r
s
—
personally caricatured and ridiculed in our leaflets. In a typical development, once the UFW
campaign began El Búfalo magically changed his character, gave out new caps, and started
pa
y
i
ng“
s
howu
ppa
y
”t
ha
tha
dbe
e
nde
ni
e
dbe
f
or
e
.
Wewont
ha
te
l
e
c
t
i
onby2
0t
o7
.
Like grapes, the lettuce season in California moves from place to place during the year. The
major winter season is in the Imperial Valley, with smaller harvests in two outlying oases
ont
heCol
or
a
doRi
v
e
r
,whe
r
et
heUFW ma
i
nt
a
i
ne
d“
br
a
nc
hof
f
i
c
e
s
”u
nde
rt
heg
e
ne
r
a
l
j
u
r
i
s
di
c
t
i
onofCa
l
e
x
i
c
o—Yu
ma(
i
nAr
i
z
ona
)a
ndBl
y
t
he(
i
nCa
l
i
f
or
ni
a
,me
nt
i
one
da
bov
ei
n
the Proposition 14 section). From there the harvest moves north to several small areas in
the San Joaquin Valley, including Lamont (where lettuce is only a minor crop) and Huron,
on the west edge of the valley in Fresno County. Finally in the summer, the Salinas Valley
has largest lettuce season of all, with some production in nearby areas like Watsonville.
Or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
sf
oc
u
s
e
dont
hel
e
t
t
u
c
e
v
e
g
e
t
a
bl
ei
ndu
s
t
r
yf
ol
l
owe
dt
hi
s“
l
e
t
t
u
c
ec
i
r
c
u
i
t
.
”
Ar
t
u
r
o’
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngt
e
a
ma
ndmu
c
hoft
heot
he
rCa
l
e
x
i
c
os
t
a
f
ff
ol
l
owe
dt
hi
sc
i
r
c
u
i
t
.
Al
mos
t
entirely out of the farmworker rank-and-file, this group included many strong personalities.
Lupe Cordova (from San Luis Rí
oCol
or
a
do,S
onor
a
—me
nt
i
one
da
bov
e
)
,He
c
t
orPe
r
e
z
,
and Gilberto Rodriguez (from the tough town of Brawley in the northern Imperial Valley)
were all experienced, if sometimes cynical, organizers, and taught me lessons that helped
mei
nmyownwor
ka
sa“
pr
opa
g
a
ndi
s
t
.
”Gi
l
be
r
t
oa
l
s
ot
e
a
me
du
pf
r
e
q
u
e
nt
l
ywi
t
ht
wo
ot
he
ror
g
a
ni
z
e
r
swho ha
d as
u
pe
r
t
ou
g
h,ma
c
ho i
ma
g
e
—Lu
peBa
u
t
i
s
t
aa
nd Calacas
(skeleton figure), who was known universally by this nickname derived from his tall, thin
frame and scarred face. Once when Gilberto, Lupe, and Calacas had gone to organize a
melon (cantaloupe) grower, I produced a drawing of the melons jumping off the ground in
t
e
r
r
ora
tt
he
i
ra
ppr
oa
c
h—a
l
t
hou
g
hs
omeq
u
e
s
t
i
one
dt
hi
s
,s
a
y
i
ngt
he
ywe
r
enomor
eorl
e
s
s
successful than other UFW organizers of the time. Other staffers working the lettuce
circuit (on the member representation side) were Ken Fujimoto and Ramon Medina
Medina from Me
x
i
c
a
l
i
.“
Me
di
naMe
di
na
”ha
dac
oi
nc
i
de
nt
a
lLa
t
i
nAme
r
i
c
a
ndou
bl
el
a
s
t
na
me(
f
r
om t
hel
a
s
tna
meofe
a
c
hpa
r
e
nt
’
sf
a
t
he
r
)bu
ti
ts
ou
nde
dodd,a
nds
omej
ok
i
ng
l
y
c
a
l
l
e
dhi
m“
Ra
monRa
mon.
”
Several top-level UFW leaders were also in the Imperial Valley that winter, including
Marshall Ganz, Jessica Govea, who was working to initiate Proyecto Mexicali, an extension
of the UFW medical plan to provide medical services on the Mexican side of the border,
and Roberto Garcia, one of the most prominent rank-and-file leaders from the Salinas.
Working in Calexico also gave me the opportunity to explore Mexicali in the course of my
work. Once, on some mission, I was driving to the Colonia Independencia, a large new
district on the eastern edge of Mexicali where the streets were unpaved, when I got stuck in
thick mud during a heavy rainstorm and had to enlist the help of the neighborhood
residents in pushing my car out of the mud. Later, hearing about this incident, Arturo
Mendoza commented that places like Colonia I
nde
pe
nde
nc
i
awe
r
e“
of
fl
i
mi
t
s
”du
r
i
ngt
he
r
a
i
n—bu
ts
ome
t
i
me
sweha
dt
og
ot
he
r
ea
ny
wa
y
.Ona
not
he
roc
c
a
s
i
on,Iv
i
s
i
t
e
dawor
k
e
r
in Mexicali to invite him to a meeting; while sitting in his living room, I glanced around at a
portrait of Cesar and other UFW posters he had on his wall. He reacted angrily, thinking I
wa
ss
e
e
k
i
ngt
ov
e
r
i
f
yhi
sUFW l
oy
a
l
t
y
,
bu
tt
ha
twa
s
n’
tmyi
nt
e
nta
ta
l
l
.
The UFW was not strong everywhere in the Imperial Valley: lettuce grower Royal Packing
had resisted being organized but sparked a revolt by its workers that winter when it tried to
reintroduce la bu
r
r
a
—al
ow,por
t
a
bl
el
e
t
t
u
c
e
pa
c
k
i
ngpl
a
t
f
or
mt
ha
tc
a
u
s
e
ds
e
v
e
r
eba
c
k
problems. Roberto Garcia got a big kick out of a cartoon he asked me to do about this
protest at Royal Packing, complete with supervisors ordering the workers back to work at
g
u
npoi
nt(
Iwa
st
ol
dt
hi
sha
dha
ppe
ne
d—Idi
dn’
twi
t
ne
s
si
t
)
.
Bu
tt
hi
swa
st
hee
x
c
e
pt
i
on.
Mario Saikhon owned a lettuce company of the same name that had been organized the
previous year; at the contract ratification meeting I attended at a local college campus,
Saikhon drew cheers when he put on a UFW cap after the workers voted to ratify the
contract. Also at this meeting, UFW negotiator Ann Smith impressed the UFW volunteers
present by showing a diagram of the union contract divided into sections such as Worker
Ri
g
ht
s
,
Uni
onRi
g
ht
sa
ndEc
onomi
c
s–a
na
na
l
y
s
i
st
ha
tIha
v
es
e
e
nwi
de
l
yu
s
e
ds
i
nc
et
he
n.
Oxnard Field Office
By March, the Imperial Valley season had ended, and the organizing team relocated to
Salinas to begin working on campaigns there and in Watsonville. Soon after arriving,
however, I was told on short notice to pack up for a brief assignment in the Oxnard field
office in Ventura County.
The coastal areas of Ventura County, immediately west of Los Angeles, have what many
wou
l
dt
hi
nka
na
l
mos
tpe
r
f
e
c
tc
l
i
ma
t
e
—wa
r
me
rt
ha
nc
oa
s
t
a
l
a
r
e
a
sf
a
r
t
he
rnor
t
hl
i
k
eS
a
l
i
n
a
s
and Watsonville, but without the heat of inland areas like the San Joaquin, Coachella, and
I
mpe
r
i
a
lv
a
l
l
e
y
s
.S
e
ns
i
t
i
v
ea
g
r
i
c
u
l
t
u
r
a
lpr
odu
c
t
sl
i
k
et
hec
l
i
ma
t
ej
u
s
ta
smu
c
h—l
e
monsa
nd
avocado thrived here, as well as strawberries, mushrooms and other high-value crops.
Lemons, more sensitive to cold than other citrus fruits such as oranges, dominated the
Santa Clara River valley from Saticoy near the coast through the farming towns of Santa
Paula, Fillmore, and Piru. Ventura is the county seat, but the UFW office was in the larger
c
i
t
yofOx
na
r
dt
ot
hes
ou
t
h—i
nt
heMe
x
i
c
a
nChi
c
a
nodi
s
t
r
i
c
tk
nowna
sLaColonia.
Citrus fruit had not been a principal focus of the UFW, except in Florida where the union
had a long-standing presence with Minute Maid and other orange producers. But this
industry had its own abuses: the fruit is heavy and carrying a full bag is backbreaking work;
faces, necks, hands, and arms get scratched by the branches; and in fact the failure of some
growers to provide high-quality gloves was an organizing issue in our campaigns. (I knew a
little about this firsthand as I had worked for one day in the late 1960s with two college
friends picking lemons near Goleta in Santa Barbara County.)
Coastal Growers (actually an association of citrus growers) was the dominant employer in
the lemon industry; it gave out free postcards for employees to send to family members
and attract new workers, showing a long line of yellow farm labor buses with the driver
s
t
a
ndi
ngi
nf
r
ontofe
a
c
hbu
s
,a
ndame
s
s
a
g
eont
heba
c
ke
x
t
ol
l
i
ngt
hec
ompa
ny
’
ss
u
pe
r
i
or
working conditions. Nevertheless, workers at Coastal Growers had voted for the UFW by
an incredible 897 to 42 in March of 1978 and quickly went on strike to demand a quick
contract, which broke out before I went to Oxnard. The Coastal Growers strike became a
local legend complete with corridos (ballads, Mexican folk songs) commemorating it. The
workers stayed on strike until they won an acceptable contract.
Seeing an opportunity to quickly organize the whole industry, the UFW rushed in
organizers and other staff, and the campaign was in full swing when I arrived in April.
Eliseo Medina was the director of the Oxnard office (and of Coachella, as stated above)
and the star of one of the corridos, which featured a verse rhyming Eliseo with desempleo
(unemployment), noting that the strikers had gone to apply for unemployment insurance.
Arturo Rodriguez came with some of his team; Jim Drake came briefly, along with Scott
Washburn and Roberto (Bobby) De La Cruz, another UFW leader.
Another organizer who arrived was Lupe Murguia (who later moved with us to Cleveland
with his wife, Kathy, and children, to work on the boycott there), about whom it was said
that he could walk into a room full of farmworkers and immediately identify the natural
l
e
a
de
r
soft
heg
r
ou
p—bu
tt
ha
thec
ou
l
dbeha
r
dt
owor
kwi
t
h.AndOx
na
r
di
swhe
r
eIa
l
s
o
first met one of the more senior organizers, Frank Ortiz, later on the UFW executive board
and the head of the Red Coach lettuce boycott, to whom I and other boycott organizers
reported.
In the wake of Coastal Growers, the union quickly won overwhelming victories at four
ot
he
rl
e
mon c
ompa
ni
e
s
—Limoneira, Rancho Sespe, L&O and MOD. At L&O the
wor
k
e
r
sv
ot
e
d1
6
2t
o1
4f
orUFW r
e
pr
e
s
e
nt
a
t
i
on—t
hehi
g
he
s
tUFW v
ot
epe
r
c
e
nt
a
g
ei
n
any of the campaigns I worked in, except at much smaller N.A. Pricola in Calexico, where
we won by 27 to 1. Cesar visited Oxnard for a big rally with the limoneros at the height of
the campaign.
My most vivid memory of that campaign was at the third election, Rancho Sespe. On the
evening before the election we held a big rally at the Rancho Sespe labor camp in the hills
behind Fillmore. Arturo Rodriguez came to speak to the workers, and we played Luchando
por Nuestras Vidas (the Spanish-language version of Fighting for Our Lives). At that
mome
nt
,we“
owne
d”t
hec
a
mp.Al
mos
te
v
e
r
ywor
k
e
ra
t
t
e
nde
d,a
ndi
fs
omedi
dnot
support the union (as clearly was the case based on the vote results), they kept it quiet
during the rally. Red UFW flags and posters (stuck on buildings or light posts in those days
wi
t
h“
whe
a
tpa
s
t
e
,
”ami
x
t
u
r
eofwa
t
e
ra
ndf
l
ou
rt
ha
twa
sv
e
r
ydi
f
f
i
c
u
l
tt
or
e
mov
ewh
e
n
dried) surrounded the central area where the rally occurred, and the workers pledged their
determination to fight for justice and a fair contract.
Santa Maria Field Office
After our quick victories in Oxnard, I returned briefly to Salinas, but in June I was once
again headed south on Highway 101, this time to Santa Maria at the northern edge of Santa
Barbara County. At Santa Maria, the coastline faces west, instead of south-southwest as in
Oxnard and Santa Barbara on the other side of Point Concepcion, so the climate is cool
and often overcast, as in Watsonville and other areas to the north.
Santa Maria had a mid-sized agricultural industry based on crops that thrived in this
climate, such as celery and broccoli. The UFW office in Santa Maria was very cozy and
featured a full kitchen in the meeting hall. The local office director was Pete Cohen, whom
Iha
dn’
ts
e
e
nf
oranu
mbe
rofy
e
a
r
s
.Heha
dma
r
r
i
e
dawoma
nf
r
om t
hec
ommu
ni
t
ya
nd
settled down there. The situation for the union was not so good. In Santa Maria the
Teamsters had been organizing farmworkers under a local leader named Bart Coto. Before
we arrived, the Teamsters had reached a truce with the UFW, and the local newspaper had
featured a photo of Bart Coto walking and chatting amiably with Cesar. As elsewhere,
some of the Teamster organizers did not accept the truce and continued opposing the
UFW under the banner of one of the IUAWs (mentioned above in the Coachella section).
The organizing team, including Scott and Rob Everts, with whom I worked in Salinas later
that year, participated in elections at two celery growers, Phelan & Taylor and Point Sal.
We lost both of those elections to the IUAW; at Phelan & Taylor, we were able to get the
ALRBt
o“
s
e
ta
s
i
de
”t
hef
i
r
s
tPhe
l
a
n& Ta
y
l
ore
l
e
c
t
i
on(
t
hr
ow ou
tt
her
e
s
u
l
t
sdu
et
oa
n
atmosphere of coercion and order a new election). Then we lost the second election also.
The holdover influence of the Teamsters/IUAW was still strong. For example, one of the
e
l
e
c
t
i
onst
ookpl
a
c
es
hor
t
l
ya
f
t
e
rFa
t
he
r
’
sDa
y(
J
u
ne1
8
,
1
9
7
8
)
.
Ont
ha
tda
yt
hel
oc
a
l
I
UAW
organizer came upon us while we were busily driving around a small town visiting workers.
Het
a
u
nt
e
du
s
,s
a
y
i
ng“
You
’
r
ewor
k
i
ng
?I
t
’
sFa
t
he
r
’
sDa
y
!I
’
mg
oi
ngt
ot
hebe
a
c
hwi
t
hmy
k
i
ds
!
”
The farm labor force in Santa Maria included a lot of Filipino farmworkers. As discussed
above in the Coachella section, the UFW had trouble winning the support of some Filipino
workers during this time based on an incorrect reputation as a union for Mexicans. I did a
house visit to one worker to urge his support for the UFW; he roomed in a house with an
Ang
l
of
a
mi
l
y
,
a
nddu
r
i
ngmyv
i
s
i
ti
nt
hef
a
mi
l
y
’
sl
i
v
i
ngr
oom,
t
hewi
f
ei
nt
e
r
j
e
c
t
e
dhe
r
s
e
l
fby
t
e
l
l
i
ngt
hewor
k
e
rhes
hou
l
dg
e
thi
ss
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
’
sa
dv
i
c
eonwhe
t
he
rt
ov
ot
ef
ort
heu
ni
on.
Obviously, this was not the advice I was giving. A more troubling incident involved UFW
executive board member Pete Velasco (of the older, Ilocano-speaking generation), who
came to help out with the Filipino crews. In a visit to one of the labor camps, a worker ran
u
pt
oPe
t
eVe
l
a
s
c
oa
ndhi
thi
m.Ke
e
pi
nghi
sc
ool
,Pe
t
ea
s
k
e
dt
hewor
k
e
r
,“
Doy
out
hi
nk
t
hi
swi
l
lma
k
ehi
m(
t
hebos
s
)l
ov
ey
ou
?
”Al
s
oi
nS
a
nt
aMa
r
i
aIhe
a
r
dt
heu
ni
q
u
eu
s
eoft
he
wor
d“
c
ompou
nd”byt
heFi
l
i
pi
noc
r
e
ws
,a
si
n“
t
a
k
i
ngc
ompou
nd”(
me
a
ni
ng
,t
a
k
i
nga
lunch break).
Salinas Field Office
In July of 1978, after the Santa Maria losses, the organizing team plunged into the Salinas
s
u
mme
ror
g
a
ni
z
i
ngc
a
mpa
i
g
n—t
hebi
g
g
e
s
twi
t
hwhi
c
hIwa
si
nv
ol
v
e
dt
ha
ty
e
a
r
.The
S
a
l
i
na
sVa
l
l
e
ys
t
r
e
t
c
he
ss
ome6
0mi
l
e
sf
r
om Ca
s
t
r
ov
i
l
l
eont
hec
oa
s
t
,t
he“
a
r
t
i
c
hok
ec
a
pi
t
a
l
oft
hewor
l
d,
”t
hr
ou
g
hS
a
l
i
na
s(
Mont
e
r
e
yCou
nt
ys
e
a
t
)a
ndGonz
a
l
e
s(
“
s
a
l
a
dbowlof
Ame
r
i
c
a
,
”ana
mea
l
s
oa
ppl
i
e
dt
ot
her
e
g
i
ona
sawhol
e
)t
oKi
ngCi
t
ya
tt
hes
ou
t
he
r
ne
nd.
The major national lettuce growers like Bruce Church and Interharvest (la Inter as the
farmworkers called it, the largest UFW-affiliated lettuce company at that time, later bought
by citrus giant Sun-World) were headquartered in Salinas. Without the added border
atmosphere of the Imperial Valley, the Salinas Valley was simply a giant agricultural factory
producing lettuce, broccoli, strawberries, nursery products, sugar beets, and other crops
(increasingly in recent years including wine grapes). Very little of the valley land was wasted
on non-production; the Salinas Valley labor camps always seemed (to me, at least),
particularly bleak, treeless, and utilitarian compared to those in other parts of the state.
Many of the Salinas staff had also worked in Calexico during the winter, and I met new
people as well, including two Anglo organizers with whom I kept in touch in later years,
Rob Everts and Gretchen Laue. John Brown, who had spent years working in the Bay Area
boy
c
ot
tof
f
i
c
e
s(
whe
r
ehea
c
q
u
i
r
e
dt
heu
ni
v
e
r
s
a
lni
c
k
na
me“
J
B”
)
,c
a
met
owor
ka
sa
n
organizer; Hector Perez (who had his home in nearby Castroville), Ramon Medina Medina,
and Lupe Cordova came north to work in these campaigns.
Jessica Govea and Bill Granfield held leadership positions on the contract administration
side of the Salinas operation. Roberto Garcia had his base in Salinas and held a leadership
position in the Salinas office. Often after a successful organizing victory or other event, he
would take the staff to eat a lavish seafood dinner at the Gutierrez restaurant in Salinas, a
favorite local hangout that is still in business.
Another young new staffer, Saul ____, quickly became a star organizer and formed a
friendship with John Brown. He had a vivid way of talking to workers and using his body
language. I clearly remember the first time I saw him speak to workers in one of the labor
c
a
mps
:a
tt
hehi
g
hpoi
ntofhi
s“
r
a
p,
”hes
u
dde
nl
ybe
ntf
or
wa
r
da
tt
hewa
i
s
twhi
l
er
a
i
s
i
ng
hi
sv
oi
c
e
,
a
ndg
r
a
bbe
de
v
e
r
y
one
’
sa
t
t
e
nt
i
on.
