Tag: Indianapolis

Indianapolis 1920. Courtesy of the Indiana Historical Society

If the 1913 streetcar strikes were explosive and violent, the 1926 strike in Indianapolis was almost an afterthought. This article is a follow up to last weeks opining of the 1913 strike in Indianapolis a mere 13 years before. It is perhaps because of this it doesn’t even show up in historical annals online and was even glossed over in a history book of Indianapolis. Yet even so, it had the same push and pull between unions and companies that could have derailed into outright violence if it were not for the outing of one man – Harry Boggs. 

Harry Boggs was an ardent supporter of the unions and loudest in proposing the wage increase to .37 an hour and indeed, became a local union president. 

The Indianapolis Times reported in their July 14 1926 edition that: 
Explosives were placed on tracks in front of Illinois, College, Riverside, West Indianapolis, W. Washington and W. Michigan cars. A compound of potassium sulphate and sulphur (sic) was used, according to Detectives and Gaughan, who examined the unexploded charges. 

Purportedly the explosives were left in a sock and did a measure of damage. The reporter may have been confused and meant potassium chlorate or potassium nitrate as potassium sulphate was not going to get the results the strikers were looking for. 

Explosions derail and damage four cars carrying passengers. Sixty persons shaken up, several hurt, one severely. Windows of five houses shattered. Union head charges men employed by street railway with responsibility. Railway officials denies strikers’ charge. Citizens’ peace committee to get plan of action this afternoon. Surrounding of car barns to get workers to join strike practical failure due to police interference, union head says. Police kept on jump. Strikers donated $IOO by garment workers’ unions. State labor federation official calls on all unions to contribute money to strikers. Four street cars were derailed and damaged, sixty passengers shaken up, several injured, one severely and windows of five houses blown out in explosions last night. 

While the damage and the lives effected were considerably less than the 1913 strikes, all sides were quick to point fingers. The tensions of the strike — and the personal accusations — are reflected in this scene from Whiskey Covenant:: 

“Since when did you ever know what it was like to know if your family wasn’t fed?” Simpson snarled. “You got that big fancy house in Irvington!”  

Mick curbed his rage with effort. One thing that he couldn’t stand were men who held him in condemnation for circumstances they knew nothing about. “You think I ain’t ever wondered where the next meal was coming from? You ever been pulling in wages ‘cause your old man drank the rent away? Ever made sure a four-year-old didn’t go hungry ‘cause you was the only one bringing food home, working two or t’ree jobs at sixteen? Don’t stand there talkin’ about what I ain’t lived—’cause I lived it. And I made damn sure I’d never have to live it again. My children eat every day and sleep in a warm bed. And if I have to bootleg a l’le liquor to do it, t’en so be it. So don’t go t’rowin’ what I am now up to me.”  

The silence after this pronouncement felt as oppressive as the heat that pressed in around them. “Ach,” spat a man near the entrance. “He’s a workin’ man same as us. What good we gonna get from fighting among ourselves?”  

Another man pushed forward. Mick remembered him from the other night. The man he had thrown out of the fight. Johnson.  His bald head gleamed with sweat. “Maybe his bootlegin’ don’t matter to ya none, nor who he’s killed, but did any of you fellas know that he was in the vicinity of that streetcar explosion on Lambert the other night? Maybe he’s part of what we’re fighting’.”  

Mick rolled his eyes. “Yeah and so was you, Johnson. And who is ‘we’? You’re not strikin’ Why are you even here? You’re gettin’ your company bonus. What are you suggestin’, Johnson? That I planted the damn thing meself?” 

Boggs came forward. “Nobody’s makin’ outright accusations, Mick—just askin’ questions. You know how it looks.” 

“So I’m making contribution to your cause and also laying out explosives on t’ tracks. Well t’at makes a lot o’ sense,” Mick shot back, the sarcasm heavy in his voice. 

