A preview of what would be an all-too-common sight in 1933 was on display in Dearborn, Michigan, a year earlier. What happened in Dearborn wasn't a strike, as such, but a demonstration that exposed a depth of bitterness, distrust and disrespect that would make labor negotiations very difficult in the years to come.

It was called an unemployment march or, perhaps more often, a hunger march, but most of the 3,000 men who walked into Dearborn to the Ford Motor Company's River Rouge plant were looking for jobs, not handouts. Obviously, they knew there weren't that many jobs available at Ford. They were trying to make a point about the number of men out of work, and the frustration of their situation. They hoped Henry Ford might hire a few, perhaps several, and that other Detroit-area industrialists would do the same.

However, some who participated in the march, one of many staged around the country in 1932, were trying to make another point. These men were Communists, either true believers or agents of the Soviet Union. Communism was considered as big a threat to democracy in the early 1930s as it would be again after World War 2.

FORD OFFICIALS obviously believed most of those who walked into Dearborn on March 7 were either Communists or men who had been duped by Communists. They considered the marchers dangerous and apparently instructed the company police force to stand tough.

Dearborn's city police were the first line of defense, some distance from the Ford plant. They tried to stop the marchers as they crossed the city line, and to that end relied on tear gas bombs, but these proved ineffective. Oh, the marchers scattered, briefly, but armed themselves with rocks and re-grouped, forcing the police to retreat.

Ford's private police force, either nervous or hostile, probably both, started shooting at the crowd after it arrived at the plant. Ford spokesmen would claim the first shots were fired at their police from behind a parked car, but later investigations would say it was much more likely all of the shooting came from the Ford security force.

Four marchers were killed, several men on both sides were injured in the battle that broke out. Harry H. Bennett, chief of Ford's private police force, was hit by a thrown rock. Three months later the death toll reached five when another marcher who had been shot died of his wound.

An editorial the next day in the Troy (NY) Times pretty much reflected the opinion of white collar America:

"That riotous march upon the Ford Motor plant at Detroit which resulted in the deaths of four men and injury to about 50 persons beyond doubt was a desperate effort of a mob of Communists to start trouble. To say it was an effort to obtain employment of idle workers is absurd. Men honestly seeking work would not resort to unlawful demonstration."

WHAT WAS ABOUT to happen throughout the United States was different in this respect — there would be thousands of demonstrations not by men seeking work, but by men and women who had jobs, but were determined to improve their working conditions.

Not surprisingly, the chief target of automotive workers were the various factories linked to the Ford Motor Company. Feeling against Henry Ford grew after the inauguration of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt in March, 1933, because the new administration pushed through the National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA), which gave birth to the National Recovery Administration (NRA), which pressured all industries to establish codes that would benefit workers. Among other things, these codes established minimum wages. The most vocal opponent of the NRA was the industrialist who refused to participate — Henry Ford, who didn't need any stinking codes.

Ford would have the last laugh, of course. In 1935 the U. S. Supreme Court would rule the National Industrial Recovery Act was unconstitutional. But in 1933 — and 1934 — Henry Ford would not be smiling, much less laughing.

Whatever Ford thought he might accomplish that day did not work. The Briggs Company offered to raise the basic wage scale, but workers rejected the offer. Briggs manufactured bodies for Ford vehicles. A shutdown at Briggs affected all Ford assembly plants. While there was no repeat of the hunger demonstration tragedy, things heated up in Detroit when strikebreakers were used to reopen the Briggs plant. With so many Americans unemployed, companies had little difficulty finding people willing to cross picket lines. Many of these strikebreakers would have second thoughts after they faced the picket lines.

At one point Henry Ford claimed his competitors had conspired to halt the production of his new models. Later he also accused bankers of trying to sabotage his company, perhaps because Ford had recently invested more than $2 million of his own money in the creation of two banks he controlled.

But most business executives, along with most politicians, believed labor's unrest had a different source:

NOTE: It's unclear what the reporter meant by the "fourth Communist area," which may indicate Soviet leaders had divided the United States into regions for their agents, but I found no other mention of "Communist areas."

STRIKES AIMED at Henry Ford would continue through the year. On March 3 there was an ugly confrontation at the Briggs Manufacturing Company between stone-throwing strikers and mounted police. Tear gas was used to scatter the crowd. Arrests were made.