Thef
ol
l
owi
ngy
e
a
r
,
i
nt
heor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngs
c
hoola
t
LaPa
z
,hec
ont
i
nu
e
dhi
sc
ol
or
f
u
li
ma
g
ea
ndwa
sg
i
v
e
nt
heni
c
k
na
me“
Bou
l
e
v
a
r
dNi
g
ht
s
”
after a movie that came out that year about the Chicano youth culture in East L.A.
Also that summer, in a visit to another labor camp, I met Salvador (Chava) Bustamante, a
rank-and-file leader who later joined the UFW staff and who works with me now in SEIU
Local 1877. Chava had an intense but quiet way of dealing with people that eventually
made him a very effective labor leader. Cha
v
a
’
sbr
ot
he
rMa
r
i
owa
sa
l
s
oal
e
a
de
roft
he
workers, but I did not get to know him at that time and got better acquainted with him in
later years after he, along with some other leaders of the lettuce and vegetable workers, had
a falling-out with the UFW leadership and ceased being active.
I had visited the Salinas UFW office on South Wood Street before as a boycott volunteer.
TheS
a
l
i
na
sof
f
i
c
e
—whi
c
hov
e
r
s
a
w“
br
a
nc
h”ope
r
a
t
i
onsi
nWa
t
s
onv
i
l
l
e
,
Hol
l
i
s
t
e
r
/S
a
nJ
u
a
n
Ba
u
t
i
s
t
a
,a
ndKi
ngCi
t
y
,a
swe
l
la
st
heUFW Cl
i
ni
ci
nS
a
l
i
na
s
—wa
sa
l
wa
y
sf
u
l
lofa
c
t
i
v
i
t
y
and full of farmworkers and other members of the community. The UFW legal
department, which had always attracted brilliant lawyers like Jerry Cohen and Tom Dalzell
(
whode
l
i
v
e
r
e
doneoft
heme
mor
a
bl
el
i
ne
si
nFi
g
ht
i
ngf
orOu
rLi
v
e
s
:“
Weha
v
et
obe5
0
feet from this property and 50 feet from that property line, which puts us somewhere up in
t
hea
i
r
.
”
)
,wa
sa
l
s
ol
oc
a
t
e
di
nS
a
l
i
na
sr
a
t
he
rt
ha
ni
nLaPa
zl
i
k
eot
he
rUFW c
e
nt
r
a
l
departments, and its offices were sometimes available for staff meetings. It was said that
t
heUFW a
t
t
or
ne
y
swe
r
es
oe
s
s
e
nt
i
a
lt
ha
tt
he
yha
dt
he“
c
l
ou
t
”t
oi
ns
i
s
tonwor
k
i
ngi
nt
he
mor
epl
e
a
s
a
nta
ndl
e
s
s“
s
u
pe
r
v
i
s
e
d”e
nv
i
r
onme
ntofS
a
l
i
na
sr
a
t
he
rt
ha
nLaPa
z
—a
nd
Salinas was a very pleasant place to live and work, with the beach, Monterey and Carmel,
and mountain parks all close by for excursions on days off.
The proximity of the Salinas office to the Bay Area also attracted outside visitors more
than was the case in remoter towns like Calexico or Lamont. Among such visitors were
those followers of left-wing parties who preferred to attack progressive organizations (e.g.,
the UFW) for not being good enough, rather than attack the much worse enemies (e.g., the
growers) that those organizations were fighting. A particularly obnoxious organizer for one
of these parties was Bruce ____, who had gone to work as a farmworker so as to be able to
i
nf
l
u
e
nc
et
heUFW “
f
r
om wi
t
hi
n.
”Her
e
pe
a
t
e
dl
yc
or
ne
r
e
dmeou
t
s
i
det
heS
a
l
i
na
sof
f
i
c
ei
n
an effort to prove that as an Anglo UFW staffer I was out of touch with farmworker
c
onc
e
r
nsa
ndc
ou
l
dn’
ts
pe
a
kS
pa
ni
s
h(
hewa
swr
ongonbot
hc
ou
nt
s
)
.Ononeoc
c
a
s
i
onI
was assigned to take two students from Scandinavia who were researching the farmworker
movement to one of the labor camps, where they took photos and interviewed the workers
u
s
i
ngmea
sa
ni
nt
e
r
pr
e
t
e
r
;Idi
dn’
tmi
ndt
hi
sa
s
s
i
g
nme
nte
x
c
e
ptf
ort
hes
ome
wha
tc
ol
d,
scientific way in which (so it seemed to me) the students regarded the workers they were
studying.
The militant lechuguero spirit from the Imperial Valley was present in Salinas as well, and
our organizing drive started with several election wins, the two largest of which were
lettuce producer Oshita, and Arrow, a producer of broccoli and other vegetables. The
Arrow campaign was also notable for having been led by a strong and determined woman
leader (rare in the lettuce-vegetable industry) named Bertha (?) ____ , whom some of the
organizers called La Flaca de Arrow (the thin woman of Arrow).
The organizing issues we used were similar to those in other areas: the fight for better
wages, abusive supervisors, the advantages of the UFW medical plan over non-union plans,
t
he“
j
oi
nt
heba
ndwa
g
on”s
pi
r
i
tofmou
nt
i
ngUFW v
i
c
t
or
i
e
sa
tot
he
rc
ompa
ni
e
s
.Atone
company (I believe Sakata Farms), the portable bathrooms for the workers were placed
very far from the fields were the crews worked, and workers were given only very short
breaks, so (they complained), they literally had to run to the bathroom and back while the
s
u
pe
r
v
i
s
orl
ook
e
da
thi
swa
t
c
h… as
c
e
neIc
omme
mor
a
t
e
di
nac
a
r
t
oon.
In the Garin campaign, we focused on a notorious supervisor named Frank Vargas, who
was also said to be the owner of several labor camps. In one cartoon I showed him
conspiring in a back room with one of the IUAWs (they were present in Salinas) to trick
the workers into forgetting about the UFW, then fainting in shock when the workers
pointed accusatory fingers at him when they found out. A letter from a worker
complaining about being cheated by Vargas was published in ¡Alarma!, a Mexican magazine
specializing in sensationalist news, and I reproduced the letter in a leaflet with the title
“
Hasta en México se oye de los malos t
r
a
t
osdeVa
r
g
a
s
”(
“
Ev
e
ni
nMe
x
i
c
ot
he
yha
v
ehe
a
r
d
a
bou
tVa
r
g
a
s
’
sa
bu
s
e
s
”
)
.I
ns
pi
t
eof(
orma
y
bebe
c
a
u
s
eof
)Va
r
g
a
s
’
sa
bu
s
i
v
es
t
y
l
e
,wel
os
t
the Garin campaign.
My time working in Salinas also brought my first exposure to the darker currents of the
internal politics of the UFW. One involved the political contributions from union
members, called the CPD, which were facilitated by payroll deductions in many of the
UFW c
ont
r
a
c
t
sa
ndwe
r
ee
q
u
i
v
a
l
e
ntt
ot
hev
ol
u
nt
a
r
y“
COPE c
ont
r
i
bu
t
i
ons
”t
ha
tot
he
r
unions collect in the United States. I am not sure now of the details, but during this time
the CPD contributions were considered mandatory (which could not have been the case
under NLRB rules). The union held hearings on members who did not want to pay the
CPD; the left-wing parties mentioned above attacked us for this, probably because the
contributions were going to labor-friendly Democratic politicians. I witnessed California
Lieutenant Governor Mervyn Dymally when he came to the UFW hall in Salinas once to
accept a contribution check in a small ceremony. This provided additional fodder for the
g
r
owe
r
s
’a
nt
i
UFW pr
opa
g
a
nda
;ont
heot
he
rha
nd
,t
heUFW ha
ds
u
r
v
i
v
e
da
ndg
r
own
partly due to strong political support around the country, and building a political fund is a
necessity for any union.
In a similar vein, I attended one hearing at the union hall to judge the head doctor at that
time of the Salinas UFW clinic, Dr. Marc Sapir, who was accused of encouraging workers
to resist the CPD and in other ways undermining the UFW’
su
ni
t
y
.Thi
sc
ons
t
a
ntde
ma
nd
f
orl
oy
a
l
t
ywa
st
heu
g
l
y“
f
l
i
ps
i
de
”oft
hec
ohe
s
i
v
es
pi
r
i
toff
i
g
ht
i
nga
g
a
i
ns
tt
heoddst
ha
ta
l
l
UFW staffers shared.
He
r
ea
l
s
oIwa
sf
i
r
s
ti
ndu
c
t
e
di
nt
o“
t
heGa
me
,
”at
e
c
hni
q
u
et
heu
ni
onha
da
dopt
e
df
r
om
Synanon, a narcotics-rehabilitation program with which it was allied at that time. The
Game was a session where UFW staff members would sit in a circle for several hours and
hu
r
la
c
c
u
s
a
t
i
onsa
te
a
c
hot
he
r… ofs
hoddywor
k
,ofpe
r
s
ona
lf
a
i
l
i
ng
s
,orofa
ny
t
hi
nge
l
s
e
that the accuser wished to bring up. In the drug rehabilitation setting it was a valuable way
to get addicts to admit and face their addictions. In the setting of the UFW staff, many saw
it as a way to root out disloyalty and discover things that might not come to light
ot
he
r
wi
s
e
.
S
t
a
f
f
e
r
su
s
e
dt
hewor
d“
g
a
me
”a
sav
e
r
b,
a
si
n“
I
’
mg
oi
ngt
og
a
mey
ouont
ha
t
,
”
me
a
ni
ng“
I
’
mg
oi
ngt
obr
i
ngt
ha
tu
pa
g
a
i
ns
ty
oui
nt
heGa
me
.
”
I was not as bothered by the Game as some other ex-UFW staffers who spoke about it
with great bitterness. Ideally, it could be a way to improve relations among coworkers and
openly resolve hidden causes of conflict, but it often seemed like a waste of time where
t
hos
ewhodi
dn’
tha
v
ea
n“
a
x
et
og
r
i
nd”a
g
a
i
ns
ta
not
he
rpe
r
s
onha
dt
ot
hi
nkha
r
dt
oc
ome
up with something to say.
Twoy
e
a
r
sl
a
t
e
ri
nt
heL.
A.boy
c
ot
t
,Ipa
r
t
i
c
i
pa
t
e
di
nnu
me
r
ou
s“
Ga
me
s
.
”I
nS
a
l
i
na
st
ha
t
year, I only played once, in the library of the UFW legal department. I chiefly remember
t
ha
toc
c
a
s
i
onf
ora
c
c
u
s
a
t
i
onsdi
r
e
c
t
e
da
tag
a
ys
t
a
f
fpe
r
s
oni
nt
heS
a
l
i
na
sof
f
i
c
e
—t
ha
the
was causing problems (which were never specified) for the union just because of who he
wa
s
.Al
t
hou
g
ht
hi
swa
s“
l
i
be
r
a
l
”Nor
t
he
r
nCa
l
i
f
or
ni
a
,i
twa
sbe
f
or
eg
a
yr
i
g
ht
sbe
g
a
nt
obe
a
swi
de
l
ya
c
c
e
pt
e
di
nt
hi
sc
ou
nt
r
y
.
Gi
v
i
ngt
hel
i
et
ot
hes
t
e
r
e
ot
y
peoft
he“
ma
c
ho”Me
x
i
c
a
n
culture, I thought there was much more tolerance among the farmworker members. For
example, in Salinas there was a more or less openly gay rank-and-file leader who seemed to
be well-like and respected by his peers.
The Salinas organizing campaign ended with election defeats at two large lettuce/vegetable
growers, The Garin company (mentioned above) and Merrill Farms. John Brown was one
of the organizers in these campaigns and suffered the indignity of being personally
lampooned in an anti-UFW cartoon. I had earlier drawn a cartoon celebrating a court
victory against one of the Salinas growers, showing a judge banging his gavel and gesturing
angrily at a (typically) trembling grower. The anti-UFW leaflet turned this on its head,
s
howi
ng“
J
B”be
i
nga
c
c
u
s
e
dbyaj
u
dg
eofl
y
i
ng
,wi
t
ht
hec
a
pt
i
on“
Ya ves, Café, lo que te
pasa por me
nt
i
r
os
o!
”(
“
Nowy
ous
e
e
,
Br
own,
wha
tha
ppe
nst
oy
ouf
orl
y
i
ng
!
”
)
.Li
k
eDa
v
i
d
Ba
c
oni
nt
heCoa
c
he
l
l
ac
a
mpa
i
g
n,J
ohnha
dt
r
a
ns
l
a
t
e
dhi
se
nt
i
r
ena
mea
s“
J
u
a
nCa
f
é
”f
or
the benefit of Spanish-speaking workers.
As in all of the organizing drives, growers like Garin and Merrill routinely committed unfair
labor practices in their efforts to defeat the UFW organizing drives: isolating, threatening,
or firing union supporters; threatening or blocking access for union organizers (the ALRA
was particularly strong in ensuring access for organizers to visit the fields to talk to
workers); giving pay increases immediately before elections; threatening to close down
operations if the union won; favoring one union (for example, the IUAWs or the
Teamsters over the UFW); and many others.
Management tactics like these led to my final memory of the Salinas campaign, when I was
visiting one of the Garin camps with the organizers shortly before the Garin election,
during the final week of August. The Merrill Farms election was scheduled for that day,
and suddenly at around 8 p.m. a pickup truck full of anti-UFW Merrill workers drove into
the middle of the Ga
r
i
nc
a
mps
hou
t
i
ng“
¡
Ga
na
mos
!Nou
ni
on!
”(
“
Wewon!Nou
ni
on!
”
)
and other slogans celebrating the UFW defeat. This was a classic example of the growers
turning our own tactics of mobilization of workers and building ánimo against us.
At Merrill Farms, the union returned the following year (1979) for another organizing
drive, which manager Tom Merrill tried to thwart by personally visiting the lettuce crews
(something he had never done before) to announce a 50 cent wage increase.
By September the Salinas campaign was winding down. We had held about 10 elections
and won about half of them. Now it was time to prepare for a great challenge that we knew
was coming: the fight to renegotiate the lettuce and vegetable contracts, starting with the
Imperial Valley. The first UFW contracts with these growers were signed in early 1976 on
the heels of the first wave of Imperial Valley organizing victories. Like most labor contracts
in the United States, these were three-year agreements and due to expire at the beginning
of 1979. We knew the industry would put up a fierce resistance and that a strike was likely,
and the union began moving its forces back to Calexico to prepare for this fight.
Calexico Field Office
I arrived back at the Calexico office in the fall of 1978. In preparation for the strike and
contract fight, the staff was now much larger. The staffers without families lived in a large
apartment complex in El Centro, the county seat, rather than crowded into a single house
i
nCa
l
e
x
i
c
oa
sha
dbe
e
nt
hec
a
s
epr
e
v
i
ou
s
l
y
.Ar
t
u
r
o’
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngt
e
a
m ha
dbe
e
nme
r
g
e
d
into the overall Calexico operation. I was assigned to do office administrative support
under the direction of Oscar Mondragon, and it was expected that I would be providing
other support during the upcoming strike, such as assistance in legal work with the ARLB.
I had done some work in this area in previous Imperial Valley campaigns, having prepared
worker affidavits for ULP charges to help out Anita Morgan, one of the staff paralegals in
Calexico.
Until the strike and contract campaign started, this schedule was going to be somewhat less
hectic than at the height of the organizing drives, and together with other staffers I was
able to find time for excursions into Mexico on days off. Once Saul, Lupe Cordova, and I
drove to El Golfo de San Luis, a small town on the eastern (Sonora state) side of the Sea of
Cortez where we feasted on shrimp for a fraction of what the cost would have been in the
U.S.
In November of 1978, two shocking news reports reached us in the Calexico office,
particularly impacting those of us with Northern California roots. On November 18, the
f
ol
l
owe
r
soft
he S
a
n Fr
a
nc
i
s
c
oba
s
e
d Pe
opl
e
’
sTe
mpl
ec
ommi
t
t
e
d ma
s
ss
u
i
c
i
de i
n
Jonestown, Guyana. Then on November 28 we heard of the assassination of San Francisco
Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk by another supervisor, Dan White,
who was upset at the liberal political and cultural changes to the city. Mayor Moscone had
been a great supporter of the UFW, and his murder touched me personally because as a
boycott supporter in 1976, shortly before joining the UFW staff, I had worked in his
campaign in the San Francisco mayoral race.
On Thanksgiving, without a family in the area, I had dinner at the home of the one of the
local UFW activists. Around this time I began to feel sick and when I did not get better I
went to the local clinic, where the doctor diagnosed me with hepatitis. He said that I had
caught it from contaminated food, probably seafood. I thought immediately of a coctel de
pulpo, an octopus cocktail, with undercooked octopus that I had eaten recently in Mexicali.
He told me that I needed to stop working to recuperate. In December I left Calexico with
regrets that I would miss the action of the upcoming strike, and returned to the Bay Area.
That was the end of my two-year career in the UFW field offices, for when I returned next
year it was to La Paz and the boycott. Although I may have learned more technical
organizing skills in the boycott years that followed, working in the field office campaign
took me into the heart of a culture and way of life that, as a native Californian, I had always
been surrounded by, but like many, was totally ignorant of. The field office campaigns left
me with the most unique memories from my UFW career, and in the boycott gave me a
deeper appreciation of what I was fighting for.
TheBoy
c
ot
tYe
a
r
s
:
1
9
7
9
–1
9
8
2
La Paz
By the late spring of 1979 I was well enough to return to work on the UFW staff. Some
friends questioned why I felt an obligation to go back, but it had never occurred to me not
to return. The union had continued paying me my volunteer stipend while I was
r
e
c
u
pe
r
a
t
i
ng
,
a
sak
i
ndof“
s
i
c
kl
e
a
v
e
,
”a
ndAr
t
u
r
oRodr
i
g
u
e
zc
a
met
os
e
emeonc
ewhe
r
eI
was staying in San Jose, to see how I was doing and also to talk to me about a new
assignment when I returned, helping in the Fred Ross Organizing School at La Paz. I
relocated to La Paz in May of 1979.
Much had happened while I was out. The great strike against the lettuce and vegetable
industry had produced a new martyr: Rufino Contreras, who was killed in the Imperial
Valley before the strike moved north to Salinas. The union was preparing for a long fight,
and training new organizers in a more formal way was part of that preparation.
Arturo Rodriguez and Scott Washburn were the instructors at the school, and with a few
e
x
c
e
pt
i
onst
hes
t
u
de
nt
swe
r
emos
t
l
yne
wr
e
c
r
u
i
t
st
ha
tIha
dn’
tk
nownbe
f
or
e
.
Thes
t
u
de
nt
s
were all young men from the ranks, including Patricio Rodriguez, Paul David, Rafael
Morales (whom I later knew in San Jose), Saul ____, the Duran brothers from around
Fr
e
s
no,a
ndot
he
r
swhos
ena
me
sIdon’
tr
e
c
a
l
l
.I
nt
heUFW,t
hej
obofor
g
a
ni
z
e
ra
tt
ha
t
time was an almost all-male preserve, and the wives of the married students were attending
a different school to run the Caja Popular (credit union). Some other veteran organizers I
had known in the field offices, like Gilberto Rodriguez, were also in La Paz during that
time.
The school attempted to give the students a complete training in organizing techniques as
well as an understanding of the industry. As an assistant in the school, among other
projects, I researched and produced a complete overview of California agriculture, showing
the growing seasons, geographic areas and commercial value of each major crop.
Life as a UFW staffer in La Paz involved hard work but was still not as hectic as in the field
offices. We worked a fairly regular schedule of full days Monday through Friday plus a
shorter day on Saturday. I got a relatively choice living assignment, sharing a small house
near the UFW administration building with Danny Ybarra, son of a prominent family of
UFW activists; many other single staffers were housed in large dormitory-type buildings.
