When I had worked for a Nob Hill hotel for seven years it was sold to a corporation and began to go downhill bit by bit. Old standards were drifting away.
     The first private owners were genius hotel proprietors. We were given pleasant work sites and were encouraged to be part of a grand old style hotel and we were encouraged to know all our coworkers from bus boys to front desk, concierges to cooks, asst. managers to housekeeping.
     For family reasons I had looked for a swing shift job, if possible with days off in the middle of the week. Thus a hotel job as a PBX telephone operator met my needs and then some. Since the owner knew there would be downtime we had a TV. Also a private bathroom, a small refrigerator, and a microwave.
     Also we had the camaraderie of our unions. Engineers and front desk were Teamsters. The rest of us were in the Hotel and Restaurant Workers Local 2.
     When new owners came they were from the midwest and naive about unions. Since managers knew I was active in the union one asked me plaintively if I could get the demonstrators protesting at the hotel next door to be quieter.
     They were also not accustomed to hotels in big cities and shut down computers at 10 PM just when San Francisco guests became lively.      Five years later this corporation left the hotel business and we were bought by a rather sinister corporation. One of the first things the new manager did was make us come to a meeting in the ballroom where we had to sit through a 'new age' pep talk, with diagrams about changes and how we must accept them.
     We were told to look for a table with workers we did not know and it was an enlightening moment. We all knew each other and realized the new owners knew very little about us. After we were supposed to be enlightened about change, we were urged to give up our membership in unions and enter a bright new corporate world.
     The battle began.
     Many of us were harassed. Some were let go with the excuse the title of the job was eliminated. That is how we lost a courtly and fine Maitre d'. Some workers announced they saw no reason to put up with the new regime and quit.
     I was not in a good position to quit as I came to work for the 3 to 11 PM shift and midweek days off to care for my head injured son's many needs. I was sixty, five years from retiring.
     A new assistant manager I will call P the Peculiar was so harsh with me I got used to being summoned to his office every Friday so he could taunt me and try to make me lose my temper or become miserable enough to quit.
     I was miserable and furious and tense. To change jobs might jeopardize being my son't advocate with numerous agencies and difficulties. Moreover, I had loved my job and felt my joy in being a valuable, praised worker was shot down.
     Quickly I contacted my Union rep and we discussed what to do. It was close to contract negotiations again and all the reps had their hands full. I could call him if need be, but I felt strong enough to put up with being called a terrible worker and that suddenly the other PBX workers hated working with me.
     When I got the nerve to discuss this with those I'd worked with for a long time, they were stunned. One of the newly hired did complain about calls from my head injured son which had been a way to remind him of so many things he forgot.
     Management told me the calls had to stop. That complicated my keeping track of him. I had to rearrange when he could visit my home and other things he was used to.
      The climax of the harassment came on my usual Friday visit to be told what a terrible worker I was and how my coworkers still couldn't stand me.
     He did not mention any guest complaints. Many of us felt like conspirators trying to keep the old hotel spirit alive. One of my concierge friends smuggled high praise of me since he knew the managers wouldn't.
     This Friday P the P was saying really horrible things and I was quietly weeping and trying not to blow up when there was a loud click. He looked flustered and brought out the tape machine which was probably always there when he verbally abused me.
     I have no idea what he expected me to do. Scream? Swear? Lose my cool? He looked at me and I looked at him and smiled. I guessed what he did was pretty illegal and I planned to tell my rep about it.
     But It was the last time he asked me to come to his office.
     And I never needed to report the taping.
     A few days later it became known a mild mannered man in bookkeeping discovered P the Peculiar had been embezzling, fiddling with guest credit cards. P the P was immediately fired.
     Another assistant manager came and tried to bother me but I did the same silent treatment followed by pithy but inoffensive comments. He lost his temper and yelled,“You may have a bigger vocabulary than I do but so what.“
     Years later after I retired but came back on call when the management had become more pleasant and sensible, one of the desk clerks and a friend, now an assistant manager told me she had run into a nice guy who had briefly been an assistant manager and quit because he was given a hit list and was told to try to get certain people fired, including her. And me.
     This is a story I am happy to tell. My involvement with Local 2 began when a shy friend asked me to go with her to contract negotiations as she knew I have no problem speaking in public.
     It was the beginning of a course in how unions work and I was paired with a highly intelligent, good hearted, delightful waiter who gave his all to help workers. I made it to every contract negotiation thereafter, marched in sunshine and rain (getting a boot full of cold water in a leaky boot once) and reported back to co-workers, encouraging them to stick with the union.
     Toward the end I passed the torch on to a woman who is still at the hotel and very involved in Local 2 and we are still good friends. I cannot imagine how I could have gotten through the vicious attempts to make me quit without knowing the union was invisible but with me, like guardian angels every time I had to go to P's office. Local 2 was with me when my yearly 'report card' dropped from A to D and I cheerfully told friends I was lowering my expectations.
     I was not alone.
     Every worker who defied mistreatment and endured dangers far worse than mine was with me. Every note and word in labor songs and all the unknown worldwide comrades before me and those to come were in that little office with me and P the Peculiar.
     The day P the P was fired a sweet Spanish speaking guy in the sign in and out kiosk said, “The evil one is gone.“ We high fived.
     There will always be evil but as long as we have unions to back us up, we can fight and win.
© 2012 Phyllis Holiday