Later that month there was a strike against a Ford plant in Dagenham, England. As weeks went by there were strikes at Ford assembly plants in Chester, Pennsylvania; Edgewater, New Jersey, and Richmond, California.

Only one other automobile company was struck that year. The Hudson Motor Company in Detroit quickly settled the matter, offering workers a wage increase, one that became effective August 1. General Motors also announced raises for its workers.

To put things in perspective, workers at that time were making about $20 a week, some a few dollars more, others less. For example, the workers who went on strike at Ford's Chester, Pennsylvania, plant did so after their work week was reduced from five to four days, with a minimum wage rate of 50 cents an hour for an eight-hour day, or $16 a week.

Overall, 1933 brought much more turmoil than progress. Unionization was inevitable, but not immediate. (Ford didn't sign a contract with the United Auto Workers until 1941.)

New York's longest and most volatile dispute involved dairy farmers, a situation made more frustrating by the nature of the dairy industry and how the strike pitted neighbors against each other. There also were elements of guerrilla warfare at work, as striking dairy farmers, often armed with rifles and shotguns, sometimes hid along rural roads to ambush those who attempted to deliver milk to bottling plants.

Strikers were determined to force the state's new milk control board to fix a minimum price of three-and-a-half cents a quart for dairy farms. Threats were made that dairy farmers would blow up milk stations and milk trains.

For several weeks there were violent confrontations between strikers and dairy farmers who chose to continue working, and between strikers and the state police. Photos at the top of the page were taken during two such battles.

The August 1 clash between milk farmers and state police near Boonville (headline above) was perhaps the worst. Three strikers were taken to hospitals. The battle occurred when 30 troopers were escorting a truck to the Boonville plant. A mob of more than 200 farmers met them just outside the village, armed with sticks, stones, clubs and pitchforks.

Three days later, near Fonda, two state troopers were beaten by rioting farmers, who destroyed thousands of dollars worth of milk, forcing dozens of milk plants to close. Henry Bortle, 50, of Oneida, had a heart attack and died after he joined a mob of strikers attempting to dump a load of milk near Peterboro, several miles east of Cazenovia.

This prompted Governor Herbert H. Lehman to announce on August 5 that he was prepared to call out to National Guard to end what he called "civil war" that was raging in his state. At least a dozen state troopers and a score of civilians were seriously injured in clashes in Canastota, Cazenovia, Deansboro, Oriskany, Oneida, Vernon and other places.

In Onondaga County, farmers had what they called "flying squadrons," strikers who chased down those who attempted to deliver milk. A man was shot in a battle near Rochester, and in Lowville, north of Syracuse, farmers lying in ambush opened fire on a milk caravan and their drivers. Troopers guarding the trucks returned fire.

This next item reads like a scene from an old movie. Note the size of the U. S. treasury official who had to deal with the disgruntled farmers.

IOWA FARMERS abducted a judge when he refused to take an oath not to sign any more foreclosure decrees. Martial law was declared and farmers were arrested and accused of threatening to lynch District Judge C. C. Bradley.

Midwestern dairy farmers, like those in New York, soon turned their attention to what they were paid for the milk they produced.

While some relief was provided for farmers and other home owners who were having difficulty with mortgage and tax payments, there would be no solution to the farmers' complaints about the value of their work.

But other farmers had other issues, particularly when it was time to harvest their crops.

Two days later fire destroyed the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railroad bridge south of Portsmouth, Iowa. Authorities said it was another effort by striking farmers to prevent food shipments.

At this point there was growing opposition to the farm strike, even among farmers, and the situation petered out with no resolution, but lingering bad feelings that were put on hold for the winter.

Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Kentucky, Illinois and Indiana were scenes of often violent confrontations involving striking coal miners.

AS BAD as it was in Illinois, the biggest battles were fought in Pennsylvania where the situation was complicated by several factors.

For one thing, the United Mine Workers, a union headed by bushy-browed John L. Lewis, one of the most recognizable men in the country, had steadily lost membership in Pennsylvania after what was then called The World War. Perhaps because forward-thinking Franklin Roosevelt had become President — without the support of the union leader, incidentally — Lewis decided to renew efforts to strengthen the UMW in Pennsylvania.