“I ain’t sayin’ it was union men. But the company sure as hell thinks it was,” Boggs said. They’ve uncovered undetonated explosives on the tracks on Wallace, Illinois and Meridian. Mostly the working class neighborhoods, same as on Lambert. Potassium sulfate and sulfur in socks.” 

“Work wool or mercerized?” Mick quipped. 

“Now is not the time for flippancy,” Boggs growled. 

“I’m not being flippant. I’m askin’ who is putting down explosives in t’ tracks t’at got people hurt. Railway men or union men?”  

Eamon scoffed. “T’at’s the trick, ain’t it? Blast goes off, company points the finger at us, never mind that workers were on that streetcar, never mind who really stands to gain from stoppin’ the strike.” 

As of July, Harry Boggs was firmly in the position of union president of the local chapter. As the Times reports 

“Harry Boggs, president of the car men’s union, at a mass meeting of strikers in Plumber’s Hall… admonished the men to refrain from congregating and violence or acts of vandalism.” 

The ones taking the biggest fall were the strike leaders John M. Parker and Robert Armstrong, but soon it would become apparent that not all was as it had seemed: 

CAR MEN DECLARE STRIKE WILL GO ON IN SPITE OF JAILING OF UNION LEADERS Judge Baltzell’s Ruling Finding Parker and Armstrong Guilty of Contempt to Be Appealed. OTHER OFFICERS EXPECTED Mass Meeting Planned Tonight Another Convicted. Although their leaders, John M. Parker and Robert Armstrong, ‘found guilty by Federal Judge Robert C. Baltzell of contempt of court, were in Marion county jail, striking street car men today declared they would continue the strike to a finish. Strikers said they expected other national officers of the Amalgamated Association of Street and Electric Railway Employees 

Merely the fact that someone had felt the need to resort to explosives which could have caused much more damage than they did (some of the rails effected had been safely removed with harm or injury to anyone) said all anyone needed to know. Someone was ready to take this to 1913 level escalation.  

But the streetcar men had other ideas. They worked the system differently. They started giving free rides on the streetcar – to everyone. It was insidious. But it worked. It gained public support and served to embarrass the streetcar company. 

A streetcar in Indianapolis, pictured about a decade after the 1926 strike. Courtesy of the Indiana Historical Society

Arbitration came at last, perhaps by men eager to avoid repeating 1913 as Indianapolis Times reports: 

Harry Dynes, Department of Labor representative, began efforts to settle the strike by arbitration as soon as the walkout was voted. He requested Mayor Duvall to call company officials and employees together for a discussion of differences. Duvall, however, refused to intercede until Judge Robert C. Baltzell rules on whether strikers are violating a Federal Court injunction. Efforts to bring the groups together might be in contempt of court, he said. “As mayor of the city I am taking no sides, but I am eager for a peaceful settlement,” he said. “There must be no violence. Police will be instructed to protect property and take drastic steps at the first show of trouble.” 

Harry Boggs, however proved to be the biggest embarrassment to the company and their biggest liability for in September the Times went on to report on September 9, 1926: 

Harry Boggs, president of the local street car men’s union during its strike, told Federal Judge Baltzell today that he had been in the employ of the company during the strike and for two weeks previous to its calling. He said that he had been paid $50 a week for giving the company “valuable information.” The admissions came In response to questions by the district attorney and Judge Baltzell, who thereupon sentenced Boggs to 120 days in Jail for violating the injunction obtained by the street car company against ‘interference with its service.” 

Boggs wasn’t just a weak link — he was the company’s inside man. In Whiskey Covenant, Boggs went to the one man who he thought could save him and discovered he would only be met with contempt: 

Boggs looked around him, peering at the faces of drinkers in the amber glow of the pendant lights. “They said I could find you here,” he rasped. 

“If you’re lookin’ for the bloody bastards you sold out, t’ey don’t usually come in here,” Mick told him acidly. He kicked out a chair for  Boggs. “Seems you have somet’in’ to say so sit down and say it.”  He kicked aside another chair and propped his boots up on it, leaning back and tossing off the rest of his moonshine. He nodded to Charlie when he caught his eye and Charlie nodded back, understanding and brought over a drink for Boggs and another one for Mick. Boggs sat down. He glanced at the drink like he didn’t know what to do with it. Mick watched him through narrowed eyes and waited.  

