Late on the afternoon of July 6, Pattison had issued a public statement calculated to appease the workers: “It is not the purpose of the military to act as police officers,” he declared. “The civil authorities must in the end settle the differences. I look for a speedy adjustment.” But at the same time, as the New York Herald reported in a July 7 story, Pattison was busy making contingency plans for mobilizing state troops for transport to Pittsburgh.
Meanwhile, the finger-pointing within company ranks had already begun. Despite his avowed support of “company officials,” Carnegie was furious. Had it been his decision, he reminded partners Phipps and Lauder, he would simply have closed the plant and waited the workers out.
Furthermore, given the fact that the Pinkertons had been called in, how could things have been bungled so badly? As Carnegie put it in a message to his cousin and partner George Lauder, “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. I have been besieged by interviewing Cables from N York but have not said a word. Silence is best. We shall win, of course, but may have to shut down for months.”
Carnegie even threatened to return to Pittsburgh at once and take over the situation himself, a possibility that dismayed both Phipps and Lauder. Carnegie’s return would signal an unequivocal loss of confidence in Frick. Any such action might easily prompt another resignation on the part of the volatile Frick, and thereby send a signal to the union that they had won yet another victory.
No, they quickly responded to Carnegie. What had been done was done. The best thing to do now was sit pat, continue to support Frick, and keep up the pressure on the governor to send in troops so that the mill could be reopened without any concessions to the union.
Meanwhile, Frick had already begun his own campaign of damage control. In a long cable to Carnegie, he reiterated that he had made no secret of his intentions from the outset. “My letter of July 4th informed you of the arrangement made to introduce watchmen into our works,” Frick reminded his superior, then went on to some blame-shifting of his own:
“There is no question but what the firing was begun by the strikers. All that I have to regret is that our guard did not land, and between ourselves, think that Potter [the plant superintendent who had accompanied the Pinkertons] was to blame. He did not show the nerve I expected he would. He . . . failed at the critical time.”
Frick, well aware of Carnegie’s affinity for the “close the plant” strategy, went on to defend his decision to bring the situation to a head. “Would like to say just here that I had not overlooked the fact that an effort to introduce guards at Homestead so soon might cause trouble, but was just as well satisfied that it would cause trouble if done at any later date, and we were only letting our property lie idle awaiting the pleasure of one of the worst bodies of men that ever worked in a mill, so concluded it was better to have trouble, if we were to have it, at once.”
Frick went on to reassure Carnegie that despite the unflattering press coverage, not everyone was distressed with the company’s handling of matters. “We have been in receipt of numerous letters and telegrams commending our position, particularly so since the people have become acquainted with it. At first there was [a] wrong impression, and a strong pressure brought to bear to get us to have a conference [with the union], but it is now almost all the other way.”
He closed with one last defense of his decision to bring in the Pinkertons: “Feel sure that when you become thoroughly acquainted with all the details, you will be satisfied with every action taken in this lamentable matter,” he told Carnegie. “The best evidence of the character of the men employed at Homestead is shown by the manner in which they treated the watchmen after they had surrendered, and also it would not have mattered who the men were that were in those boats, their treatment would have been just the same. They did not know that they were obtained through Pinkerton at the time they fired upon them.”
Disingenuous as Frick’s letter may sound, it was entirely consistent with Frick’s utterances concerning the labor issues at the Homestead works from first to last.
In Frick’s view, the responsibility for the continued success of Carnegie Steel was his and his alone. Concessions to the union had nothing to do with fairness. Once granted, whatever the issues and no matter how limited the scope, a deadly precedent would have been set, one that would spread like a cancer through every level of the ranks of the flagship operation and from there throughout the whole of the Carnegie empire.
From this perspective, Carnegie Steel would ultimately find itself paying higher wages than competitors who had not been compelled to submit to union demands, and that would spell doom, for the company and for the workers as well. Whether anyone thought him sincere as to the latter was of no concern to Frick. He had been given a job to do and he intended to do it.
As for Carnegie’s favored tactic of simply closing the works down until starving workers cried to be brought back to work, where was the sense of that? Weeks or months of production lost, and the effect on the lives of workers and their families just as debilitating in the end. No, there would be no glad-handing from Henry Clay Frick, no smile and wink and handshake while the knife was slipped into the ribs from behind.
Frick’s choice had been to dismiss the union summarily—a troublesome, potentially disastrous choke in the labor input valve—and to bring in the Pinkertons to ensure that his factory would continue to operate. That the workers had responded with violence had been their own unfortunate choice. Of one thing he was certain: the law was on his side.
Meanwhile, Governor Pattison was looking for the best way out of a situation he surely found “lamentable” as well. Following his visit from the AAISW delegation, Pattison ordered George Snowden, the commander of the Pennsylvania National Guard, to send an emissary of his own on a secret mission to Homestead to try to determine whether there was any hope that the dispute could be settled by peaceful means.
