THE HOMESTEAD STRIKE
While upon the subject of our manufacturing interests, I may record
that on July 1, 1892, during my absence in the Highlands of Scotland,
there occurred the one really serious quarrel with our workmen in our
whole history. For twenty-six years I had been actively in charge of
the relations between ourselves and our men, and it was the pride of
my life to think how delightfully satisfactory these had been and
were. I hope I fully deserved what my chief partner, Mr. Phipps, said
in his letter to the "New York Herald," January 30, 1904, in reply to
one who had declared I had remained abroad during the Homestead
strike, instead of flying back to support my partners. It was to the
effect that "I was always disposed to yield to the demands of the men,
however unreasonable"; hence one or two of my partners did not wish me
to return.[42] Taking no account of the reward that comes from
feeling that you and your employees are friends and judging only from
economical results, I believe that higher wages to men who respect
their employers and are happy and contented are a good investment,
yielding, indeed, big dividends.
[Footnote 42: The full statement of Mr. Phipps is as follows:
_Question:_ "It was stated that Mr. Carnegie acted in a cowardly
manner in not returning to America from Scotland and being present
when the strike was in progress at Homestead."
_Answer:_ "When Mr. Carnegie heard of the trouble at Homestead he
immediately wired that he would take the first ship for America, but
his partners begged him not to appear, as they were of the opinion
that the welfare of the Company required that he should not be in this
country at the time. They knew of his extreme disposition to always
grant the demands of labor, however unreasonable.
"I have never known of any one interested in the business to make any
complaint about Mr. Carnegie's absence at that time, but all the
partners rejoiced that they were permitted to manage the affair in
their own way." (Henry Phipps in the _New York Herald_, January 30,
1904.)]
The manufacture of steel was revolutionized by the Bessemer
open-hearth and basic inventions. The machinery hitherto employed had
become obsolete, and our firm, recognizing this, spent several
millions at Homestead reconstructing and enlarging the works. The new
machinery made about sixty per cent more steel than the old. Two
hundred and eighteen tonnage men (that is, men who were paid by the
ton of steel produced) were working under a three years' contract,
part of the last year being with the new machinery. Thus their
earnings had increased almost sixty per cent before the end of the
contract.
The firm offered to divide this sixty per cent with them in the new
scale to be made thereafter. That is to say, the earnings of the men
would have been thirty per cent greater than under the old scale and
the other thirty per cent would have gone to the firm to recompense it
for its outlay. The work of the men would not have been much harder
than it had been hitherto, as the improved machinery did the work.
This was not only fair and liberal, it was generous, and under
ordinary circumstances would have been accepted by the men with
thanks. But the firm was then engaged in making armor for the United
States Government, which we had declined twice to manufacture and
which was urgently needed. It had also the contract to furnish
material for the Chicago Exhibition. Some of the leaders of the men,
knowing these conditions, insisted upon demanding the whole sixty per
cent, thinking the firm would be compelled to give it. The firm could
not agree, nor should it have agreed to such an attempt as this to
take it by the throat and say, "Stand and deliver." It very rightly
declined. Had I been at home nothing would have induced me to yield to
this unfair attempt to extort.
Up to this point all had been right enough. The policy I had pursued
in cases of difference with our men was that of patiently waiting,
reasoning with them, and showing them that their demands were unfair;
but never attempting to employ new men in their places--never. The
superintendent of Homestead, however, was assured by the three
thousand men who were not concerned in the dispute that they could run
the works, and were anxious to rid themselves of the two hundred and
eighteen men who had banded themselves into a union and into which
they had hitherto refused to admit those in other departments--only
the "heaters" and "rollers" of steel being eligible.
My partners were misled by this superintendent, who was himself
misled. He had not had great experience in such affairs, having
recently been promoted from a subordinate position. The unjust demands
of the few union men, and the opinion of the three thousand non-union
men that they were unjust, very naturally led him into thinking there
would be no trouble and that the workmen would do as they had
promised. There were many men among the three thousand who could take,
and wished to take, the places of the two hundred and eighteen--at
least so it was reported to me.
It is easy to look back and say that the vital step of opening the
works should never have been taken. All the firm had to do was to say
to the men: "There is a labor dispute here and you must settle it
between yourselves. The firm has made you a most liberal offer. The
works will run when the dispute is adjusted, and not till then.
