12

The Wives Hold a Christmas Party

By the day of the party the Wives had put their heads together and devised an ingenious method for the present distribution. Children were “streamed” as they arrived—by age and gender—and a clearly labeled table set up in the Vimy Room for each category.

It was, all in all, a riotous affair, one of the first great triumphs of The Year of The Long Strike.

The little boys arriving were instantly galvanized as they entered the Vimy Room, immediately thrilled at the sight of the great open space of the capacious room, the seemingly vast distance of it, and the high, airy ceilings. They clapped their hands in delight, and began to run about like maniacs, gamboling recklessly, heedless of their seemingly imminent and inevitable head-on collisions with more sedate passers-by.

They had all been cooped up indoors for what seemed like an eternity owing to the astounding brutality of the terrible winter, and now, suddenly, they were set free, a boisterous tribe.

For their part the girls were just as amazed at the sight of the huge room decorated for Christmas and crowded with tables overflowing with presents. The girls shrieked in delight in ear-splitting screams that only heightened the general, adrenalized pandemonium.

The news media were out in force, too, with multiple cameras set up on tripods, shooting for the local stations, yes, but also for the big national networks, their sun guns glaring throughout the room, the news crews more than a little curious to see whether the Wives could make good on their seemingly outlandish promise that no striker’s child should go without a full measure of Christmas presents in The Year of the Long Strike.

The Steelworkers’ Hall was the place to be on that day in the week before Christmas, 1978, the Vimy Room the hub of the entire community. For a few hours, at least, the grim business of the strike, with its mounting privations, was forgotten as beaming parents shepherded their children into the Hall to collect their Christmas presents.

Conspicuous in his absence, though little noticed at the time, was only Jordan Nelson, who had elected to stay away from the Hall. Single and childless and still one of the youngest strikers, the strike leader really didn’t feel he belonged at the party. Instead, he remained at home, alone, in the run-up to Christmas, choosing not to answer the phone, which rang incessantly. Truth was, he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet, which gave him time to think, to recharge his spiritual batteries.

And so, Christmas Eve found Nelson in solitary contemplation, nursing a cocktail in front of the Christmas tree in the living room of his apartment. He pulled the plug on the string of Christmas lights that festooned the tree and went to bed early, wondering what the New Year held in store. Knowing what he did, it was hard to contemplate the prospects for the coming year without an almost overwhelming sense of dread.