by Peter Krass
The Amalgamated serenely surrendered the town and works, but the union was resolute in forcing a prolonged strike. Rumors of sympathy strikes soon circulated. Workers at the Union Iron Mills, Duquesne, and Beaver Falls struck for various lengths of time, but not at Edgar Thomson, where Schwab was in complete control. Throughout, Frick was unbreakable. With plenty of scabs applying for work, he pushed ahead with plans to reopen Homestead as soon as possible. He also invited all old employees to reapply for their positions, giving them until 6 p.m. on July 21, or they would be replaced. According to Carnegie and Frick’s logic, if the men didn’t reapply, then those hired in their place were not scabs. It was a strong-arm tactic with mixed results: by July 17, only 487 men had returned.
Amazingly, Carnegie managed to maintain public silence and supported Frick, but what he said behind Frick’s back was another matter. On July 17, dressed in tweeds after some early morning angling, Carnegie sat down to write Dod a letter. It was a tired, resigned letter in which he criticized Frick’s management of the tragedy for the first time. “Matters at home bad—such a fiasco trying to send guards by Boat and then leaving space between River & fences for the men to get opposite landing and fire—still we must keep quiet & do all we can to support Frick & those at Seat of War.” It wasn’t the fence that was the issue; it was the space allowing the Homestead men a strategic position. It was an error for which Frick was to blame, and a rift would open between him and Carnegie.
In this letter, Carnegie also exposed one of his own prominent weaknesses: his naiveté concerning labor’s conditions. “Men at Upper and Lower Mills and Beaver struck—,” he wrote. “This was uncalled for they have no grievance but we must not bother with them just now—Concentrate everything on Homestead. Win there—then talk to these foolish men.”30 With more than an ocean between them, Carnegie was demonstrating his disconnect from the workingman’s feelings, otherwise he wouldn’t have condescendingly dismissed the sympathy strikes as “uncalled for” and the men as “foolish.” The laborer, from his degraded perspective, was fighting for his life.
Just ten days after the violence, with men trickling back to the works and strikebreakers being shipped in, O’Donnell sensed his position beginning to weaken and decided to contact Carnegie. If he could sound out Andy, get a feel for how resolute the capitalist was in no longer dealing with the Amalgamated, then O’Donnell would be able to decide how best to save the union at Homestead. Leaders at the American Federation of Labor suggested he use Whitelaw Reid, the publisher of the New York Tribune, a Republican mouthpiece, and the Republican candidate for vice president on the ticket with Harrison, as a go-between. The Republicans had good reason to want the strike settled. Because Carnegie was a prominent Republican and beneficiary of the McKinley Tariff, the party leaders realized no laborer would vote Republican come election day unless there was an equitable end to the strike. Even before the violence, Republican leaders had urged Carnegie not to reduce wages in an election year, but such pressuring only inflamed his independent spirit.
Unbeknownst to his fellow committee members, O’Donnell wrote to Reid, stating the union’s position. On behalf of the 12,000 inhabitants of Homestead, he urged Reid to convince Carnegie to simply “recognize the Amalgamated Association,” for he had “no hesitation in saying that, when that is done, the end of the strike is at hand.” All other demands would be dropped.31 All he wanted was recognition of the union, recognition that was significant to only 800 of the 3,800 Homestead workers. Reid, who wanted votes from the Amalgamated’s 25,000-strong membership and didn’t care how the strike was settled as long as the union was happy, took up O’Donnell’s cause and assigned his campaign manager, John E. Milholland, with procuring Carnegie’s address. When Milholland contacted Frick for the information, the chairman hesitated; he wanted Carnegie left out of it.
The company had no desire to settle; in fact, on July 18, murder and riot charges prepared by Philander Knox were served to the riot’s leaders. First on the list was McLuckie, who was thrown in jail with bail set at $10,000. From behind bars, he defiantly declared Frick and other company officials would suffer the same fate. More than one hundred indictments were handed down, but not one went to a Slav or Hun; only the Anglo-Saxon leaders were targeted. To further tighten the noose, Frick personally spearheaded the hiring of strikebreakers. On July 23, he had a 2 p.m. appointment with a New York employment agency representative who claimed to have access to a large supply of men.