Boggs licked his lips. “I’m in a bit of a tight spot,” he said.  

“Ain’t we all.” 

“I mean, I’m scared for my life. Look, Daugherty, you gotta hear me out. I didn’t have a choice.” 

“T’at’s a funny t’ing to say, Boggs, since everyone else had one and managed not to sell out.” 

Boggs leaned forward. “I had debts, a’right? Big ones. Bigger than just late rent and unpaid tabs. Fifty a week—it was survival, Mick. I didn’t—” 

“You didn’t what, Boggs? Didn’t t’ink? Didn’t give a damn who you were burnin’ to keep your own head above water?” 

It was the strike that didn’t go down in history, partially because it nowhere reached the extent of violence its 1913 predecessor had done. But perhaps also for good reason that Boggs would expose the machinations of the railway companies; It was no unheard of companies to sabotage their own lines and blame it on union workers. It never came out how far Boggs had gone to sabotage rail lines. Perhaps, as so often happened in Indianapolis quiet money exchanged hands to keep the truth concealed. Boggs is not mentioned again in the press. A man who had sold out his own could only slink away in ignominy and hope that that was the worst of his comeuppance. 

And so the 1926 strike slipped quietly into obscurity — not because it lacked danger, but because the truth was too inconvenient for anyone to preserve. 

All photos courtesy of the Indiana Historical Society

The early 20^th century was known for a variety of social unrest in the United States not least of which came from the labor movement. Streetcar strikes were happening in about every major city, and Indianapolis was no exception with a strike that turned deadly Halloween night, 1913 and ran unchecked for four days. 

It’s the better known strike in Indianapolis. It was messy. It was volatile. But there is another one mentioned in the Indianapolis Times in 1926 that has been completely forgotten and doesn’t show up in history books or online at all. To better cover both of these, this blog will be in two parts. 

What stood out about the 1913 strike was how the police who were called upon to protect the streetcars, often turned their backs or even resigned. Many officers had once been streetcar operators themselves, or had close friends who still were. When ordered to protect the streetcars — or even operate them — loyalty won out. It was the biggest police mutiny in the history of the city. 

 Frequently, the streetcar companies would bring “scabs” from other cities, usually Chicago, hardened men brought in to operate the streetcars and willing to enter a kerfuffle with strikers should the need arise.  

Streetcar operators made shocking low wages even for the time before inflation, often only fifteen cents an hour and they worked six to seven days a week. Appeals for shorter working hours –  sometimes of up to fourteen hours a day – and increased pay was met with resistance by the street car companies. For their part, the  Amalgamated Association of Street and Electric Railway Employees of America began to unionize workers who were fired when their membership was discovered. It was a powder keg: long hours, starvation wages, and a company determined to break the union at any cost. 

Furthermore, even then Mayor Lew Shank seemed to take the side of the rioters, and Governor Ralston was reticent about intervening but as the situation continued to grow steadily more volatile, even he saw the need for calling out the National Guard.  

The unions for their part, brought in their own men, frequently recruited from underground fighting rings to fight the scabs. Is it any wonder there was general pandemonium in the streets? This atmosphere of desperation and violence is reflected in a flashback from Whiskey Covenant:: 

The warehouse smelled of sweat, iron, and something older—desperation. Rusted iron beams arced overhead, making the warehouse feel like a cage—a place that swallows men whole and spits them out as fighters, pawns, or corpses. 

Mick sat on an overturned crate, his body a landscape of bruises, unwrapping the bandages on his hands that he had so carefully wrapped before the fight. His knuckles were split, dried blood creating intricate maps across his hands, sticking to the fabric, as the blood dried. Each breath came with a quiet wince. The fights hadn’t been clean. They never were. Fatigue settled in on him like a cloak. 

