You Can't Go Homestead Again

The past few weeks’ news has been, to a large degree, dominated by two contrasting stories. The first involves the trial and acquittal of Daniel Penny, who was accused of reckless and negligent homicide in the death of Jordan Neely. The other is the murder of United Healthcare executive Brian Thompson, who was gunned down on the streets of Manhattan by an Ivy League educated son of a wealthy Baltimore family. To many, more disturbing than the assassination itself has been the reaction of many to the crime. Numerous so-called progressives, who vilified Penny’s act of self-defense, have virtually lionized Thompson’s assassin, Luigi Mangione, including former New York Times and Washington Post writer Taylor Lorenz, who stated that she felt “joy” at Thompson’s murder, and characterized the deed as “celebratory.” A professor at Mangione’s alma mater, Penn, posted that she had “never been prouder to be a professor at the University of Pennsylvania.” Even a member of the United States Senate, Elizabeth Warren, rationalized the homicide, stating “people can only be pushed so far.” Most disturbingly, a poll of those under thirty found that a plurality, or 41 percent, found the murder to be “acceptable.”

While this country has a history of assassinations, the victims have been primarily political figures. In particular, the late 19^th century and early 20^th saw a number of political figures assassinated both in the United States and Europe. Presidents Garfield and McKinley were shot in this country, while numerous European leaders were also killed, including the monarchs of Russia, Italy, Serbia, Portugal, Greece, and the Empress of Austro-Hungary. Numerous political leaders were also killed, in Russia, France, Spain, and Bulgaria. The majority of these figures were victims of the anarchist movement, with their killers coming from the impoverished working classes. Far less common were targeted killings of business leaders, and few assassins were born into wealth.

One exception was the attempted killing of Henry Clay Frick by the anarchist, Alexander Berkman. The differences between the actors then, and those now, as well as the reaction to the crime, are illuminating.

Henry Frick

Although Henry Frick’s beginnings were not as humble as those of the man with whom he would be forever associated, Andrew Carnegie, his ascent to become one of the wealthiest men in America was nevertheless remarkable. The son of a farmer who had married into a Pittsburgh merchant family, Frick went to live with an uncle, Abraham Overholt, the owner of a whiskey distillery business (Old Overholt Rye is still sold). Frick worked as a bookkeeper in the business after he finished college, but when the uncle died in 1870, Frick lost his job. Frick found employment with the owner of a nearby coal field who manufactured coke.

The value of coke was just readily becoming apparent. In 1855, Henry Bessemer had received his first patent for the production of steel. Two years later, an American, William Kelly, had received his own patent for an improved process. By 1870, Bessemer was able to produce a quantity of steel in 15 minutes, what it would previously have taken two weeks to produce. In 1872, Andrew Carnegie had met Bessemer and determined to construct his own steel mill in Pittsburgh. The essential ingredient for the Bessemer process was coke.

Frick seized the opportunity to purchase all of the coke capacity he could, borrowing initially against the small inheritance he had received from his uncle, and then from the Mellon family bank. Within three years, he went from owning one coke oven to owning 200. Eventually, he would own 80 per cent of the nation’s coke production. It was inevitable that his path would cross that of Carnegie, and he reached a deal to supply Carnegie’s needs. Reflective of that partnership, Carnegie went behind Frick’s back to acquire a majority interest in the latter’s company when he left himself vulnerable by selling stock in his coke company in order to buy more coal fields. However, Frick did not take this lying down, but sought to acquire a significant interest in Carnegie’s steel company. Initially, Carnegie was opposed, but when his brother, who had managed the business, died, Carnegie relented and agreed to sell Frick 17%, also placing Frick in charge of the firm. While this partnership profited both men, it was probably doomed from the start.

The Homestead Strike

While Frick, Carnegie, and other so-called “robber barons” were amassing their wealth, those at the other end of the economic spectrum, the workers who were helping those barons to amass their wealth, were also undergoing upheaval.