Accordingly, Major General Snowden dispatched one of his trusted adjutants, who traveled to the area and returned quickly with his report. Indeed, things in Homestead and on the lines surrounding the mill were quiet, the adjutant found. But in his opinion the mood of the strikers was clear. Any attempt to reopen the plant by bringing non-union men through the gates would result in a disaster that would make the battle with the Pinkertons seem tame.
When the adjutant met with Frick in his downtown offices, he received the same pronouncement that Frick had already delivered to the press. There would be no more meetings with union representatives. There was nothing to discuss. So far as Carnegie Steel was concerned, the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers had ceased to exist.
After contemplating this gloomy report, Pattison—another elected official who drew support from the capital and owners alike—determined that attempts to sway Frick would be fruitless. He could pay the piper now, or pay him later. And to delay further might only allow the strikers’ resolve to harden, and their ranks to swell with sympathizers from far and wide. It was a calamitous situation that must have had him wondering why he had ever entered politics, but nonetheless he returned to his desk and prepared the fateful proclamation, addressed to George R. Snowden, Major General Commanding, National Guard of Pennsylvania:
“Put the division under arms and move at once, with ammunition, to the support of the Sheriff of Allegheny county at Homestead. Maintain the peace. Protect all persons in their rights under the constitution and laws of the State. Communicate with me.”
The order was issued just after midnight on July 10, and was accompanied by another addressed to William H. McCleary, Sheriff of Allegheny County, Pittsburgh:
“Have ordered Major General George R. Snowden, with the division of the National Guard of Pennsylvania, to your support. At once put yourself in communication with him. Communicate with me further part
iculars.”
THERE HAD BEEN SPECULATION IN the local press that the guard’s two Pittsburgh regiments, 2,500 strong and comprising primarily area workingmen, might refuse the call. In fact, during the railroad strikes of 1877, local guardsmen called in to control the protestors at the Pennsylvania Railroad yards had simply lowered their weapons and dispersed into the crowd. This time, however, Snowden and the governor were taking no chances.
The call to the guard was for the mobilization of the entire force, some 8,500 men, a display of force meant to overwhelm the slightest thought of resistance. Nor would there be any delay in carrying out Pattison’s orders. The troops began to arrive at the Munhall station, close to the Homestead works, at 9:00 a.m. on July 12, while others streamed off cars at nearly every Pittsburgh area station.
One contingent was immediately dispatched to surround the mill grounds, installing themselves between the pickets and the looming fences of “Fort Frick,” while the main body of the force, some five thousand troops, took up a position on the hilltop about three hundred yards south of the mill, the same vantage point from which spectators had gathered to watch the clash between workers and Pinkertons just a few days before.
The response of the strikers and the union to the deployment, reported to be costing the state of Pennsylvania about $22,000 per day, was restrained. The New York Times reported that Hugh O’Donnell appeared before a public meeting held at the Homestead Opera House to declare that the troops were to be viewed as “friends and allies.” O’Donnell and McLuckie counseled the men to treat the troops with respect and threatened punishment to anyone—man, woman, or child—who so much as issued catcalls.
Once this approach had been put to a vote and overwhelmingly approved, O’Donnell put together an advisory group for the purpose of effecting communication between the strikers and General Snowden. At midday on July 12, shortly after the national guard troops had been installed atop the hill overlooking the mill grounds, O’Donnell led his contingent, which included a former militia captain, one Ollie Coon, into the camp to confer with the commander, a meeting observed by a reporter for the Times.
“General Snowden, I believe,” O’Donnell began.
Snowden’s response was a stony stare.
O’Donnell spotted High Sheriff McCleary standing in a group of militiamen nearby and called out, asking for an introduction to the general. The sheriff acknowledged O’Donnell with a nod, but maintained silence as well.
At that point, Ollie Coon spoke up. “We have come to speak for the citizens and for the locked-out men of the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers—” he began, but Snowden cut him off abruptly.
“I neither know nor care anything about them,” said Snowden, an unmistakable edge in his voice. “I am not here to look after the strike or the Amalgamated Association or to pay any attention to either. I do not accept and do not need at your hands the freedom of Homestead. I have that now in my possession, and I propose to keep the peace.”
He turned to O’Donnell to make sure he was making himself clear. “I want no strikers to come near the troops as strikers, and I want it distinctly understood that I am in absolute control of the situation.”
O’Donnell, stunned by this reception, did his best to make amends. “General,” he said, stepping in front of Coon, “I think that the Captain’s reference to the Association and the strikers was accidental. We came as representing the citizens of Homestead as well as the Amalgamated strikers. I will amend Captain Coon’s speech, and withdraw his reference to the Amalgamated Association. We are citizens of Homestead and of Allegheny County.”
General Snowden allowed himself a civil bow. “I am always glad,” he told O’Donnell, “to meet the citizens—the good citizens—of any community.”
“We have been peaceful and law-abiding citizens—” O’Donnell started to say.
“No, you have not,” a brusque General Snowden cut in.
He turned to gesture behind him at McCleary. “Sir, you have defied and insulted this Sheriff, and I want to say to you and to the strikers that the Governor has instructed me to announce to you that we are here to aid the Sheriff. You have refused to deal with him, but it is he with whom you will have to deal now. If you insist on it, I can go further into the conduct of you and your men. You had better not insist.”