When the agent arrived early at the office on the second floor of the Chronicle-Telegraph building in Pittsburgh, he was told to wait. The door to Frick’s office was open and he could see Frick, a brown-bearded, well-knit figure, sitting at his desk, talking business with John G. A. Leishman, the company’s vice president. The agent, a thin, weepy-looking fellow in an ill-fitting, medium gray suit with thin pinstripes, subsequently barged in unannounced. As Frick rose from his chair, the intruder—really an anarchist named Alexander Berkman—lifted a cheap pistol and, concerned Frick was wearing body armor, aimed for the head. The bullet hit Frick in the neck, and he fell to the floor. Berkman stepped forward and again shot Frick, another bullet ripping into his neck. Just as Berkman raised his arm to fire a third shot, Leishman reached him and knocked the assassin’s arm upward, the pistol discharging again. The two fell wrestling to the ground, Berkman crawling toward the helpless Frick. Now within reach, the anarchist pulled out a knife and stabbed Frick near the right hip and again near the left knee. By now several clerks had charged into the room and subdued Berkman. But the anarchist was not quite finished with his deed. He started working his mouth, which the men quickly pried open. Inside was a capsule containing fulminate of mercury—enough to blow Berkman’s head off, but not enough to blow them all to hell.
Blood was spurting from Frick’s wounds, staining his white collar a deep red, and he collapsed. When the doctor finally arrived and prepared to remove the bullets, he offered Frick anesthesia for the pain, but he refused it, bravely claiming that if he were lucid he could help the doctor locate the lodged bullets. His toughness made him a hero to many, while Berkman’s attack only hurt the union’s cause. As O’Donnell said, “The bullet from Berkman’s pistol went straight through the heart of the Homestead strike.”32
Once the wounds were dressed and bandaged, knowing news of the assassination attempt would spread quickly, Frick apprised Carnegie: “Was shot twice, but not dangerously. There is no necessity for you to come home. I am still in shape to fight the battle out.”33 What should have been a simple standoff, perhaps the shutting down of the works for a few months until the men came to their senses, was spinning out of control. A darkness descended on Carnegie, and his debilitated mental state was reflected in a disjointed cable to Leishman: “Early anxiety his recovery. . . . Close all works until recovery complete. We regard it is necessary something must be done to save Frick anxiety—his recovery before all—if others are willing we can close. Can you see daylight?” His overreaction of wanting to close all the works was extreme, his reasoning imbalanced almost to a point of insanity, but then Carnegie always lived on the edge.
A defiant and unrelenting warrior, Frick refused bodyguards and spent ten days in bed. Meanwhile, Reid’s emissary, Milholland, had decided to travel to Pittsburgh to meet with Frick personally. The chairman was in a first-floor bedroom of the Homewood mansion, his head and neck swathed in bandages, a telephone and several secretaries by his side. Upstairs was his wife and son, Henry Clay, born prematurely the day of the Homestead battle and slowly dying. Milholland pursued his mission resolutely, relating how O’Donnell had approached Reid to seek Carnegie’s help and how the situation was hurting the Republican Party’s standing with the public and thus President Harrison’s reelection bid. Frick said he would never deal with the Amalgamated nor settle the strike for Harrison’s benefit. Now worked up into a froth, Frick burst out that O’Donnell was a “blood-thirsty villain” and a “red-handed murderer. . . . I will fight this thing
to the bitter end. I will never recognize the Union, never, never!”34 But he did disclose Carnegie’s whereabouts.
Several days later, on Wednesday, August 3, Frick’s son died. The funeral was held on the fourth, and Frick was back at work on Friday the fifth.
