Journal Stories From The 2000's

L.U. No. 230 Victoria, B.C.
Editor:

I have been so deeply absorbed in profound mental calculation as to what was the exact amount of the tax evasions of the Mitchells, Morgans, Mellons and other rats and plutocrats, that the monthly letter to the WORKER quite slipped my mind. However, harsh voices broke in on my slumber, I mean reverie, demanding to know, wot in t’e ‘ell’s de matter wid de press secretary, so as this day, May 24, is my birthday, I decided to answer their fervent appeals and break into print once more.

Our Brothers in the various branches of the power and light utility company here are full of pep and sunshine. Why shouldn’t they be? They have a job and a new signed-up, closed shop agreement and they cheerfully pile all their little worries and cares on the back of this local’s good old packhorse, our business manager, Brother Reid.

Brother Chris Quest goes swaggering around in a pair of blue jumpers so immense that a whole family of naked Douks could take refuge in them-but of course not while Chris was wearing them. Brother Sid Neville still has that faraway look in his blue eyes. Sid is from the prairies and you know they get that way from living too much alone in the vast, open spaces, but he will soon that look now, for he isn’t living alone any more. But for a real, cheerful disposition Brother Charlie Bradshaw takes the cake, no one ever saw Charlie looking downhearted yet; even a small thing like being run over by a big black bear didn’t faze him.

But my sympathy goes out to the chief, “Big Smoke” Meldram. The chief is the pilot of the trolley tower truck. Unfortunately, he has Brothers Casey and Down to work with and they are captains of rival baseball teams and when they get all hey up about the merits of their players why fire comes out of their eyes and smoke out of their hair and it takes all the strength of the chief’s mighty right arm to keep them apart, in fact he is suffering from a lame arm now. But I am a friend of the chief and to help him keep peace I am going to lend him a black jack which was given to me a long time ago when men used to drive horses, by the president of a teamsters’ union. He said he was retiring from office and wouldn’t need it any more. I was intending to take it with me on a trip to Wall Street to clear up the situation there but as President Roosevelt has taken up this proposition, and seems quite capable of handling it, he possibly won’t need me.

Shappy.



	Published in June 1933 - I.B.E.W. Journal L.U. No. 230 Victoria, B.C. Editor: I have been so deeply absorbed in profound mental calculation as to what was the exact amount of the tax evasions of the Mitchells, Morgans, Mellons and other rats and plutocrats, that the monthly letter to the WORKER quite slipped my mind. However, harsh voices broke in on my slumber, I mean reverie, demanding to know, wot in t’e ‘ell’s de matter wid de press secretary, so as this day, May 24, is my birthday, I decided to answer their fervent appeals and break into print once more. Our Brothers in the various branches of the power and light utility company here are full of pep and sunshine. Why shouldn’t they be? They have a job and a new signed-up, closed shop agreement and they cheerfully pile all their little worries and cares on the back of this local’s good old packhorse, our business manager, Brother Reid. Brother Chris Quest goes swaggering around in a pair of blue jumpers so immense that a whole family of naked Douks could take refuge in them-but of course not while Chris was wearing them. Brother Sid Neville still has that faraway look in his blue eyes. Sid is from the prairies and you know they get that way from living too much alone in the vast, open spaces, but he will soon that look now, for he isn’t living alone any more. But for a real, cheerful disposition Brother Charlie Bradshaw takes the cake, no one ever saw Charlie looking downhearted yet; even a small thing like being run over by a big black bear didn’t faze him. But my sympathy goes out to the chief, “Big Smoke” Meldram. The chief is the pilot of the trolley tower truck. Unfortunately, he has Brothers Casey and Down to work with and they are captains of rival baseball teams and when they get all hey up about the merits of their players why fire comes out of their eyes and smoke out of their hair and it takes all the strength of the chief’s mighty right arm to keep them apart, in fact he is suffering from a lame arm now. But I am a friend of the chief and to help him keep peace I am going to lend him a black jack which was given to me a long time ago when men used to drive horses, by the president of a teamsters’ union. He said he was retiring from office and wouldn’t need it any more. I was intending to take it with me on a trip to Wall Street to clear up the situation there but as President Roosevelt has taken up this proposition, and seems quite capable of handling it, he possibly won’t need me. Shappy.