Phyllis Holiday- Memoir

      This year's Laborfest theme is Occupy, Past Present and Future. I thought of some actions we took during the tussle of renewing the contract between my Local 2, Hotel and Restaurant Union and Management, in San Francisco.
     I began to be part of negotiations in the 1980's, and found it exciting and intense. I was a PBX operator, on the telephones at a Nob Hill hotel, and sat at long table with my friend, a kindly Greek cook, as we made notes and seethed sometimes at the attitude of men in fine suits.
     Along with the negotiations I found myself applying to do actions. I marched, yelled, waved my picket sign, sang and regarded this as working class aerobics.
     Also, I did my duty in the picketing in front of and some- times in hotel which were not allowing workers to join the union. It was a heady and wonderful time.
     One of my favorite actions was to occupy in a way I am calling Polite Ninja Tactics. This involved following up tireless researchers in the Local 2 offices. They located the names and addresses of where the hotel money came from.
     With this information, six or seven of us would meet outside tall buildings, all glass and sparkling white, or gray. Those 35 or more story business district towers.
     I no longer remember how many offices, how many visits but I remember how it felt.
     We did not know each other at first. Usually five women, a small child or two, and a priest. Except for me they were always women of color, and none of us was over five foot five. The priest looked saintly and scholarly, tall, slender, and silver haired.
     Except for the priest or children, we all looked determined and a little nervous. We were invading an office without any invitation.
     Would they call security? Would we be manhandled out? I used all my drama major techniques to look calm and ready for anything.
     We entered a foyer and stepped into a chrome and mirrored ceiling elevator with gray carpet and watched red blink of floor numbers increase....12 ... 20....35...
     We stepped out onto another soft gray carpet and located the office. It was as quiet as a library or a church. Once it was a Japanese company. The receptionist was male. The priest explained who we were and why we were there.
     The receptionist summoned some-one, and three puzzled looking men arrived. They wore well made suits; shiny polished shoes, silk ties.
     I have never forgotten the looks on their faces. Irritation and puzzlement. Six small women, a little girl and a priest?
     Perhaps they thought we were soliciting for a charity.
     Their brows furrowed as the priest was first to explain our mission. I forget now who said what. We had our role, to speak clearly of the need for the hotel owners to stop stalling and give us a decent contract.
     We all had soft voices and were extremely polite. Though they frowned, the three men bowed and politely said they heard us and would do what they could to pass our requests on.
     It took a lot of concentration for me not to laugh. It was a Kabuki play, gestures, oh how polite. Worker's lives at stake. The pull of corporation standards of money, more money.
     We were like mosquitos, annoying and we would not leave them alone.
     I went out on more of these polite Ninja tactical ventures. Different offices in high buildings, different women, sometimes two children, maybe on in a stroller.
     I never met the Local 2 people who delved into the maze of money that led to complicated ties. I salute them, however.
     This was in the late 1980's and 1990's.
     We used nonviolent tactics in the seemingly endless picketing of hotels who did not let their workers begin negotiations to join Local 2.
     Some invaded hotels we were picketing and were arrested. I was worried about this as once in a while it led to more than being in jail for a short period and then released. Sometimes there were bigger charges.
     I was then managing the money of my head injured son, and there was a rule that I could not commit a felony and continue to do so.
     We did occupy streets and parks, with permits. There was a swell of joy in me to march with all my comrades, holding up our signs, chanting and singing.
     When we did our picket lines in front of hotels, I met the most amazing people. We swapped stories. Some were hispanic, some from Bosnia, China, all kinds of backgrounds and all idealists.
     We were writers, musicians, actors, struggling students, future entrepreneurs, chefs, artists, teachers.
     Another occupation which was expected: it was in the lastmonths before I retired. It was to invade the general manager's office to ask him to support a raise in our pensions. There are maybe twenty of us, Housekeeping, Kitchen, and PBX. We get together in a hallway.Some have stage-fright.
     I will begin first, and say, "Just follow me, and speak from the heart." We go in. The manager eyes me. We have had our differences. But he is quiet and I make my little speech.
     Then there is a surge of honest voices, some with little notes in their hands. I am so proud of these men and women. The urgency of a decent pension; the hard work they have put in for the hotel.
     I look at the general manager. He smiles at us. Raises his hands as if to bless us.
     Well, he was kind of religious.
     If not for that last minute boost of pensions I would probably had to have a part time job until I was ninety. I would not have as much time to follow my dreams.
     Such as standing here and telling you my occupy stories and being concerned about how we can strengthen unions to be of use in these shattering times.
     How do we go as one, seven people, seventy people, Seven thousand, and more together in elevators and offices, our polite Ninja tactics backed by good information of who to surprise, who to confront with our gentle plea for the common good?


© 2012 Phyllis Holiday