1976–1977: You'll Get Used to It

It is my first day at the Workers' Rights Center. I leave my new apartment at 8:00 a.m. and make my way to Commercial Avenue. It is a vibrant strip of bars, restaurants, and all sorts of shops, including a supermarket and a large variety "Dollar Store." Many of the bars and restaurants are open and filled with workers coming off of their shifts at the steel mill and neighborhood factories that run around the clock. Commercial Avenue is full of people entering and leaving the bars and restaurants or on their way to or from work. The diversity of Southeast Chicago's working-class population is on permanent display — Eastern Europeans, blacks, and Mexicans mingle freely on Commercial Avenue but live in distinct, effectively segregated areas of the Southeast Side of Chicago. There is also a lot of automobile, truck, and bus traffic that creates a continual din of motors and horns. As I approach the office, the air is thick with the fumes of nearby U.S. Steel Southworks, motor vehicle exhaust, and an as yet unidentified unpleasant odor of another plant in the vicinity. The odor reminds me of once cooking french fries after a rat or a mouse had died in the walls of our kitchen.

The air is gritty. I look at cars parked along Commercial Avenue and notice that they are coated with a fine red dust. I run my finger over one of the cars and consider writing a political message on it. That seems juvenile, so I wipe the dust off my finger onto my jeans. Everything seems to be covered by the red dust.

Near the Workers' Rights Center is a huge cathedral, Immaculate Conception, built in the nineteenth century. I stop to read a sign in front of the church that announces the times of masses in English, Spanish, and Polish. Looking east down 88th Street I see a number of other churches — another Roman Catholic cathedral and some smaller Baptist churches that Kingsley tells me serve the community's black population.

I turn left on 88th Street and arrive at the Workers' Rights Center, at mid-block. It is a walk-in pro bono (free) legal clinic that is mostly involved with immigration rights, worker conflicts in some of the area factories, and helping workers get their unemployment benefits when they are laid off.

I have no real legal training other than a few legal research courses when I was a graduate student at Syracuse University and my experience doing cross-examination with the Dartmouth debate team. So I assist Kingsley, doing what would be called paralegal work today. All the work we do is financed through Kingsley's personal funds and my savings from when I was a college professor. We advertise our services with flyers. Employers are routinely challenging laid-off workers who have filed for unemployment compensation. We let it be known that we can help these workers.

My first assignment with the Worker's Rights Center is to represent a worker at an unemployment compensation hearing. The administrative officer, who is employed by the State of Illinois, holds a hearing in a small conference room in a nondescript government building in the neighborhood. The worker and I enter the room and are asked by the officer to sit at a long conference table. The company representative then comes in and sits across from us. My client recognizes the man and looks down at the table. I can see that he is angry and intimidated by the sight of the company man. The company man speaks first, alleging that my client has been fired "for cause." He had been insubordinate, came late for work regularly, and was incapable of doing the work he had been hired to do. If these things hold up, the worker will face a six- to eight-week delay in gaining his benefits. At the low pay he was getting on the job, this would be a disaster for him and his family.

Here is roughly how the rest of the hearing went.

Me: "Isn't it true that my client has worked for you for two years?"

Company man: "Yes, that's true."

Me: "And all this insubordination, tardiness, and incompetence — when did that start happening?"

Company man: "It went on the whole time; we have just had enough."

Me: "Did you ever give him warnings."

Company man: "Yes, many times."

Me: "In writing?"

Company man: "Err ... no."

Me: "No written warnings?"

Company man: "No. We treat our workers like family."

Me: "Actually, you have laid off a number of workers in the past month because sales are down and you don't want your unemployment taxes to go up. Isn't that right? How many workers have you laid off in the past month, and how many compensation claims have you challenged?"

Company man: "None of your business."

The administrator is shuffling through some files. She looks up. "It is my business, sir. I am awarding this employee immediate compensation."

Well, that was that. We have a number of similar victories. But we soon learn that even when awarded compensation, workers are not getting checks and are being given the runaround. We contact workers who had complained to us about this, as well as other unemployed clients, and call a meeting, asking them to bring papers documenting their unemployment compensation award. At the meeting one person after another tells of long lines, hours of waiting, a grilling about their efforts to find work, and a runaround once they get to talk to one of the clerks. We decide on the spot to march to the office and demand action. It is located about a quarter of a mile down 88th Street.

We prepare and distribute a short leaflet explaining what we are doing and why. We call several TV stations and tell them there will be a demonstration at the Stony Island office in two hours. We then start marching to the office, passing out leaflets along the way.

As we approach the office, we see a line of people stretching down the street. We pass out leaflets to those in line, explaining that we intend to occupy the offices and invite them to join us. Many do. We go inside. There is a long counter separating unemployed workers from State of Illinois employees. One bored looking worker behind the counter is talking to someone. There is a large open area behind the counter where other workers are sitting at desks, talking on the phone, and shuffling papers. At the end of the counter is a gate that opens a passage between the two sections of the building. There are two security guards milling around.

We catch them by surprise, open the counter gate, and pour into the large inner sanctum. We then sit down. The guards and a supervisor order us to leave. We produce another leaflet stating that we will not leave until everyone is told in writing when they can expect their checks. Soon the television cameras and reporters arrive and so do the police. The police order us to leave. We continue to sit. The person in charge of the office comes out and tries to reason with us. Then she returns to her private office, reappearing about ten minutes later. She orders her...