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A moment that changed me – joining the union and taking a stand A moment that changed me – joining the union and taking a stand
(about 2 hours later)
I’d been in my first full-time job for six months – £6,000 a year working as a subeditor for a cowboy outfit that produced magazines near Stockport. One Friday evening my boss called me over as I was leaving. It had been a good week. They’d just published an article I’d written across two pages – it was about computers, and I didn’t understand a word of it, but I was well proud.I’d been in my first full-time job for six months – £6,000 a year working as a subeditor for a cowboy outfit that produced magazines near Stockport. One Friday evening my boss called me over as I was leaving. It had been a good week. They’d just published an article I’d written across two pages – it was about computers, and I didn’t understand a word of it, but I was well proud.
“Just a word, Old Schnauzer.” He always called me Old Schnauzer. I thought it meant Big Nose at the time, and found it a bit offensive. But he seemed to say it with affection. “Look here, Old Schnauzer. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to let you go,” he said. I blinked into the evening sun, my mouth suddenly dry, my eyes smarting. “Why?”“Just a word, Old Schnauzer.” He always called me Old Schnauzer. I thought it meant Big Nose at the time, and found it a bit offensive. But he seemed to say it with affection. “Look here, Old Schnauzer. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to let you go,” he said. I blinked into the evening sun, my mouth suddenly dry, my eyes smarting. “Why?”
“Because you’re no good. We’ve given you a chance. And I’m sorry, Old Schnauzer, but you just don’t cut the mustard.”“Because you’re no good. We’ve given you a chance. And I’m sorry, Old Schnauzer, but you just don’t cut the mustard.”
I went to talk to my union colleagues, who were fantastically supportiveI went to talk to my union colleagues, who were fantastically supportive
I’d just spent a few weeks in the newsroom, and I’d heard him whisper to the news editor, “He’s not bad is he?” I told him I’d overheard the conversation. “Ah … yes, I was hoping you’d hear it, and that it would give you confidence,” he said. “But it didn’t. Anyway the truth is, Old Schnauzer, nobody likes you here. You just don’t fit in.” It was beginning to feel Kafkaesque.I’d just spent a few weeks in the newsroom, and I’d heard him whisper to the news editor, “He’s not bad is he?” I told him I’d overheard the conversation. “Ah … yes, I was hoping you’d hear it, and that it would give you confidence,” he said. “But it didn’t. Anyway the truth is, Old Schnauzer, nobody likes you here. You just don’t fit in.” It was beginning to feel Kafkaesque.
I started to recite my friends. Terry, Doug, Pam, Heather … nearly everyone who worked there. Eventually the production editor conceded that I wasn’t entirely friendless. So he tried a third tack. “The thing is, Old Schnauzer, look at you. Just look at you. The way you dress. Shorts. Shorts in the office. Just won’t do. I’m sorry, we’re going to have to let you go.”I started to recite my friends. Terry, Doug, Pam, Heather … nearly everyone who worked there. Eventually the production editor conceded that I wasn’t entirely friendless. So he tried a third tack. “The thing is, Old Schnauzer, look at you. Just look at you. The way you dress. Shorts. Shorts in the office. Just won’t do. I’m sorry, we’re going to have to let you go.”
My memory may be playing tricks with me (this is the best part of 30 years ago) but I could swear the production editor, then in his late sixties, with short, squat legs and varicose veins, was wearing shorts at the time. I didn’t know how to respond to that. My memory may be playing tricks with me (this is the best part of 30 years ago) but I could swear the production editor, then in his late 60s, with short, squat legs and varicose veins, was wearing shorts at the time. I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I told him I was going to consult my father of chapel. I had joined the trade union soon after I started. I loved trade unions, thought there was something romantic about them – after the National Unions of Students and the National union of Teachers (I trained as a teacher), I was on my third one. I told him I was going to consult my father of the chapel. I had joined the trade union soon after I started. I loved trade unions, thought there was something romantic about them – after the National Unions of Students and the National union of Teachers (I trained as a teacher), I was on my third one.
There was no union for journalists at the magazine house, so after much consideration the National Graphical Association (NGA) allowed me to join because some of my work involved laying out stories with galleys and a scalpel. At the time, they told me not to tell management I had joined the union because it was a sensitive subject.There was no union for journalists at the magazine house, so after much consideration the National Graphical Association (NGA) allowed me to join because some of my work involved laying out stories with galleys and a scalpel. At the time, they told me not to tell management I had joined the union because it was a sensitive subject.
The production editor’s face went pink to red then puce. “You never told me you’d join the union,” he said. “No, I didn’t,” I said.The production editor’s face went pink to red then puce. “You never told me you’d join the union,” he said. “No, I didn’t,” I said.
I went to talk to my union colleagues, who were fantastically supportive. They reassured me that I was doing well at work, and that I did have good friends there. I noticed most of them were wearing shorts. They said they would talk to management.I went to talk to my union colleagues, who were fantastically supportive. They reassured me that I was doing well at work, and that I did have good friends there. I noticed most of them were wearing shorts. They said they would talk to management.
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That weekend there was an emergency meeting. The union threatened to walk out if I was sacked. By Monday I had been reinstated, although the production editor no longer gave me any work and insisted I sat in an alcove at the back of the office, facing away from my colleagues. My desk had been filled by a man called Phil. It turned out he was a friend of the boss’s son who had just returned from a stint in the French Foreign Legion. He needed a job.That weekend there was an emergency meeting. The union threatened to walk out if I was sacked. By Monday I had been reinstated, although the production editor no longer gave me any work and insisted I sat in an alcove at the back of the office, facing away from my colleagues. My desk had been filled by a man called Phil. It turned out he was a friend of the boss’s son who had just returned from a stint in the French Foreign Legion. He needed a job.
For the next five months I sat at the back of the office, writing job applications. I was close to a breakdown, but I held out. Every day I walked into work with the Velvet Undergound’s Heroin blasting into my ears through my Walkman at full volume. It steeled me for the day.For the next five months I sat at the back of the office, writing job applications. I was close to a breakdown, but I held out. Every day I walked into work with the Velvet Undergound’s Heroin blasting into my ears through my Walkman at full volume. It steeled me for the day.
I’m not sure which moment changed me most – joining the union in the first place, refusing to leave when I was sacked, or deciding I wouldn’t give up on journalism. But that first job taught me so much about solidarity and friendship in the face of utter shits.I’m not sure which moment changed me most – joining the union in the first place, refusing to leave when I was sacked, or deciding I wouldn’t give up on journalism. But that first job taught me so much about solidarity and friendship in the face of utter shits.
Eventually I was offered another job, in London at Haymarket Publishing, for £10,000 a year – a fortune. I had a wonderful time there – until they blacklisted me for union activity.Eventually I was offered another job, in London at Haymarket Publishing, for £10,000 a year – a fortune. I had a wonderful time there – until they blacklisted me for union activity.