Philly's ink trade has a storied history

As Philadelphians honor the contributions and achievements of the American worker on Labor Day, consider the story of the International Typographical Union, one of the oldest such organizations in the country.

Many early settlers counted the new world's lack of the printed word as a benefit. "I thank God, there are no free schools nor printing. . . . God keep us from both," professed William Berkeley, a colonial governor, in 1671.

For these logophobes, Philadelphia was no respite. The first printer set up shop in 1683, barely a year after William Penn arrived aboard the Welcome.

As the city grew, so did its printing trade. Craftsmen pressed the newspapers, pamphlets, almanacs, books, and broadsides that were then the primary vehicles for disseminating information.

In the epitaph he penned himself, Benjamin Franklin - now known primarily for his successes in science, statecraft, and slyness - listed "printer" as his only profession.

Printers were not immune to the market and labor forces endemic to other industries. In 1786, only three years after the War of Independence ended, Philadelphia printers led the nation's first strike for higher wages, demanding - unsuccessfully - a $6-per-week minimum wage.

In 1850, more than 400 local printers gathered at Sixth and Sansom Streets and - in true Philadelphia fashion - issued a July "Declaration":

"In the present organization of society, laborers, single-handed, are powerless, and may be oppressed by their wealthy neighbors. But combined, there is no power they may not openly defy."

A constitution followed later that summer, with the group adopting the name Journeymen Printers' Union of Philadelphia.

Organized labor was far from a foregone conclusion at this time. The employment tenets celebrated on Labor Day - even the eight-hour workday - had yet to be secured.

During the Civil War, the now-National Typographical Union formed relief committees to aid families of enlisted and serving members. A sanatorium, the Union Printers Home, in Colorado Springs, was created for aged and disabled printers.

Like all unions, the organization also dealt with the issue of noncompliant members and "scab" workers, but without recourse to giant inflatable pests and drones favored by their modern counterparts.

Panoptic vigilance committees were organized and charged with compiling "Rat lists." Meeting minutes record "the reading of which was greeted with applause, and containing a full description of the 'vermin.' "

The city's union printers were incorporated into the International Typographical Union after the Civil War, and joined the Communications Workers of America in 1987.

"All labor is restless and ever will be until that day arrives when unions cease to be a necessity," said Theodore Yarnall, an early-20th-century president of the local chapter, "and that seems to be as far off as the millennium."