James Ferguson, 1890-1923
Thirty-year-old James Ferguson, another name on the steelworkers’ monument, was likely not thinking about labour unrest or his job at the plant when he descended the steps of Bethel Presbyterian Church on Falmouth St. in Sydney on 27 October 1920. It was his wedding day. As Ferguson left the church with his new bride, Sadie Anne, he was perhaps picturing the life that they would build together. Over the next three years the Fergusons would move into a house on Alexander St. and begin a family. When Ferguson was killed at the steel plant almost three years later, his wife was left with two young children. [1]
While working on the steel plant pier on the morning of 17 September 1923, Ferguson attempted to cross the railroad tracks. As he stepped between a heavy car and a bumper, the car gave way and smashed into his hips. His pelvis was crushed. Ferguson was taken to the steel plant’s emergency hospital before being moved to the city hospital. He passed away from his injuries later that day. Although “Accidental Death” was the verdict of the inquiry into his death, the Sydney Daily Post made sure to report that “had Mr. Ferguson walked around the cars instead of entering between them, death would have been averted.” [2]
At the time of his death in September 1923, Ferguson had lived through some of the most dramatic months in local labour history. Many of the steelworkers had been organized into the AAISTW since 1917, and support for unionism remained strong. After the Besco takeover in 1921, the union sought recognition from the company. [3] Besco refused their demands of higher wages, union recognition, and the eight-hour day. When Besco fired a union man, Sid “Hambone” McNeil, for disobeying orders on 13 February 1923, the steelworkers walked out of the plant and the union declared a strike. Although this strike lasted only a few days, the issue of union recognition was not resolved and labour relations between steelworkers and management reached a critical stage over the following months. In April, the steelworkers once again called for wage increases. Besco, once again, rejected their demands. The steelworkers announced a strike for 28 June 1923. Picketers crowded the gates in front of the plant, scuffles with company goons broke out, and the Riot Act was shouted down. [3] On 30 June, the troops showed up, asserting the willingness of the Nova Scotian government to use violence in stomping out labour unrest. The gates of the steel plant bristled with machine guns, barbed wire, and fixed bayonets. [4]
The next day, known as “Bloody Sunday” in Cape Breton, resulted in one of the most brutal encounters in local labour history. Besco was determined to avoid recognition of the steelworkers’ union. That evening, Captain D.A. Noble of the company police, with support from the provincial police, began an organized campaign of terror against the citizens of Whitney Pier. Doane Curtis, a former steelworker, explains the events of Bloody Sunday:
They galloped down to Whitney Pier with their gallant army . . . with four-foot batons. And they went up and down the street hitting people on the sidewalk . . . . They even hit a man was just out of the hospital and crippled with his wife leading him around on the streets . . . split his head open. [5]
Accounts such as these highlight the absolute brutality with which the provincial police carried out this attack. The message was clear, they did not care who they had to hurt in their mission to crush the steelworkers’ efforts at organizing. It was a warning to the community as much as to the striking workers, for if citizens supported the strike then they would face the consequences – nobody would be safe. The provincial police had the horses, clubs, and guns, and could do whatever they desired with impunity. It also served to humiliate the striking workers, who could not protect their families thanks to the hundreds of Canadian troops stationed down the road.
Although the coal miners had joined a sympathetic strike with the steelworkers after the events of Bloody Sunday, John L. Lewis, the president of the international UMW, soon forced them back to work. [6] This, coupled with Besco’s efforts to evict striking workers from their homes, effectively ended the steelworkers’ strike. There was no recognition of the union.
James Ferguson would not live to see the recognition of a workers’ union at the steel plant. His death came at what was perhaps the lowest point for the Sydney steelworkers. They had failed, for the moment, at escaping the oppressive hand of Besco and were forced to re-examine the ways that they might influence the conditions of their workplace.
Footnotes
[1] Historical Vital Statistics, “Province of Nova Scotia Marriage Register – James Ferguson and Sadie Ann Ormond,” Book 78, 1923.
[2] Sydney Daily Post, 18 September 1923.
[3] Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 301.
[4] Don MacGillivray, “Military Aid to the Civil Power: The Cape Breton Experience in the 1920’s,” Acadiensis vol. 3, no. 2 (Spring, 1974), 56.
[5] “The 1923 Strike in Steel and the Miners’ Sympathy Strike,” Cape Breton’s Magazine vol. 22 (1979), 9.