There are different kinds of coal mines, principally bituminous and anthracite, the latter being the most valued coal. Also, Pennsylvania's iron and steel companies, dependent on coal to fuel their ovens, owned several mines for their exclusive use. These were called "captive mines," and it was at these sites that Lewis would meet his greatest resistance. He was much more successful re-establishing his union at commercial mines, while his efforts at the captive mines often wound up pitting miners against each other. Forced to choose, men who worked the captive mines often voted to be represented by a company-controlled union.

Lewis and his lieutenants, chief among them his vice president, Philip Murray, did not back down, and a war was on.

VIOLENCE CONTINUED to mark strikes among coal miners. On October 5, in Harrisville, Illinois, 15 persons were wounded in gunfighting between pickets and mine guards. State militia were rushed to the scene. In Pittsburgh, strike breakers were attacked by pickets at every opportunity, an undetermined number being severely beaten and slashed.

A day later, two men were shot down near Uniontown, Pennsylvania. Neither wounded man was seriously hurt. Both were struck by shotgun charges as they slept in a shack fronting the highway leading to a mine.

Several hundred shots were exchanged between the striking pickets and company deputies. Houses of the deputies were riddled with bullets, every window smashed.

IMAGINE that scene in "North by Northwest" when Cary Grant runs through a cornfield, a crop dusting plane in hot pursuit:

President Roosevelt involved himself in coal matters in October, and by November 3, a Friday, it appeared his efforts to bring the mine owners and their workers back together had paid off, at least, in Pennsylvania. Over the weekend newspapers carried stories that work would resume on Monday for bituminous miners.

Digging for anthracite coal would have to wait.

Two weeks later it appeared Pennsylvania coal miners were back to square one.

• Leather workers in Massachusetts tanneries went on strike in April for recognition of their union. Weeks later, after the Massachusetts strikes were settled, leather workers in Gloversville, New York, followed suit, but theirs would be a longer dispute.

• A girl and a man were overcome by tear gas on July 20 when 400 clothing strikers in Rochester, New York, clashed with 40 police at a plant of the Keller Heumann Thompson Company.

• Also in July, the motion picture industry was hit by a strike of technicians, limiting work at Hollywood film studios, which managed to remain in production by hiring non-union workers to fill places in sound booths and behind cameras. Striking union workers said films produced by non-union technicians probably would not be shown by the thousands of union projectionists throughout the country.

• On August 16 a strike of 60,000 dress workers paralyzed New York City's dress industry and quickly brought a demand for settlement from Grover A. Whalen, representing the NRA. The strike ended at 1 p.m. a day later when employers voted to adopt collective bargaining agreements. It was considered unionism’s greatest victory in the history of the garment industry.

• Two hosiery mill pickets were shot and killed in Philadelphia on August 31, two others wounded and a score of persons, including several policemen, were injured when 4,000 strikers clashed with strike-breakers outside the Cambria Silk Hosiery mill.

• In New York City on October 2, more than 5,000 toy and doll makers returned to work after a five-week strike.

• One man was shot, two others were badly beaten in Ambridge, Pennsylvania, during an October 4 confrontation between striking steel workers and strikebreakers at the Spang-Chalfant Seamless Tube Company.

• There was chaos outside the National Silk Dye Company in East Paterson, New Jersey, on October 20 when 500 union strikers approached the plant where only one policeman was on duty. Also arriving were about 150 outside agitators, who threw stones at the window of the plant.

What resulted was a battle between the strikers and the agitators, while the unfortunate policeman, Frederick Kaugh, ducked behind an automobile and fired several shots in the air, which prompted some strikers to return fire.

According to a story from the International News Service:

• On November 12 the 2,700 employees of George A. Hormel & Company struck and took over the meat packing plant in Austin, Minnesota. Company officials who attempted to keep the refrigeration system going were dragged from their posts. The strike ended the next day.

• On November 17, violence was renewed in the strike of 500 truck drivers. A 10-ton truck and trailer was destroyed by fire en route from Albany, New York, to Springfield, Massachusetts. Stanley Spulnick of Albany told state police that apparently a fire bomb had been dropped over the tailboard of the truck as it labored up a grade west of Chester, Massachusetts. Later the driver of another truck turned over to state police an unexploded fire bomb found in the rear of his truck.

• Chicago sausage industry workers, numbering 3,000, went on strike on December 2, tying up production in 96 meat plants. The strikers demanded recognition of their union, increased wages and shorter working hours.

While not alone with this particular problem, Chicago was the scene of several bombings that were at least loosely connected with labor unrest.