O a group of a hundred-

odd newsvendors in

Vancouver, ranging in age from 18 to 80, June 5, 1946—the day the Typo- graphical Union struck the Vancouver Daily Province— will always have a special sig- nificance. For their union was born out of the struggle to keep a scab-produced paper off the streets of a union-conscious city.

On two previous occasions, the first as long ago as 1916, the newsies tried to organize them- selves into a union, and in both instances their. attempts were defeated in short order, and for several reasons. '

The average newsie, who has had to eke out an_ existence from hustling the local dailies on downtown street corners, is perhaps a disabled war veteran, an industrial casualty or handi- capped by congenital deformity. His handicap may only be old age, but whatever it is he has to rely on his aggressiveness and initiative in competition with his fellow newsies to make a meag- er living from his papers. Con- sequently, through this ‘dog-eat- Gog’ aspect of the newsvendors tusiness; he becomes a ‘rugged individualist.’ This is the main reason for the defeats the news- ies have suffered in their past attempts to build a union,

The old-timer whose _ useful- ness in industry has ended by failing vision or want of agility becomes a potential newsie, His slender savings gone, his unem- ployment insurance run out, his

only alternative is relief or sell-

ing papers.

Industry casts off another po-—

tential newsie in the victim of industrial accident. He may have lost an arm or a leg, so that he is physically incapacitated and unable to resume his job ~ after his hospitalization period is over. He is probably a little too old to be retained for another _ job, and even if he isn’t too old, there are no facilities for training him,

Ask him if he can live on the pension he receives from the Workmen's Compensation Board for his permanent disability. He'll counter with, “Can you live on $19 a month? That's what I’m getting for the loss of my arm.” = ‘True, he will tell bm: he didn’t have to go without a job when the war was on. Then men with disabilities could find work building aircraft, ships, and mu- nitions of all types. But things are different now. So, ten chances to one, the only alter- native he has to selling news- papers is getting along on $19 a month—for life.

Then there’s the man who suf-

_ FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1947

fers from a physical deformity, either congenital, caused by some accident for which he can draw no compensation or brought | about by some progressive dis- ease such as arthritis. During the war he may have made his living by packing rivets in a plane factory or as a watch- man in the shipyards. But, for: him too, the war is over.

Now, he also can choose be- tween going on relief or selling papers. And he soon learns that the peculiar part about . this phase of the newspaper . game is that to be a good salesman you have to survive by the law of the jungle, because it’s a long climb to a good corner, and good paying corners are rare.

@

4 hee amount of written about amazing,

periodically in the local dailies explaining the benefits of the

pure fiction newsies_ is

business training one can get,

as a youth, through newspapers. _

The local ty¢oon, who spends most of his office hours getting other people to produce his prof- its for him, may convince some of his lodge members (after a sumptuous meal) that he emu- lated Alger. But he wouldn’t get

selling

-

very far with that line with

any of the corner vendors I know. They are striving to make enough to pay room rent and get enough to eat when the

Advertisements appear

paper hits the street. The tycoon who boasts that he made his start selling papers more than ‘likely was covering a paper route in a swankey suburban district when he was in the game. And his folks were pay- ing his way and his schooling expenses while he was pushing the home edition.

The newsie on the street knows it takes a long time te build up enough customers to make his job worth while, and nobody pays his rent or sup- plies his food and clothing while he is doing it. The newcomer to the street-hawking business doesn’t always get a corner to boost his paper when he starts off, and he knows that his

chances of becoming a tycoon —

are nil. His back is pau ele the wall.

- Since the days when rive major dailies found the newsie an essential factor for competi- tive purposes, the newsie has had his established conditions threatened from all sides.

At first he had to contend with physical violence. Good corners were held by those who were able to beat off all invad- ers with their bare knuckles. This meant that a vendor who suffereq from a physical disab- ility regardless of how he came by it, didn’t get the best corn- ers.

Then there was the threat ef having his corner sold on him. A wholesaler, if he was unscrup-

ulous, could give papers to any- cne selling on a certain corner,

and supply a newcomer— for 2, price—with the papers that would enable him to move in on the other chap’s corner. True, this practice doesn’t exist these days, but it has existed, and

_can be revived. Like any other

employer, the wholesaler still has the last say as to who will sell, and on what corner. And if he stops supplying papers to a vendor, the vendor is out of a job.

This is the main reason why ©

he hasn’t been able to protect himself, and why he and his fellow workers have been de- feated in their previous tempts to build a union. ®

ee PUBLIC is often given a

distorted picture of the men who sell papers on street corners. Sometimes they are portrayed

as small capitalists making far

more in a day than most of the people who buy their papers. But more often than not they are lucky to make a day’s wages. During the war years, when news of major offensives and victories from the fighting fronts made spectacular head- lines any newsie could make a

‘fair living. Papers then were

eagerly snatched up _ because people were following events. V-Day and V-J Day were the bonanza days that the newsies still discuss while waiting

around the circulation room for

at-_

’Many newsies are forced to live under the slum conditions shown her e. This ‘home’ is in a back lane in the 500 block Alexan- der Street.

the next edition to come off the press. But the war is over and pseudo - sensational headlines about ‘Red conspiracies’ do not draw sales from people who re- call with what anxiety four years ago they bought papers headlining the titanic battle for Stalingrad.

The newsies, with nothing more to hope for, than security on their corner, and a fair share cf the retail price of the periodi- cals they ‘push,’ regard them- selves as workers whose earn- ings are determined by their sales ability. Many of the ven- dors who have taken an active part in organizing the union have had some experience in the labor movement and these ex-seamen, ex-loggers anq one- time industrial workers don’t intend to be pushed around. They don’t care whether their wholesaler classes them as em- ployees or sellers; all they want are the rights and consideration won by any other workers.

They don’t want to stop hand-- ling any paper, so long as it isn’t on labor’s unfair list, but they are determined to win rec- ognition of their union. The code of the jungle is being ex- changed for a labor code.

The newsies have enough prob- lems to face, as well as the ~ ‘butcher, the baker and all their other creditors, Some of them have families to keep, and de- spite'their handicaps, they have _ no doubts about their ability to _ earn a livelihood. But. they also feel the need for organization to protect themselves against unfair practices, the use of me- — chanical vendors and the like. In short, they want some as- surance of security and that’s why Vancouver newsvendors have taken the first step to- wards winning of security—the organization of sue own union,

PACIFIC: TRIBUNE — PAGE 10