It was a lot harder to stop the FRAC terror attacks on the porters in the marketplaces and bazaars. I have previously explained how the back porters were splintered among several different unions and various parties. The FRAC union became the strongest, not because it enrolled the most members, which it did, but because it installed a system of frightful terror. If some porters belonged to the FRAC union, they terrorized the other porters, even if the other porters were in the majority, forcing them to join their FRAC union. If they refused, they would begin to harass them, giving them a smaller share of the pool or pushing them out of work altogether. Often it happened that if one of those pushed out of work gave in and joined their union, he had to pay a large “penalty” to be allowed back to his old workstation. The strong-arms running the FRAC union divided this money among themselves.
The wildest of these FRAC thugs was Itshe “Zbukh” (his family name was Anders). He was the “chairman” of the FRAC Porters Union, but he was more like the leader of a gang of toughs than the chair of a union. He was a strong man, a wild thug, and a real “king” among the strong-arms, an underworld character down to the marrow of his bones. Using the power of the FRACs and the strength of his own gang, he terrorized everyone. As for his own work, he had a job at a fish market in Janusz’s courtyard on Gnojna Street, near Krochmalna. There he was “king.” Mostly he terrorized Bundists. One of the first he threw out of work was our comrade Shaye-Yudl, who also worked at the fish market in Janusz’s courtyard. But Shaye-Yudl did not break down. He went around for a long time unemployed, but refused to swear allegiance to the FRAC union. Eventually he opened a small dairy shop on Krochmalna 17 and made his living there. He did this largely because he got sick of the whole atmosphere the FRACs had introduced into the transport workers world.
In Janusz’s courtyard there was also a station of handcart porters that belonged to our union. Among these porters was a comrade of ours, Zalmen Pipe, a Bundist and a member of our Militia. “Zbukh” tormented him. Once he beat him up in front of the whole group of handcart porters.
Now we were forced to act. If our members saw we were incapable of defending them even when they were being attacked and beaten, openly, on the street, they would leave us. What to do? Talk to Itche’s conscience? He wouldn’t understand. Call for a fight? In that case he would bring his FRACs and his thugs and they would surely win. There was only one thing left to do—somehow tear down Itche’s prestige. I decided to do this on my own.
On a certain morning I went off to Janusz’s courtyard to the spot where our handcart porters stood at their stations. I waited for the moment when Itche “Zbukh” stood encircled by a whole gang of porters, merchants, and “good fellows.” They stood around calmly talking things over, Itche standing in the middle, talking like a boss. With rapid steps I approached, went into the middle of the circle, went right up to him and said to him, loudly, half as a question and half as a demand: “How long are you going to continue this beating and terrorizing?” And not waiting for an answer I delivered a resounding slap to his face.
I don’t know whether my slap hurt him physically, but lifting a hand against the “king” of the thugs, the “chairman” of the FRAC Porters Union, was something nobody could have imagined. Everyone around became confused. He himself became pale and as if frozen to the spot. But he did not lift his hand to retaliate. He stood a moment, confused and lost. Suddenly, he turned and quickly left. All around things roiled and hummed as if in a beehive. The crowd dispersed and spread the sensational news that Itche “Zbukh” got slapped by Bernard. With this, the royal crown was knocked off his head.
I stayed there quite a while with our handcart porters. After that, when I had calmed myself down a bit—because the truth is I was scared; I knew this could end badly—I went back to the party offices.
That evening Dr. Loketek, the leader of the whole FRAC Militia, called. He wanted to see me, and we talked about when and where to meet. Before I went there, I told several acquaintances of mine, Polish labor activists, how I slapped Itche “Zbukh” and that I was now to meet with Loketek, probably because he wanted to talk to me about it. They strongly advised me to go meet with him. But it’s good—they said—that you’ve told us about it. We will also go to the place where you are meeting him. Just in case—whatever—we’ll be right there.
We had agreed to meet with Loketek in a restaurant near “Pod Blachą” (The Copper Roof Palace) near the Kerbedzia Bridge, next to the dock on the Vistula from which the ships departed. Loketek also brought along Matrashek, the chairman of the “zwirnikes,” and several others. Loketek strongly complained about what I had done, that I had torn down the prestige of the FRAC union. He was not concerned about the honor of Itche “Zbukh;” what he was concerned about was the prestige of their union. I laid out my complaints to Loketek. I remonstrated with him about the things Itche did. He beat, he thrashed, threw people out of work, took “contributions” to let people come back to work. He is not a chairman; he is the boss of a bunch of extortionists. As I spoke I noticed that Matrashek was listening with great astonishment, as if he were hearing all this for the first time. In that case, I thought, I will tell him more. In greater detail I told more about the criminal behavior and criminal acts of Itche “Zbukh.” Finally we agreed that if there were any further frictions or conflicts among the members of our two unions, the two unions would settle it between themselves.
Itche “Zbukh” was no longer “king.” He no longer terrorized the porters as he had before. People were less afraid of him.
Eventually, Itche “Zbukh” came to a bad end. In the Warsaw Ghetto, he and his son, who had been a boxer in the Maccabi sports organization, became informers for the Gestapo. Their specialty was informing about smugglers who “illegally” brought food into the ghetto. Because of this, the ghetto smugglers attacked Itche “Zbukh,” stabbing him to death.