Meanwhile your places remain open to you." Or, it might have been well
if the superintendent had said to the three thousand men, "All right,
if you will come and run the works without protection," thus throwing
upon them the responsibility of protecting themselves--three thousand
men as against two hundred and eighteen. Instead of this it was
thought advisable (as an additional precaution by the state officials,
I understand) to have the sheriff with guards to protect the thousands
against the hundreds. The leaders of the latter were violent and
aggressive men; they had guns and pistols, and, as was soon proved,
were able to intimidate the thousands.
I quote what I once laid down in writing as our rule: "My idea is that
the Company should be known as determined to let the men at any works
stop work; that it will confer freely with them and wait patiently
until they decide to return to work, never thinking of trying new
men--never." The best men as men, and the best workmen, are not
walking the streets looking for work. Only the inferior class as a
rule is idle. The kind of men we desired are rarely allowed to lose
their jobs, even in dull times. It is impossible to get new men to run
successfully the complicated machinery of a modern steel plant. The
attempt to put in new men converted the thousands of old men who
desired to work, into lukewarm supporters of our policy, for workmen
can always be relied upon to resent the employment of new men. Who can
blame them?
If I had been at home, however, I might have been persuaded to open
the works, as the superintendent desired, to test whether our old men
would go to work as they had promised. But it should be noted that
the works were not opened at first by my partners for new men. On the
contrary, it was, as I was informed upon my return, at the wish of the
thousands of our old men that they were opened. This is a vital point.
My partners were in no way blamable for making the trial so
recommended by the superintendent. Our rule never to employ new men,
but to wait for the old to return, had not been violated so far. In
regard to the second opening of the works, after the strikers had shot
the sheriff's officers, it is also easy to look back and say, "How
much better had the works been closed until the old men voted to
return"; but the Governor of Pennsylvania, with eight thousand troops,
had meanwhile taken charge of the situation.
I was traveling in the Highlands of Scotland when the trouble arose,
and did not hear of it until two days after. Nothing I have ever had
to meet in all my life, before or since, wounded me so deeply. No
pangs remain of any wound received in my business career save that of
Homestead. It was so unnecessary. The men were outrageously wrong. The
strikers, with the new machinery, would have made from four to nine
dollars a day under the new scale--thirty per cent more than they were
making with the old machinery. While in Scotland I received the
following cable from the officers of the union of our workmen:
"Kind master, tell us what you wish us to do and we shall do it for
you."
This was most touching, but, alas, too late. The mischief was done,
the works were in the hands of the Governor; it was too late.
I received, while abroad, numerous kind messages from friends
conversant with the circumstances, who imagined my unhappiness. The
following from Mr. Gladstone was greatly appreciated:
MY DEAR MR. CARNEGIE,
My wife has long ago offered her thanks, with my own, for
your most kind congratulations. But I do not forget that you
have been suffering yourself from anxieties, and have been
exposed to imputations in connection with your gallant
efforts to direct rich men into a course of action more
enlightened than that which they usually follow. I wish I
could relieve you from these imputations of journalists, too
often rash, conceited or censorious, rancorous, ill-natured.
I wish to do the little, the very little, that is in my
power, which is simply to say how sure I am that no one who
knows you will be prompted by the unfortunate occurrences
across the water (of which manifestly we cannot know the
exact merits) to qualify in the slightest degree either his
confidence in your generous views or his admiration of the
good and great work you have already done.
Wealth is at present like a monster threatening to swallow
up the moral life of man; you by precept and by example have
been teaching him to disgorge. I for one thank you.
Believe me
Very faithfully yours
(Signed) W.E. GLADSTONE
I insert this as giving proof, if proof were needed, of Mr.
Gladstone's large, sympathetic nature, alive and sensitive to
everything transpiring of a nature to arouse sympathy--Neapolitans,
Greeks, and Bulgarians one day, or a stricken friend the next.
The general public, of course, did not know that I was in Scotland and
knew nothing of the initial trouble at Homestead. Workmen had been
killed at the Carnegie Works, of which I was the controlling owner.
That was sufficient to make my name a by-word for years. But at last
some satisfaction came. Senator Hanna was president of the National
Civic Federation, a body composed of capitalists and workmen which
exerted a benign influence over both employers and employed, and the
Honorable Oscar Straus, who was then vice-president, invited me to
dine at his house and meet the officials of the Federation. Before the
date appointed Mark Hanna, its president, my lifelong friend and
former agent at Cleveland, had suddenly passed away. I attended the
dinner. At its close Mr. Straus arose and said that the question of a
successor to Mr. Hanna had been considered, and he had to report that
every labor organization heard from had favored me for the position.
There were present several of the labor leaders who, one after
another, arose and corroborated Mr. Straus.
