In unions, as in politics and life, things change. A neighbourhood may initially be settled by one group of people but as their needs and preferences change they move on to new neighbourhoods. In downtown Toronto, Spadina was initially a Jewish area, known as The Ward. By the 1970s and ’80s, it had become largely Asian. It is the same in unions. The first immigrants to Canada were Scots and Irish and English and, later, we Italians arrived along with Poles, Portuguese, and many other nationalities.
For some time, there was ethnic tension within the local as the old guard adjusted to the arrival of the newer members. In our case, the tension was primarily between a small group of Italian members and some Irish members. The Italian group was led by Biaggio Di Giovanni, the patriarch of a large Italian family, all members of the local and good workers, although they were a minority among our Italian members. Their major complaint was that the best jobs were given to the Irish.
In those days the best jobs were in subway construction where hourly rates were higher and working conditions were better. Together with bridge building, it was the only sector of the local with a full hiring hall, which meant the employer had to call the union for his manpower instead of hiring off the street. Although the hiring hall system was well established with other building trade unions in the commercial sector, I was not in favour of it. My objection was simple. With a hiring hall system, members regarded the union as an employment agency and they blamed the union, rather than economic or political conditions, when they were out of work. My idea of a union was for members to regard it as the body representing workers in the quest for better working conditions and as a source for help with their problems on and off the job. In time, I was proven right. Most building trades unions either watered down or got rid of the hiring halls, although some trades still use the system or a variation of it today.
Di Giovanni’s complaint was not without merit but there were good reasons why the Irish were predominantly working in subway construction. It was difficult for the Irish to work on other construction sections where the overwhelming majority were either Italian or Portuguese. It was not a case of discrimination. It was a question of language and practice. On those projects the working language was Italian and the methods were different. For an Irishman, it was like being a fish out of water. I also knew the few hundred Irishmen we represented were loyal to our union and ready to fight anytime I called upon them.
In the spring of 1968, Di Giovanni brought his complaints to the Italian-language newspaper Corriere Canadese. At that time, it had just hired a director and an assistant both recently arrived from Rome and while they were experienced journalists and good at their jobs, they knew nothing of Canadian realities. Unfortunately, they published a series of articles in which Di Giovanni accused Gallagher of all kinds of skulduggery and wrongdoing. Gallagher was understandably upset. He laid charges against Di Giovanni under the union constitution. Di Giovanni was tried by the union trial board, found guilty, and suspended from the local. However, the trial board’s finding, by the constitution rules, had to be approved by the members at the next monthly membership meeting before it could be implemented.
It was April 1968. The meeting was held at the Labor Lyceum on Spadina Avenue, now a Chinese shopping centre. At that time, all monthly meetings were held in the evenings. I later changed the time to Sunday morning to make it easier for members to attend. At this particular meeting, the hall was at capacity with more than five hundred members, split more or less evenly for and against Di Giovanni.
I was on the stage with Reilly, Gallagher, and Mike O’Brien, a full-time union representative. O’Brien, incidentally, became a good friend and visited my house many times to eat Italian food. He was well liked by the Irish because he was a nephew of Michael Collins, a hero of the Irish independence movement. As soon as the minutes of the trial board were read at the meeting, chairs started to fly. It was like a scene out of a movie. I did not know what to do. I noticed O’Brien jumping from a window next to the stage. I said to myself: “If it is good enough for the nephew of an Irish national hero, it is good enough for me.” I followed O’Brien.
Shortly after the brawl started, all kinds of police officers arrived. They re-established order but the meeting was adjourned. The decision of the executive board, the only one ever made for expulsion of a member from the local union in my thirty-two years, was never implemented. Over time, under my leadership, the ethnic conflict died down and harmony prevailed between ethnic groups. The Di Giovanni family continued to be strong union supporters though there were other showdowns, as I will describe later.
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Later that year, in October, there was a vacancy in the executive board of the local for the position of recording secretary, an unpaid position. The executive board meetings were held monthly on Saturday mornings because three of the members worked during the week. The executive board of the local consisted of seven members, the president (which was not a full-time position), the vice-president, the recording secretary, the secretary treasurer, the business manager (the most important position), and two other executive members. At that time, I was the secretary treasurer, the second-most important position.
On October 5, 1968, at about 10 a.m., we were sitting in the small boardroom on the second floor of the union office on St. Clair Avenue. Our constant organizing had increased our membership and we had outgrown the Queen and McCaul office. A couple of years earlier we had purchased a two-storey building with about 1,500 square feet of space on St. Clair West and that was where we were, waiting for Mike Reilly, who would act as the chairman. Reilly was the full-time business agent and he was busy downstairs taking care of some members’ needs. Suddenly, Jim Gibb, one of our members, burst into the boardroom and pulled a brand-new shotgun from a cardboard box.
No one paid much attention to him. The last thing you are looking for is a member with a shotgun. Jim worked in subway construction and I knew him so, having spotted the gun, I got up slowly from my chair, walked over, and said: “Hey, that’s a nice hunting gun you have, Jim.” Jim pointed the gun at me, then rotated, pointing at the others around the table, in particular Gerry Gallagher. “Today you will appoint me to the position of recording secretary,” he said.
We were all shocked but Gerry calmly responded: “We’d be happy to do it, Jimmy, but we can’t start the meeting without the chairman.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s downstairs,” said Gerry.
Jimmy pointed at me and yelled for me to go and get him.
I did not wait to be asked twice and gladly left the room to tell Reilly what was going on. Reilly asked me to call the police and bravely headed upstairs. Shortly after, an executive board member, Frank Palazzolo, rushed down and said not to call the police as per Jimmy’s wishes. It was too late. The police had already been called but before they arrived I heard a commotion from the board room and went up to investigate. I found Jimmy on the floor, bleeding slightly from the head. Apparently, he had asked for a glass of water and Reilly was more than happy to comply. Wisely, though, he kept the glass at a distance from Jim, who, in order to grab it, took his finger off the trigger. As he did, Dan Ryan, another member of the executive board and full-time business agent, grabbed the gun from Jimmy who then got a whack over the head with the barrel.
The police arrived shortly after and arrested him. The surprise came later when Jim Gibb went to court. For such a serious offence he got off with a very light sentence. His lawyer put up a brilliant defence. He said Jim had been damaged by sad experiences with the Seafarers’ International Union and Hal Banks, and that he had only pulled the gun in our offices in self-defence. Gallagher was very upset at the light sentence, as we all were, and rightly so.