The Art of the Deal (or Lack Thereof)​

The meeting hall was a mess of men and women, all crowded about and amongst each other as they squeezed into the small but well ventilated building. There was at least that respite, the long summer heat had brought about it a most terrible sweat, and the scent of bodies too far removed from showerheads or a good bath would have permeated through the establishment in a most unseemly manner. Some of the workers had brought refreshments, others simple foods, all coming together to form a quaint little community.

Most were still mingling about amongst each other whilst the leadership of the Youngstown Steel Union began filing into the room in a methodical manner, a stage had already been prepared, and they all walked up and took their seats. The crowd quickly drew silent, a number amongst them carrying a glint of anger with them, for all knew that the war had brought about a clashing of ideas and rhetoric, a marked shift from the tense but still cordial debates of yesteryear. The steel mills of Youngstown had opted to remain silent in the war of words and speeches between the American Federation of Labor (AFL) and it's up-and-coming rival, the All-Continental Union Association (ACUA), but that silence would no longer stand.

Union President John McClay was not very pleased at this turn of circumstance, the integration of the YSU into either organization would mean that the current presiding leadership would no longer have quite the same power it now carried within the union. He had already directed his people to take measures to ensure that such talk of "going national" was bucked at the first possible instance, but between the war and the strikes, calls for such integration could no longer be contained on a purely chapter-to-chapter basis. It had remained a hot button topic throughout last year, the leadership negotiating with either to achieve some sort of compromise between national and local interests.

The rank and file remained restless, of course, many calling for immediate integration to the radical ACUA, with some woman hailing from a nearby chapter of the organization apparently riling up something fierce amongst the workers. Of course, the leadership would hear her out, but McClay did not put much stock in the woman, steelwork was a hazardous job, and he doubted the woman had seen a day in the foundries.

Well, at least one of them had given him some leeway. He ground his jaw slightly as he placed down some files on the podium, thanking one of the members as they offered a cup of water, an offer he took graciously as he loosened his vocal cords.

"Workers and members of the Youngstown Steel Union, it has come to the attention of the leadership that there has been a loud and vocal clamoring for our ascension into a national-level union, to further improve the working lives of the people and workers of Youngstown to our fullest capabilities." The crowd murmured voices of approval, that was good. He glanced over to the ACUA woman, standing right in the front of the crowd.

"As such, given discussions that have been held in good faith by the leadership of this union, we have been approached with an offer of joining a national union by both the ACUA and the AFL. And given the situation, and after considering our options, the leadership has opted to accept the offer of integration into the American Federation of Labor."

First, deafening silence, but for a fleeting moment that might have endeared on the leadership that perhaps they would not need to resort to any drastic measures. But just like the calm before a tsunami, it was but a mirage of stability as the crowd erupted in disproval, hollering and heckling. McClay saw the glint of steel shown through some of the pockets of the workers, and perhaps it would have erupted into something further, had not that damned woman walked up to the podium, taking McClay's place as the shook man simply sat down behind her. His VP helping to wipe off some of the sweat as he was still paralyzed.

"Fellow workers, I urge you all to remain calm, please, keep your fists in your pockets. Most of us already knew this would happen, did we not?" The woman started speaking, calming down the crowd somewhat.

"The leaders of this union, would rather care for their own interests, before protecting the worker from the true evils of the world. This union that you all helped build to create, by your own sweat and blood, now ruled by ink and stamp by but a handful of greedy men. You all must have heard of how the progressive AFL so graciously helped to put down the revolts of the masses against the war, how they so graciously marched in goosestep with the army in crushing the railway workers. And yet, here your President stood, asking you all to join Gomper's Ghouls."

"The bastard's gotta go!" One of the crowd screamed out.

"All power to the workers!" Another followed, and the crowd began shouting some such similar things, all fed up with the President's graft one way or the other.

"Thus, given that President McClay clearly no longer stands for the common steelworker of Youngstown, I come to you, the worker, and ask that you decide amongst yourselves. Will you stand with Gomper's Ghouls?"

The crowd gave a resounding shout of "NO!"

"-Or will you rise with your brothers and sisters, and join the union that will protect you, no matter the cost? Will the esteemed members of the Youngstown Steel Union join their brethren in the All-Continental Union Association?"

If there was any disproval, it was quickly snuffed out by the great roar of approval. Almost like clockwork, some began unfurling the banners of the ACUA to cheering applause, many helping to raise the banners to the high walls of the halls.


Amidst the cheering, President McClay finally clocked what was happening, rising with a stammer in his voice, he decried the crowd.

"T-THIS HAS NOT BEEN SANCTIONED BY THE GOVERNING BODY OF THE YSU, THERE WILL BE ORDER IN THIS HALL, SERGEAAAAAAANT-" he was interrupted by what the lady said next.