Two men watched him. One was lean, sharp-eyed. He reminded Mick of a snake. There was the reptilian about him.  The other man broader, with hands that looked like they’d done their own share of fighting. His face was pockmarked in a landscape of scars and old traumas. They weren’t here to sympathize. They were here to assess. 

“How many fights you won this week?” The lean one asked. No introduction. No softening. 

Mick didn’t smile. Didn’t need to. “Enough.” 

Pockmark stepped closer, studying Mick like he was horseflesh. Checking the muscle, the potential. “You fight for money. Not for a cause.” 

“Money’s the only cause t’at matters,” Mick responded. 

Snakey’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. More like recognition. 

“How old are you?” 

“Eighteen,” Mick replied. 

“Been fightin’ long?” 

“In t’ ring? Couple o’ years.” 

“Indianapolis Terminal’s bringing in strikebreakers,” Pockmark said. “We need men who can handle themselves, can hold the line against the strikebreakers.” 

Mick knew what that meant. Muscle. Intimidation. Breaking more than just strikes. 

The lean man pulled an envelope from his jacket. Thick. Folded once, crisp edges. He didn’t immediately offer it. Just let Mick see it. A promise. A threat. A possibility. 

This was only the beginning. Money was offered to these men to hold the strike. Both the streetcar companies and the labor organizations were willing to do whatever it took to hold their own lines. Six trolly cars were destroyed and overhead lines were cut by strikers. 

Only twenty arrests were made the first day though six people were killed and over one hundred injured, some seriously. Over the weekend, crowds of up to ten thousand turned out in the street, overturning a streetcar, injuring thirty including two police officers.

1913 streetcar strikers gathered on Washington Street – Indianapolis Historical Society

I write about this vividly as a flashback chapter in Whiskey covenant as it influenced the eighteen year old Mick in the later labor movement of the 1920s: 

Mick dodged a bottle thrown his direction and it shattered on the pavement around him. Men and women were elbow to elbow on Washington Street. Even on a crisp November day, the heat of humanity and the tang of fear and blood was ripe in the streets. He jostled his way through the crowds to the lone trolley in the middle of the street, lilting dangerously. That it had made it this far from the terminal said something for the intrepidness of its novice driver, some strikebreaker brought in from out of town. Now, however, it was not going anywhere. The mass of humanity around it had swelled and surged in raw numbers. 

Mick continued to fight his way through the crowd. He had come armed with a heavy iron pipe. Most of the crowd were sympathetic with the strikers. But Mick found himself exchanging – and dodging – the occasional punch. On top of the streetcar, a lone, lanky figure was balanced as the streetcar lurched from side to side. The figure emitted a wild whoop and then one long, drawn out wolf howl. As Mick got closer, he recognized him.  Stanszek, if he recalled his name correctly, had given the arresting officer quite a turn by talking to invisible entities. He was always a little different.  

As Mick approached the trolley, Stanszek swung himself from the conveyance. He landed lightly near Mick and grinned. The scab who had been hired to operate the streetcar was surrounded and fighting off rioters. The car wasn’t going to go anywhere soon in any case. The cables had been cut and they sparked wildly. 

On November 6^th, Governor Ralston met with angry crowds at the statehouse and his skillful diplomacy defused what could have gone on as a very dangerous situation.  In the end, the companies agreed to a paltry five percent increase in wages and to recognize the unions. Those strikers who had not been involved in violence were invited to return to their jobs. 

The 1913 streetcar riots shaped the political landscape of the city as it pertained to worker complaints and the minimum wage was increased to 28 cents an hour and workers were guaranteed one Sunday off a month and basic workplace safety requirements. Really puts things in perspective for what we complain about now! 

But the 1913 strike wasn’t the end of Indianapolis labor unrest — only the end of the part the city chose to remember 

We’ll continue this thread into another blog post next week which will take us into the much less talked about 1926 strike that was much less violent but no less politically nuanced. 

All photos courtesy of the Indianapolis Historical Society