I do not remember so complete a surprise and, I shall confess, one so
grateful to me. That I deserved well from labor I felt. I knew myself
to be warmly sympathetic with the working-man, and also that I had the
regard of our own workmen; but throughout the country it was naturally
the reverse, owing to the Homestead riot. The Carnegie Works meant to
the public Mr. Carnegie's war upon labor's just earnings.
I arose to explain to the officials at the Straus dinner that I could
not possibly accept the great honor, because I had to escape the heat
of summer and the head of the Federation must be on hand at all
seasons ready to grapple with an outbreak, should one occur. My
embarrassment was great, but I managed to let all understand that this
was felt to be the most welcome tribute I could have received--a balm
to the hurt mind. I closed by saying that if elected to my lamented
friend's place upon the Executive Committee I should esteem it an
honor to serve. To this position I was elected by unanimous vote. I
was thus relieved from the feeling that I was considered responsible
by labor generally, for the Homestead riot and the killing of workmen.
I owe this vindication to Mr. Oscar Straus, who had read my articles
and speeches of early days upon labor questions, and who had quoted
these frequently to workmen. The two labor leaders of the Amalgamated
Union, White and Schaeffer from Pittsburgh, who were at this dinner,
were also able and anxious to enlighten their fellow-workmen members
of the Board as to my record with labor, and did not fail to do so.
A mass meeting of the workmen and their wives was afterwards held in
the Library Hall at Pittsburgh to greet me, and I addressed them from
both my head and my heart. The one sentence I remember, and always
shall, was to the effect that capital, labor, and employer were a
three-legged stool, none before or after the others, all equally
indispensable. Then came the cordial hand-shaking and all was well.
Having thus rejoined hands and hearts with our employees and their
wives, I felt that a great weight had been effectually lifted, but I
had had a terrible experience although thousands of miles from the
scene.
An incident flowing from the Homestead trouble is told by my friend,
Professor John C. Van Dyke, of Rutgers College.
In the spring of 1900, I went up from Guaymas, on the Gulf
of California, to the ranch of a friend at La Noria Verde,
thinking to have a week's shooting in the mountains of
Sonora. The ranch was far enough removed from civilization,
and I had expected meeting there only a few Mexicans and
many Yaqui Indians, but much to my surprise I found an
English-speaking man, who proved to be an American. I did
not have long to wait in order to find out what brought him
there, for he was very lonesome and disposed to talk. His
name was McLuckie, and up to 1892 he had been a skilled
mechanic in the employ of the Carnegie Steel Works at
Homestead. He was what was called a "top hand," received
large wages, was married, and at that time had a home and
considerable property. In addition, he had been honored by
his fellow-townsmen and had been made burgomaster of
Homestead.
When the strike of 1892 came McLuckie naturally sided with
the strikers, and in his capacity as burgomaster gave the
order to arrest the Pinkerton detectives who had come to
Homestead by steamer to protect the works and preserve
order. He believed he was fully justified in doing this. As
he explained it to me, the detectives were an armed force
invading his bailiwick, and he had a right to arrest and
disarm them. The order led to bloodshed, and the conflict
was begun in real earnest.
The story of the strike is, of course, well known to all.
The strikers were finally defeated. As for McLuckie, he was
indicted for murder, riot, treason, and I know not what
other offenses. He was compelled to flee from the State, was
wounded, starved, pursued by the officers of the law, and
obliged to go into hiding until the storm blew over. Then he
found that he was blacklisted by all the steel men in the
United States and could not get employment anywhere. His
money was gone, and, as a final blow, his wife died and his
home was broken up. After many vicissitudes he resolved to
go to Mexico, and at the time I met him he was trying to get
employment in the mines about fifteen miles from La Noria
Verde. But he was too good a mechanic for the Mexicans, who
required in mining the cheapest kind of unskilled peon
labor. He could get nothing to do and had no money. He was
literally down to his last copper. Naturally, as he told the
story of his misfortunes, I felt very sorry for him,
especially as he was a most intelligent person and did no
unnecessary whining about his troubles.
I do not think I told him at the time that I knew Mr.
Carnegie and had been with him at Cluny in Scotland shortly
after the Homestead strike, nor that I knew from Mr.
Carnegie the other side of the story. But McLuckie was
rather careful not to blame Mr. Carnegie, saying to me
several times that if "Andy" had been there the trouble
would never have arisen. He seemed to think "the boys"
could get on very well with "Andy" but not so well with some
of his partners.