He gave McCleary a glance, and then turned back to a speechless O’Donnell. “I want to assure you, however, once more that we care nothing about your association or your strike. The peace will be preserved at any cost.”
If O’Donnell had harbored any illusions about what the arrival of the troops meant, they had certainly vanished by now. Snowden cared nothing about the goodwill of the workers. He was no politician, but a military man, and he had defined his mission in no uncertain terms.
O’Donnell, heartsick at what he’d experienced, was grasping at straws now. “We’ve got four brass bands, down below,” he told the general, pointing down the hill toward the streets of Homestead. “We would like to have them and a parade of our friends pass in review before the camp.”
The general didn’t bother to follow O’Donnell’s gesture. “I don’t want any brass-band business while I’m here,” Snowden snapped. “I want you to distinctly understand that I am master of this situation.”
In the face of such a dressing-down, O’Donnell could do little more than stare. He turned to give his men a nod, and their group filed quickly away.
“We’ll show him before we get through,” Ollie Coon muttered bravely at O’Donnell’s shoulder. “He doesn’t run this town.” Perhaps O’Donnell heard Coon, perhaps he did not. In any case, the crestfallen union leader had nothing more to say.
Less than one week before, it seemed that labor had secured a monumental victory in Homestead. On this afternoon, however, the tide had very clearly turned.
PART THREE
UNRAVELING
The Frick Building in Pittsburgh ca. 1901, designed by the noted architect Daniel Burnham, towering over the adjacent Carnegie Building and epitomizing Frick’s undying drive to outdo his former partner. The Frick Building still stands. (Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh)
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THE OCCUPATION OF HOMESTEAD
IF HUGH O’DONNELL HAD BEEN humiliated by his treatment at the hands of General Snowden, he had little time to dwell upon it. Among the things on his mind, as he made the long and dreary march back down the hill from his encounter with the general, was the rumor now sweeping through the town that Carnegie Steel would soon press charges against the strikers for conspiracy and murder.
Word was circulating on the streets and in the local and national press that the company had retained any number of top criminal attorneys in Pittsburgh, and that one of the newly developed flash cameras had been used during the riots to take pictures of those destined to be charged. In fact, the New York Times reported that Sheriff McCleary had sworn in a special group of deputies for the sole purpose of issuing arrest warrants to strikers.
The financial concerns of thousands of displaced workers also loomed large. While the AAISW reported that sufficient funds were in its coffers to cover the living expenses of its members, that membership accounted for fewer than 10 percent of those out of work. Most of the unskilled labor force lived—then as now—from payday to payday, dependent on their earnings for food, housing, clothing, and medicine.
Nor was outrage at the installation of the troops universal. As a July 13 New York Times article began, “Mob rule in Homestead has come to an inglorious end. The town has been wrested without bloodshed or struggle from the rioting locked-out Amalgamated workmen, who have ruled with absolute and despotic sway for two weeks, and has been taken under the protecting care of the National Guard.”
Certainly, Carnegie seemed relieved that Governor Pattison had finally sent in the troops: “Governor’s action settles matter,” he cabled Frick the day the militia arrived. “All right now. No compromise.”
Perhaps the long-awaited int
ervention of the governor validated Frick’s actions in Carnegie’s mind. At any rate, he wrote this soon after, in an apparent effort to smooth the feathers of his treasured manager: “Paris Herald published bogus cable from me to [Allegheny County Republican chairman] Magee,” a reference to a story in which his support for Frick had been called into question. “Have not spoken, written or cabled one word to anybody,” he declared. “Shall continue silent. Am with you to end whether works run this year next or ever. No longer question of wages or dollars.”
Frick seemed grateful for this show of support. He shot back a cable to Carnegie at his Rannoch Lodge: “Much pleased with your cable,” he told Carnegie. “Never had a doubt but what you would thoroughly approve of every action taken in this matter when you would once be made acquainted with all of the facts.”
If Carnegie gave grudging approval to Frick, not everyone else did. Even the editors of the staid and generally supportive New York Times were moved to opine, “It will be a mistake for Mr. Frick and the company to hold obstinately to the position that they will not treat with these men, and that they will replace them with others who are not connected with the Amalgamated Association. There are matters to be considered in this case besides the cold-blooded principles of supply and demand.”
The same piece brought up the issue of tariff protections enjoyed by the company, wondering why the government should offer such guarantees to owners if the benefits were not to be shared with workers. In fact, many of the union men believed that Frick and Carnegie were originally motivated to lower the wage floor as a result of a recent lowering of the tariff on iron billets, a charge the company vigorously denied.
Criticism of the company’s handling of the matter was widespread in the British press as well, where it was reported that a July 14 meeting of the London Trades Council had unanimously passed a resolution condemning the employment of “a gang of irresponsible armed bullies to coerce men struggling against a reduction of wages.” One member of the National Liberal Club was quoted as saying that if Carnegie were still a member of that organization, “he ought to be kicked out.”
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