The Pittsburgh Press (January 9, 1946)
I DARE SAY —
Mr. Brown talks it over
By Florence Fisher Parry
Mr. Brown turned off the radio end sat there, silent, smoking. His son paced back and forth in that caged way that made his father nervous. John hadn’t been like this before the war.
“Mr. Truman is right,” the boy said. “It’s an outrage! The government ought to show these willful minorities where they get off.”
“Who do you mean by ‘these willful minorities’?” asked Mr. Brown.
“These capitalists and labor barons who are trying to bust up reconversion,” John said. “Let the fact-finders move in, let the government decide. I’m going to send a wire to our representative and our senators right now…”
“Now hold on just a minute! That’s just what I was afraid of when I listened to Mr. Truman – everybody rushing to write a letter or telegraph. FEVER pressure, that’s what it would be; jumping in on an impulse and coercing Congress before we knew what we were doing.”
“Aw, poppy-cock! The people know…”
“The people, yes! But not at the expense of their freedom. That’s the trouble with people – they get all panicky, and empower the government to take over. Maybe it would be a good idea to look to the implications of this fact-finding business. Now, take General Motors–”
“YOU take General Motors! They’re all wrong!”
“Now, wait a minute. If they’re all wrong, so’s your father.”
“What do you mean, putting yourself in their class?”
Quite the same
“Well, in a way, my position is the same as theirs. I’m a small manufacturer, in a highly competitive business that takes a lot of know-how to function. I made quite a tidy little profit during the war, although it’s going to hustle me to keep even, now. For post-war confusion means RISK to all industry, and I’ll need all I’ve made to protect my business – and, incidentally, my employees.
“How long,” asked Mr. Brown, “do you think it has taken me to build up my business here in town, anyway? And how much do you’d think I’d relish some fact-finding meddlers coming in and rooting around my plant and my books and telling me how to run my business and how much I could afford to pay my help? Fat chance they’d have of understanding my particular headaches and risks and responsibilities that I’ve saddled myself with and am geared to cope with.”
“Nuts!” said his son. “That’s a brass hat attitude if ever there was one! I saw that operating in the Army. Just because I wasn’t in the Regular Army before the war and didn’t have rank was no reason why I couldn’t have been a better officer than the incompetents who outranked me. Know-how isn’t to be measured in term of service or what title you have. Mebbe a little outside advice and authority wouldn’t be a bad thing for you.”
Mr. Brown gave his son a look.
“Some outsider to tell me what I must pay my men? Run my plant? Okay, suppose I stand for that. Some fact-finders come into my bookkeeping office and my plant and decide I can pay MY workmen 30 percent more, based on my profits. My profits have been good because I know how to run my plant.”
“But across the street is Jones, my stiffest competitor. HE is visited by fact-finders who decide that HE can afford an increase of 15 percent in the salaries HE pays. What happens? I can rob Jones of all his best workers because it has been found that I can afford to pay them more. I put Jones out of business, I become a monopoly.
“Because my profits are the highest and I can outbid all my competitors in the labor market. That’s just swell for labor, isn’t it?”
Pretty dream
“But Mr. Truman is seeking prosperity, Dad. He asks for a full-employment bill, greater unemployment compensation, higher minimum wages–”
“That’s a pretty dream. But ‘full employment’ will always depend upon the employer’s ability to provide work – and greater unemployment compensation than that which operates invites abuse and government paternalism.
“What scares me,” continued Mr. Brown, “is that the people will be carried away by Mr. Truman’s plea, and without examining his program will by popular pressure coerce Congress into legislating a utopia which will collapse like a house of cards.”
“Mr. Truman may be off on the wrong foot, but it’s not his fault we put him there. He’s calling for help, he’s calling the people. He may have the wrong idea how to put out the fire, but he figures if we all give a hand we’ll find a way to get the thing under control. He asks us not to just STAND THERE. Dad, are you going to get in touch with your congressmen?”
“What would my message count for? Mr. Truman just encouraged a pressure stampede by giving labor such a green light. Besides, you know what kind of cranks write to their congressmen.”
“Then, I’m a crank. I’m going to write. I don’t know yet what.”
“Okay son. Maybe you’re right. We can help each other. My head and your hands–”
“Our TWO heads and our FOUR hands.”
“You bet,” said Mr. Brown.