"Resign, you son of a bitch, when you still have the power to do so."

Face red, he simply turned tail and began walking out of the hall, alongside a few of his deputies. There was equal amounts booing as there were insults slung at the retreating delegation.

It would be mere minutes later that a new President would be instated, and young President Janis Preston would find herself at the head of a delegation, submitting the YSU to the ACUA effective immediately.

And all that McClay could do was grumble.

---

It was perhaps pure chance then, that McClay would receive an offer to join some party in Cleveland by an old friend. It was apparently organized by some priestly organization, but the offer of good wine and food was too good for the now melancholic union man to reject. It was a quick railway ride, and many happy hugs and reminiscences would be had.

"Say, why did you exactly invite me to this banquet?"

"Oh, I thought you would be interested since the AFL were planning on meeting at the banquet, it was a happy coincidence. Especially since the hosts were awfully generous when they learnt that we'd been evicted from the Society for Universal Suffrage y'see, they hate the radicals just as much as we do."

"Really? Well, much thanks then, looks like I'll be needing to find new work in the AFL though."

"How so?"

"Well..."

---

A/N: A small slice of life in the Steel Belt unions, an omake request by @Zimmerwald1915, I leave the bonus decision to him.

Despite his unfortunate electoral loss, Theodore Roosevelt was still a highly active figure in the New York Republican Party. Aside from working with the Orange Disciples, the remnants of Tammany Hall, and the other organizations that had supported his bid for mayor, he campaigned both inside the city and out for moderate, sensible reform. And of course, he exchanged letters with countless figures of importance, from the governor of New York to senators, persuading them to do what was needed to maintain American power abroad and American peace at home. He had just finished writing a letter arguing that the naval base in the Philippines should be used to support a fleet that could further the yellow men of the east to superior American products, when one of his servants came in with a letter addressed to him in an unfamiliar scrawl.

Frowning, Roosevelt sliced it open with a pearl-handled knife and began to read. He finished, took off his spectacles, cleaned them, and then read the letter again.

Then he took the knife and slammed it through the letter into the desk. "That rat! That stinking stumphead of a man! That mewling coward! How dare he! How dare he!"

Just as suddenly as his temper came upon him, it left. "Damn him, and damn his comrades. "

But embers of that anger remained in his eyes. He issues a series of instructions - the letter was to be taken and burned, then the servant was to wash his hands - and sat back down, taking a fresh piece of paper and starting to write on it, pushing down with such force that he threatened to rip the letter he was trying to write.

The servant, one Samuel Rogers, newly hired and eager to serve, obeyed, but took the letter and gave it a long look. He had only learned to read a few months ago at church, and the man's handwriting made it difficult.

"To the honorable Colenol Rosoevelt:

You may recal me as one of yourr brave Ruf Ridgers. I am Jasper Jones, First Lietanent. I rite to you with news of a victory greter than any where we whiped the dagos in Cuba."

Rogers recalled many a drunken rant about the cowardice of the so-called "Rough Riders" who had fled in the face of gunfire while "black men too brave or stupid" stood their ground and died for it. And he recalled a warrant for a Jasper Jones, for desertion and cowardice.

"The otthers think we shuld not rite you, and cal you a traitor to the wite race. I know better then that - you work with the Orannges becuz fir the same reasin we wurk with the wite unions - they make a gud wedg."

Roger's grip on the letter tightened. His already low opinion of the man who had enraged Roosevelt so fell further at the slander against the men who had gotten him this job and taught him to read.

"And I asc you to hellp me prov it. Denunce the SPA and the rats they runn with. Cum down her and shoot some traiters with us. Buy us guns. Do sumthing. You are a gret man, sir. You can be greter."

The letter continued from there, bragging and boasting and beggin, but Rogers had no need to read it. He ripped the piece to shreds and tossed the scraps into a furnace. Then he went and washed his hands and came back to Theodore Roosevelt cleaning his glasses, a copy of a newspaper on the desk.

"Outrageous, isn't it! That a few malcontents dare to launch such a brazen assualt because they are cranky they lost an election, and not a single person of means in this country gives a damn! If this sort of behavior keeps up, we ought to be hung! Is our president a fool, or just a coward? Imagine if I had believed that nonsense about the fucking kikes working to make me lose the election and sent in an army of thugs and bullyboys against them! Imagine how vile that would be, boy! Someone needs to take charge in this damn country and put down every radical, the anarchists and these...these...neo Confederates and the uppity- But these damn Klansmen first, I think! Outside of New Orleans, none of the others have done anything near this scale."

Rogers winced at some of Roosevelt's language and wondered what he was planning. And why he had mentioned New Orleans.

Omake bonus for The Orange Disciples: Teddy Roosevelt gets pissed at the White Union Army and comes out swinging against them. @Physici