Read Online A Bird On Water Street by Elizabeth O. Dulemba - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth O. Dulemba
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crawled into bed, my stomach still ached like I’d been poisoned. So did my heart. Eli and Hannah. Surely, it couldn’t last.
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Chapter 11
Strike
A few nights later, Dad arrived home late—again. It had happened a lot since the layoffs.
“There are only three hundred of us left,” he complained over his fried chicken, “and they expect us to keep up the same pace as before the layoffs. Do you believe it? They’ve got us doin’ jobs we weren’t trained to do. They had me driving a backhoe today. It’s been so long, I barely remember how. It’s dangerous, I tell ya.” He shook his head. “I need my crew.”
Mom’s forehead wrinkled with worry. Two men had already left the mines in ambulances since the workforce had been cut. Dad didn’t talk about it. It was like losing Amon all over again—and again, and again.
The phone rang, the harsh sound making us jump.
“Hello?” A wide grin spread across Dad’s face. “Heck yeah, we’ll be there.”
He turned to us. “It’s about damn time. The Union’s made a decision. They’re calling a meeting at the community center tomorrow at seven.”
“Jack, would you be okay home alone?” Mom asked.
“Grace, this affects him too,” Dad replied. “Besides, if he’s going to be a miner someday, he needs to start making friends with the Union.”
He got back on the phone and called the remaining men from his crew. I looked down at my hands, which were suddenly numb.
I didn’t sleep that night. It rained, which made my arm ache, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what Dad said. I imagined about a dozen different ways of telling him I didn’t want to be a miner, but they all turned out bad.
O
The next night, I stood with my parents, buried in the crowd of thick, rugged miners. With their blue jeans and plaid flannel shirts, they reminded me of the gnarled old oak trees from Miss Post’s slideshow.
Mad oak trees, with their muscles tensed up and fire in their eyes.
Despite the cold outside, it was hot and humid inside. Steam rose off the miners as they shook their fists and shouted, “They can’t do this to us!”
“I need my crew back,” Dad yelled. “I can’t do that job by myself! It’s not safe!”
“They own the whole town. How can we fight?” Mr. Barnes asked.
Mr. Hill shouted, “We STRIKE!”
A roar of agreement rolled around the room like thunder. There was no discussion. It was what everybody had been waitin’ for. And I was getting my wish. If the miners were on strike, Dad wouldn’t have to be underground no more.
The Union organized everything. They signed up the men who weren’t on unemployment for stipends, or strike pay, and scheduled times for people to walk the picket lines. I helped make signs for the men to carry.
“Gotta make it right for the next round of miners,” I heard someone say as they slapped my back. I coughed and Mom looked at me with that same worried expression.
Could I tell her how I felt?
The miners were fired up. It was scary, but exciting too. The men were loyal and close, like my baseball team. Their energy ran through me like a train. Soon I was yellin’ right along with them. Our voices echoed off the walls like drums. “STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE!”
O
We went straight to the Company store after the meeting.
Dad said, “We need to stock up in case things get tough.”
“Tough how?” I asked.
“The Company isn’t gonna be real happy about this strike,” he said. “Back when your Grandpa Chase was working the mine, the workers went on strike to force the Union in, and the Company shut down the store to make things hard on ’em. But folks were one step ahead and stocked up before the strike. So that’s what we’re going to do—stock up. We gotta get there before the Company catches wind of the plan.”
I loved the Company store. They had the best of everything, even the BMX dirt bike I wanted, which sat in the corner, shiny green with knobby tires. I tried not to
r
Chapter 11
Strike
A few nights later, Dad arrived home late—again. It had happened a lot since the layoffs.
“There are only three hundred of us left,” he complained over his fried chicken, “and they expect us to keep up the same pace as before the layoffs. Do you believe it? They’ve got us doin’ jobs we weren’t trained to do. They had me driving a backhoe today. It’s been so long, I barely remember how. It’s dangerous, I tell ya.” He shook his head. “I need my crew.”
Mom’s forehead wrinkled with worry. Two men had already left the mines in ambulances since the workforce had been cut. Dad didn’t talk about it. It was like losing Amon all over again—and again, and again.
The phone rang, the harsh sound making us jump.
“Hello?” A wide grin spread across Dad’s face. “Heck yeah, we’ll be there.”
He turned to us. “It’s about damn time. The Union’s made a decision. They’re calling a meeting at the community center tomorrow at seven.”
“Jack, would you be okay home alone?” Mom asked.
“Grace, this affects him too,” Dad replied. “Besides, if he’s going to be a miner someday, he needs to start making friends with the Union.”
He got back on the phone and called the remaining men from his crew. I looked down at my hands, which were suddenly numb.
I didn’t sleep that night. It rained, which made my arm ache, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what Dad said. I imagined about a dozen different ways of telling him I didn’t want to be a miner, but they all turned out bad.
O
The next night, I stood with my parents, buried in the crowd of thick, rugged miners. With their blue jeans and plaid flannel shirts, they reminded me of the gnarled old oak trees from Miss Post’s slideshow.
Mad oak trees, with their muscles tensed up and fire in their eyes.
Despite the cold outside, it was hot and humid inside. Steam rose off the miners as they shook their fists and shouted, “They can’t do this to us!”
“I need my crew back,” Dad yelled. “I can’t do that job by myself! It’s not safe!”
“They own the whole town. How can we fight?” Mr. Barnes asked.
Mr. Hill shouted, “We STRIKE!”
A roar of agreement rolled around the room like thunder. There was no discussion. It was what everybody had been waitin’ for. And I was getting my wish. If the miners were on strike, Dad wouldn’t have to be underground no more.
The Union organized everything. They signed up the men who weren’t on unemployment for stipends, or strike pay, and scheduled times for people to walk the picket lines. I helped make signs for the men to carry.
“Gotta make it right for the next round of miners,” I heard someone say as they slapped my back. I coughed and Mom looked at me with that same worried expression.
Could I tell her how I felt?
The miners were fired up. It was scary, but exciting too. The men were loyal and close, like my baseball team. Their energy ran through me like a train. Soon I was yellin’ right along with them. Our voices echoed off the walls like drums. “STRIKE, STRIKE, STRIKE!”
O
We went straight to the Company store after the meeting.
Dad said, “We need to stock up in case things get tough.”
“Tough how?” I asked.
“The Company isn’t gonna be real happy about this strike,” he said. “Back when your Grandpa Chase was working the mine, the workers went on strike to force the Union in, and the Company shut down the store to make things hard on ’em. But folks were one step ahead and stocked up before the strike. So that’s what we’re going to do—stock up. We gotta get there before the Company catches wind of the plan.”
I loved the Company store. They had the best of everything, even the BMX dirt bike I wanted, which sat in the corner, shiny green with knobby tires. I tried not to
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