Labor Day pays tribute to the contributions and achievements of American workers and is traditionally observed on the first Monday in September. It was created by the labor movement in the late 19th century and became a federal holiday in 1894. (Google Search)
Back in the mid-1950s, when my father was a Sargent of Police at the Number 11 Police Station in the neighborhood of Squirrel Hill, parades and community celebrations were a keystone of pride and purpose, and the arrival of Labor Day was no exception. My father was given the responsibility to organize any and all parades happening in the Squirrel Hill Community, along with the District City Council Member and any other local (MACHUR-important businessman or Rabbi and Clergy Man interested in the neighbors, and of coursed any up-and-coming politician wanting to seem a person of the people). Of course, my dad and his fellow policemen did the leg work, the actual labor, but acknowledgments always seemed to float around everyone else. (I only understood the hierarchy of bull shit when I eventually became a kind of MUCHER working within the Pittsburgh Jewish community). But DAMN, back then a PARADE was cool, and my father in charge of it, AMAZING!
A few weeks before Labor Day, my family would meet a bunch of the big shots from the steelworkers, the ironworkers, the teacher's unions, and a few other (sadly mostly men) from the various trades unions in the city. We were Jewish and often times most of these men were not and commented on how accepting Jewish families were to the Labor Movement. (Eventually, I became quite interested in politics and cultural ideals and studied about the Progressive nature of the Jews and Labor) The Labor Day Parade was about 1 hour in duration, and it began two blocks away from our house on Northumberland Street (where the Police Station was housed) and was BIG EXCITEMENT. Once the kids on our block actually got to walk in the parade (my father was considered some kind of STAR). And although the Homewood neighborhood was another section of town, my father would include a few marchers from that area, telling everyone ahead of time, that a Homewood was a segregated neighborhood, having little money or political power, but Labor Day was for everyone. And he had their local High School, Westinghouse band, and play along with our high school Taylor Allderdice.
So many memories. It is for me, so good to share them. For the Laborers of all genders, skill sets, backgrounds, while we still have the opportunity to work and hopefully earn an almost living wage…HAPPY LABOR DAY!