Workers began to organize after the conclusion of the Civil War. The Knights of Labor was formed in 1869, and the American Federation of Labor was formed in 1885. Violence frequently erupted between labor and management, the most famous example being the Haymarket Riot of 1886. There, labor leaders organized a rally to protest the killing and wounding by the Chicago police of several workers at the McCormick Harvesting Machine Company. A riot broke out during which a bomb was thrown, killing seven police officers. Eight anarchists were tried for the crime; four were hanged, one committed suicide on the eve of his execution, and three received life sentences, later commuted.

It was in this charged environment, in 1892, that Henry Frick determined to take on the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers, one of the largest unions in the country, at Carnegie’s Homestead plant, which Carnegie had recently acquired. Among all of Carnegie’s plants, which had been consolidated into one company, the Homestead plant was the only one that had union workers, a discrepancy that Frick sought to eliminate. In anticipation of a planned lockout, Frick constructed a large fence, topped by wire, around the plant. He hired 300 Pinkertons, who were notorious for their union-busting activity. He then sought to bring in replacement workers to run the plant.

Striking workers surrounded the routes to the plant, so Frick sought to ferry the strikebreakers to the factory on barges, protected by the 300 Pinkerton agents. Inevitably, violence broke out, with both the strikers and the Pinkertons employing firearms. Numerous shots were fired. According to a report in the New York Times, the Pinkertons attempted to proceed to the mill three times, but were repulsed. Further, after evacuating the wounded, the tugboats that had towed the barges were prevented from evacuating the Pinkertons. Nearly a dozen people were killed, including seven strikers and three Pinkertons, before the Pinkertons eventually surrendered. Although promised safe passage, the Pinkertons were required to march through a crowd of striking workers, who beat them on their way out. Eventually, the Pennsylvania National Guard was called in to restore order.

Although the public had been sympathetic to the strikers initially, such sympathy waned when reports of the workers’ treatment of the Pinkertons spread. The strike collapsed completely when a Russian anarchist, Alexander Berkman, attempted to assassinate Frick in his office.

Alexander Berkman

Like Luigi Mangione, Alexander Berkman was born to wealth and privilege. Nevertheless, from an early age, Berkman was drawn to nihilism and revolution against the Tsarist regime. Indeed, the bomb that killed Tsar Alexander II is reported to have exploded right outside Berkman’s school. After reading about the execution of the Haymarket rioters, Berkman emigrated to America, where he fell under the influence of the noted anarchist, Johann Most. At the same time, Berkman formed a lifelong attachment with Emma Goldman, another noted anarchist who later would become a feminist icon. Berkman’s life-long relationship with Goldman was first as a lover, and later as a friend and comrade.

Most was an associate of August Spies, one of the anarchists hanged for the Haymarket riot, and was most famous for originating the concept of propaganda of the Deed, or Attentat, the employment of violent action to sway public opinion.

Berkman and Goldman were galvanized by the events at Homestead, and, determining to put Most’s teachings into action, they conspired together to murder Henry Frick, the man singularly responsible for the bloodshed at Homestead. Berkman traveled alone to Pittsburgh and, posing as an employment agent, gained an audience with Frick. He shot Frick twice, and then stabbed him when he realized that Frick was still alive. Berkman was eventually subdued by Homestead workers, arrested, and convicted of attempted murder. He served fourteen years for his crime.

After his release from prison, Berkman continued his revolutionary activities. He became the editor of Goldman’s magazine, Mother Earth, and worked as a labor organizer. In 1914, after the massacre of twenty-one miners, their wives, and children, at a coal mine in Ludlow, Colorado owned by John D. Rockefeller, Berkman plotted to kill Rockefeller with a bomb. The bomb, however, exploded prematurely, killing three anarchists. Berkman was later imprisoned, for opposing the draft in World War I, and thereafter was exiled to Russia, together with Goldman. Berkman never returned to the United States, dying impoverished in France.

The Aftermath of Both Killings

While the murder of Brian Thompson and the attempted assassination of Henry Frick bear certain surface similarities, they differ in numerous ways.

First, Berkman's attempted assassination of Frick was not random or crazed. Berkman and Goldman selected Frick as a target for assassination, not because he represented some generic surrogate for the monied class or for industrial titans, but because Frick was notorious as one of the most anti-union businessmen in America, and he was deemed to be directly responsible, through his employment of the Pinkertons, for the death of numerous workers.