In addition to our regular work we were expected to help on extra projects such as working
on the security detail, resurrecting an old swimming pool, and tending the La Paz garden.
The garden was overseen by ____Mata, whom I had met years before as an Oakland
boycott supporter. On free days the La Paz staff could travel uphill to Tehachapi or
downhill to Bakersfield for recreation such as restaurant meals, movies, and dances. Once I
traveled to Mount Whitney in the Sierra Nevada with Pat Bonner, a former priest on the
UFW staff, and some friends of his, and we hiked most of the way to the summit.
La Paz (short for Nuestra Señora de la Paz, Our Lady of Peace) was an abandoned
tuberculosis sanatorium in the Tehachapi Mountains above Bakersfield, on Highway 58
near the tiny settlement of Keene. The union had bought it in the 1960s with the help of a
prominent union supporter and had moved its headquarters there from Delano amid
accusations that the UFW leadership was trying to distance itself from its farmworker base.
Idi
dn’
ts
e
et
hepr
obl
e
mi
nha
v
i
ngt
hehe
a
dq
u
a
r
t
e
r
sa
tLaPa
z
.Gi
v
e
nt
hee
ne
mi
e
st
ha
tt
he
UFW had made (including occasional personal threats against Cesar and other leaders), La
Paz was easier to keep secure than a wide-open location like Forty Acres. And because the
u
ni
on’
smi
s
s
i
onwa
st
oor
g
a
ni
z
ea
l
lfarmworkers, not only grape workers, being situated in
La Paz provided a more balanced perspective than remaining in the heart of the Delano
vineyards.
Being at La Paz gave me the opportunity to see more of Cesar (whom I had seen
infrequently in the field offices), other leaders like UFW co-founder Dolores Huerta, and
me
mbe
r
sofCe
s
a
r
’
sf
a
mi
l
y
,i
nc
l
u
di
nghi
swi
f
e
,He
l
e
n,a
nds
onPa
u
l
.Thes
t
a
f
fha
dc
ont
a
c
t
wi
t
ht
hel
e
a
d
e
r
sdu
r
i
ngt
he
i
rv
i
s
i
t
st
ot
heor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngs
c
hoolc
l
a
s
s
e
s
,a
t“
c
ommu
ni
t
y
”
(meaning the La Paz volunteer community) meetings and meals, and on other occasions.
Here I also met the wives of some organizers and leaders I worked with in the organizing
c
a
mpa
i
g
ns
,
s
u
c
ha
sAr
t
u
r
oRodr
i
g
u
e
z
’
swi
f
e
,
Li
nd
a
,
a
ndLu
peMu
r
g
u
i
a
’
swi
f
e
,
Ka
t
hy
.
The internal divisions within the union surfaced here as well. While I was at La Paz,
unfavorable publicity about Synanon (mentioned above in the Salinas section) surfaced,
including allegations that Synanon head Chuck Diederich had ordered live rattlesnakes
placed in the mailboxes of Synanon opponents. Synanon had moved its headquarters to
Badger in the Sierra Nevada foothills east of Fresno, and there was regular contact between
the leaders of the two organizations. The UFW declared a boycott of Time magazine,
which had published the allegations, and the staff was urged to write letters in support of
this effort (the Time boycott never really took off). I believe that some on the La Paz staff
a
l
s
opl
a
y
e
dt
he“
Ga
me
,
”a
l
t
hou
g
hIpe
r
s
ona
l
l
ywa
snotc
a
l
l
e
dt
opa
r
t
i
c
i
pa
t
ewhi
l
eIwa
s
there.
It was also around this time that we began to hear of firings and resignations of UFW staff
(
whi
c
hs
omer
e
f
e
r
r
e
dt
oa
s“
pu
r
g
e
s
,
”a
l
t
hou
g
ht
hi
swa
st
ooha
r
s
hawor
d)
,
e
s
pe
c
i
a
l
l
yAng
l
o
s
t
a
f
fi
nt
heboy
c
ot
tof
f
i
c
e
swho we
r
ede
e
me
dt
o ha
v
e“
s
e
pa
r
a
t
e
”
—u
s
u
a
l
l
yme
a
ni
ng
l
e
f
t
i
s
t
—a
g
e
nda
s
.Thef
i
r
s
tna
me
sIr
e
c
a
l
li
nt
hi
sc
onne
c
t
i
onwe
r
eNi
c
kJ
one
s(
whom Idi
d
not know but later met while working in the Chicago boycott) and his wife, Virginia. I was
not personally exposed to most of these internal struggles, which continued off and on for
years and culminated, in the opinion of many of my closest friends from the UFW, with
the resignation of Marshall Ganz in the early 1980s and the subsequent veiled attacks on
him and his followers as fuerzas ma
l
i
g
na
s(
ma
l
i
g
na
ntf
or
c
e
s
.
”
)
.
Thede
ba
t
eont
he
s
ede
v
e
l
opme
nt
si
su
s
u
a
l
l
yf
r
a
me
da
sac
onf
l
i
c
tbe
t
we
e
nt
heu
ni
on’
sne
e
d
to maintain control of a widely dispersed organization and prevent opportunistic staffers
from utilizing the UFW’
sr
e
pu
t
a
t
i
ona
nds
u
ppor
t
e
r
st
opr
omot
et
he
i
rpe
r
s
ona
lpol
i
t
i
c
a
l
i
de
a
s
,a
ndt
hei
nc
r
e
a
s
i
ng
l
yde
s
pe
r
a
t
ene
e
doft
heUFW l
e
a
de
r
s
—a
ndCe
s
a
ri
npa
r
t
i
c
u
l
a
r
—
t
oma
i
nt
a
i
nt
i
g
htpe
r
s
ona
lc
ont
r
olov
e
ra
l
la
s
pe
c
t
soft
heu
ni
on’
sope
r
a
t
i
onsa
nds
t
i
f
l
ea
ny
c
ha
l
l
e
ng
e
st
ot
hel
e
a
de
r
s
hi
p’
s“
or
t
hodox
y
.
”
My purpose in bringing up these events is not to reopen painful wounds but to honestly
s
howt
hee
nv
i
r
onme
nti
nwhi
c
hwewor
k
e
da
sf
u
l
l
t
i
meUFW v
ol
u
nt
e
e
r
s
.Idon’
ti
nt
e
ndt
o
take sides in the debate here, and I think it is a tragedy that these internal developments to
some extent diverted the union from its mission.
With respect to Cesar personally, I believe that he was a great man who founded a unique
movement, taught by his own example the value of self-sacrifice, and so carried on the
tradition of Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., and helped move the U.S. labor
mov
e
me
ntt
owa
r
dbe
i
ngt
he“
pe
opl
e
’
smov
e
me
nt
”t
ha
ti
tne
v
e
rs
hou
l
dha
v
es
t
oppe
d
being. It is entirely appropriate that he has been honored by a new holiday (in California, at
l
e
a
s
t
)a
ndmos
tr
e
c
e
nt
l
yaU.
S
.
pos
t
a
g
es
t
a
mp.
Howe
v
e
r
,
Ce
s
a
rwa
sa
l
s
ot
he“
ma
na
g
e
r
”ofa
l
a
r
g
eor
g
a
ni
z
a
t
i
ona
ndc
ou
l
dnotha
v
ea
c
hi
e
v
e
dhi
sg
oa
l
sonhi
sown.Idonotf
a
v
or“
c
u
l
t
s
ofpe
r
s
ona
l
i
t
y
.
”Pos
s
i
bl
yt
hepe
r
s
ona
la
du
l
a
t
i
ont
ha
twa
ss
howe
r
e
donCe
s
a
rl
e
dhi
mi
nt
he
later years to be too ready to view differences of opinion as threats to his authority.
ByAu
g
u
s
tof1
9
7
9i
twa
sc
l
e
a
rt
ha
tt
hes
t
r
i
k
eha
dnotbr
ou
g
htt
heg
r
owe
r
s“
t
ot
he
i
rk
ne
e
s
”
and that the union would have to reach out again to its vast nationwide network of
supporters through the boycott. The organizing department, now housed in the organizing
s
c
hool
,we
ntt
oS
a
nFr
a
nc
i
s
c
ot
oor
g
a
ni
z
eas
u
ppor
t
e
r
s
’ma
r
c
hf
r
om t
heBa
yAr
e
at
o
Salinas, where the strike raged on. Here we were guests of the Delancey Street Foundation,
another drug-rehabilitation program headed by UFW supporter John Maher, which did not
have the sinister reputation of Synanon. Fred Ross, Sr. helped with the organization of this
ma
r
c
h,a
ndInowg
ota
l
ongwi
t
hhi
m be
t
t
e
rt
ha
nwhe
nIha
dbe
e
na“
g
r
e
e
n”or
g
a
ni
z
e
ri
n
the L.A. boycott three years earlier.
Cleveland Boycott
The march was a success. During the UFW convention that followed the march (held this
year in Salinas rather than Fresno as in other years), breakthrough settlements were
announced with several of the struck growers; the name I recall was O.P. Murphy, a
tomato grower in Soledad. We returned to La Paz for our deployment in the big boycott
effort to come. The organizing school students were divided into two teams: one team was
to be sent to Detroit with Arturo (who was familiar with the area because he had been a
student at the University of Michigan), and the other team to Cleveland with Scott as
director. I was put into the Cleveland team, along with Patricio Rodriguez, Paul David,
Lupe Murguia, Pedro Duran, and possibly some others.
We prepared for the long journey east to our boycott cities, following in the path of the
original grape strikers in the 1960s who went east to promote the first boycotts. The two
teams would travel together as far as Indiana and there would split up to their respective
cities. Arturo and Scott went ahead to get the boycott operations set up and find housing
f
ort
hes
t
a
f
f
,a
ndIwa
sa
s
s
i
g
ne
dt
odo“
a
dv
a
nc
e
”wor
kf
ort
her
e
s
toft
hes
t
a
f
f
.Thi
s
included determining the best route to take and, once that was set, finding places to stay at
each stop along the way. Having access to records of UFW supporters throughout the
c
ou
nt
r
y
,Il
i
ne
du
pdona
t
e
dhou
s
i
nga
ndf
ooda
taLa
bor
e
r
s
’u
ni
onha
l
li
nFl
a
g
s
t
a
f
f
,a
nd
Catholic schools in Albuquerque and Oklahoma City. In St. Louis, Richard Cook of the
National Farm Worker Ministry was arranging housing. The drivers had directions on how
to arrive at each stopping point.
We set out in September, and I tried to drive half a day ahead of the rest so as to arrive at
each stopping point first. The rest of the staff we
r
es
u
ppos
e
dt
odr
i
v
ei
na“
c
a
rc
a
r
a
v
a
n,
”
one of the practical techniques developed by UFW staff over the years. In a car caravan
one driver took the lead, and the other cars followed the lead driver exactly, shifting lanes
when necessary so that no intervening cars were allowed to come between the cars in the
caravan. This togetherness was a necessity since we were mostly all driving old cars that
c
ou
l
dbr
e
a
kdowna
nds
t
r
a
nddr
i
v
e
r
swhowe
r
eont
he
i
rown—ma
nyf
r
omt
hef
a
mou
sf
l
e
e
t
of Plymouth Valiants that were the standard-issue UFW staff vehicle. We were a large
group because many of the organizers were married and bringing children of various ages.
Scott had appointed Patricio as the leader of the Cleveland team on the road, and I got into
ac
onf
l
i
c
twi
t
hhi
m ont
hef
i
r
s
tda
y
’
st
r
i
pf
r
om LaPa
zt
oFl
a
g
s
t
a
f
f
.Al
t
hou
g
hIl
e
f
tLaPa
z
e
a
r
l
y
,Ic
ou
l
dn’
tr
e
s
i
s
tt
het
e
mpt
a
t
i
ont
ot
a
k
eabr
i
e
fde
t
ou
rt
ot
heGr
a
ndCa
ny
on,whi
c
hI
had never visited. As a result, I arrived at the Flagstaff stopping point just after the rest of
t
het
e
a
m.Pa
t
r
i
c
i
os
a
i
dt
ha
ti
fIdi
dn’
ta
r
r
i
v
ef
i
r
s
t
,“
Dena
dasirve el a
v
a
nc
e
”(
“
Thea
dv
a
nc
e
i
su
s
e
l
e
s
s
”
)
,
bu
tIf
e
l
thewa
swr
onga
ndt
ha
tt
hema
j
orwor
koft
hea
dv
a
nc
eha
dbe
e
nt
os
e
t
up the free housing and food. Later, in Ohio and Texas, we got along very well.
TheFl
a
g
s
t
a
f
fLa
bor
e
r
s
—wi
t
hma
nyNa
v
a
j
ome
mbe
r
s
—we
r
es
t
r
ongUFW s
u
ppor
t
e
r
s
,l
i
k
e
all of those who provided housing along the way. We had heard of the powerful Laborers
Union (LIUNA) in Arizona before through its colorful leader Bill Soltero, who was a
frequent speaker at UFW conventions and always aroused the crowed by his use of
S
pa
ni
s
hpr
of
a
ni
t
yi
npu
bl
i
c
,whi
c
ha
tt
ha
tt
i
mewa
su
nhe
a
r
dof
.“
EnAr
i
z
onanos están
c
hi
ng
a
ndo,
”hewou
l
ds
hou
t(
“
I
nAr
i
z
onat
he
ya
r
es
c
r
e
wi
ngu
sba
dl
y
”
)
.
Once we headed out from Albuquerque, I was entering new territory because I had never
been farther east than El Paso. When we arrived in St. Louis, we were cheered by hearing
f
r
om Ri
c
ha
r
dCookoft
hede
f
e
a
tofa
na
t
t
e
mptt
opa
s
s“
r
i
g
htt
owor
k
”i
nMi
s
s
ou
r
i(
al
a
w
ou
t
l
a
wi
ng“
u
ni
ons
e
c
u
r
i
t
yc
l
a
u
s
e
s
”i
nl
a
borc
ont
r
a
c
t
s
,whi
c
hr
e
q
u
i
r
ea
l
lt
hewor
k
e
r
st
obe
members of the union that represents them). We allowed ourselves a brief excursion to the
Gateway Arch on the banks of the Mississippi River, and the following morning drove the
final day to our boycott cities.
Wea
r
r
i
v
e
di
nCl
e
v
e
l
a
ndi
nwa
r
m,hu
mi
dwe
a
t
he
rt
ha
tIwa
s
n’
tu
s
e
dt
o,mov
e
di
nt
oou
r
housing, and began learning how to put together a boycott operation. I shared an
apartment in the west side of Cleveland with the other single staffers. Scott, his wife,
Nancy, and their children had another apartment, as did Pedro Duran and his family. Lupe
and Kathy Murguia had the largest family and had a house in Cleveland Heights, a middleclass suburb east of the city.
The city was sharply segregated at that time: the west side was mostly white with many
enclaves of eastern European ethnic groups. Across the Cuyahoga River (which was once
so notoriously polluted that it caught fire), the poorer east side was mostly AfricanAmerican. While we were living in Cleveland, the movie The Deer Hunter came out. It
includes many scenes of the area, most famously a picturesque Russian Orthodox church
in a district near the river.
The school year was starting just as we arrived, and our first public appearance as UFW
s
t
a
f
fwa
sdu
r
i
ngt
he“
We
l
c
omeMa
r
c
h”s
t
a
g
e
dt
opr
omot
epe
a
c
e
f
u
li
mpl
e
me
nt
a
t
i
onoft
he
desegregation plans that were to begin that year. We marched east with the crowd across a
bridge over the Cuyahoga River, wearing signs indicating the UFW’
ss
u
ppor
tf
ort
he
march. The bridge had two pedestrian walkways separated by the automobile lanes. We
were walking on one of these, when suddenly uniformed members of the American Nazi
Party appeared on the far pedestrian walkway carrying signs sporting swastikas and
taunting us, upon which Kathy Mu
r
g
u
i
ac
ov
e
r
e
du
phe
rc
hi
l
dr
e
n’
se
y
e
s
—t
hef
i
r
s
ta
ndonl
y
time I have seen American Nazis in person. Later during our stay in Cleveland I drove by
their headquarters, which displayed a giant sign showing a cross, the swastika, and the U.S.
f
l
a
g
,
l
a
be
l
e
d,
r
e
s
pe
c
t
i
v
e
l
y
,
“
God,
Ra
c
e
,
a
ndCou
nt
r
y
.
”
Cleveland, like all of the industrial Midwest, was suffering from the loss of industrial jobs
to the low-wage South and even lower-wage foreign countries. This economic depression,
combined with the unfamiliar climate, the age of the buildings, and the lack of a large
Spanish-speaking community, had a depressing effect on the farmworker organizers;
Pa
t
r
i
c
i
or
e
ma
r
k
e
dt
ha
ta
l
lt
hepe
opl
es
e
e
me
d“
t
i
r
e
dofl
i
f
e
,
”a
ndt
hewi
f
eofoneoft
he
or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
sl
a
me
nt
e
dt
ha
tt
he
r
ewa
sno“
mode
r
n”pa
r
toft
own.
I grew to like Cleveland and the other Great Lakes cities where I spent the majority of my
time during the boycott, appreciating the friendly, down-to-earth attitude of the people and
e
v
e
nt
hedi
s
t
i
nc
ts
e
a
s
ons
,
s
odi
f
f
e
r
e
ntf
r
omt
he“
pe
r
f
e
c
t
”c
l
i
ma
t
eofCa
l
i
f
or
ni
a
.
In Cleveland we found many progressive allies, starting with Mayor Dennis Kucinich, with
whom some of the organizers met shortly after arrival. The young Kucinich was very
progressive, having fought to reestablish a municipal electric utility in the city, which he
c
e
l
e
br
a
t
e
dbyha
v
i
ngas
i
g
ne
r
e
c
t
e
dov
e
rt
hepowe
rpl
a
ntr
e
a
di
ng“
Powe
rt
ot
hepe
opl
e
!
”
Hewa
su
nde
ra
t
t
a
c
kbyc
ons
e
r
v
a
t
i
v
ef
or
c
e
swhodu
bbe
dhi
m“
De
nni
st
heMe
na
c
e
,
”a
nd
du
r
i
ngou
rt
i
mei
nCl
e
v
e
l
a
ndhel
os
tt
hema
y
or
’
ss
e
a
tt
oGe
or
g
eVoi
nov
i
c
h,aRe
pu
bl
i
c
a
n
whom Patricio and I met during a campaign stop he made at a local Puerto Rican
community organization. Kucinich was able to continue his political career and keep his
progressive ideals (as I write this, he is a candidate for U.S. president).
Our strongest supporters, as in all the boycott cities, were religious leaders and unions, and
to a lesser extent, progressive community organizations. Catholic bishops, priests, and nuns
were our allies and formed our main support base in many cities, responding to the deep
Catholic faith of Cesar and the farmworkers, and in line with Church teachings in the
modern decades stressing support for the poor and oppressed.
Scott had a theory that this Catholic support was stronger in areas in like Cleveland where
there was a strong tradition of service to the Church resulting in young men from Catholic
ethnic communities like Irish-Americans and Polish-Americans going into the priesthood.
In the Los Angeles boycott the following year, I did not have as good luck getting support
from Catholic priests except in the Latino and Chicano neighborhoods. In the Anglo areas,
t
he“
he
d
oni
s
t
i
c
”c
u
l
t
u
r
eofS
ou
t
he
r
nCa
l
i
f
or
ni
as
e
e
me
dt
oha
v
epr
e
v
e
nt
e
dy
ou
ngme
nf
r
om
becoming priests, with the result that priests had to be imported from tradition-bound
places like Ireland and were less willing to use their position as a voice for social justice. I
don’
tk
nowi
ft
hi
spr
ov
e
dt
he“
t
he
or
y
”orwa
sj
u
s
tdu
et
oc
ha
nc
ec
i
r
c
u
ms
t
a
nc
e
.
