Uprising

In a dramatic, angry two and a quarter hours, Congress reasserted itself, its rights and powers as an equal member of the three great branches of the U.S. Government. In doing so, it dealt Franklin Roosevelt the most stinging rebuke of his entire career, his worst domestic defeat of World War II.

Off Again, On Again. Congressional cloakrooms had buzzed with rumors about the Connally-Smith anti-strike bill: the President would sign, the President would veto. Democratic leaders had been led to believe that the President approved of the bill. Now they became alarmed. Texas' Tom Connally got off a telegram to the White House pleading for the President's signature (a strange procedure for a supposedly intimate, trusted Democratic lieutenant). If Tom Connally got an answer, he did not make it public.

Labor put tremendous lobbying pressure on the Congressmen, threats, speeches, letters, telephone calls. The American Federationist, official organ of the A.F. of L., warned Congressmen: "We shall endeavor to vote out of office any member of Congress who supports [this bill]." To these tactics, the New York Sun cried: ". . . Political blackmail. . . ."

Gone Again. At last the Presidential message came; Franklin Roosevelt had taken the full, allotted ten days to make up his mind.

The moment the document dropped on the desk of the Senate clerk, Tom Connally interrupted the Senate's business to have it read. Wrote Franklin Roosevelt: he was "unalterably opposed" to wartime strikes. He noted that 99.5% of all U.S. workers had not gone on strike --an argument made meaningless by the fact that a few miners could hurt almost all war production. He did not think this bill would stop such strikes. He sympathized with most of its provisions (jail sentences for strike leaders, strengthening of the War Labor Board). But he felt that Section 8, setting up a procedure for calling strikes in private plants, would impede rather than promote production. The 30-day cooling-off period, said Franklin Roosevelt, might well become a "boiling period," an argument negated by the fact that the 30-day cooling-off period has worked well in railroad labor disputes for 17 years. He also objected to the section forbidding union donations to political campaigns. This, said he, had no relation to wartime strikes. So, he had vetoed the bill.

"The Senate Has a Right." The reading over, "Long Tom" Connally rose to his feet. His face was flushed, his long grey hair unruly. His words rolled slowly:

"I am sorely disappointed. The Senate is sorely disappointed. The House ... is sorely disappointed. The people of the United States . . . are sorely disappointed. Every soldier & sailor on the seas, on the land, in the air, is sorely disappointed. . . .

"The President has the right to veto legislation. The Senate has a right to pass a bill over the veto. I hope the Senate will exercise its high constitutional privilege."

Came the order: "Call the roll." In the gallery, soldiers & sailors leaned forward as the roll was called. Franklin Roosevelt's veto had arrived at 3:13 p.m. At 3:30 p.m. the Senate had voted 56-to-25 (two more than the necessary two-thirds majority) to override the veto. Even such bitter-end New Dealers as Alabama's Lister Hill and Florida's Claude Pepper voted to override. From the gallery came applause and cheers.

So Has the House. When the news was flashed to the other end of the Capitol, the House was already embroiled in angry debate, getting ready to mangle another Administration objective--subsidies for price rollbacks. Up rose Virginia's influential, white-haired Clifton Woodrum. He demanded permission to speak out of order: "Mr. Chairman, we are about to lose a critical battle on the home front. . . . The clerk of the Senate is at the portals of the House with a message. ... It is time now for action in this body--not tomorrow, not Monday, but today."

Pandemonium broke loose. Kentucky's labor-crunching Andy May choked with rage: "I shall expect the House to meet its responsibility in the interest of the men in the foxholes of Bataan and Guadalcanal and Kiska and Attu where the President's message has struck like a four-ton blockbuster." (Andy May was too angry to be accurate: no U.S. soldiers are in foxholes in Bataan, Guadalcanal and Attu; Kiska is still held by the Japs.)

Pennsylvania's earnest, able James A. Wright rose to counsel forbearance, but he might as well have implored the marble statues in the rotunda. A motion to adjourn was shouted down. The House was fighting mad at John L. Lewis; it was fighting mad at the President--and it was fed to the teeth with inaction. All liaison between Congress and the White House had broken down; the House demanded action.

In C.I.O. headquarters, 17 blocks away (and a stone's throw from the White House), mimeograph machines whirred ceaselessly, turning out an appeal to the House to stop, think, do nothing hasty. Before the C.I.O. runners had reached the Capitol the House had already overridden the veto, 244-to-108 (nine more than the necessary two-thirds).

Many a man who voted the bill into law knew that in some respects it was a bad law, the result of fury and haste; that in calmer times a saner, better piece of legislation might have been devised. But, angered by ten years of Roosevelt labor favoritism, goaded by John Lewis' insolence, Congress was determined to get some kind of anti-strike, labor-curbing bill on the books. Once there, it might be amended in time of less heat and greater reason.

The bill works thus: it puts into the hands of the Justice Department responsibility for the prosecution of anyone who incites, or conspires to encourage, a strike in a government-operated plant. It sets up legal machinery for calling wartime strikes. Local labor leaders who might be dissatisfied with working conditions in private war plants have the right to petition for a strike, employes have the right to take a strike ballot, with government approval, after the 30-day cooling-off period. If a strike is called, the government would take over; then the anti-strike provisions would apply to such a plant. The law will almost certainly be the subject of fights in the courts.

Galled and saddened, C.I.O. President Phil Murray and A.F. of L. President William Green manfully renewed their no-strike pledge. John Lewis was mum. Now that the four-month coal battle was temporarily over, he and the nation could tot up the results.

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