It is more like Management Day instead of Labor Day.

My dad knew what work was. Having grown up on a farm where work was hard work he almost always grabbed work by the legs and wrestled it to the ground. When he was told to do something of a laborious nature he was out the door on the job before his boss could finish his work request. Having grown up on a farm he had the tenacity and muscle to tackle and subdue any job given him. My dad almost loved work. He would wrap his arms around it and bring it into submission.

But anyway, He and his young family left his small farm in Oklahoma in March of 1941 and migrated out to the west coast and settled in southern California. After a few days looking for work he met up with a company manager who could easily see a man who knew work. My dad was tall, strong, and feared not any work. So he put my dad on the job right away. And a few short years later my dad was promoted to plant supervisor and took on that task. The company he worked for was loyal to him and him to them. So for 39 years the company and he gave each other mutual respect. Something you seldom see today.

Even though he was management the union workers under him regarded my dad well. And he was most respectful to them. A few times when the union workers went on strike, my dad also benefited from their negotiations. Bothe in salary and health benefits. He knew what was given to the union workers would be return back to him. It was a good relationship.

But these days you don’t find this kind of give and take loyalty. Most unions have been forced out of business. State legislatures along with the help of the federal government have made it very difficult to unionize or participate in collective bargaining. Mostly driven by big company lobbyists. So the end result is much lower wages with little or no health benefits. Driving down the wage of the middle class worker. Plus management regarding workers as just chattel or indentured servants. So, Happy Labor Day. Work your butt off.

Published by OkieMan

I come from a family who migrated from the parched red dirt Plaines of southern rural Oklahoma. Migrating to blue collar working class community of East Los Angeles. There is where I was born. I am Mr. Writermelon. I can only write what my grammar and spell checker allows. I am neither profound nor profane. Boy howdy! Send comment to:

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