Of other religious leaders, some were obviously stronger supporters than others. During
my boycott years I learned which denominations of Protestant ministers were more likely
to support our efforts (for example, United Methodists, United Church of Christ,
Unitarians, and some subdenominations of the Lutherans). In some of the larger cities, we
also were able to win support from progressive rabbis (generally from the Reform wing of
Judaism), which could be especially important in those cases where the supermarket chains
we were trying to get to cooperate with the boycott had Jewish owners, as with Richard
Bogomolny of Pik-N-Pak in Cleveland.
The other pillar of our support was the labor movement to which we belonged, especially
the great industrial unions of the Midwest. The central labor councils in each area, which
were affiliated directly with the national AFL-CIO, also gave us support, but in many cases
not to the same extent as the individual unions. Of all of these, the United AutoWorkers
(UAW) was our oldest and strongest labor ally on the nationwide level. This support dated
ba
c
kt
oCe
s
a
r
’
sor
i
g
i
na
lf
a
s
tdu
r
i
ng1
9
6
0
swhe
nhewa
sv
i
s
i
t
e
dbyWa
l
t
e
rReuther while
some other labor leaders had not yet embraced the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’mov
e
me
nt
.Du
r
i
ngt
he
ma
r
c
ht
oS
a
l
i
na
se
a
r
l
i
e
rt
ha
ty
e
a
r
,wehe
l
das
u
ppor
t
e
r
s
’me
e
t
i
ngi
nt
heUAW ha
l
li
n
Fremont adjacent to the giant General Motors auto plant there. Before the meeting Cesar
remarked to the UFW staff that the UAW members would always stand out in any crowd
of labor activists.
In some cities we found other locally important unions that formed a base of our support,
l
i
k
et
heI
LWU(
l
ong
s
hor
e
me
n’
su
ni
on)i
nt
heBa
yAr
e
a
,t
hes
t
e
e
l
wor
k
e
r
si
nCl
e
v
e
l
a
nda
nd
Corpus Christi, Texas, the rubber workers in Akron (later merged with the steelworkers),
the IBEW (electrical workers) in New York, and the machinists in the aerospace industry
of Southern California.
Although very supportive of the UFW, during this time these unions had kept their
“
bu
s
i
ne
s
s
”me
t
hodsofope
r
a
t
i
ngr
oot
e
di
nt
hepos
t
wa
rpe
r
i
odwhe
nl
a
borwa
ss
t
r
ong
e
r
and making steady progress. This was before steady attacks had so weakened the U.S. labor
movement that it forced itself to refocus on organizing new workers and finding new ways
t
of
i
g
htba
c
k
.
(
La
bor
’
s“
wa
k
e
u
pc
a
l
l
”c
a
mewhi
l
eIwa
swor
k
i
ngi
nt
heMi
c
hi
g
a
nboy
c
ot
t
—
Re
a
g
a
n’
sf
i
r
i
ngoft
hePATCO s
t
r
i
k
e
r
sa
ndt
hes
u
bs
e
q
u
e
ntma
s
s
i
v
eS
ol
i
da
r
i
t
yDa
ypr
ot
e
s
t
in Washington, D.C.)
Sometimes when addressing union members, we felt that our audiences wanted to help us
wi
nbu
tt
hou
g
htofu
smor
ea
sr
e
pr
e
s
e
nt
a
t
i
v
e
soft
he“
poorf
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
”r
a
t
he
rt
ha
na
s
fellow union activists. Once we went to ask for support from the Akron Central Labor
Council; the council leader collected a generous donation from the delegates and presented
i
ts
a
y
i
ng
,“
Thi
sou
g
htt
obu
ys
omeba
c
ona
ndbe
a
ns
,
”a
si
fi
twa
sg
oi
ngt
obu
yf
oodf
oru
s
personally, when in fact we turned over all donations to the UFW headquarters. However,
the best of the labor leaders and activists understood that our fight was their fight and, to
some extent, that we were pioneers in broadening the popular base of the labor movement.
Another important labor-backed organization in Cleveland that supported us was OPIC,
t
heOhi
o Pu
bl
i
cI
nt
e
r
e
s
tCa
mpa
i
g
n,g
e
ne
r
a
l
l
ya
f
f
i
l
i
a
t
e
d wi
t
ht
he“
J
obswi
t
hJ
u
s
t
i
c
e
”
movement that was gaining strength at that time and with sister organizations in other
cities. Also, there was a small Puerto Rican community in Cleveland with organizations that
provided an additional base of support. There was no Mexican community to speak of (at
that time the line of Mexican immigrant settlement into the U.S. ended somewhere
between Toledo and Cleveland). It has been only in the years since that increasingly heavy
immigration from Mexico has planted Mexican-American communities in every part of the
country, including the Northeast.
Of the boycott organizers, only Paul David (who was from Mexico but with Englishspeaking parents from the U.S.), Lupe Murguia, and I spoke English, so I spent part of my
time accompanying Patricio and the other Spanish-speaking organizers to meet with
supporters and translate what they said. My non-organizing duties had carried over from
my time in the field offices, and I spent part of my time in the boycott office helping with
administrative and graphic support for our campaigns. Increasingly, though, I sought to
define my role as an organizer.
We started in Cleveland, like in all the boycott cities, by researching what produce brands
were being sold in the local supermarkets. There was as yet no clear nationwide boycott
target, however. In November, the staff from all of the Midwestern boycott cities gathered
for a strategy conference in Fort Wayne, Indiana. We drove to Fort Wayne through the
first snowfall of the season and met with the staff from the other cities; Cesar and some
other top leaders were there also. At that conference I first met Guy Costello and Alice
Thompson, then and in the following years the base of the UFW operation in Chicago. At
one point, Cesar commented in front of the other staff that I was known to work so hard
t
ha
tIg
ots
i
c
k
—ar
e
f
e
r
e
nc
e
,whi
c
hIg
r
e
a
t
l
ya
ppr
e
c
i
a
t
e
da
tt
het
i
me
,t
omybou
twi
t
h
hepatitis in the Imperial Valley.
At this conference we debated whether to focus on a single nationwide boycott target or
multiple targets, depending on the market in each city. In the end we decided to focus our
efforts on our old adversary Bruce Church Inc. and its Red Coach lettuce (mentioned
above in the Imperial Valley section). I believe similar decisions were being made in other
parts of the country at the same time. We returned to Cleveland and picked our local
supermarket target, Pik-n-Pak, a locally owned chain that sold Red Coach lettuce.
We began informing Pik-n-Pak customers of the Red Coach boycott. One day I was
passing out leaflets alone at a store on the east side when an overzealous security guard
took offense and dragged me physically by the arm into a back room where he threatened
to call the police. I had leafleted and picketed supermarkets for years and knew the drill: we
were not intimidated by threats to call the police and in fact often welcomed this as a sign
that the store (or other location we were protesting) was bothered by our presence. We
specifically never recognized the authority of private security guards to tell us to do
anything, always insisting that we would only obey the police. This security guard in
Cleveland had clearly crossed the line, and I ended up filing a police complaint against him.
Later when I accompanied Scott to meet with the owner of Pik-n-Pak, Richard
Bogomolny, he apologized to me when Scott mentioned the incident.
It was time to get some visibility in the other parts of Ohio. In December we organized a
tour for Cesar to meet supporters and publicize the boycott in Cleveland, Akron,
Columbus, Dayton, and Cincinnati. In preparation for the Cleveland leg of this tour and
keeping security considerations in mind, I carefully prepared a route with Patricio, marking
the exact lanes and turning points for the whole day. When Cesar arrived at the Cleveland
airport, however, Paul David drove the van in which he rode, accompanied by an assistant
and the local staff. Paul had temporarily had his driving privileges revoked for an accident
that he had in California, but after driving faultlessly for a day, Cesar restored those
privileges.
In each of the cities Cesar was to meet with key supporters, raise funds, and publicize the
boycott through TV and newspaper interviews. In some places, Red Coach lettuce was not
being sold in local stores so the message was not focused on a specific supermarket chain.
The first stop was Lorain, a steel town on the shore of Lake Erie west of Cleveland, with a
sizable Latino community, where Cesar spoke to an overflow, adoring crowd. I have
another memory of Lorain as well, from a morning when we visited a steel plant on an
early winter morning to collect donations from the workers. I was standing right in front of
ag
i
a
ntt
he
r
mome
t
e
rt
ha
tdi
dnotr
i
s
ea
bov
e5de
g
r
e
e
s
—t
hek
i
ndofc
ol
dt
ha
tIwa
st
ot
a
l
l
y
unused to as a native Californian.
In Akron, home of the great tire companies like Goodyear and Firestone, and where the
Uni
t
e
dRu
bbe
rWor
k
e
r
s(
URW)we
r
eCe
s
a
r
’
shos
t
s
,t
hev
i
s
i
ts
t
a
r
t
e
dou
tt
e
ns
e
l
ydu
et
oa
last-minute change of schedule that the URW had not been informed of, but relations
warmed over an Italian dinner at the home of URW activist Jim Guzzo. At one of the
s
t
ops
,Ce
s
a
rt
a
u
g
htmeat
r
i
c
kong
e
t
t
i
ngt
heTVc
a
me
r
a
st
of
i
l
m aboy
c
ot
ts
i
g
n—r
e
f
e
r
r
i
ng
t
oi
ta
sa“
v
i
s
u
a
l
a
i
d”t
ha
tt
he
ywou
l
dwa
nt
,
r
a
t
he
rt
ha
na
saboy
c
ot
tpr
omot
i
ont
ool
t
ha
twe
wanted to publicize.
In Cincinnati, Kathy and Mike Lacinak were the core of the UFW support community, and
wes
t
a
y
e
dov
e
r
ni
g
hta
tt
hehomeofKa
t
hy
’
spa
r
e
nt
sbe
f
or
edr
oppi
ngCe
s
a
rof
fa
tt
he
Cincinnati airport and ending the tour. I returned several times to Cincinnati, whose culture
was a combination of Midwest and South, with the unique addition of economic
“
r
e
f
u
g
e
e
s
”f
r
om t
hene
a
r
byAppa
l
a
c
hi
a
nr
e
g
i
onofKe
nt
u
c
k
y
.Ra
c
i
a
lr
e
l
a
t
i
onsi
nCi
nc
i
nn
a
t
i
were (and continue to be) troubled. Once when I was getting gas there, I insisted on an
“
hone
s
t
”not“
pa
dde
d”g
a
sr
e
c
e
i
pts
howi
nghowmu
c
hIha
dpa
i
d.TheAf
r
i
c
a
nAme
r
i
c
a
n
g
a
ss
t
a
t
i
onowne
rr
e
s
ponde
dt
omyr
e
q
u
e
s
tbys
a
y
i
ng
,“
The
r
ea
r
e
n’
ta
nyhone
s
twhi
t
e
pe
opl
e
!
”
We spent the first months of 1980 pursuing the Red Coach boycott. My recollection is that
during a boycott planning session in New York, Scott Washburn reached an agreement
with Richard Bogomolny to remove Red Coach lettuce.
One day early in 1980, several of the staffers went to Toledo to participate in a march
sponsored by the Farm Labor Organizing Committee (FLOC). FLOC, headed then by
Baldemar Velasquez (to my knowledge, he still does), was a local farmworker union that
was organizing the seasonal migrant farmworkers who worked the Central States
agricultural circuit from Texas north to Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, and surrounding states.
In the Great Lakes area, important crops picked by these workers included tomatoes (many
ofwhi
c
hwe
r
es
ol
dt
opr
oc
e
s
s
or
sl
i
k
eCa
mpbe
l
l
’
sa
ndLi
bby
)
,c
u
c
u
mbe
r
s
,a
ndt
r
e
ef
r
u
i
t
.
Unlike the TFWU described below in the Texas section, FLOC had arisen independently
and was in an alliance with the UFW. FLOC had a strong base of support in the
Midwestern industrial cities, pursuing a boycott strategy against the large tomato processors
similar to the UFW boycott strategy. Some of these supporters preferred to support
FLOC, which was closer to home and considered more relevant, rather than the UFW.
The march was well attended in spite of the very cold weather. After the march, Baldemar
took us on a visit to the FLOC headquarters where we met some of the volunteer staff.
FLOCa
ndi
t
ss
u
ppor
t
e
r
su
s
e
dt
het
e
r
m“
mi
g
r
a
nt
s
”r
a
t
he
rt
ha
n“
f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
,
”r
e
f
l
e
c
t
i
ng
the reality that the workers had to travel thousands of miles each year to be able to work
steadily. Unlike in California, there was nowhere in the Midwest where agricultural
harvesting was possible in the middle of the winter. Later, when I was working in the
Michigan boycott, I visited the FLOC operations again, this time in the summer when the
workers were present and we went on a tour of some of the labor camps.
Because we had achieved a major goal in Cleveland by the agreement with Pik-n-Pak, the
staff was ordered to start up a boycott operation in the Dallas area. Although the union
would maintain a boycott presence in Cleveland the following year, all of the original
Cleveland boycott organizers prepared to move to Dallas, including Judy Schwabe, who
had joined the staff in Cleveland to help with administrative and community organizing
duties.
Dallas-Fort Worth Boycott
I left Cleveland in March, accompanying Scott to do advance work setting up a boycott
operation in Dallas-Fort Worth. We arrived at the beginning of April, having visited Jim
Drake along the way. Jim had left the UFW and was working for the Industrial Areas
Foundation (IAF), founded by Saul Al
i
ns
k
y
.
J
i
m wa
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ngawood
c
u
t
t
e
r
s
’
c
oope
r
a
t
i
v
e
near Koscuisko in rural Mississippi. We took a brief sightseeing detour to New Orleans. A
farmworker support group already existed, based in Dallas, among members of the
Disciples of Christ denomination. Bobby De La Cruz was running a boycott operation in
Houston and came up to Dallas briefly to give us advice on getting started.
We found accommodations for the staff and returned to Cleveland to organize a new car
caravan. Upon arriving in Dallas and getting situated, the organizers fanned out to local
s
u
pe
r
ma
r
k
e
t
st
or
e
s
e
a
r
c
hpr
odu
c
ebr
a
nds
.I
ni
t
i
a
l
l
y
,wec
ou
l
dn’
tf
i
nda
nyRe
dCoa
c
hl
e
t
t
u
c
e
being sold, so we concentrated on building the support network. Dallas-Fort Worth was a
more conservative community than Cleveland, but there were farmworker supporters to be
found among liberal religious denominations and Chicano activists. It was among the latter
group that I heard the word bolillo (roll or biscuit), a uniquely Texas semi-pejorative word
for Anglos, corresponding to gabacho among the Mexican immigrant farmworkers in
California.
There was also a labor movement in Texas, a right-to-work state, and we met early in our
s
t
a
ywi
t
ht
hel
oc
a
lc
e
nt
r
a
ll
a
borc
ou
nc
i
la
nddi
s
t
r
i
c
tof
f
i
c
eoft
heAFLCI
O.Bu
tIdon’
t
r
e
me
mbe
rmu
c
hc
ont
a
c
twi
t
ht
heDa
l
l
a
s
–For
tWor
t
hu
ni
onsa
f
t
e
rt
ha
t
.Ani
nt
e
r
e
s
t
i
ng
comment on the state of unionism in Texas came from one of the stronger UFW
supporters we met in Dallas, who helped us arrange housing. She was an employee at
Texas Instruments (then a company riding high on the new popularity of handheld
calculators), and there had been an organizing drive there that she had obviously opposed,
f
ors
hec
omme
nt
e
d,
“
Wedi
dn’
tt
hi
nkwene
e
d
e
dau
ni
ona
tTe
x
a
sI
ns
t
r
u
me
nt
s
.
”
South Texas Political Campaign
I
nMa
y
,
whe
nweha
dbe
e
ni
nDa
l
l
a
s
–For
tWor
t
honl
yaf
e
wmont
hs
,
wewe
r
et
ol
dt
og
ot
o
South Texas to help in the Texas primary election. Senator Edward Kennedy, an old ally of
the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’
mov
e
me
nt
,
wa
sc
ha
l
l
e
ng
i
ngJ
i
mmyCa
r
t
e
rf
ort
heDe
moc
r
a
t
i
cnomi
na
t
i
on
for president, and we were going to go campaign for him. So we packed up and a few days
later set out from Dallas in the morning. We stopped in Austin for a barbecue lunch, drove
through San Antonio, and late that night we arrived at San Juan on the Rio Grande border
with Mexico.
S
a
nJ
u
a
nwa
soneofma
nypoort
ownsi
nt
hel
owe
rRi
oGr
a
ndeVa
l
l
e
y
,a“
wi
nt
e
rg
a
r
de
n”
agricultural area similar to the Imperial Valley. Here Mexican-American or Chicano families
had lived for generations in some of the worst poverty in the U.S., dominated by Anglo
ranchers, voting according to the dictates of political bosses, and forbidden in earlier
decades from speaking Spanish in schools and workplaces. This was the political culture
where Lyndon Johnson had gotten his start in the Depression. This was also the birthplace
of the Raza Uni
dapa
r
t
y
—t
hemos
ts
e
r
i
ou
sa
t
t
e
mptt
oda
t
ea
tas
pe
c
i
f
i
c
a
l
l
yChi
c
a
no/La
t
i
no
pol
i
t
i
c
a
lmov
e
me
nt
—whi
c
hwa
sf
ou
nde
di
nCr
y
s
t
a
lCi
t
yi
n1
9
7
0a
ndwhi
c
hIha
dr
u
ni
nt
o
occasionally as a boycott organizer on the East Side of L.A.
The union had a field office in San Juan run by Rebecca Harrington. Her husband, Jim,
was (I believe) an attorney for the union and for other progressive organizations. We only
stayed a few days in San Juan, but during that time we got to know yet another aspect of
the UFW’
sc
ompl
e
xhi
s
t
or
y
—t
hes
pl
i
ta
ndc
onf
l
i
c
twi
t
ht
heTe
x
a
sFa
r
m Wor
k
e
r
sUni
on
(TFWU). The TFWU was founded by former UFW organizer Antonio Orendain in 1975,
who f
e
l
tt
ha
tt
hena
t
i
ona
lUFW l
e
a
d
e
r
s
hi
p—pr
e
oc
c
u
pi
e
d wi
t
hi
t
sg
r
e
a
ts
t
r
u
g
g
l
e
si
n
Ca
l
i
f
or
ni
a
—wa
snotpr
e
pa
r
e
dt
oma
k
eas
e
r
i
ou
sa
t
t
e
mptt
oor
g
a
ni
z
efarmworkers in Texas.
The TFWU was relatively active during its short life from 1975 to the early 1980s, having
organized strikes, protest marches, lobbying for a Texas equivalent to the California ALRA,
and other activities. But the UFW position, as I have indicated in various sections above,
wa
st
ha
t“
du
a
lu
ni
oni
s
m”wa
sdi
v
i
s
i
v
ea
ndwr
onga
ndi
nt
hel
ongr
u
nwou
l
dhe
l
ponl
yt
he
growers. So the TFWU did not get the backing of major organizations that were UFW
supporters, notably the AFL-CIO and the national Catholic Church. The TFWU, and
Antonio Orendain in particular, cultivated a tougher, more macho image than the UFW
(probably in keeping with the Texas political culture). I remember first hearing of the
TFWU in an article that praised Or
e
nda
i
n’
s“
wor
k
e
r
s
’bl
a
c
kha
t
”i
nc
ont
r
a
s
tt
oCe
s
a
r
’
s
“
l
i
be
r
a
l
whi
t
eha
l
o.