I was at the ranch for a week and saw a good deal of
McLuckie in the evenings. When I left there, I went directly
to Tucson, Arizona, and from there I had occasion to write
to Mr. Carnegie, and in the letter I told him about meeting
with McLuckie. I added that I felt very sorry for the man
and thought he had been treated rather badly. Mr. Carnegie
answered at once, and on the margin of the letter wrote in
lead pencil: "Give McLuckie all the money he wants, but
don't mention my name." I wrote to McLuckie immediately,
offering him what money he needed, mentioning no sum, but
giving him to understand that it would be sufficient to put
him on his feet again. He declined it. He said he would
fight it out and make his own way, which was the
right-enough American spirit. I could not help but admire it
in him.
As I remember now, I spoke about him later to a friend, Mr.
J.A. Naugle, the general manager of the Sonora Railway. At
any rate, McLuckie got a job with the railway at driving
wells, and made a great success of it. A year later, or
perhaps it was in the autumn of the same year, I again met
him at Guaymas, where he was superintending some repairs on
his machinery at the railway shops. He was much changed for
the better, seemed happy, and to add to his contentment, had
taken unto himself a Mexican wife. And now that his sky was
cleared, I was anxious to tell him the truth about my offer
that he might not think unjustly of those who had been
compelled to fight him. So before I left him, I said,
"McLuckie, I want you to know now that the money I offered
you was not mine. That was Andrew Carnegie's money. It was
his offer, made through me."
McLuckie was fairly stunned, and all he could say was:
"Well, that was damned white of Andy, wasn't it?"
I would rather risk that verdict of McLuckie's as a passport to
Paradise than all the theological dogmas invented by man. I knew
McLuckie well as a good fellow. It was said his property in Homestead
was worth thirty thousand dollars. He was under arrest for the
shooting of the police officers because he was the burgomaster, and
also the chairman of the Men's Committee of Homestead. He had to fly,
leaving all behind him.
After this story got into print, the following skit appeared in the
newspapers because I had declared I'd rather have McLuckie's few words
on my tombstone than any other inscription, for it indicated I had
been kind to one of our workmen:
"JUST BY THE WAY"
SANDY ON ANDY
Oh! hae ye heared what Andy's spiered to hae upo' his tomb,
When a' his gowd is gie'n awa an' Death has sealed his doom!
Nae Scriptur' line wi' tribute fine that dealers aye keep handy,
But juist this irreleegious screed--"That's damned white of Andy!"
The gude Scot laughs at epitaphs that are but meant to flatter,
But never are was sae profane, an' that's nae laughin' matter.
Yet, gin he gies his siller all awa, mon, he's a dandy,
An' we'll admit his right to it, for "That's damned white of Andy!"
There's not to be a "big, big D," an' then a dash thereafter,
For Andy would na spoil the word by trying to make it safter;
He's not the lad to juggle terms, or soothing speech to bandy.
A blunt, straightforward mon is he--an' "That's damned white of Andy!"
Sae when he's deid, we'll gie good heed, an' write it as he askit;
We'll carve it on his headstone an' we'll stamp it on his casket:
"Wha dees rich, dees disgraced," says he, an' sure's my name is Sandy,
'T wull be nae rich man that he'll dee--an' "That's damned white
of Andy!"[43]
[Footnote 43: Mr. Carnegie was very fond of this story because, being
human, he was fond of applause and, being a Robert Burns radical, he
preferred the applause of Labor to that of Rank. That one of his men
thought he had acted "white" pleased him beyond measure. He stopped
short with that tribute and never asked, never knew, why or how the
story happened to be told. Perhaps this is the time and place to tell
the story of the story.
Sometime in 1901 over a dinner table in New York, I heard a statement
regarding Mr. Carnegie that he never gave anything without the
requirement that his name be attached to the gift. The remark came
from a prominent man who should have known he was talking nonsense. It
rather angered me. I denied the statement, saying that I, personally,
had given away money for Mr. Carnegie that only he and I knew about,
and that he had given many thousands in this way through others. By
way of illustration I told the story about McLuckie. A Pittsburgh man
at the table carried the story back to Pittsburgh, told it there, and
it finally got into the newspapers. Of course the argument of the
story, namely, that Mr. Carnegie sometimes gave without publicity, was
lost sight of and only the refrain, "It was damned white of Andy,"
remained. Mr. Carnegie never knew that there was an argument. He liked
the refrain. Some years afterward at Skibo (1906), when he was writing
this Autobiography, he asked me if I would not write out the story for
him. I did so. I am now glad of the chance to write an explanatory
note about it.... _John C. Van Dyke._]