Strike

The hall was crowded, a hum transcended blue collar whiff and music drifting in from the last vessel to arrive. Deserted docks in silence, rough hands had left at last. To hell with wages, we listen to our union, assembling here, still peacefully anticipating elusive answers from those who lead by education and example. And after many days of cargo sitting, stranded, and idle men misled, a sudden silence could be heard. A voice of hoarse falsetto, articulate, in plaintiff tone, and re-creating identically itself through echo walls of concrete, shouted into the mayhem of inaction 'will the real Jesus Christ please stand.'