And that is the naked truth (or maybe half naked).
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One of the things that I miss about the 1960s was the common practice of watching George Meany on TV talking to the Press (when it was really the Fourth Estate) about his dealings with the U.S. President as though both were equals.
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You took all the good lines.
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The story has legs was all I could come up with, but I’m hard pressed to think anyone is giving more than lip service to a conversation about legs in a topless bar.
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From the 80s till about 2010, anti-union propagandists were able to leverage younger workers’ sense of merit and individual accomplishment to convince people they didn’t need unions, that the lower quintiles would only drag them down, that they would do better negotiating individually because they were above average, blah blah blah. But those tactics mostly rely on workers not talking with one another. Chalk up a positive for social media?
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You are dancing around the big takeaway here:
Unions are taking off!
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What is the main reason manufacturing jobs have better pay and benefits than service jobs?
I think the answer is “unions”.
Before unions, anyone else remember what most manufacturing, to include mining, was like?
Tennessee Ernie Ford can remind everyone.
Some people say a man is made out of mud
A poor man’s made out of muscle and blood
Muscle and blood and skin and bones
A mind that’s weak and a back that’s strong
[Chorus]
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
Saint Peter don’t you call me, 'cause I can’t go]
I owe my soul to the company store
[Verse 2]
I was born one morning when the sun didn’t shine
I picked up my shovel and I walked to the mine
I loaded sixteen tons of number 9 coal
And the straw boss said, “Well-a bless my soul!”
[Chorus]
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
[Saint Peter don’t you call me, 'cause I can’t go
[I owe my soul to the company store
[Verse 3]
I was born one morning, it was drizzlin’ rain
Fightin’ and trouble are my middle name
I was raised in the canebrake by an old mama lion
Can’t no high-toned woman make me walk the line
[Chorus]
You load sixteen tons, what do you get?
Another day older and deeper in debt
[Saint Peter don’t you call me, 'cause I can’t go
[I owe my soul to the company store
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Can’t wait for the rightists to start bitching about inflation; they can’t see her butthole for a dollar any more it’s gonna be a 5 dollar minimum just like a Happy Meal.
Turns out uncle is the autocorrect for incel. So if you ever read me writing about uncle rightists complaining about butthole inflation, that’s probably what I meant.
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The down side of topless dancing is becoming headless.
November 24, 1983, San Francisco (where else?). “Entangled”, such a polite word to describe what was going on.
“The assistant manager of The Condor nightclub was crushed to death early yesterday when an elevator piano accidentally rose to the ceiling while he was entangled atop it with a young woman,” the story read.
“James (Jimmy the Beard) Ferrozzo, 40, a longtime employee of the North Beach topless club, was caught between the spangled piano and the ceiling while he was lying partially on top of his 23-year-old girlfriend, Theresa Hill, police said.”
“The accident on the piano happened between 4 and 6 a.m. yesterday. Angel Vicente, the club’s janitor, found the couple pinned between the piano and the ceiling 15 feet off the ground at 7:30 a.m., police said.”
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Hung up on buttholes this morning.
I swear I’m not uncle.
It’s very heartening to see young workers embracing labor organization. Power is the only thing organized money respects. If you want a fair shake, you need a union. It’s that simple.
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class struggle 
class entertainment
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Thanks for staying on top of this.
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I love unions and boobs. This story hits my sweet spot.
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Ernie was a bombardier in WW2.
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One of my last and best memories of my father was watching the nightly news–Nixon gave speech at AFL-CIO convention and then, doing his best to seem spontaneous and human, waded into the crowd to shake hands with delegates.
After (maybe) 20 seconds Meany banged his gavel and snarled ‘The meeting will come to order’.
My father broke up laughing watching Meany jerk Nixon’s chain.
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Put Nixon’s venality and corruptibility aside and he was some stiff.
He gave nerds a bad name.
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