THE
HAMILTON SPECTATOR
It was supposed to be
a new beginning. Six years of bitter war had finally ended. Soldiers were
returning home. Hamiltonians were optimistic about the future and a baby boom
was brewing.
The year was 1946. It
was the city's Centennial and "the show of a century" was planned for
the first week of July to mark "100 years of progress."
But there were
disconcerting rumblings that threatened to spoil the party. Tensions were
escalating between unionists and Stelco management through the early months of
the year.
Then on March 16, a
grisly discovery was made on the side of the Mountain.
The Spectator
reported: "Clothed only in an undershirt and shorts, the torso of an
unidentified man with the head, legs and arms missing, was found . . . one-half
mile from Albion Falls, about 10 o'clock this morning.
"The gruesome
find was made by a group of children who were out in the country for a Saturday
morning hike ..."
It was the first of
countless news accounts, over the weeks and months ahead, about the infamous
John Dick murder case. And if there was a "show of the century" in
1946, it turned out to be the Evelyn Dick murder trial -- not the city's
Centennial.
Margaret Houghton, a
local history author and archivist at Hamilton Public Library Special
Collections, says 1946 was a pivotal year for the city. In the gathering storm
of labour turmoil and macabre murder revelations, the city lost its innocence
and matured at the same time.
"Hamilton had
become a completely different city (by 1946)," she says. "Before the
war, Hamilton was a very parochial community. But by the end of the war, the
city had become a world-class steelmaker and manufacturer ... and attitudes
were changing."
Especially changed
were young men who had gone off to war and were returning to their families and
jobs.
"When they came
back to Hamilton they were unwilling to accept the working conditions they
previously tolerated," says Houghton.
Labour historian Craig
Heron says the war raised "a kind of rhetoric of democracy that was quite
remarkable. People who worked in factories would ask 'why did we fight for
democracy overseas when we don't have it on the job?'
"In some ways the
war was a kind of catalyst for the union movement. It gave a lot of legitimacy
to the idea of industrial democracy."
For many veterans, who
were returning to their steelmaking jobs after being overseas, it was a case of
coming back from one war to fight another.
Steelworkers' union
members at Stelco pressed for higher wages, a 40-hour work week and a
requirement by the company to regularly deduct dues on behalf of the union.
On July 15, the steelworkers
officially walked off the job to launch a bitter 81-day feud that is seen by
historians to be one of the most important labour-management battles in
Canadian history. The strike severely divided the community between those who
supported the strikers -- including then Mayor Sam Lawrence -- and those who
did not.
Replacement workers
camped out at Stelco, while many had their homes spray-painted with the words
"scab" and other taunts.
And while the Stelco
strike got most of the attention, union members from Westinghouse, Firestone
and The Spectator also took to the streets.
By mid-July nearly 20
per cent of the city's industrial workforce was on strike with thousands more
laid off because of plant shutdowns.
"Everybody knew
someone who was on strike that summer," says Heron. "They were
prolonged events that drew a lot of community participation. On the picket
lines people came out and donated their time and their food. There were dances.
There was even a wedding on the Stelco picket line. Pete Seeger showed up and
sang at one point."
While Lawrence
supported the strikers because he said he was "a union man first and chief
magistrate second," other members of city council were vehemently opposed
to the union. Controller Nora Frances Henderson was so incensed that she made a
public display of walking through a picket line to show her indignation. The
picketers stepped slowly aside and let her pass without incident.
"I will not bow
to mob rule," she said. To which, strikers later said: "We'll hang
Nora Frances from the sour apple tree." Luckily, it was just a threat.
Heron says, "The
whole community was mobilized and politicized in 1946." And animosities
between strikers and "scabs" continue to this day.
McMaster University's
John Weaver, a local history expert, says: "1946 was a hopping year.
That's for sure.
"The year must
have begun with a fair bit of optimism with it being the first full year after
the war. It was the end of a protracted period of war and the Depression that
was pretty dismal."
But with the labour
upheaval and the economic adjustment of the city moving to peacetime
production, he said, it would take Hamilton a couple more years to enjoy
postwar prosperity.
Retired McMaster
University history professor Chuck Johnston was 20 years old in 1946. He was a
McMaster student who marvelled at the events that were going on around him.
"I remember the
Centennial parade down the main street and the mayor was in an open car. They
had bands and things ... I was one of several hundred who gathered in the East
End to watch it. People gathered all over the city."
He doesn't recall
labour turmoil affecting the Centennial festivities that took place from July 1
to 7. Every day saw a full slate of events that included everything from
softball tournaments to marching bands and fireworks.
City Hall was decked
out with a huge billboard that contrasted views of the city from the Mountain
from 1846 and 1946 under the "100 years of progress" slogan.