“What’s ah-TWO?”
The other day the official announcement of elections for Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union (“What’s ATU [ah-TWO]”), my Union at Transit, arrived.
The Union-president is still Joe Carey, and the Business-Agent is still Frank Falzone.
These guys have been Union-officials for eons. They became union officers before my stroke.
The last Union-president was David Jones, who died of cancer. A flaming radical, some say he was killed.
There are only two bus-union officers against a Transit staff of “hundereds.”
At least three Transit administrations have come-and-gone while they were in office.
First was Jack Garrity, a Mario Cuomo appointee from Long Island, who was sort of a jerk, but at least felt bound by the contract.
When he retired he was replaced by Don Riley, a REPUBLICAN appointee of New York state governor George Pa-Pa-Pa-Pataki.
Riley was worse than Garrity. The contract was only a piece of paper. To enforce it, the Union had to sue.
Riley had no prior experience in Transit, but his position as head-honcho at Transit was a reward for being REPUBLICAN.
Transit was thrilled to have him as head-honcho; they felt he would have powerful influence in the state capitol.
But Transit seemed to just continue on its own momentum; and the fact if they were shot down, there would be no buses.
Riley retired, so now Transit is headed by another, Mark Aesch, who I don’t know anything about, since my stroke ended bus-driving almost 14 years ago, and I stopped attending union-meetings three years ago. (He was previously on the staff of a tub-thumping Conservative REPUBLICAN congressman, who decided not to run, and thereby put Aesch out of a job.)
The bus-union is a joke; essentially toothless because they can’t strike — the New York state Taylor-law prohibits strikes by public-employees.
Bus-drivers aren’t very attached to the Union, as they are pretty much on-their-own all day.
The mechanics are more a union. They work together in the same building, so can take action immediately.
Action regarding a bus-driver issue requires a phonecall (often to only an answering-machine), and then it’s only two union officials against a management-staff of “hundereds.”
So drivers are always complaining — that the Union is in cahoots with management, and/or charging too much for assessments. (“Can’t we negotiate all these arbitrations?” —Um, not with fat-cats that take every dispute to court.)
The Union-president is still Joe Carey, and the Business-Agent is still Frank Falzone.
These guys have been Union-officials for eons. They became union officers before my stroke.
The last Union-president was David Jones, who died of cancer. A flaming radical, some say he was killed.
There are only two bus-union officers against a Transit staff of “hundereds.”
At least three Transit administrations have come-and-gone while they were in office.
First was Jack Garrity, a Mario Cuomo appointee from Long Island, who was sort of a jerk, but at least felt bound by the contract.
When he retired he was replaced by Don Riley, a REPUBLICAN appointee of New York state governor George Pa-Pa-Pa-Pataki.
Riley was worse than Garrity. The contract was only a piece of paper. To enforce it, the Union had to sue.
Riley had no prior experience in Transit, but his position as head-honcho at Transit was a reward for being REPUBLICAN.
Transit was thrilled to have him as head-honcho; they felt he would have powerful influence in the state capitol.
But Transit seemed to just continue on its own momentum; and the fact if they were shot down, there would be no buses.
Riley retired, so now Transit is headed by another, Mark Aesch, who I don’t know anything about, since my stroke ended bus-driving almost 14 years ago, and I stopped attending union-meetings three years ago. (He was previously on the staff of a tub-thumping Conservative REPUBLICAN congressman, who decided not to run, and thereby put Aesch out of a job.)
The bus-union is a joke; essentially toothless because they can’t strike — the New York state Taylor-law prohibits strikes by public-employees.
Bus-drivers aren’t very attached to the Union, as they are pretty much on-their-own all day.
The mechanics are more a union. They work together in the same building, so can take action immediately.
Action regarding a bus-driver issue requires a phonecall (often to only an answering-machine), and then it’s only two union officials against a management-staff of “hundereds.”
So drivers are always complaining — that the Union is in cahoots with management, and/or charging too much for assessments. (“Can’t we negotiate all these arbitrations?” —Um, not with fat-cats that take every dispute to court.)
posted by BobbaLew at 6:29 AM
1 Comments:
My name is David Jones and I'm the son of former ATU Local 282 President David Jones Sr.
I came across this blog while doing some research on the state of Local 282 to see where it's at these days. I was taken aback at first to see my father described in this blog as a "flaming radical" because, in the 21 years that I called him my father, I never viewed him in that way. In essence, they are the perfect words to describe my father.
While my father was many things: a husband, family man, US Marine, a Vietnam Vet, a pilot, a flight instructor, a Union President... I never saw him as a "radical". Then I think of the times that his shop steward (Ron Simpson) strategically brought me (15 at the time) to union meetings to sit by my father to discourage him from slicing Jack Garrity's throat and breaking gavels... so I don't think there's a better word to describe him as a leader.
He and Jack Garrity (RIP) couldn't stand each other, professionally. In Mr. Garrity's defense, he had a job to do and as someone who works in leadership myself, I get it. He spoke at my father's funeral in 1992 and when he spoke, he wept. These words he spoke of my father still resonate with me to this day, "I didn't like Dave very much while we were working opposite of each other, but I respected him... because he was a man and he cared about his people. How can you not respect a person like that?"
There were a ton of rumors about my father being "killed" for his unapologetic style and his views and I want to set the record straight... because the four people who know are my father's doctor, the doctor in Miami that performed my dad's autopsy, me and my mother. My father was absolutely not killed. Anyone that knew my father knew that if you were going to kill him, you had to be smarter than him. My father was from Newark, NJ... as street smart as they come. No one was going to get close enough to kill my father without him having an inkling of it. My father was diagnosed with Metastatic Malignant Melanoma around 1989, he had a spot on his foot that had initially been "jungle rot" from his time in Vietnam... he had that spot for 20 years before my mom made him get it checked out. The end result was an amputation of his big toe and his lymph nodes being removed. My dad vowed that he wouldn't be cut on or Guinea Pigged for a cure of whatever he had. He wasn't afraid to die. To this day, my father's doctor will not tell us if he knew my dad had a short time to live and I have no doubt he knows and that my dad swore him to secrecy. My dad died in his sleep on September 26, 1992 while on a business cruise. He had tumors in his lungs from cancer and he went to sleep and never woke up. Not a single ounce of foul play. A peaceful end for the "flaming radical"
Thank you very much for mentioning my father in this blog... it does my heart well to know that in 2007, his name still has some relevance to someone from RTS. I wish you well.
God Bless.
Post a Comment
<< Home