This interview from John Heywood in 1989 captures the voices and experiences surrounding the 1956 Heywood-Wakefield strike, a prolonged labor dispute that reshaped the company, the workforce, and the town itself. Drawn from firsthand recollections of management and factory workers, it reflects both the economic pressures facing the company and the human cost borne by employees and their families. The conflict unfolded during a broader wave of postwar labor tension in the 1950s, as manufacturers across many industries struggled to balance rising costs, changing incentive systems, and union power in a rapidly shifting economy. More than a record of contract negotiations, this narrative offers a ground-level view of how these national forces played out locally and how the consequences lingered long after work resumed.

In early October 1956, picketers lined the entrances to the Heywood-Wakefield plant, beginning what would become one of the most consequential labor disputes in the company’s history. Annual contract negotiations were typically settled by October 1, but that year management demanded a ten percent wage reduction in an effort to keep the factory operating. The company had not posted a profit since 1950, and leadership believed the concession was necessary for survival. The union refused, and workers voted to strike. Almost overnight, roughly five hundred families lost their primary source of income.

From management’s perspective, the dispute centered on incentive pay. John Heywood, who led negotiations for the company, later described the issue as existential. The incentive system favored workers who remained on piecework, but when employees were shifted to hourly or day work, the imbalance created resentment and inefficiency. Management proposed reducing incentive compensation from one hundred percent to ninety percent, arguing that the ten percent difference would encourage workers to return quickly to their regular assignments, where they could earn more. The union rejected the proposal outright. In Heywood’s words, it was something the company felt it had to have. The strike that followed was long and bitter.

As the shutdown dragged on, its effects rippled far beyond the factory gates. Heywood-Wakefield was the town’s largest employer, and its closure touched nearly every household. Bills went unpaid, mortgages lapsed, and uncertainty settled over the community. At the same time, public sympathy leaned heavily toward the union. Local merchants extended credit to striking workers—credit they would never have offered to company executives. Churches across denominations voiced strong support from the pulpit, at least in the early weeks.

Concerned about the growing impact, the mayor helped organize a citizens committee to mediate the dispute. While well intentioned, the effort quickly faltered. Many committee members lacked experience with collective bargaining, and meetings—sometimes held separately with management and the union, sometimes jointly—produced little progress. Internal disagreements soon surfaced, and the committee ultimately disbanded, having accomplished little beyond deepening local divisions.

Behind the scenes, the union itself was under severe financial strain. With more than half its members out of work, dues stopped flowing. The local had recently purchased a new headquarters building and struggled to meet payments owed to the International. As weeks passed, support from the churches softened, and even some of the strike’s most vocal backers began to reassess their positions. The mood in town slowly shifted from certainty to fatigue.

Negotiations resumed from scratch once the strike began. Agreements reached before the walkout were void, a standard reality of collective bargaining but one poorly understood by the community. Management withdrew its original proposal and countered with an eighty percent incentive rate—still double what had existed before. This move was widely criticized as heavy-handed, and company leadership, particularly its spokesman, became a focal point for public frustration. In the final weeks, lawyers increasingly dominated the process, raising concerns that legal strategies were overtaking practical, long-term considerations.

Ultimately, the strike ended not through consensus but through exhaustion. The local union ran out of money, and the settlement was ordered by the International office. The directive came down quietly through attorneys: workers were to return to their jobs the following Monday. By then, the incentive rate had been raised again, settling at eighty-seven and a half percent. In the long run, the strike weakened the local union’s authority within the plant—a loss from which it never fully recovered.

The timing of the shutdown could not have been worse for the company. The strike began October 1 and stretched until the Monday after Thanksgiving. During that period, no wood furniture could be shipped—not even completed pieces packed and waiting in the shipping department. Truckers refused to cross picket lines. Sales representatives fought to preserve showroom space for Heywood-Wakefield lines, but as inventory dried up, retailers sold floor samples and replaced them with competitors. Some dealers never returned, and certain customers were lost permanently, unwilling to risk another disruption.

For workers, the strike was remembered as total and consuming. Picket lines ringed the plant at multiple gates—along streets, rail lines, and delivery entrances. No department operated. Even non-union employees stayed out. Factory worker Joe Bogdanski recalled the strain of walking the line, the long early mornings, and the expectation—ultimately unmet—that the union would provide meaningful financial support. He received ten dollars for two weeks of picketing. Others received small food baskets near Thanksgiving, gestures that offered little relief against weeks of lost wages.

When workers finally voted to return, many felt they had gained little and lost much. Some concessions followed, including pension changes that combined company benefits with union-provided life insurance. Still, nearly two months of pay were gone. The company, for its part, emerged with damaged dealer relationships and a diminished market presence.

The 1956 strike did not occur in isolation. Across American manufacturing in the postwar years, companies and unions were renegotiating the balance between productivity, compensation, and control. Incentive systems, rising costs, and shifting labor expectations created flashpoints in industries far beyond furniture making. At Heywood-Wakefield, those national pressures collided with local realities, leaving a mark on the company, its workforce, and the town that endured long after the picket signs came down.

Source: John Heywood Oral History Interview, April 1989 by Martha Norkunas, retrieved from http://archive.org