Reid finally contacted Carnegie through the U.S. consul general in London, John C. New, who personally delivered a letter written by Reid in which he stated that he had met with O’Donnell, who was appealing for Carnegie’s aid on behalf of the suffering men, women, and children of Homestead. “He assures me that if your people will merely consent to reopen a conference with their representatives,” Reid wrote, “thus recognizing their organization, they will waive every other thing in dispute, and submit to whatever you think it right to require, whether as to scale or wages or hours or anything else; and do all in their power to reestablish harmonious relations.”35
As John New sat across from Carnegie, the steel master appeared quite delighted; like a whimpering dog, the union had come crawling back to its master. It was just the thing, Carnegie pronounced, and New cabled Reid: “Proposition heartily approved here. Send copy of same to Frick and have Elkins and Wanamaker see him at once. Utmost importance.”36 Stephen B. Elkins and John Wanamaker, Republican front men for the presidential election, would still have to negotiate the matter with Frick. At the same time that New sent his telegram, Carnegie, using code, cabled Frick about the meeting. “The proposition is worthy of consideration,” he concluded, but he made it clear it was Frick’s decision.37 Evidently, Carnegie was no longer interested in a prolonged struggle and was willing to settle the strike; pressure from the newspapers and now the Republican Party was getting to him. He remained careful to defer to Frick, however.
A week later, William T. Stead, editor of the Review of Reviews, tracked down his friend Carnegie in hopes of gleaning the inside story, even enclosing a provocative article with his letter to incite a reaction. Carnegie refused to elaborate on the tragedy, however; instead, he regurgitated what was already known and then began to revise reality: “I hear of events only two days after they take place. It is three years since I retired from the active management, and I have spent the last six months writing a book upon the burning “Questions of Today”—Capital and Labor, Shorter Hours of Labor, Strikes, Cooperation, etc., etc.” He then placed the blame squarely on the Homestead men for not accepting the new wage scale.38 While Carnegie didn’t criticize Frick’s actions, he did attempt to distance himself from the tragedy by claiming to have been retired from active business for three years. The statement was a lie; the continuous exchange of Carnegie-Frick telegrams leading up to the strike was proof. For Carnegie to suggest he was receiving information too late to act upon was another lie; despite the time difference between the United States and Britain, he was well informed. The revisionism and lies would continue in the months and years ahead.
As September came to a close and there was still no major break in the strike, Carnegie turned his ire on John Potter’s management skills. “I am expecting daily to hear that a break has occurred,” he wrote Frick. “Believe me, he is a poor manager who has not sufficient influence over part of his men to draw them to him.”39 (Schwab and some of the other men must have wondered if the tragedy would still have occurred if Captain Jones was alive and Schwab superintendent at Homestead.) The beleaguered Potter was a shared source of contempt that brought Carnegie and Frick together; however, while showing public solidarity, they had their differences as the rift widened. Frick wished Carnegie gave him stronger support publicly, and he had wanted Carnegie to tell Reid in definitive terms they would never again deal with Amalgamated, which Carnegie failed to do or simply refused to do.40 From Carnegie’s viewpoint, he thought all the violence could have been avoided if they had just let grass grow over the works. No doubt the words of Senator William C. Oates, who chaired the congressional investigating committee on the strike, echoed in his own mind: “They did not violate any law of Pennsylvania; but they knew that the hostility to the Pinkerton men upon the part of all labor organizations was calculated to produce a breach of the peace.”41
To ratchet up the pressure on the Amalgamated, in early October the company’s lawyer, Philander Knox, consulted with Chief Justice Edward Paxson of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court and decided it was possible to bring charges of treason against members of the union’s Advisory Committee. In an unprecedented move, Paxson himself brought the charges, the first time such charges had been brought against those allegedly inciting labor violence— thus inviting heated criticism from legal scholars and suggesting Carnegie had bought the judiciary.42 The charges certainly did demoralize the steelworkers as they realized, more so than ever, the officials of the Carnegie Steel Company effectively controlled Pennsylvania’s political and legal systems. But the company did not necessarily control the juries that would be asked to convict these men—their only hope. There was also a glimmer of hope for the Homestead men on October 11, when McLuckie’s pledge to have his day in court with Frick moved one step forward after a grand jury indicted Frick, Francis T. F. Lovejoy, and other company officers on murder and conspiracy charges.43 Carnegie was not among those named.