”
At one point the TFWU and the UFW both laid claim to the San Juan field office. Rebecca
took us on a little tour of the office and described a room-by-room struggle where each
organization would occupy different parts of the building and would try to move the other
out of the sections it occupied. Eventually, the TFWU gave up its claim, was not successful
in establishing any permanent base in Texas, and disappeared.
In our brief stay in San Juan I got two reminders of my past work in the field offices in
California. At an outdoor meeting in a nearby town, I ran into Lalo S
a
l
da
ña
,
whom Iha
d
n’
t
seen in the three years since we worked together in the Lamont Field office. We greeted
each other warmly, and he told me that he was now living in the Rio Grande Valley. Also,
at the San Juan field office, I saw some organizing cartoons that looked remarkably familiar
and found that they had been modeled on cartoons I had produced for the organizing
campaigns in California.
From San Juan we went to our assigned city for the Kennedy campaign: Corpus Christi on
the Texas Gulf Coast. Driving north through the endless King Ranch immediately north of
the Rio Grande Valley (said to be the largest cattle ranch in the continental U.S.), we
stopped to use the phone at a U.S. Border Patrol checkpoint, the only phone for miles in
any direction. The agents were friendly, but I was politically opposed to the border patrol
as part of U.S. immigration and was only polite with them.
In Corpus Christi we campaigned for about a week, leafleting and driving sound trucks to
i
nv
i
t
et
hepu
bl
i
ct
oaKe
nne
dyr
a
l
l
ya
tal
oc
a
ls
t
e
e
l
wor
k
e
r
s
’ha
l
l
.I
twa
saf
u
nbr
e
a
kf
r
om
more tedious work of organizing boycott supporters, but in the end Kennedy lost the
Texas primary to Carter. The staff returned to Dallas, and we stayed there only a few more
weeks before we were told to close up our operation and relocate to Los Angeles. I turned
over some of our records to a local farmworker support committee, and the organizers
prepared to return to California after almost a year in Ohio and Texas.
Los Angeles Boycott
Whe
nwea
r
r
i
v
e
di
nLosAng
e
l
e
si
nJ
u
neof1
9
8
0
,mos
toft
heor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
si
nS
c
ot
t
’
sg
r
ou
p
were reassigned to the field offices or other duties. I joined the large boycott staff in Los
Angeles. It was during this time that Frank Ortiz began taking over the direction of the
boycott efforts nationwide. Two of the other boycott organizers that I met in L.A. were
David Ronquillo (with whom I worked briefly a year and a half later in Denver) and Scott
Te
mpl
e
t
on.Idon’
tr
e
c
a
l
lt
ha
tweha
dac
l
e
a
rs
u
pe
r
ma
r
k
e
tt
a
r
g
e
ta
tt
ha
tpoi
nt
,a
ndIwa
s
concentrating on getting support and fundraising among UFW supporters in West L.A.,
Santa Monica, and the area south of the Los Angeles international airport. Gilberto
Rodr
i
g
u
e
za
ndLu
peBa
u
t
i
s
t
a
,whom Iha
dn’
ts
e
e
ni
na
tl
e
a
s
tt
woy
e
a
r
s
,a
l
s
oa
ppe
a
r
e
di
n
LosAng
e
l
e
s
,
a
l
ongwi
t
ha
not
he
rme
mbe
roft
he
i
ri
nf
or
ma
l
t
e
a
mni
c
k
na
me
d“
Compi
s
.
”
The boycott office was at its long-established location on Olympic Boulevard west of
downtown L.A., and we lived at the Harvard House, also west of downtown, which (I
believe) the union owned and had housed UFW staff for many years. Also while working
in Los Angeles, I was once again called on to play the Game, which we played at least once
a week during the time I was there.
Scott Washburn returned to field office work in north San Diego County, where he had
run some organizing drives before. This agricultural area, specializing in citrus, avocados,
and nursery products, had some of the most backward conditions for farmworkers in the
state, in spite of its proximity to affluent urban areas; stories of farmworkers living out in
the open in crude cardboard shacks were common. North San Diego County was one area
that I never worked in, although I did produce a cartoon for that campaign of Los Diablos
(The Devils), a notorious pair of abusive farm labor contractors.
I
nL.
A.t
ha
ts
u
mme
rIme
tS
c
ot
t
’
sbr
ot
he
r
,Ru
s
sWa
s
hbu
r
n,whowa
spa
r
toft
hewe
l
l
k
nownt
e
a
m of“
Ru
s
sa
ndRi
os
”whor
a
naUFW a
u
t
os
hopi
nt
heHi
g
hl
a
ndPa
r
ks
e
c
t
i
on
ofEa
s
tL.
A.The
ype
r
f
or
me
dmu
c
hne
e
de
dr
e
pa
i
r
sont
hes
t
a
f
f
’
sol
dc
a
r
s
,a
l
t
hou
g
ha
tf
i
r
s
t
glance their shop seemed disorganized and covered in grease. This was one of at least three
in-house UFW auto shops that I was aware of. There was one in Delano (where I went to
get my front wheel straightened out after a freak accident in which I hit a bale of hay that
f
e
l
lof
fat
r
u
c
kj
u
s
ti
nf
r
ontofmee
a
s
t
bou
ndonHi
g
hwa
y5
8ne
a
rBa
k
e
r
s
f
i
e
l
d—i
ti
s
surprising how much damage a hay bale can do), and another in La Paz, where my car was
fixed up before we headed east to Cleveland and Detroit in 1979.
My assigned area had a different mix of UFW supporters than other areas I had worked in.
There was a large Jewish community, including a retirement settlement I recall in Santa
Monica for Jewish pensioners, with a very radical director; liberal Protestant clergy in the
coastal suburbs (I worked out of a Methodist church); and very strong unions surrounding
t
hea
i
r
por
t
,i
npa
r
t
i
c
u
l
a
rt
hema
c
hi
ni
s
tl
oc
a
l
s(
“
l
odg
e
s
,
”a
st
he
ya
r
ec
a
l
l
e
di
nt
heI
AM)
representing airplane mechanics. I also did some work in other parts of Los Angeles. In
one assignment to meet a Protestant minister in East L.A., I made the mistake of entering
the church yard through a half-open gate without waiting for someone from inside the
building to come out; I had barely taken five steps when a German shepherd appeared out
of nowhere and began biting deeply into my leg. The minister soon came out of the church
building and got the dog to let me go.
While I was in Los Angeles, the union held its political convention in a local trade school
hall. The staff worked on preparations for the convention for several weeks. Ted Kennedy
had been defeated by Jimmy Carter in the primaries, and the choice before the convention
was whether to endorse Carter. It was also becoming clear that the Republican candidate
for president would be Ronald Reagan, who had immediately preceded Jerry Brown as
California governor and had proven himself no friend of the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’mov
e
me
nt
.I
n
the end, the delegates (urged by Cesar and the other UFW leaders) took the pragmatic step
and endorsed Jimmy Carter, a move that angered our more progressive supporters. (When
I called the director of the Santa Monica Jewish retirement home after the endorsement, he
s
a
i
d,
“
I
’
mf
e
du
pwi
t
hy
ou
,
”a
ndhu
ngu
ponme
.
)
Following the convention, some of the L.A. boycott organizers went to new cities. I was to
be sent to Detroit in a new role as director of the Michigan boycott. In September I set out
to return to the Midwest, along with two other L.A. organizers, Louise Anlyan and Judy
Schwabe (who had come to L.A. after leaving Dallas).
Michigan Boycott
A number of cities around the country were having L.A. assigned to them at that time, but
Detroit was the largest of those cities and was considered an important assignment.
Unfortunately, the city of Detroit has gotten a bad rap in recent years, being held up as an
a
r
c
he
t
y
peofabl
i
g
ht
e
d,c
r
i
me
r
i
dde
nme
t
r
opol
i
swi
t
hade
c
l
i
ni
ng“
Ru
s
tBe
l
t
”e
c
onomy
,
high unemployment, and failed, obsolete factories. There is truth to all of this, of course. In
some sections of Detroit I saw block after block of abandoned, burned-out or boarded-up
woode
nhou
s
e
s
,
a
nda
r
e
a
st
ha
tdi
dnot“
f
e
e
l
”s
a
f
e
.
Personally, I never encountered any problems, and found the people of Detroit to be
mostly friendly and helpful (for example, offering to help me find my way one night when
I was consulting a map to find an address). Like the Imperial Valley in my field office years,
Michigan was my longest assignment in the boycott years and made the strongest
impression on me. Detroit was the home of a proud history and culture, great boycott
supporters, and the powerful United AutoWorkers. Among other Detroit surprises, it is
notwi
d
e
l
yk
nown(
ora
tl
e
a
s
tIha
d
n’
tk
nowni
t
)t
ha
tt
heg
r
e
a
t
e
s
tDi
e
g
oRi
v
e
r
amu
r
a
l
i
nt
h
e
U.S. is on a series of panels in the Detroit Institute of the Arts, painted to celebrate the
militancy of the UAW’
se
a
r
l
yy
e
a
r
s
.
We arrived in Detroit to take over from the previous boycott team, under the direction of
Te
r
r
yVa
s
q
u
e
za
ndi
nc
l
u
di
ngJ
a
v
i
e
r____,a
swe
l
la
sTe
r
r
y
’
shu
s
ba
nd,Elizer, a farmworker
from Earlimart near Delano. Terry took us to meet key boycott supporters, including the
head of the local labor council, UAW leaders, and church leaders. Lupe and Kathy Murguia
also visited us in Detroit, and Karen King from Massachusetts joined the Detroit staff in
the summer of the following year, as well as a temporary intern from one of the local high
schools.
One day Terry took us north to the city of Flint, where the UAW is often credited with
“
i
nv
e
nt
i
ng
”mode
r
ni
ndu
s
t
r
i
a
lu
ni
oni
s
m du
r
i
ngi
t
sf
a
mou
ss
i
t
downs
t
r
i
k
ea
tGM i
nt
he
1
9
3
0
s(
a
ndmor
er
e
c
e
nt
l
y
,t
hes
u
bj
e
c
tofMi
c
ha
e
lMoor
e
’
sf
a
mou
sdoc
u
me
nt
a
r
yf
i
l
m
Whe
r
e
’
sRog
e
r
?
)
.The
r
eweme
twi
t
hac
oa
l
i
t
i
onofr
e
l
i
g
i
ou
sl
e
a
de
r
sf
r
om t
hes
u
r
r
ou
ndi
ng
agricultural areas who were resistant to supporting California farmworkers.
We settled in the neighborhood of Southwest Detroit, close to the Ambassador Bridge,
which crossed the Detroit River to Windsor in Ontario, Canada. There was a small Latino
c
ommu
ni
t
yt
he
r
es
e
r
v
e
dbyt
heS
t
.Anne
’
s(
t
heol
de
s
tCa
t
hol
i
cChu
r
c
hi
nDe
t
r
oi
t
)
,bu
ti
t
was a diverse neighborhood, and just across the street from us lived an elderly AfricanAmerican couple who were close relatives to the family of Martin Luther King, Jr. The
UFW boycott office was nearby on Michigan Ave., which ran from downtown Detroit
westward to the suburb of Dearborn.
Like Calexico, Detroit is a border town, and we sometimes went on excursions into
Windsor and nearby areas. In fact, at least during that troubled economic time, crossing
from Windsor into Detroit felt a little like crossing from Calexico into Me
x
i
c
a
l
i
—pa
s
s
i
ng
into a poorer area with older buildings and jobless people on the streets. Once Kathy Rudy
(who worked briefly for the union when I arrived) took us for a weekend overnight stay at
a retreat center on the north shore of Lake Erie in Ontario, east of Windsor.
I now took over for Terry and began reporting by phone to Frank Ortiz in California. We
spent our first few months establishing our own connections with the UFW support
community. Before Terry left Detroit, she had taken me to meet UAW leaders at Solidarity
House, the UAW International headquarters east of downtown. The U.S. auto industry was
i
n de
c
l
i
ne
,pa
r
t
l
ydu
et
oc
ompe
t
i
t
i
on f
r
om f
or
e
i
g
n—a
nd pa
r
t
i
c
u
l
a
r
l
yJ
a
pa
ne
s
e
—a
u
t
o
pr
odu
c
e
r
s
;
“
Bu
yAme
r
i
c
a
n”wa
st
hewa
t
c
hwor
doft
heU.
S
.
l
a
bormov
e
me
nt
,
me
a
ni
ngU.
S
.
brands, especially cars, for this was before Japanese and other foreign auto companies
began establishing manufacturing plants in the U.S. (In 1985, the Fremont, California,
General Motors plant mentioned above reopened under the name of NUMMI, a joint
partnership between GM and Toyota.) The parking booth at the entrance to the UAW
pa
r
k
i
ngha
das
i
g
ns
a
y
i
ngt
ha
tt
hou
s
a
ndsofl
a
i
dof
fUAW me
mbe
r
s“
don’
tl
i
k
ey
ou
r
i
mpor
t
—g
opa
r
ki
ti
nTok
y
o.
”
A prominent retired UAW leader who had been particularly close to Terry showed us
a
r
ou
ndS
ol
i
da
r
i
t
yHou
s
e
,whi
c
hwa
sawor
k
i
ngu
ni
onhe
a
dq
u
a
r
t
e
r
sbu
ta
l
s
oa“
s
hr
i
ne
”t
o
the great labor history it embodied. Later, I had the opportunity to meet with Sam
Fishman, at that time the UAW’
sna
t
i
ona
lpol
i
t
i
c
a
ld
i
r
e
c
t
or
,whog
a
v
emev
a
l
u
a
bl
ea
dv
i
c
e
a
bou
tl
oc
a
lDe
t
r
oi
tpol
i
t
i
c
a
l
,bu
s
i
ne
s
s
,a
ndl
a
borl
e
a
de
r
s(
ora
shepu
ti
t
,“
t
hec
a
s
tof
c
ha
r
a
c
t
e
r
sy
ou
’
r
ede
a
l
i
ngwi
t
h he
r
e
”
)
;l
a
t
e
rIhe
a
r
d hi
ms
pe
a
ka
taS
u
nda
ymor
ni
ng
membership meeting of one of the UAW locals. Fishman was a powerful political player,
nationally and especially in Michigan and other states with large UAW memberships like
Illinois and Ohio. A newspaper article at the time referred to a particular state election as
ha
v
i
ngbe
e
n“
Fi
s
hma
ni
z
e
d”byt
h
ee
nt
r
yoft
heUAW’
swe
i
g
htonbe
ha
l
fofoneoft
he
candidates.
We got to know other key supporters. Our closest supporter among Catholic priests was
Father ____ Tobin, pastor of a large Catholic parish near our office, who helped us
whenever called upon, with letters and phone calls, resources, referrals to other priests and
community contacts, and moral support. An active, outgoing person, Father Tobin was
proud of Detroit and once commented, having learned that some of us had worked the
pr
e
v
i
ou
sy
e
a
ri
nCl
e
v
e
l
a
nd,t
ha
tCl
e
v
e
l
a
ndwa
sl
i
k
ea“
s
ma
l
lc
ou
nt
r
yt
own”c
ompa
r
e
dt
o
Detroit. Father Thomas Gumbleton, auxiliary bishop of the Detroit archdiocese, was
another key UFW supporter (and active in nuclear disarmament and other causes as well)
and opened many doors for us. A supportive Methodist minister, Rev. John (?) McCarthy,
had a family connection to the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’mov
e
me
nts
i
nc
ehi
sda
u
g
ht
e
rMa
r
ywa
s(
a
nd
may still be) a UFW staffer in the research department.
Our strongest political supporter was Detroit city council member Maryann Mahaffey (who
is now the president of the city council), who among other things helped us as a liaison to
other political leaders. At the top of the political heap was Mayor Coleman Young, elected
De
t
r
oi
t
’
sf
i
r
s
tAf
r
i
c
a
nAme
r
i
c
a
nma
y
ori
n1
9
7
4
.Heha
dbe
g
u
nhi
sc
a
r
e
e
ri
nt
he1
9
3
0
sa
sa
union organizer in the auto plants. He was extremely popular for his defiance toward
De
t
r
oi
t
’
ss
e
r
i
ouspr
obl
e
ms
.
AtaJ
i
mmyCa
r
t
e
rc
a
mpa
i
g
nr
a
l
l
ya
tDe
t
r
oi
t
’
sCobo Hall, which
we attended as guests of the UAW, the crowd applauded Carter enthusiastically when he
arrived, but just went wild when Mayor Young was introduced shortly after.
Life is not neat, and although leaders from these different sectors supported our boycott
efforts, they sometimes had bitter conflicts with each other, famously during my stay in
Detroit over the Pol
e
t
ownpr
oj
e
c
t
.“
Pol
e
t
own”wa
st
hena
meg
i
v
e
nt
oapr
e
domi
na
nt
l
y
Polish-American neighborhood consisting of part of the city of Hamtramck and adjacent
sections of Detroit, where GM and Mayor Young had agreed on building a new auto plant
to replace the closed-down Dodge Main. This involved razing numerous homes, churches
(to which the Detroit archdiocese had agreed), and businesses. Opposition rallied around
one of the churches to be destroyed, Immaculate Conception, where parishioners staged a
sit-in in June and July of 1981 before being evicted by police. Many Catholic clergy and
nuns, as well as radical Catholic organizations like the Catholic Worker, supported the
f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’s
t
r
u
g
g
l
emos
tf
e
r
v
e
nt
l
ybu
toppos
e
dt
he
i
rowna
r
c
hbi
s
hopov
e
rPoletown.
On the other side, our heavy-hitting labor and political supporters stood behind the new
auto plants and the jobs it would bring. As representatives of the United Farm Workers we
ma
i
nt
a
i
ne
da“
de
l
i
c
a
t
eba
l
a
nc
e
,
”pu
t
t
i
ngpe
r
s
ona
lf
e
e
l
i
ng
sa
s
i
dea
ndt
r
y
i
ngt
opr
e
s
e
r
v
eg
ood
relations with all potential supporters for the sake of the workers we were representing.
On election day shortly after the Carter rally in late October of 1980, I was meeting with
t
hec
ou
nc
i
lofaPr
ot
e
s
t
a
ntc
hu
r
c
hi
noneofDe
t
r
oi
t
’
sc
ons
e
r
v
a
t
i
v
es
u
bu
r
bs
,t
r
y
i
ngt
owi
n
their support, when one of the church leaders burst in (happily, as I remember) with the
e
l
e
c
t
i
onr
e
s
u
l
t
s
:
“
Re
a
g
a
n—i
nal
a
nds
l
i
de
!
”Thu
sbe
g
a
nape
r
i
odofs
e
v
e
r
ec
ha
l
l
e
ng
e
sf
ort
he
labor movement and other progressive forces in the United States.
In my meeting with Sam Fishman of the UAW, he had commented that local supermarket
executive Paul Borman was tough to deal with. This proved correct, as our fight in Detroit
ultimately focused on Borman, president of Farmer Jack Supermarkets. Farmer Jack (later
bought by A&P, the East Coast supermarket chain) was the dominant grocer in the Detroit
area and sold Red Coach lettuce. For some months we had gotten supporters to phone and
write to Farmer Jack urging cooperation with boycott. During the fall and winter of 1980,
we felt it was time to meet with the company to see if this pressure had succeeded in
moving them. I tried repeatedly to schedule a meeting with Borman, but my calls and
letters went unreturned. Finally I sent a certified, return-receipt personal delivery letter,
which Paul Borman would have to sign for personally. Apparently this got his attention,
for about a week later we got a call from his office agreeing to a meeting and setting a date.
