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Dedrick, Hackett, and their posse decided to stage a wildcat strike -- that is, one without union sanction. But wildcats are risky. Before unions walk off the job, they file complaints with the NLRB against alleged unfair business practices at the target company. That makes it illegal for the firm to fire strikers. But DMS strikers, who understood little about labor law, filed no such papers.
"We believe this slow-as-molasses, utterly predictable, dutifully law-abiding strategy is a gift to [employers]," writes Hackett in an e-mail. "Many union drives that begin with enthusiasm and hope, die on the vine because this 'energy' isn't tapped and instead diffuses as workers tire of waiting, quit, or just grow cynical."
Katie Quan, director of the John F. Henning Institute of Labor Relations at UC Berkeley, agrees. "The problem with the NLRB system is it takes a long time for an election to take place," Quan says. "The process is delayed, and the employer has a lot of opportunity to mount an anti-union campaign inside the workplace."
The DMS strikers gave management a list of demands for better wages and working conditions, then struck for five days. Amazingly, DMS didn't fire anyone. Instead, it hired strikebreakers and violence erupted. A scab allegedly bashed a union picketer in the head with what witnesses said was a tire iron. The blow broke the picketer's jaw, and blood spurted everywhere.
The strikers eventually won some of their demands -- including winter bonuses, increased pay for rookie messengers, and better pay for downtown deliveries. But they still had no real medical plan, paid time off, or sick pay.
Dedrick and Hackett admit the company may have been confused about the strike; had management known the walkout was unconnected to the ILWU, it might not have buckled. "The fact that the ILWU had made its intentions known regarding DMS probably helped us wring concessions after our five-day wildcat strike -- even if the ILWU didn't exactly approve of our action," acknowledges Hackett.
Once they'd flexed their muscles in the semisuccessful job action, Dedrick and Hackett encouraged fellow messengers to sign union cards, in the interest of adding to their bargaining power. (Dedrick says she still "doesn't support the union drive per se," but that any organizing is better than nothing.)
But when DMS -- by this time operating under the name City Sprint -- was presented with signed cards from a majority of its couriers, it was too late to call a union election. The company had declared bankruptcy, and shut its doors in July 2000.
Six months later, some bike messengers at a smaller company called Flash attempted to follow in Dedrick and Hackett's footsteps with a wildcat of their own.
The owner, a former messenger, immediately fired them all.
In 2000, messenger firms found a new way to scatter tacks on the road in front of the ILWU.
Damon Votour, the tattooed now-ex-SFBMA president, was then riding for a company called First Legal Support Services. In November 2000, the firm announced it was converting all of its messengers to independent contractors, à la Pro Mess.
First Legal employees, however, didn't even come close to qualifying as independent contractors under IRS rules. They didn't work for any other firms besides First Legal, nor did they advertise their services, set their own hours, or ask First Legal to submit bids.
As newly hatched independent contractors, they had to pay monthly dues to a Massachusetts-based company called the National Independent Contractors Association, or NICA. In return, they were told, they'd receive workers' compensation coverage and help with their soon-to-be-nightmarish taxes as "self-employed" workers.
First Legal's messengers, however, weren't happy with their new options. Especially when a little sleuthing revealed that NICA owner Thomas McGrath had pleaded guilty in 1996 and 1997 to federal charges of forging workers' comp insurance certificates for courier companies.
The ILWU promptly filed a complaint with the NLRB, in which messengers told multiple horror stories about their employer.
Votour testified that First Legal's assistant office manager, Andy Lazalde, said if he didn't sign papers to become an independent contractor, his services would no longer be needed. "And I said, 'Does that mean I'm fired?' and he said, 'Yes,'" claimed Votour.
Votour did sign, but noted on the paperwork that he was doing so "under duress and protest."
According to Votour and two other employees, First Legal's owner, Elisha Gilboa, told couriers the company could no longer afford workers' comp coverage. He allegedly added that if they didn't switch to independent status, the company would go out of business.
Asked whether the conversion was designed to trip up the union, Gilboa answered "Yes," employees testified. (Gilboa denied that in a phone interview.)
Last summer, the union won its case against First Legal. A San Francisco judge found the company guilty of numerous violations of federal labor law. The NLRB is now seeking an order forcing it to recognize the union.
The ILWU's Fred Pecker hopes the action against First Legal scares other employers out of using the same tactic to dodge the union. But so far, that hasn't happened. In December, Flash -- the company where the second wildcat strike failed so miserably -- converted its messengers to independent contractors.
Last summer, Nato Green and Carey Dall met with the ILWU's lawyers over breakfast to discuss bombarding messenger companies with another volley of wage and overtime lawsuits. The first barrage, in 1999, seemed to work well in forcing companies like Pro Mess and Speedway to the bargaining table.
In the meantime, the ILWU's headaches had gotten even worse, aggravated by another industry trend.