On October 13, Carnegie arrived in London and made a statement to the Associated Press, which was summarized in the New York Daily Tribune: “He informed the Associated Press representative that he had been busily engaged all during the spring and summer in preparing a new book treating of the industrial problems of the day.” It was a repeat of what he had told Stead. The newspaper also reported that Carnegie stated “he had not heard of the outbreak at Homestead until two days after it occurred, and then meagerly. Since those deplorable occurrences, which had burst upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, he had been unable to work much. They had such a depressing effect upon him that he had perforce to lay his book aside and resort to the lochs and moors, fishing daily from morning to night. . . . For all the deplorable incidents of the Homestead strike his chief regret was that so many of the old men had allowed their places to be filled.” It was difficult to pity the fisherman, who was diligently refining his story so as to appear uninvolved and uninformed. And the old men had not simply allowed their places to be filled, but it was so easy for Carnegie to shift the blame to them. Carnegie was never at fault; still, he decided it was best not to return to the United States that fall. He wrote a New York friend that he was extending his overseas stay and proceeded to the Mediterranean.44 (The book Carnegie was working on, incidentally, didn’t materialize until 1908, under the title Problems of To-Day.)
The returning strikers were forced to sign both a pledge of allegiance to Carnegie Steel and an affidavit declaring they had not participated in the violence. (Courtesy of the Historical Society of Western Pennsylvania)
In mid-October, Schwab was transferred to Homestead, per Carnegie’s recommendation, and Potter was made superintendent of general engineering for all operations, a job that removed him from the spotlight. Schwab worked night and day to endear himself to the men on both turns; nevertheless, to keep attuned to rumblings among them, he organized a spy network. “If you want to talk in Homestead, you must talk to yourself,” became the maxim for the rightly paranoid at that plant.
Not until four months after the bloody fight, on November 17, did the workers return en masse and the Amalgamated then call it quits at Homestead. Those returning were emasculated, forced to sign a pledge of loyalty and a statement declaring that the applicant had not been on company grounds, had not participated in the rioting, and did not know anyone who did. “Our victory is now complete and most gratifying,” Frick wrote in a celebratory note to Carnegie, who crowed from Italy, “Life worth living again— Cables received—first happy morning since July.”45 Life may have been worth living again, but after reflecting on the entire experience, Carnegie realized life would never be the same. Writing Frick from Rome shortly thereafter, he was quite subdued: “Think I’m about ten years older than when with you last. Eu
rope has rung with Homestead, Homestead, until we are sick of the name, but it is all over now.”46 There was no gloating.
The Homestead strike was called the most violent in history, but within the context of the times it was not. Yes, thirteen men had died and more than a hundred were wounded, but dozens died as a result of labor strife every year. And what about the 1877 Pennsylvania Railroad strike, in which at least forty were killed? Expelling the union, forcing the men to sign individual contracts, using strikebreakers, and hiring the Pinkertons to protect property were nothing new. The difference at Homestead was that it was a Carnegie strike. If Carnegie had kept his mouth shut in 1886, as Dod had warned him he should, and hadn’t written his gospel on benefaction in 1889, the extreme negative reaction would never have occurred. All too late, Carnegie perceived the cost of the violent strike and that Homestead would suffer for years.47 Even Frick was forced to admit to him, “The cost of the strike was, as you say, simply awful.” But Frick justified it by saying that “we had to teach our employees a lesson and we have taught them one they will never forget.”48 And it did cost Homestead for years—not in profits, but in destroyed lives. By December, the destitution in Homestead was so bad that the press started a relief fund.49