Fort
hi
sme
e
t
i
ng
,wea
s
s
e
mbl
e
da
n“
i
nt
e
r
f
a
i
t
h”t
e
a
m,whi
c
hi
nc
l
u
de
dCa
t
hol
i
c
,Pr
ot
e
s
t
a
nt
,
a
nd J
e
wi
s
hl
e
a
de
r
s
.Wewe
ntt
ot
heFa
r
me
rJ
a
c
khe
a
dq
u
a
r
t
e
r
s
—al
a
r
g
ec
ompl
e
xi
n
nor
t
hwe
s
tDe
t
r
oi
tu
nde
rhe
a
v
ys
e
c
u
r
i
t
y
—a
ndwe
r
es
howni
nt
oaf
a
nc
yc
onf
e
r
e
nc
er
oom t
o
meet with Bor
ma
na
nds
omeofhi
se
x
e
c
u
t
i
v
e
s
.Wel
a
i
dou
ta
l
lofou
ra
r
g
u
me
nt
s
—t
ha
t
Bruce Church was subverting the collective bargaining process by not negotiating fairly, the
miserable working conditions of farmworkers, the support we had from religious and
pol
i
t
i
c
a
ll
e
a
de
r
s
,t
hea
l
t
e
r
na
t
i
v
el
e
t
t
u
c
ebr
a
ndst
ha
thec
ou
l
du
s
e
—bu
tt
onoa
v
a
i
l
.Pa
u
l
Borman was polite but basically told us that he had no intention of cooperating.
We had worked hard for this meeting with Bor
ma
n—a
ndt
oc
r
e
a
t
et
hec
ondi
t
i
onsf
ori
tt
o
s
u
c
c
e
e
d—a
ndi
tha
df
a
i
l
e
d.
Fol
l
owi
ngt
heme
e
t
i
ng
,
Is
a
nki
nt
oade
pr
e
s
s
e
dpe
r
i
od,pos
s
i
bl
y
exacerbated by the Detroit winter weather (Detroit was so cash-strapped during this time
that snow-covered roads were not plowed away as in other cities, but simply spread with
salt so that snow turned into waist-deep gray slush). Finally, after a few weeks of little
a
c
t
i
v
i
t
y
,
weg
otba
c
konou
rf
e
e
ta
nd,
de
t
e
r
mi
ni
ngt
ha
tweha
dn’
ty
e
tpr
e
s
s
u
r
e
dFa
r
me
rJ
a
c
k
enough to move them, we launched a renewed campaign of phone calls, delegations
(
u
ns
c
he
du
l
e
ds
u
r
pr
i
s
ev
i
s
i
t
sbyag
r
ou
pofs
u
ppor
t
e
r
sorwor
k
e
r
s
—at
e
r
ms
t
i
l
li
nu
s
et
oda
y
)
to supermarket managers, leafleting, and picketing.
Several individual supporters became part of our core group during this time. Ricardo
Santos was a UAW activist from Pontiac, a medium-sized city north of Detroit. He and his
large family were our base of support in that area and organized picket lines, fundraisers,
and other activities. Clint Smith was a telephone company employee and activist with the
Communication Workers of America (CWA). During the course of the year that I spent in
Michigan, I grew personally close both to the Santos family and to Clint and his wife,
Ka
r
e
n.
Anot
he
rc
l
os
es
u
ppor
t
e
r(
whos
ena
meIdon’
tr
e
me
mbe
r
)wa
sal
oc
a
lUAW a
c
t
i
v
i
s
t
.
A young single man, he sometimes came to our apartment to for dinner, where he would
eat ravenously.
We developed local support committees in each section of the metropolitan area (East
Detroit, Macomb County, Oakland County, etc.) that met regularly and planned
fundraisers, leafleting, pressure campaigns on individual Farmer Jack stores, and other
activities.
Being in Michigan gave us access to the great labor movement resources that the city had
to offer. At Wayne State University we got a tour of the UFW archives that have been
housed there since the 1960s, and I took a class in labor journalism at the university, taught
(as I recall) by a past editor of Solidarity, the UAW’
sa
wa
r
dwi
nni
ngmont
hl
yma
g
a
z
i
ne
.
Later, as mention below, I had the chance to visit the UAW’
sFa
mi
l
yEdu
c
a
t
i
onCe
nt
e
ri
n
Northern Michigan.
We leafleted customers at Farmer Jack stores and organized occasional larger picket lines.
Once while leafleting a store, I met Congressman William Ford, a local Democratic
congressman, who shook my hand and said that he had always supported the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’
cause. Also early in 1980, keeping in mind that I was responsible for UFW support in the
whole state of Michigan, I went on an overnight to Lansing (the state capital) and Grand
Rapids, the other major cities in the state, where I met with the heads of the labor council
and some other leaders to get their support for the boycott and fundraising.
We got word from two Catholic priests that Bruce Church Inc. (BCI) officials had asked to
me
e
twi
t
ht
he
m,
a
ppa
r
e
nt
l
yt
og
e
tou
t“
t
he
i
rs
i
deoft
hes
t
or
y
”a
g
a
i
ns
tou
rboy
c
ot
tme
s
s
a
g
e
.
Later we heard that BCI was visiting other boycott supporters around the country. The
pastor of a large parish south of Detroit invited me to attend one of these meetings, and I
got a promise from him to affirm his support for the UFW even after BCI had made its
case. At the parish office, a middle-level BCI executive asserted that Bruce Church workers
no longer supported the union, and complained that the ALRB was the proper forum to
r
e
s
ol
v
et
hedi
s
pu
t
e
,nott
heboy
c
ot
t
—bot
ha
r
g
u
me
nt
st
ha
tIha
da
nt
i
c
i
pa
t
e
da
nda
g
a
i
ns
t
whi
c
hIha
d“
i
noc
u
l
a
t
e
d”t
hepa
s
t
or(
at
e
r
m weu
s
e
dme
a
ni
ngt
opr
e
pa
r
es
ome
onef
or
contrary arguments). True to his promise, the priest thanked the BCI official for coming
but pledged his continued strong support for the UFW boycott. On leaving, I shook hands
with the Bruce Church official, while giving him what I hoped was a look of grim
determination.
During the spring and summer of 1980, we organized several major events. When the
spring weather arrived, we organized a walkathon fundraiser on Belle Isle, an island in the
Detroit River entirely occupied by a beautiful park. We raised thousands of dollars in
pl
e
dg
e
sa
nddona
t
i
ons
.Idon’
tr
e
me
mbe
rt
hee
x
a
c
tt
ot
a
l
,bu
tot
he
rs
t
a
f
f
e
r
ss
a
i
di
twa
sone
of the largest fundraisers in the boycott cities during that time.
We also staged a large, noisy picket line at a Farmer Jack store in a northern suburb of
Detroit, which got the attention of the store manager and local police. This was not
something we did all the time. During those years in the boycott, our emphasis was more
on constant pressure on supermarket chains rather than building for periodic large protests
(
ac
ont
r
a
s
tt
ot
he“
J
u
s
t
i
c
eForJ
a
ni
t
or
s
”c
a
mpa
i
g
n,whe
r
et
heu
ni
ont
r
i
e
st
os
t
a
g
ea
sma
ny
large protests as possible). In fact, at one point during the Red Coach boycott, we were told
that the ideal protest at a supermarket consisted of only three people: one holding a picket
sign, one holding a UFW flag, and one leafleting the customers. Personally, I disagreed
with
this.
Mos
ts
i
g
ni
f
i
c
a
nt
l
y
,
wepr
e
pa
r
e
dt
obr
i
ngou
rme
s
s
a
g
et
oFa
r
me
rJ
a
c
k
’
sa
nnu
a
ls
ha
r
e
hol
de
r
s
’
meeting, which was to take place in the summer. Unlike some supermarket chains that
were family or privately owned, Farmer Jack was a publicly traded company, which made
this possible. But when I reported my plans to Frank Ortiz, he was not enthusiastic. He
reported that Chicago boycott director Guy Costello and his team were planning the same
tactic against a supermarket chain that they were fighting (I believe it was Jewel-Osco), and
that we should wait to see how they did before proceeding. This had been a common
“
c
or
por
a
t
ec
a
mpa
i
g
n”t
a
c
t
i
cf
ory
e
a
r
s
,
bu
ti
twa
st
hef
i
r
s
tt
i
meIha
de
v
e
ror
g
a
ni
z
e
ds
u
c
ha
n
event.
Idi
s
a
g
r
e
e
dwi
t
hFr
a
nk
—It
hou
g
htt
hi
swa
sou
rbe
s
tc
ha
nc
et
of
or
c
ePa
u
lBorman to
confront the breadth of our support in the community, and I proceeded with our plans.
Through contacts with unions and religious organizations (especially religious orders of
nuns, some of which collectively owned stock, although the individual sisters, bound by
vows of poverty, could not do so), I rounded up enough shares of stock to enable a sizable
group of supporters to attend the meeting as proxies. I also visited a stockbroker and
bought a few shares for myself and the other staffers in Detroit. The stockbroker, to whom
Idi
dn’
tr
e
v
e
a
lmyr
e
a
lpu
r
pos
e
s
,a
s
s
u
me
dt
ha
tIwa
sbu
y
i
ngs
ha
r
e
sf
oras
ma
l
li
nv
e
s
t
me
nt
club.
Themor
ni
ngoft
hes
ha
r
e
hol
de
r
s
’me
e
t
i
ng
,ou
rg
r
ou
pofa
bou
t1
5g
a
t
he
r
e
di
nt
heUFW
office. Most of the group were priests, nuns, and other religious leaders, plus some UAW
activists and individual supporters. We had gotten proxies issued by the supportive
shareholders in the name of each individual who was pledged to participate, and I had
pr
e
pa
r
e
da“
s
c
r
i
pt
”i
ndi
c
a
t
i
ngt
hec
omme
nt
st
ha
tIwa
nt
e
de
a
c
hpe
r
s
ont
oma
k
e
,r
e
f
l
e
c
t
i
ng
his or her particular background and sector. We set out for the Farmer Jack headquarters
and passed through security to the Farmer Jack offices.
A Farmer Jack official greeted us at the door to the meeting room, and it was now obvious
to them what we were doing. It was relatively small for an annual meeting, and we were
able to get seats toward the front of the room. Then Paul Borman rose to welcome the
shareholders and begin the meeting. Borman began to read the financial report extolling
Fa
r
me
rJ
a
c
k
’
spr
of
i
t
s
—whe
ns
u
dde
nl
yoneoft
henu
nsi
nt
e
r
r
u
pt
e
dhi
m bys
a
y
i
ng
,“
Ont
he
ba
c
k
sofl
a
bor
e
r
s
!
”Bor
ma
ng
l
a
r
e
da
the
ra
nd c
ont
i
nu
e
d wi
t
h hi
sr
e
por
t
.Thenu
n’
s
comment had been spontaneous, but now our part of the show began, and during the rest
oft
heme
e
t
i
ngou
rs
u
ppor
t
e
r
sr
a
i
s
e
dt
he
i
rv
oi
c
e
sov
e
rt
hec
ompa
nyof
f
i
c
i
a
l
s
’obj
e
c
t
i
ons
.A
UAW leader gave an eloquent speech about the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’c
ondi
t
i
onsi
nt
hef
i
e
l
ds
;
r
e
l
i
g
i
ou
sl
e
a
de
r
sq
u
ot
e
dt
he
i
rba
s
i
si
nf
a
i
t
hf
ors
u
ppor
t
i
ngwor
k
e
r
s
’s
t
r
u
g
g
l
e
s
;a
ndIs
t
a
t
e
d
the specific demands that we had of Farmer Jack. We had actually tried to get formal
resolutions presented at the meeting requiring Farmer Jack to honor the Red Coach
boy
c
ot
t
,
bu
tf
ort
e
c
hni
c
a
l
r
e
a
s
onst
ha
tIdon’
tr
e
c
a
l
l
,
wewe
r
enota
bl
et
odos
o.
Eventually, Borman managed to shut off our comments, and the meeting ran its course.
We left the meeting satisfied that we had made our point, however. And just as we were
walking away through the parking lot, Paul Borman spotted me and waved at me to stop.
Wi
t
hahe
a
r
t
yg
r
i
n,
hec
a
meov
e
r
,
g
r
a
bbe
dmyha
nd,
a
nds
hooki
t
,
s
a
y
i
ng
,
“
Gr
e
a
tt
os
e
ey
ou
a
g
a
i
n!
”It
r
i
e
dt
ot
a
k
ea
dv
a
nt
a
g
eoft
hi
spe
r
s
ona
lc
ont
a
c
tt
opr
e
s
sou
rc
a
s
ewi
t
hhi
m,bu
the
quickly walked off. Obviously, we had at least gotten his attention.
Soon after this, the staff left Detroit to attend the UFW convention in California, and
when I returned to Detroit after that it was only for several short periods in between
traveling to other cities. We did not reach a settlement with Farmer Jack while I was there,
but my recollection is that I learned later that year that they were dropping Red Coach
lettuce.
UFW Convention and Boycott Conference
The biannual UFW constitutional convention was coming up in August. We were asked to
recruit boycott supporters to travel with the staff to Fresno to attend, not easy because of
the time commitment needed. We had been informed that Bruce Church workers would be
at the convention and that they would have the opportunity to thank the boycott
supporters for standing with them. Clint Smith got his CWA local to arrange for a paid
release from his job, and at least one religious supporter from Detroit went, along with
supporters from the other boycott cities.
The plan was to take a van from Detroit and from New York, meet up in Chicago, and
travel together from there. By the day before departure, we had not yet lined up a credit
card for the deposit. After several frantic calls to supporters, Rev. McCarthy (mentioned
above) agreed to meet us the next day and help us get the van.
We set out at midday and reached Chicago by late afternoon, the first time I had been
there. There we met up with Guy, Alice, the rest of the Chicago staff, and several
supporters, as well as the van from New York filled with East Coast staff and supporters.
We drove without stopping, changing drivers every few hours, as far as Fort Collins,
Col
or
a
do,
whe
r
eAl
i
c
e
’
spa
r
e
nt
sl
i
v
e
d.
Ka
r
e
nf
r
omou
rDe
t
r
oi
ts
t
a
f
fha
dne
v
e
rbe
e
nwe
s
tof
Detroit, and on first seeing the arid landscapes of western Nebraska and Colorado,
c
omme
nt
e
dt
ha
ts
hec
ou
l
dn’
ti
ma
g
epe
opl
el
i
v
i
ngi
npl
a
c
e
sl
i
k
et
ha
t
.Wene
x
ts
t
oppe
da
t
the home of the parents of Rob Everts in Marin County, north of San Francisco, having
taken a brief detour to Lake Tahoe. We arrived at the convention in Fresno the next day.
He
r
eIs
a
ws
t
a
f
fa
ndwor
k
e
r
sIha
dk
nowni
nt
hef
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
e
sbu
tha
dn’
ts
e
e
nf
ors
e
v
e
r
a
l
years. The supporters who had come with us enjoyed meeting the farmworkers and seeing
the spectacle. Unfortunately, we found that Bruce Church workers were not present at the
c
onv
e
nt
i
ona
sweha
dpr
omi
s
e
ds
u
ppor
t
e
r
s
.Ine
v
e
rdi
df
i
ndou
te
x
a
c
t
l
ywhy
—a
l
t
hou
g
h
t
he
ywe
r
enot“
me
mbe
r
s
”a
tt
hemome
ntbe
c
a
u
s
et
he
yha
dnoc
ont
r
a
c
t
,ot
he
rwor
k
e
r
si
n
similar situations were there as delegates.
Here I learned more about the internal divisions that had grown while I was absent from
California, which several close coworkers from the field offices took me aside to explain.
Dissident leaders from some areas, especially Salinas, were demanding more autonomy for
the ranch committees, which were the rank-and-file leadership group at each unionized
company. Some translated this into a demand for local unions with their own elected
leadership and financial resources, as other unions had. For others it was simply a demand
for being able to make their own decisions as members over contracts, political activity,
and other aspects of the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’
mov
e
me
nt
.
The convention reflected these splits, although they did not affect the entire membership.
I
twa
spa
r
toft
he“
pa
g
e
a
nt
r
y
”a
tt
he
s
ec
onv
e
nt
i
onsf
orwor
k
e
r
sf
r
om e
a
c
hc
ompa
nyor
town to bring colorful banners identifying them to the other delegates. Marshall Ganz had
bynowr
e
s
i
g
ne
dhi
spos
i
t
i
on,a
nda
tl
e
a
s
toneba
nne
rIs
a
wr
e
a
d“
Noqueremos gente de
Ma
r
s
ha
l
l
”(
“
Wedon’
twa
ntMa
r
s
ha
l
l
’
spe
opl
e
”
)
—pr
e
s
u
ma
bl
yaba
nne
rma
debyUFW
loyalists who viewed Marshall as a threat (wrongly, in my opinion) to the leadership.
By the last day, debate over these issues had come out into the open, and resolutions for
more rank-and-file autonomy were voted down. My last memory of the convention was of
Mario Bustamante grabbing his Green Valley Farms banner and stalking out of the
convention hall, in open disagreement with the vote. Some of the staffers I had known
from La Paz hissed at him as he left.
Following the convention, the boycott staff and supporters who were with us went to La
Paz for a strategy conference. The supporters participated in the planning and discussion.
Clint Smith tended to be outspoken in expressing his own sometimes contrary opinions,
which caused some tension with staff from the other cities. At the conference, with
boycott fights winding down due to our successes in some cities, we discussed reassigning
the staff to different cities. Frank Ortiz gave me a choice of returning to work in California,
but I said I wanted to stay in the Midwest.
Michigan and Washington, D.C.
We arrived back in Detroit in the midst of a national crisis for the labor movement. On
August 3, 1981, the federal air traffic controllers union, PATCO (Professional Air Traffic
Controllers Organization), went on strike after months of frustrating negotiations with the
Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), in which health and safety issues were a major
issue for the union. As federal workers, PATCO members were prevented by law from
striking. Within hours, President Reagan (whom PATCO, unlike most unions, had
endorsed in 1980) gave PATCO members two days to return to work or be fired. The
Reagan Administration made good on this threat and went far beyond a simple legal
r
e
me
d
y
—f
i
r
i
ngs
t
r
i
k
e
r
s
,a
r
r
e
s
t
i
ngt
hes
t
r
i
k
el
e
a
de
r
s(
phot
osofs
t
r
i
k
e
r
sbe
i
ngl
e
da
wa
yi
n
handcuffs appeared on front pages across the country), fining the union millions of dollars,
and eventually destroying PATCO altogether.
In addition to the attack on PATCO, Reagan was claiming that the labor movement was
no longer in touch with its own members, throwing in our face the phenomenon of the soc
a
l
l
e
d“
Re
a
g
a
nDe
moc
r
a
t
s
”
—wor
k
i
ng
c
l
a
s
sv
ot
e
r
s
,
ma
nyf
r
om u
ni
onhou
s
e
hol
ds
,
whoha
d
voted for Reagan in 1980.
In Detroit, the labor council hurriedly pulled together a large demonstration at the Federal
Building, in which we pounded the pavement with picket sign sticks while shouting
“
PATCO!
”Bu
twewe
r
ewa
i
t
i
ngf
orana
t
i
ona
lr
e
s
pons
e
,a
nds
oonlearned that AFL-CIO
president Lane Kirkland had called for a massive labor demonstration in Washington, D.C.
in early September. All of the UFW boycott staff in the Midwest and East planned to
attend (although I recall that for some reason our participation was made optional, even
though this was the biggest labor event in years). The Detroit staff set out with several
close supporters to drive through the night to Washington, D.C. Driving in Pennsylvania
through the increasingly heavy traffic, we waved at a car in the next lane, a car full of UAW
leaders from Detroit whom we knew.
