I was slated to be the McKinley Park coordinator for Chuy’s re-election campaign. I was hoping to do the best job yet. I told my sons that I was going to “put on a clinic”. After all, I had coordinated in three previous campaigns and I had a pretty good crew. None of those previous campaign boundaries had much overlap. So it would be a challenge to bring all of these people into one campaign.
Then I got the news about my tumor. I told Chuy, “I don’t think you’ll be able to count on me for this campaign”. But the more I thought about it, I told myself, “Hey maybe I could do a better job. Maybe I can learn better how to delegate.” We held a “Meet and Greet Chuy Garcia” at a local coffee shop called the Jazzy Bean. It was a great success at bringing together old and new campaigners. When I spoke, I said that we have to get this progressive motion in gear. And let’s not rely on any one leader. New ones are coming forward. The moment was choked up, bittersweet to me, to my family, and to the group.
I invited everyone that I could think of to my 66th birthday party. One hundred and fifty people showed up. Many from the Milwaukee days came out as did many long time Chicago friends. My wife’s union sisters did the cooking. My own extended Mexican family occupied three tables. To my great surprise my old girlfriend, Mary Mullins, drove down from Green Bay. I had never expected to ever see her again. I hadn’t even known how to contact her. Dennis O’Neil from New York told improbable stories about our days working together on the “The Workers Voice” in the early ‘80s. Kehinde and Arthur Ward embraced me and credited our unemployed organizing for giving them a world view and the skills to go with it.
Thinking of the old-timers who showed up, I had to reflect that, despite many diverging paths, we all still had that common vision and experience from the ‘60s and ‘70s. I don’t think any had faced a crisis as severe as my bout with drugs. But most had landed in one career or another that allowed them to use their talents for the people. Several wound up as leaders and organizers of public sector unions. Others became professors or teachers. I met their sons and daughters who I barely remembered as tykes. That next generation is out there trying to eclipse mom and dad. We grieved at those who had already passed and remembered their steadfast contributions.
My brother and his two co-defendants from the libel trial at Chrysler in the ‘80s reminisced about their efforts against the shutdown of auto manufacturing in Kenosha. Once liberated from the effects of ultra-leftism, they achieved remarkable levels of unity in the workforce. They told their stories about slowdowns, walk-offs, and the lobbying of city and state officialdom. These were scenarios which we could only dream of in the ‘70s. These guys had evolved from being outsiders. Over time they made all the right moves in uniting with other United Auto Workers Local 72 leaders and members. Someday their memoirs will chronicle how their thoughtful and repeated efforts produced a valiant last stand against deindustrialization in southeastern Wisconsin.
As we cut the cake, I looked around and saw my friends who had been in the trenches against the gutting of public sector bargaining rights in Wisconsin. Mary Mullins recounted how she and four of her sisters had travelled several time to rallies in Madison. I chatted with advocates for the disabled, for the undocumented, for the unorganized, and the unemployed. Some had come straight from a demonstration downtown in memory of Travon Martin. Though I was no longer standing shoulder to shoulder with old friends in their most recent challenges, I still claim all of them and their works as part of my legacy. We are all one. Our victories and our frustrations of today are a product of all that has gone before.
I so much wish we had taken a group photo. That photo would represent a shallow image of my legacy. Every one of us touches thousands of others in the course of life. We may not even know or intend the effect that we have. A simple wink or a hand shake could encourage another to go forward and then influence many others. A good story – even with some of the facts wrong – takes on a life of its own. Even a mistaken direction can be understood as a prelude to an advance. Practical efforts inevitably call for summation.
The birthday party was sad and serious, yet uplifting. I took the mic and dared anyone to take it away. I did a monologue trying to fill in the blanks about my life. No one except my sisters and brother really had known me for more than a specific window. That talk was the beginning of my memoirs. I claimed to have more stories than the Bible. I told everyone about my hitting bottom and getting arrested in ’85. I said, “I have no secrets now. I’m not trying to keep my reputation clean so I can get my next job.”
Click below for Chapter 51 – Thinking and Writing about my Life