Frick’s handling of the Homestead strike was the subject of widespread criticism, and was ultimately the catalyst for the breakup of his partnership with Carnegie, who bought out Frick’s interests at a price fixed only after extensive litigation. The relationship was so fractured that in 1919, shortly before the death of both men, Carnegie reached out to Frick and sent his longtime personal assistant, James Bridge, with a letter proposing to meet him in order to “patch up old wounds,” “make amends, and prepare to meet their maker.”[1] Frick would have none of it.

Yes, you can tell Carnegie I’ll meet him,” Frick said finally, wadding the letter and tossing it back at Bridge. “Tell him I’ll see him in Hell, where we both are going.

When Berkman subsequently selected John D. Rockefeller for a second assassination attempt, he again was not protesting the evils of the coal industry or raging generally against excessive wealth. Instead, Berkman selected Rockefeller because he was directly responsible for the death of twenty-one individuals, including women and children.

This is in sharp contrast to the thinking of Mangione, whose act was random, if not crazed. Mangione had no personal animus against Brian Thompson. Indeed, according to his notebook, Mangione’s plan was to “whack” any CEO of a major insurance company. The planned assassination was, unlike Berkman’s, a “symbolic takedown.” Thompson was apparently chosen because United Health Care is alleged to question most vigorously policy holders’ claims.

Similarly, there is a large difference between Berkman and Mangione. According to news accounts, Mangione was a typical product of elite schools, who most recently lived in Hawaii and San Francisco. He apparently was driven to radicalism because of a botched back operation. His manifesto consisted of three pages of handwritten notes.

In contrast, Berkman, although also born to wealth, committed his life to his political ideals, twice suffering imprisonment and then exile for his beliefs. Furthermore, Berkman was an intellectual and extremely influential writer. As noted, he was the editor of Emma Goldman’s journal, Mother Earth, and later published his own, The Blast. They were two of the most influential publications among US anarchists. In addition, he was the author of four books, including Now and After: The ABC of Communist Anarchism, considered by many to be the finest exposition of anarchism in the English language.

However, the biggest contrast between the two violent acts is the reaction of the public to each. While as noted, many have suggested that Mangione’s actions were, in some way, justified, Berkman’s attempt on the life of Frick was universally condemned. Berkman was foiled by Homestead workers, who subdued him before he could complete his murder. Berkman’s assassination attempt was the death knell for the Homestead strike, eliminating the last vestige of sympathy for the striking workers. Even the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers disavowed the act. The AFL, which had supported the strike, abandoned the effort.

Dissenting views were rare to non-existent. As described in Les Standiford’s account of the Frick/Carnegie partnership, Meet You In Hell, Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick, and The Bitter Partnership That Transformed America, and reported in the New York Times, one member of the Pennsylvania National Guard. W.L Iams, publicly pronounced his support for Berkman, shouting in a gathering “Three cheers for the man who shot Frick.” Iams was immediately arrested. As punishment, he was strung up by his thumbs for twenty minutes before passing out, and he was expelled from the Guard, all, likely, with the approval of the Times readers.

Most dispiriting to Berkman, as he wrote in his first book, Prison Memoirs of an Anarchist, was that his actions were even condemned by his mentor, Johann Most, the progenitor of Attentat.

One can imagine the reaction of Berkman and Frick’s contemporaries to the outburst of support for Luigi Mangione ranging from those in academia as politics to the groupies sending Mangione love letters in prison. Even the striking workers who were most affected by the unsuccessful strike at Homestead had a moral clarity apparently lacking in many educated persons today. Industrial workers, who endured poverty unimaginable today, could nevertheless see that murder was morally wrong.

As a student of history, even one who notes that history repeats itself, one wants to believe in the progress of history, that history moves in the direction of improvement, with people living better lives over time. One can only hope that the reaction to the murder of Brian Thompson is the exception that proves that rule.

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[1] Les Standiford, Meet You In Hell, Andrew Carnegie, Henry Clay Frick, and The Bitter Partnership That Transformed America (2005).