We arrived at the house where the Washington, D.C. boycott staff lived, in the northern
part of the city. Among other staffers, I met Steve Jones, who was a musician as well as a
boycott organizer and later gave me a little book of boycott and union songs he had
written. Then we headed downtown on the Metro (subway system), on which AFL-CIO
had purchased an entire free day. The protest, called Solidarity Day in honor of the
Solidarnosc labor union, which was then challenging the Polish government, drew 500,000
union members to Washington, which I was visiting for the first time. We were all bitterly
aware that Reagan extolled S
ol
i
da
r
nos
ca
sag
r
e
a
twor
k
e
r
s
’or
g
a
ni
z
a
t
i
onbe
c
a
u
s
ei
tf
i
ti
nt
o
hi
sa
nt
i
c
ommu
ni
s
tg
l
oba
ls
t
r
a
t
e
g
y
—whi
l
ej
a
i
l
i
nga
ndf
i
r
i
ngu
ni
ona
c
t
i
v
i
s
t
si
nt
hi
sc
ou
nt
r
y
.
We thronged the National Mall and marched around the area of federal buildings
surrounding it. All in all, an unforgettable day.
S
omel
a
borl
e
a
d
e
r
sha
v
es
i
nc
ea
s
k
e
di
fKi
r
k
l
a
ndc
ou
l
dn’
tha
v
ec
a
l
l
e
dmor
ea
g
g
r
e
s
s
i
v
e
actions to confront the Reagan Administration than a single demonstration, impressive as
it was. The PATCO crisis gave urgency to a debate over old versus new tactics within the
l
a
bormov
e
me
ntt
ha
t“
pe
r
c
ol
a
t
e
d”u
pt
hr
ou
g
hl
oc
a
la
ndi
nt
e
r
na
t
i
ona
lu
ni
ons
,a
ndl
e
d
eventually to SEIU president John Sweeney taking over as AFL-CIO president from Lane
Ki
r
k
l
a
nd’
sha
ndpi
c
k
e
ds
u
c
c
e
s
s
or
,Thoma
sDona
hu
e
,wi
t
hane
we
mpha
s
i
sonor
g
a
ni
z
i
ng
,
political activism, and aggressive tactics.
Black Lake, Chicago, and Rockford
In October of 1981, I traveled from Detroit to Chicago to work for a month in Rockford,
a medium-sized city a few hours west of Chicago. Before going there, I first headed north
to the UAW’
sWa
l
t
e
ra
ndMa
yReuther Family Education Center in Onaway, Michigan,
ne
a
rt
henor
t
he
r
nt
i
pofMi
c
hi
g
a
n’
sLowe
rPe
ni
ns
u
l
a
.Iha
dbe
e
ni
nv
i
t
e
dt
oa
t
t
e
nda
conference there by a leader in one of the UAW regions near Detroit, which was headed by
a
not
he
rg
r
e
a
tl
a
borv
e
t
e
r
a
n,Robe
r
t“
Bu
ddy
”Ba
t
t
l
e
.Thee
du
c
a
t
i
onc
e
nt
e
r(
c
ommonl
y
c
a
l
l
e
d“
Bl
a
c
kLa
k
e
”a
f
t
e
ral
a
k
et
ha
twa
sont
hepr
ope
r
t
y
)
,
wa
sawe
l
l
e
q
u
i
ppe
dt
r
a
i
ni
nga
nd
r
e
t
r
e
a
tc
e
nt
e
ri
nMi
c
hi
g
a
n’
snor
t
hwoods
.Ia
ddr
e
s
s
e
dt
heUAW me
mbe
r
si
nt
hea
f
t
e
r
noon
session, thanking them for their past and continued support and (I believe) collecting
dona
t
i
ons
.Theme
mbe
r
sha
dbe
g
u
nt
hes
e
s
s
i
onbys
i
ng
i
ng“
S
ol
i
da
r
i
t
yFor
e
v
e
r
,
”t
hel
a
bor
a
nt
he
m wr
i
t
t
e
nt
ot
het
u
neoft
he“
Ba
t
t
l
eHy
mnoft
heRe
pu
bl
i
c
.
”Ba
t
t
l
e(
ora
not
he
rUAW
official) introduced me just before the song, making gracious comments to the effect that
as a f
a
r
mwor
k
e
ra
c
t
i
v
i
s
tIk
ne
wt
heme
a
ni
ngof“
s
ol
i
da
r
i
t
y
”i
nt
i
ma
t
e
l
ya
nddi
dn’
tne
e
dt
obe
taught the words to the song. In the evening after dinner, a few Italian-American UAW
members played bocce ball on the lawn in front of the dining hall.
I spent the night and attended several training sessions the next morning, including a video
workshop on how to effectively address TV cameras. Then I drove north over the
Ma
c
k
i
na
cBr
i
dg
ei
nt
oMi
c
hi
g
a
n’
sUppe
rPe
ni
ns
u
l
aa
ndc
ont
i
nu
e
ds
ou
t
ht
hr
ou
g
hWi
s
c
ons
i
n
to
Chicago.
After a briefing with Guy Costello, I headed to Rockford, where I ended up spending
several weeks establishing support for the Red Coach boycott, returning to Chicago on the
weekends to stay overnight in an apartment with other UFW volunteers in the Uptown
ne
i
g
hbor
hooda
l
ongLa
k
eMi
c
hi
g
a
nnor
t
hoft
heLoop(
downt
ownChi
c
a
g
o)
—oneoft
he
few racially and ethnically mixed parts of this city that was known as the most segregated
major city in the U.S. Although there had been some tension between us during the trip to
and from the convention, once I was working in Illinois I got along very well with Guy,
who was one of the most senior UFW boycott leaders in the country and had an open and
easy way of dealing with people while also being very conscientious toward the details of
the
work.
Guy and Alice had established a deep support base in Chicago among religious,
community, labor, and political leaders. Most notable of the political leaders was
Congressman Harold Washington, a strong supporter of all progressive causes.
Wa
s
hi
ng
t
on’
sa
ppe
a
lr
e
a
c
he
da
c
r
os
st
r
a
di
t
i
ona
le
t
hni
cbou
nda
r
i
e
s
.Theonet
i
meIs
a
whi
m
in person was in the early summer of 1982, when he was a keynote speaker at a
c
omme
mor
a
t
i
onoft
he4
0
y
e
a
ra
nni
v
e
r
s
a
r
yoft
heWa
r
s
a
wg
he
t
t
ou
pr
i
s
i
ng
—a
l
lt
hemor
e
welcome considering the tension that had erupted in some places between the AfricanAmerican and Jewish communities. After leaving the UFW staff, I saw Alice and Guy again
in 1983 on my way to the East Coast and Europe; they had just finished working in
Wa
s
hi
ng
t
on’
ss
u
c
c
e
s
s
f
u
lc
a
mpa
i
g
nf
orma
y
ori
nwhi
c
hhes
u
c
c
e
e
d
e
dJ
a
neBy
r
net
obe
c
ome
Chi
c
a
g
o’
sf
i
r
s
tAf
r
i
c
a
nAme
r
i
c
a
nma
y
or
,a
ndt
he
ywe
r
ee
ne
r
g
i
z
e
dbyt
hene
wpos
s
i
bi
l
i
t
i
e
s
for their city that this seemed to unlock. Tragically, Washington died in office in 1987.
Rockford was a medium-sized industrial city with a base of churches and labor leaders who
were ready to give us their support. A local supermarket chain was selling Red Coach
lettuce, and I organized an interfaith prayer vigil in front of one of the stores. I also
performed our regular duties of getting pledges of support, collecting donations, and
getting letters and phone calls to the supermarket executives. At a luncheon with some
local UAW officials, they reported the news that Egyptian President Anwar Sadat had been
assassinated.
I was in Rockford only a short time. I was able to establish a base of supporters (who were
reactivated the following year when we continued the boycott effort there), but I did not
make any lasting personal contacts. After my brief Rockford assignment, as the fall weather
was getting cooler, I returned to Detroit around the beginning of November of 1981.
New York Boycott
In late November or December of 1981, Frank Ortiz pulled many of the boycott
organizers to New York. There was no Red Coach lettuce being sold there, but another old
UFW adversary, D’
Ar
r
i
g
oBr
ot
he
r
s
,wa
ss
e
l
l
i
ngbr
oc
c
ol
it
he
r
eu
nde
rt
hel
a
be
lAndyBoy
.
By this time I was the only boycott staff left in Detroit; I closed up the house that the
union would continue to pay rent on, stored the car at the home of Clint Smith, and took
the train to New York. I arrived at Grand Central Station in Manhattan, along with some
other boycott staff from the Midwest, in the afternoon of the next day; Frank Ortiz met us
there and took us to the New York boycott headquarters on the Upper West Side of
Manhattan, near Central Park. This was a large multistory apartment that served as both an
office and a residence.
The New York boycott director was Irv Hershenbaum, another veteran boycott organizer,
whos
t
a
y
e
dwi
t
ht
heUFW a
ndi
snowt
heu
ni
on’
sf
i
r
s
tv
i
c
epr
e
s
i
de
nt
.Iha
dnotwor
k
e
di
n
the East Coast boycott cities before, so many of the staffers were new to me, including
Gary Clements, Hillary Horn, and others. Irv was a native New Yorker with a street-smart,
wi
s
e
c
r
a
c
k
i
nga
t
t
i
t
u
de
.
Hea
s
s
i
g
ne
dmet
oQu
e
e
ns(
hec
a
l
l
e
di
thi
s“
f
a
v
or
i
t
ehomebor
ou
g
h”
since he had grown up there) and Long Island. I established an office in a Catholic high
school in the Long Island City section, just across the East River from Manhattan.
As instructed, I had arrived in New York without a car, for a car was difficult to keep in
Ma
nha
t
t
a
n,a
ndwor
ki
nma
nypa
r
t
sofNe
wYor
kCi
t
ydi
dn’
tr
e
q
u
i
r
eone
.Howe
v
e
r
,ac
a
r
was essential for Long Island and the many sections of Queens not serviced by the subway,
so early in my stay I traveled to Boston to pick up an extra staff car that they had there.
Rob Everts, whom I had known in the field offices, was the boycott director there.
Like Bruce Church, D’
Ar
r
i
g
owa
sr
e
f
u
s
i
ngt
ode
a
lwi
t
ht
heUFW.Ma
nyl
oc
a
lc
ha
i
nswe
r
e
selling Andy Boy broccoli, and UFW supporters were writing letters and calling to urge
them to stop selling it. Once we visited the famous advertising agency of Jerry Della
Femina in Manhattan, which was doing pro bono work for the union; they showed us an
a
dt
he
yha
dd
e
v
e
l
ope
df
e
a
t
u
r
i
ngt
heAndyBoyl
og
o—ay
ou
ngboyi
nf
a
r
mc
l
ot
hi
ng
—wi
t
h
ac
a
pt
i
ont
ha
tr
e
a
d,“
Hu
ndr
e
dsofme
na
ndwome
nl
i
v
ei
nf
e
a
roft
hi
sl
i
t
t
l
eboy
.
”Twoof
the target chains I remember were Grand Union, which had many stores in my assigned
area, and Red Apple, a chain specializing in smaller stores in Manhattan catering to
pedestrian customers. While I was in New York, we reached an agreement with Red Apple
to stop selling Andy Boy broccoli, which I believe was our first breakthrough of that
campaign.
I worked with the already developed network of boycott supporters in Queens to put
pressure on the target supermarkets, organizing several protests that were reasonably well
attended in spite of the winter weather. Long Island (Nassau and Suffolk counties) had not
been worked as intensively, so I concentrated on building a support base. At the eastern
e
nd ofLongI
s
l
a
nd,t
he
r
ewa
sa
ni
nde
pe
nde
ntg
r
ou
p(
whos
ena
meIdon’
tr
e
c
a
l
l
)
organizing farmworkers who worked there seasonally as part of the East Coast migratory
c
i
r
c
u
i
t
.Thi
sg
r
ou
pha
dg
ot
t
e
naba
dr
e
pu
t
a
t
i
on(
whe
t
he
rde
s
e
r
v
e
d
,I
’
m nots
u
r
e
)du
et
oi
t
s
confrontational tactics and radical rhetoric, and when I contacted a Protestant minister in
the area, he only agreed to meet with me after determining that I was with the UFW, not
the independent farmworker group.
Besides working my area, I participated in special projects. At one point, Irv assigned me as
liaison with the unions in building for a big Midtown support rally. I made calls out of the
“
GodBox
”
—ani
c
k
na
mef
ort
hehe
a
dq
u
a
r
t
e
r
soft
heNa
t
i
ona
lCou
nc
i
lofChu
r
c
he
son
Riverside Drive, next to the home church of the famous radical minister William Sloane
Coffin. The New York City labor movement was strong and very well established and had
been one of the major sources of supporters for the f
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’mov
e
me
nts
i
nc
et
he
very beginning. In the course of this assignment I met Joe Lopez (?), a prominent Latino
labor leader who appears in Fighting for Our Lives denouncing the Teamsters tactics in
breaking the grape strike. I addressed the New York Central Labor Council, then headed
by Harry Van Ar
s
da
l
e(
“
Va
n”t
ohi
sc
l
os
ea
s
s
oc
i
a
t
e
s
)
,whoa
c
c
or
di
ngt
oIrv was such a
hi
g
hr
a
nk
i
ngl
a
borl
e
a
d
e
rt
ha
thewa
sha
r
dt
oa
ppr
oa
c
h—a
sIrv put it in briefing me on
Van Ar
s
da
l
e
,“
Youdon’
tc
a
l
lGod—hec
a
l
l
sy
ou
.
”The
r
eIa
l
s
ome
tBr
i
a
nMc
La
u
g
hl
i
nof
the IBEW, who now heads the council.
Living and working in New York was fascinating for someone who had never been there
before. It was certainly convenient living in the same building as the union office, but it
also meant that you could never really escape the intense work atmosphere. But the
attractions of New York, which I got to see a little of, partly made up for this. During a
br
i
e
fChr
i
s
t
ma
s
–Ne
wYe
a
rbr
e
a
k
,
Iwa
sa
bl
et
ov
i
s
i
tt
heS
t
a
t
u
eofLi
be
r
t
ya
ndt
heAme
r
i
c
a
n
Museum of Natural History (walking distance from the staff apartment), as well as other
famous museums, and ascend to the top of the now-fallen World Trade Center. I also
accompanied I
r
vt
oaYi
ddi
s
hl
a
ng
u
a
g
epl
a
yont
heLowe
rEa
s
tS
i
dea
ndt
oaNe
wYe
a
r
’
s
Eve party in (I believe) Greenwich Village.
Denver and Chicago
By March of 1982, we had scored some gains against D’
Ar
r
i
g
oi
nNe
w Yor
k
,a
ndonc
e
again we were called to a staff conference (this time in Chicago) for reassignment. Thus
began the final months of my time as a UFW staff volunteer, much of which I spent
traveling from one brief assignment to another. The entire New York staff first drove west
to Cleveland, where we met up with staff from the other East Coast cities. I took a brief
detour to Detroit to pick up the car (which Clint Smith had to dig out with a snowplow)
and the rest of the personal belongings I had left there. A new Detroit boycott organizer
went with me and took up residence in our Southwest Detroit apartment.
Then I proceeded to Chicago for the boycott conference with Frank Ortiz. I was assigned
to Denver along with David Ronquillo, Hillary Horn, and several other organizers. Before
l
e
a
v
i
ng
,weg
a
t
he
r
e
df
orag
r
ou
ppor
t
r
a
i
twi
t
ht
he“
de
a
n”oft
heUFW s
u
ppor
t
e
r
sa
mong
Chi
c
a
g
o’
sCa
t
hol
i
cpr
i
e
s
t
s
,av
e
r
ys
e
ni
orpe
r
s
onwi
t
ht
heChi
c
a
g
oa
r
c
hdi
oc
e
s
e
.Wehe
a
de
d
for Denver, stopping overnight at the homes of farmworker supporters in St. Louis and
Kansas City, Kansas.
In Denver we stayed in a large seminary (which seemed half empty), and after a brief
research found that one of the major local chains, King Soopers, was selling Red Coach
lettuce. In Denver, the local labor council (the Denver Area Labor Federation) was headed
by Bill ____, a firm UFW supporter who introduced us to many. The labor movement of
t
heFr
ontRa
ng
ec
i
t
i
e
se
a
s
toft
heRoc
k
yMou
nt
a
i
nc
r
e
s
t
—i
nt
hemi
ds
tofc
ons
e
r
v
a
t
i
v
e
,
Re
pu
bl
i
c
a
ndomi
na
t
e
dCol
or
a
do—ha
dbe
e
nf
or
g
e
dbys
omel
e
g
e
nd
a
r
yl
a
bors
t
r
u
g
g
l
e
si
n
the steel mills of Pueblo (south of Denver) and, more recently, the long nationwide boycott
against the anti-union Coors brewery in Golden.
Denver also had a large and growing Latino community with organizations and Spanishspeaking parishes that gave us a lot of support. This community consisted both of recent
immigrants, as in California, and of descendants of the centuries-old Spanish settlements in
New Mexico and southern Colorado, whose influence we saw reflected in aspects of local
c
u
l
t
u
r
es
u
c
ha
st
hef
oods
e
r
v
e
di
nDe
nv
e
r
’
sMe
x
i
c
a
nr
e
s
t
a
u
r
a
nt
s
,a
nde
v
e
nu
ne
x
pe
c
t
e
d
musical quirks: On the day we had driven from St. Louis to Kansas City, I had sung for the
s
t
a
f
f
e
r
st
hebl
u
e
sc
l
a
s
s
i
cI
’
m Goi
ngt
oKa
ns
a
sCi
t
y
…(
they had never heard it). To their
surprise, at one party of Latino community activists we attended, someone started a chorus
oft
ha
ts
ong
,
c
omme
nt
i
ng“
I
fy
ou
’
r
eRa
z
ai
nDe
nv
e
r
,
y
ou
’
v
eg
ott
os
i
ngKa
ns
a
sCi
t
y
!
”
I left Denver after about a month, called back to take up a new post in the Chicago boycott
of
f
i
c
e
;s
omeoft
her
e
s
toft
hes
t
a
f
fha
da
l
r
e
a
dyl
e
f
t
,a
l
t
hou
g
hIc
a
n’
tr
e
c
a
l
li
fweha
d
reached an agreement with King S
oope
r
s
.It
ookade
t
ou
rnor
t
ht
os
e
eMi
nne
a
pol
i
s
–S
t
.
Paul, arriving there on Easter Sunday (April 11), then stopped in the Quad Cities (an
industrial urban area straddling the Mississippi River consisting of Davenport and
Bettendorf, Iowa, and Rock Island and Moline, Illinois) to visit one of the boycott
organizers who was stationed there.
When I got to Chicago, Guy Costello asked me to coordinate the work of three boycott
or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
swho we
r
eg
oi
ngt
o wor
ki
nt
he“
ou
t
l
y
i
ngc
i
t
i
e
s
”s
u
r
r
ou
ndi
ngChi
c
a
g
o—
Rockford, Illinois and nearby Beloit, Wisconsin; the Quad Cities; and Peoria, Illinois. I
worked out of Chicago but was expected to travel frequently to the outlying cities to train
and help the organizers. I was reporting to Frank Ortiz but also coordinating my work with
Guy, who was generally in charge of boycott activities throughout the region.
Gibb Surette from Iowa was assigned to Peoria, a city with a strong UAW presence at the
John Deere manufacturing plant. He had strong views on the role of unions as workingclass organizations and was dismayed when, during an introductory meeting with UAW
r
a
nk
a
ndf
i
l
el
e
a
de
r
sa
tJ
ohnDe
e
r
e
,oneoft
he
mc
omme
nt
e
dt
ha
t“
we
”we
r
epr
odu
c
i
ng
certain products, referring to the company and its employees. Two other new organizers
we
r
ea
s
s
i
g
ne
dt
ot
heot
he
rc
i
t
i
e
s(
Idon’
tr
e
c
a
l
l
t
hena
me
s
—bot
hwe
r
ewome
n,
oneoft
he
m
from the province of Prince Edward Island in Canada).
