"Now, it's your turn to step up."
"We're all workers." Frank clapped him on the shoulder. "If we don't stick together, we'll just be picked off one by one."
Wood was convinced.
When he arrived at the Union hall that morning, the atmosphere was already restless.
A few young welders were huddled together, arguing. Some thought thirty US dollars was already a high wage and wanted to sign up; others were hesitant, worried about being expelled from the Union.
Wood walked in and slammed his hard hat, covered in burn marks from sparks, onto the table.
"Everyone, sit down."
His voice carried an air of authority.
"They think they can buy your lives for thirty dollars? Are your lungs made of paper? Are your backs made of clay?"
Wood scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the young, anxious faces.
"I don't care about this money, and I'm not short on work. But I can't stand by and watch you all be treated like cheap consumables, used up and thrown away."