[6] Morgan, Rise Again! The Story of Cape Breton Island from 1900 to Today, 60. Many workers and labour leaders then viewed Lewis as a traitor. McLachlan called him “an office boy for President Wolvin.” Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 315.
While working on the steel plant pier on the morning of 17 September 1923, Ferguson attempted to cross the railroad tracks. As he stepped between a heavy car and a bumper, the car gave way and smashed into his hips. His pelvis was crushed. Ferguson was taken to the steel plant’s emergency hospital before being moved to the city hospital. He passed away from his injuries later that day. Although “Accidental Death” was the verdict of the inquiry into his death, the Sydney Daily Post made sure to report that “had Mr. Ferguson walked around the cars instead of entering between them, death would have been averted.” [2]
At the time of his death in September 1923, Ferguson had lived through some of the most dramatic months in local labour history. Many of the steelworkers had been organized into the AAISTW since 1917, and support for unionism remained strong. After the Besco takeover in 1921, the union sought recognition from the company. [3] Besco refused their demands of higher wages, union recognition, and the eight-hour day. When Besco fired a union man, Sid “Hambone” McNeil, for disobeying orders on 13 February 1923, the steelworkers walked out of the plant and the union declared a strike. Although this strike lasted only a few days, the issue of union recognition was not resolved and labour relations between steelworkers and management reached a critical stage over the following months. In April, the steelworkers once again called for wage increases. Besco, once again, rejected their demands. The steelworkers announced a strike for 28 June 1923. Picketers crowded the gates in front of the plant, scuffles with company goons broke out, and the Riot Act was shouted down. [3] On 30 June, the troops showed up, asserting the willingness of the Nova Scotian government to use violence in stomping out labour unrest. The gates of the steel plant bristled with machine guns, barbed wire, and fixed bayonets. [4]
The next day, known as “Bloody Sunday” in Cape Breton, resulted in one of the most brutal encounters in local labour history. Besco was determined to avoid recognition of the steelworkers’ union. That evening, Captain D.A. Noble of the company police, with support from the provincial police, began an organized campaign of terror against the citizens of Whitney Pier. Doane Curtis, a former steelworker, explains the events of Bloody Sunday:
They galloped down to Whitney Pier with their gallant army . . . with four-foot batons. And they went up and down the street hitting people on the sidewalk . . . . They even hit a man was just out of the hospital and crippled with his wife leading him around on the streets . . . split his head open. [5]
Accounts such as these highlight the absolute brutality with which the provincial police carried out this attack. The message was clear, they did not care who they had to hurt in their mission to crush the steelworkers’ efforts at organizing. It was a warning to the community as much as to the striking workers, for if citizens supported the strike then they would face the consequences – nobody would be safe. The provincial police had the horses, clubs, and guns, and could do whatever they desired with impunity. It also served to humiliate the striking workers, who could not protect their families thanks to the hundreds of Canadian troops stationed down the road.
Although the coal miners had joined a sympathetic strike with the steelworkers after the events of Bloody Sunday, John L. Lewis, the president of the international UMW, soon forced them back to work. [6] This, coupled with Besco’s efforts to evict striking workers from their homes, effectively ended the steelworkers’ strike. There was no recognition of the union.
James Ferguson would not live to see the recognition of a workers’ union at the steel plant. His death came at what was perhaps the lowest point for the Sydney steelworkers. They had failed, for the moment, at escaping the oppressive hand of Besco and were forced to re-examine the ways that they might influence the conditions of their workplace.
Footnotes
[1] Historical Vital Statistics, “Province of Nova Scotia Marriage Register – James Ferguson and Sadie Ann Ormond,” Book 78, 1923.
[2] Sydney Daily Post, 18 September 1923.
[3] Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 301.
[4] Don MacGillivray, “Military Aid to the Civil Power: The Cape Breton Experience in the 1920’s,” Acadiensis vol. 3, no. 2 (Spring, 1974), 56.
[5] “The 1923 Strike in Steel and the Miners’ Sympathy Strike,” Cape Breton’s Magazine vol. 22 (1979), 9.
[6] Morgan, Rise Again! The Story of Cape Breton Island from 1900 to Today, 60. Many workers and labour leaders then viewed Lewis as a traitor. McLachlan called him “an office boy for President Wolvin.” Frank, J.B. McLachlan, 315.