Guy Costello and I accompanied the organizers to meet their initial contacts from labor
and church groups and to get set up with housing. The organizers would also come to
Chicago periodically for training and staff meetings. They continued the boycott effort
a
g
a
i
ns
tRe
dCoa
c
h;a
tonepoi
ntt
he“
ou
t
l
y
i
ngc
i
t
i
e
s
”or
g
a
ni
z
e
r
sha
dac
onc
e
nt
r
a
t
e
dl
e
t
t
e
r
writing campaign by supporters to our supermarket targets and achieved a total that was
close to what supporters in Chicago did with a better-established base.
Du
r
i
ngmys
t
a
yi
nChi
c
a
g
owepa
r
t
i
c
i
pa
t
e
di
ns
omeot
he
ror
g
a
ni
z
a
t
i
ons
’
e
v
e
nt
sa
swe
l
l
.
The
staff helped picket a Loop restaurant in a protest called by INFACT, part of its boycott
a
g
a
i
ns
tNe
s
t
l
epr
odu
c
t
s(
t
her
e
s
t
a
u
r
a
nte
mpl
oy
e
e
sr
e
s
ponde
dwi
t
h“
I
NFACT ha
sno
f
a
c
t
s
!
”
)
.Wea
l
s
owe
ntt
ot
hes
t
a
t
ec
a
pi
t
a
lofS
pr
i
ng
f
i
e
l
df
orama
s
s
i
v
er
a
l
l
yt
os
u
ppor
t
passage of the Equal Rights Amendment; Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne addressed the rally,
which was not successful in getting the Illinois legislature to ratify the ERA, and ultimately
the ERA fell short of being added to the Constitution by four states.
While working in Chicago I met Olgha Sierra Sandman, one of the leaders of the National
Farm Worker Ministry. She organized a meeting for Cesar to meet with farmworkers in
Onarga, IL, about 2 hours south of Chicago where the NFWM had established a presence.
Iwa
si
nc
ha
r
g
eofs
e
c
u
r
i
t
yf
ort
heme
e
t
i
ng
,
t
heonl
yt
i
met
ha
tIha
dt
ha
ta
s
s
i
g
nme
nt
;
Idon’
t
know whether any permanent organizing grew out of that effort. I also participated in a
return visit to FLOC’
s(
pot
e
nt
i
a
l
)me
mbe
r
s
hi
pt
ha
tOlgha organized, visiting labor camps
in Indiana as workers returned from the south to begin the 1982 spring season.
Leaving
In Chicago during the early summer of 1982, I heard from John Brown, who by then had
left the UFW staff and was traveling around the country in an old camper truck that he had
borrowed from Scott Washburn. He stopped for an overnight stay in Chicago to see me,
Guy, Alice, and some of the other staffers he knew. A number of experienced boycott
staffers were considering leaving at that time, and John told me that if I was going to leave
soon, I could travel together with him back to California when he came back through
Chicago in another month after visiting relatives in the East.
In July I made my decision to leave, partly because I was affected by questions about the
direction we were headed and by the internal divisions that I have described above. But I
a
l
s
of
e
l
ti
twa
st
i
mef
orac
ha
ng
e
—Iha
d(
Ihope
d)he
l
pe
da
dv
a
nc
et
hef
a
r
mwor
k
e
r
s
’c
a
u
s
e
during my six years on staff, and now I wanted to do other things in life. I called Frank
Ortiz and gave him my resignation. He said it was too bad because he was thinking of
assigning me as director of the San Juan Bautista field office. This would have been a great
assignment if I was staying with UFW, but I had made my choice.
John Brown came back to Chicago soon after; we set out for California, I driving my old
car and John the pickup truck. We went south through New Orleans and stopped in
Houston to see Ken Fujimoto, who was then working for the IAF. We saw Rios (the L.A.
car mechanic, mentioned above) at his home in rural South Texas. We arrived in L.A. to
stay with some friends of his. A few months later, I moved back to the Bay Area and began
a new period of my life.
The Later Years
After I left the UFW staff, I continued close contact with many of the people I had met
there, and worked with a number of people mentioned in this essay on political and labor
campaigns for several years. In 1987, Susan S
a
c
he
n(
whom Iha
dn’
ts
e
e
ns
i
nc
et
he
Proposition 14 campaign, but who was referred to me by John Brown) recruited me to my
pr
e
s
e
ntj
obwhe
ns
hewa
swor
k
i
ngwi
t
ht
heS
EI
UI
nt
e
r
na
t
i
ona
lUni
on’
s“
J
u
s
t
i
c
eFor
J
a
ni
t
or
s
”c
a
mpa
i
g
n.
In the summer of 1983, I took a break to travel to Europe and the Soviet Union, first
driving across country to catch a charter flight from New York. On my way to and from
the East Coast I revisited old UFW friends (staff and ex-staff, plus the Smith and Santos
families in the Detroit area) in Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, Boston, and other cities. When
I returned to California, I joined Scott Washburn in San Diego to work temporarily with
the United Domestic Workers (an organization sponsored by SEIU) and met some longtime activists from San Diego who had long been core UFW supporters (Alice Barnes,
Greg Akili, Ken Msemaji). I returned briefly to San Diego in 1985 to work on Maureen
O’
Connor
’
ss
u
c
c
e
s
s
f
u
lc
a
mpa
i
g
nf
orma
y
or
,whi
c
hwa
sbe
i
nga
dv
i
s
e
dbyMa
r
s
ha
l
lGanz
and Scott.
Many of my closest friends among the UFW veterans were bitter over the internal divisions
and disputes that were so strong at that time, and dismayed at what seemed to them a loss
of focus by the UFW on its core mission of organizing and representing farmworkers.
Noneoft
hi
sme
a
ntal
a
c
kofde
s
i
r
et
oi
mpr
ov
et
hewor
k
e
r
s
’l
i
v
e
s
—ora
tc
r
i
t
i
c
a
lmome
nt
s
,
for the UFW and its goals. When Cesar embarked on a 36-day fast in 1988 (the longest and
most dangerous of his life) to protest excessive use of pesticides in the fields, some of the
rank-and-file leaders who had broken most completely with the UFW leadership
communicated to Cesar their personal concern for his well-being.
Sadly, deaths have also brought many of us back together briefly; for example, at the
memorial service for Fred Ross, Sr. in San Francisco, and most of all when Cesar died in
Apr
i
lof1
9
9
3
.Myf
i
r
s
tc
a
l
lwhe
nIhe
a
r
dofCe
s
a
r
’
sde
a
t
hwa
st
oJ
ohnBr
own,whol
a
t
e
r
told me that he felt as if he had lost his own father (I felt the same). Along with Mike
Ga
r
c
i
a
—t
he
na
ndnowpr
e
s
i
de
ntofS
EI
ULoc
a
l1
8
7
7
,
whe
r
eIwor
k
—Ia
t
t
e
nde
dt
hewa
k
e
in Delano on the day before the funeral. Neither of could stay for the funeral itself because
we had to testify in an NLRB hearing that the board would not postpone in spite of the
oc
c
a
s
i
on,bu
tont
ha
twa
r
me
v
e
ni
nga
tFor
t
yAc
r
e
sIr
a
ni
nt
oma
nype
opl
ewhom Iha
d
n’
t
seen for years.
When Arturo Rodriguez took over as interim and then permanent UFW president after
Ce
s
a
r
’
sde
a
t
h,
ma
nyofu
swhoha
dwor
k
e
df
ort
heu
ni
onwe
r
ei
mpr
e
s
s
e
dwi
t
hhi
se
mpha
s
i
s
onor
g
a
ni
z
i
ng
,a
ss
y
mbol
i
z
e
dbyt
hes
l
og
a
n“
Cada trabajador un or
g
a
ni
z
a
dor
”(
“
Ev
e
r
y
wor
k
e
ra
nor
g
a
ni
z
e
r
”
)
.Myl
a
s
tdi
r
e
c
ti
nv
ol
v
e
me
ntwi
t
ht
heUFW wa
si
noneoft
he
s
ene
w
organizing drives, the strawberry campaign in Watsonville in 1997, where I went for a brief
we
e
kt
ohe
l
pou
t
.Dol
or
e
sHu
e
r
t
a
—t
hel
a
s
ts
u
r
v
i
v
oroft
heor
i
g
i
na
lUFW f
ou
nde
r
s
—who
has endured so much, including a vicious beating by the San Francisco police in 1988, was
there to visit workers in the campaign, and it was an honor to work with her again briefly.
Strawberries are an industry, like citrus before 1978, where the union had not had great
success. They are a very physically demanding crop to harvest, requiring workers to kneel
for hours on end. Visiting workers during that week in Watsonville, I felt sad to see how
much fear and intimidation there was still to overcome, more than 30 years after Cesar
took the first steps to form the United Farm Workers Organizing Committee. In one
house visit I did with another organizer, a strawberry worker gave her opinion that the
“
u
ni
onwa
sba
d.
”Whywa
st
heu
ni
on“
ba
d”
?Be
c
a
u
s
ei
ft
heu
ni
onwona
ne
l
e
c
t
i
ona
the
r
s
t
r
a
wbe
r
r
yr
a
nc
h,t
heg
r
owe
rha
dt
hr
e
a
t
e
ne
dt
o“
di
s
k
”t
hef
i
e
l
ds
—de
s
t
r
oyt
hes
t
r
a
wbe
r
r
y
crop and throw the workers out of a job. So ingrained was this fearful mindset that
apparently to her, the union was bad to even think about challenging the bosses.
Ultimately, the UFW was able to win some victories in the strawberries and fight off still
mor
ephonyg
r
owe
r
domi
na
t
e
d“
u
ni
ons
,
”j
u
s
ta
st
heu
ni
on ha
df
ou
g
hta
g
a
i
ns
tt
he
“
I
nde
pe
nde
nt
,
”t
he“
I
nt
e
r
na
t
i
ona
l
,
”a
nds
i
mi
l
a
r“
u
ni
ons
”du
r
i
ngmyt
i
me
.
In the broader movement for labor rights and social justice, the UFW has not only given
birth to an entire generation of organizers and activists, but popularized ways of fighting
and winning (nonviolence, building community and political allies for unionization,
me
t
hodsofa
s
s
e
s
s
i
ngwor
k
e
rs
u
ppor
t
)
,a
nd—e
s
pe
c
i
a
l
l
yr
e
l
e
v
a
ntf
ormov
e
me
nt
sor
g
a
ni
z
i
ng
Spanish-speaking workers like S
EI
U’
s“
J
u
s
t
i
c
eForJ
a
ni
t
or
s
”c
a
mpa
i
g
n—t
owor
ds
,mu
s
i
c
,
and images that still resonate (Sí Se Puede, Spanish versions of labor and civil rights songs
like Solidarity Forever and We Shall Not Be Moved).
The fight for farmworker rights is not a historical relic, much less merely a backdrop to the
life of Cesar Chavez, but an ongoing social challenge. I am proud to have worked on the
front lines of that movement during those very formative years of my life.
Notes
Information sources. The major information sources are my own recollections and records.
I have saved UFW leaflets, anti-UFW leaflets, and some other literature from my years
working on the UFW staff, particularly the organizing campaigns in UFW field offices in
1
9
7
7
–1
9
7
8
,pl
u
sphot
osa
nds
omes
a
v
e
dne
ws
pa
pe
ra
r
t
i
c
l
e
s
.Iha
v
es
c
a
nne
ds
omeoft
he
s
e
graphic materials and they could be available for inclusion in a future version of this essay.
The organizing leaflets (mostly produced by me, but some by Alberto Escalante) provide
information on election victories and defeats, as well as major issues in the organizing
dr
i
v
e
sa
tt
hedi
f
f
e
r
e
ntc
ompa
ni
e
s(
e
.
g
.
,t
wonot
or
i
ou
ss
u
pe
r
v
i
s
or
s
—ElBúfalo at Holtville
Farms and Frank Vargas at Garin, both mentioned in the text).
After leaving the UFW staff, I compiled and sent a complete set of the leaflets and graphic
materials to the UFW archives at Wayne State University in Detroit. I received back a letter
s
a
y
i
ngt
he
ywe
r
ebe
i
nghou
s
e
di
na“
Ma
r
kS
ha
r
woodc
ol
l
e
c
t
i
on,
”a
l
t
hou
g
har
e
c
e
ntI
nt
e
r
ne
t
search of the Wayne State archives did not show any reference to these materials.
The most valuable set of outside information sources in the field office section is found in
the decisions and other records of the Agricultural Labor Relations Board, many of which
are available through the Internet in PDF (Acrobat Reader) format. Here you can find
exact details of elections, ULPs, and legal decisions (for example, the decision certifying the
UFW election victory at Bruce Church Inc., mentioned in the text) as well as the names of
organizers from the UFW and the other unions, rank-and-file leaders, and management
personnel.
A variety of Internet sources provided information for the boycott section about political
and labor leaders, local and national issues, and supermarket and other businesses. It may
be that much of this material is already familiar to readers. I have included it to explain the
environment in which we worked and because our work was directly affected by the
leaders we dealt with and the issues of the day.
Some facts and events reported here are based on memory and may be in error. If this is
the case, I regret it, for this was never deliberate. I have tried to write as accurate an
account as I could. I would be glad to receive corrections or comments on anything in this
essay via e-mail at [email protected].
Names. In six years of working for the UFW I met many different people, and I mention
those with whom I worked most closely or who were important UFW leaders at the time
(and in many cases are still well-known, e.g., Marshall Ganz), as well as some who were/are
prominent in other fields (e.g., George Voinovich in Cleveland). In some cases I am not
s
u
r
eoft
hena
me(
i
ndi
c
a
t
e
dwi
t
h“
(
?
)
”
)
,orIc
a
nonl
yr
e
me
mbe
rt
hef
i
r
s
tna
meort
he
ni
c
k
na
me(
mi
s
s
i
ngl
a
s
tna
me
sa
r
ei
ndi
c
a
t
e
dwi
t
h“
____”
)
.Ia
l
s
ome
tma
nyr
a
nk
a
ndf
i
l
e
farmworker leaders in the different campaigns, but in most cases I knew them only for
brief periods unless they worked as organizers, and I am not able to include most of their
na
me
she
r
e
,pa
r
t
i
c
u
l
a
r
l
ybe
c
a
u
s
ei
nt
hef
i
e
l
dof
f
i
c
e
sIwa
sa“
pr
opa
g
a
nd
i
s
t
”a
ndnota
n
organizer with direct responsibility for worker contact.
Disclaimers. As stated at the beginning of this essay, everything I have written here reflects
my opinions and beliefs about what I did while volunteering and working for the United
Farm Workers. The material on the internal conflicts within the union is bound to be
controversial any way it is presented; I include it because it was important to present an
honest picture, while making it clear that my work with the UFW was overall a positive
experience. I have tried to stay away from any comments about strictly personal conflicts
or shortcomings. I also have left out comments about personal relationships among staff
volunteers and between staff volunteers and other people. The staff consisted mainly of
y
ou
ng
,s
i
ng
l
epe
opl
e
,s
or
oma
nt
i
cr
e
l
a
t
i
ons
hi
psc
e
r
t
a
i
nl
yoc
c
u
r
r
e
d,bu
tIdi
dn’
tt
hi
nkt
he
y
needed to be discussed in this essay.
Chronology of My Involvement in UFW Field Office and Boycott Office Campaigns
ALRB ELECTION CAMPAIGNS
Organizing leaflets I have kept show the following election results during the different
organizing drives where I worked providing graphic and other support.
Election
Month/Year
Early 1977
Early 1977
Early 1977
4/77
Early 1977
5/77
6/77
6/77
6/77
6/77 (?)
6/77
6/77
6/77
Mid 1977
8/77
8/77
9/77
11/77
12/77
1/78
2/78
2/78
2/78
2/78
Early 1978 (?)
3/78
Early 1978
3/78
4/78
5/78
5/78
5/78 (?)
6/78
6/78
6/78
7/78
7/78
8/78
Field office
Company
Crop
Lamont/Calxc Yurosek
carrots
Lamont
Tejon Ranch
grapes
Lamont
Valicella
(?)
Lamont
Malovich
(peaches?)
Lamont
Patterson & Hale (?)
Coachella
Mel-Pak grapes
Coachella
Karahadian
grapes
Coachella
Moreno
grapes
Coachella
Mouradick
grapes
Coachella
CID/Coachella Vinyds grapes
Coachella
Carian
grapes
Calexico/Lmt Sam Andrews lettuce
Calexico
Hubbard
tomatoes
Lamont
Nalbandian
grapes (?)
Lamont
Mosesian
grapes
Lamont
Rancho #One grapes
Delano/Lamont Giumarra
grapes
Salinas/Lamont Jack T. Baillie(1) lettuce (?)
Calexico
Desert Seed
seeds
Watsonville
Miranda-Ariel mushrooms
Calexico/Oxnd Mel Finerman/Circle 2 (?)
Calexico
Holtville Farms carrots (?)
Calexico
N.A. Pricola
(?)
Calexico
Jackson
(?)
Calexico
Neumann Seed seeds
Watsonville
Monterey Mush. mushrooms
Salinas
Delfino Artichokes artichokes
Oxnard
Coastal Growerslemons
Oxnard
Limoneira
lemons
Oxnard
Rancho Sespe lemons
Oxnard
L&O
lemons
Oxnard
MOD
lemons
Santa Maria
Phelan & Taylor (1) celery
Santa Maria
Point Sal
celery
Santa Maria
Phelan & Taylor (2) celery
Salinas
Oshita
lettuce
Salinas
Jack T. Baillie(2) lettuce
Salinas
Arrow
vegetables
Election Results:
UFW NO
Other/invalid
(union victory)
(no-union victory)
17
6
52
13
8
30
142
55
85/5
121
169
64
107
88
(?)
112
136
9/149
(no-union victory)
456
98
95
26
(?)
287
241
203
24
673
900
191
64
5
67/13
95
26
other union victory)
117
29
30
20
7
27
1
83
28
38
17
138
42
(other union victory)
897
42
191
83
116
53
162
14
(union victory?)
21
16
33/8
(other union victory)
(other union victory)
154
40
(other union victory)
110
44
8/78
8/78
Summer 78
Summer 78
Summer 78
Summer 78
Summer 78
Salinas
Salinas
Salinas
Salinas
Salinas
Salinas
Salinas
Hibino
lettuce (?)
Huntington Farms lettuce (?)
Cel-A-Pak
celery
Sakata lettuce
Garin lettuce
Merrill Farms lettuce
ACA
(?)
15
14
46
14
(other union victory)
(UFW victory?)
(no-union victory)
(no-union victory)
(?)
BOYCOTT/POLITICAL ACTIVITIES
Begin
6/78
12/78
8/79
9/79
4/80
6/80
7/80
9/80
10/81
11/81
4/82
5/82
Boycott Office
Los Angeles
Los Angeles
San Francisco
Cleveland
Dallas
(San Juan)
Los Angeles
Detroit
Chicago
New York
Denver
Chicago
Campaign Target(s)
Yes on Prop. 14
General support
Lettuce strike support
Red Coach lettuce, Pik-n-Pak
Red Coach lettuce
Kennedy for President
Red Coach lettuce (Lucky?)
Red Coach lettuce, Farmer Jack
Red Coach lettuce (?)
Andy Boy broccoli Grand Union
Red Coach lettuce King Soopers
Red Coach lettuce (?)
Assigned Areas
L.A. , Pico Rivera
L.A. , West L.A.
S.F., Oakland
Cleveland, Cincinnati
Fort Worth
Corpus Christi, TX
South Bay area, West L.A.
Detroit and Michigan
Rockford, IL
Queens, Long Island
Denver
Rockford, Peoria, Quad Cities