Wheels arthur hailey pdf

Free download or read online Wheels pdf ePUB book. The first edition of the novel was published in , and was written by Arthur Hailey. The book was published in multiple languages including , consists of pages and is available in ebook format. The main characters of this fiction, thriller story are ,. The book has been awarded with , and many others. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator.

We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Wheels may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.

It happened often enough. A worker with a specific assignment took a few seconds longer than he should on each operation. As successive cars moved by on the assembly line, his position gradually changed, so that soon he was intruding on the area of the next operation. When a foreman saw it happen he made it his business to help the worker back to his correct, original place. Before they could continue, the office door opened again and the union committeeman came in.

He was a small, pink-faced man, with thick-lensed glasses and a fussy manner. His name was Illas and, until a union election a few months ago, had been an assembly line worker himself. Good morning, the union man said to Zaleski. He nodded curtly to Parkland, without speaking. But sometimes I like to hear the other side. Zaleski motioned Parkland to go on. The union man hunched forward accusingly; now he swung toward Zaleski.

Maybe, just maybe, I did. But if it happened, there was nothing meant. Illas stood up. Parkland slammed a beefy fist in frustration on the desk top. Maybe not now. Parkland appealed to Zaleski. Listen, Matt, the guy who was out of position is just a kid. A black kid, maybe seventeen. Zaleski was holding himself in, as he always had to do when racial issues erupted in the plant.

His own prejudices were deep-rooted and largely anti-black, and he had learned them in the heavily Polish suburb of Wyandotte where he was born. There, the families of Polish origin looked on Negroes with contempt, as shiftless and troublemakers.

In return, the black people hated Poles, and even nowadays, throughout Detroit, the ancient enmities persisted. Just now, after the last remark of Illas, Matt Zaleski had been tempted to inject: So what if he did call him boy? What the hell difference does it make?

When a foreman tells him to, let the bastard get back to work. But Zaleski knew it would be repeated and maybe cause more trouble than before. Instead, he growled, What matters is what came after. We almost had the job back in place, then this heavyweight, Newkirk, showed up. He came up, called me a racist pig, and slugged me. The foreman fingered his bruised face which had swollen even more since he came in. I had sense, all right, Parkland said. I fired Newkirk.

On the spot. Nobody slugs a foreman around here and gets away with it. Matt Zaleski thrust a hand through his hair; there were days when he marveled that there was any left. He was ten miles away at staff headquarters, attending a conference about the new Orion, a super-secret car the plant would be producing soon. Sometimes it seemed to Matt Zaleski as if McKernon had already begun his retirement, officially six months away.

Matt Zaleski was holding the baby now, as he had before, and it was a lousy deal. The book was there so that the vice-president could turn its pages whenever new appointments or promotions were considered. The entry for Matt Zaleski, along with his photo and other details, read: This individual is well placed at his present level of management.

Everybody in the company who mattered knew that the formal, unctious statement was a Kiss off. He will probably serve his time out in his present spot, but will receive no more promotions. The rules said that whoever received that deadly summation on his docket had to be told; he was entitled to that much, and it was the reason Matt Zaleski had known for the past several months that he would never rise beyond his present role of assistant manager. Zaleski had risen by a route which few senior plant people followed nowadays—factory worker, inspector, foreman, superintendent, assistant plant manager.

But after the war he had armed himself with a degree, using night school and GI credits, and after that had started climbing, being ambitious, as most of his generation were who had survived Festung Europa and other perils.

But, as Zaleski recognized later, he had lost too much time; his real start came too late. The strong comers, the top echelon material of the auto companies—then as now—were the bright youngsters who arrived fresh and eager through the direct college-to-front office route. But that was no reason why McKernon, who was still plant boss, should sidestep this entire situation, even if unintentionally.

The assistant manager hesitated. He would be within his rights to send for McKernon and could do it here and now by picking up a phone.

Two things stopped him. One, he admitted to himself, was pride; Zaleski knew he could handle this as well as McKernon, if not better. We both know we have to start somewhere, so what is it you want?

Very well, the committeeman said. We insist on three things. First, immediate reinstatement of Brother Newkirk, with compensation for time lost. Second, an apology to both men involved. Third, Parkland to be removed from his post as foreman. Parkland, who had slumped back in his chair, shot upright. By Christ! The apology would be an official one from the company, Illas answered. Whether you had the decency to add your own would be up to you.

The foreman motioned angrily to Illas. Zaleski reached behind him for a telephone. Interposing his body between the phone and the other two, he dialed a number and waited.

He always marveled how men could live with that noise every day of their working lives. Even in the years he had worked on an assembly line himself, before removal to an office shielded him from most of the din, he had never grown used to it. He had swung partially around and was aware of the other two in the office watching his face. It was a strange, even paradoxical, relationship because, away from the plant, Lathruppe was an active militant who had once been a follower of Malcolm X.

But here he took his responsibility seriously, believing that in the auto world he could achieve more for his race through reason than by anarchy. It was this second attitude which Zaleski—originally hostile to Lathruppe—had eventually come to respect. Unfortunately for the company, in the present state of race relations, it had comparatively few black foremen or managers. Lathruppe was already labeled a white nigger by some fellow blacks who resented even their own race when in authority, and it made no difference that the charge was untrue.

So his first instinct had been right. Now, if a walkout happened, it could take days to settle and get everybody back at work; and even if only black workers became involved, and maybe not all of them, the effect would still be enough to halt production. Being fair is a good way to start, Parkland said, and fairness works two ways—up and down. He leaned forward over the desk, speaking earnestly to Matt Zaleski, glancing now and then to the union committeeman, Illas.

What I did was help him with his job. But not to Newkirk. Brother Newkirk stays fired. Ironically, he thought, Frank Parkland had been fair with black workers, maybe fairer than a good many others around the plant. He asked Illas, How do you feel about all that? The union man looked blandly through his thick-lensed glasses. So if I turn you down, if I decide to back up Frank the way he just said I should, what then?

The assistant plant manager nodded. Except, if we go through a full grievance drill it can mean thirty days or more. In the meantime, does everybody keep working? It says everybody stays on the job while we negotiate. But right now a good many of your men are getting ready to walk off their jobs in violation of the contract. You know it, and I know it. The union—as Matt Zaleski was shrewdly aware—was in a tight dilemma in situations of this kind.

If the union failed to support its black militants at all, the militants would charge union leaders with racial prejudice and being management lackeys. Yet if the union went too far with its support, it could find itself in an untenable position legally, as party to a wildcat strike.

Illegal strikes were anathema to UAW leaders like Woodcock, Fraser, Greathouse, Bannon, and others, who had built reputations for tough negotiating, but also for honoring agreements once made, and settling grievances through due process. Illas said, That depends on the decision.

Matt Zaleski had already decided what the ruling had to be, and he knew that nobody would like it entirely, including himself. He thought sourly: these were lousy times, when a man had to shove his convictions in his pocket along with pride—at least, if he figured to keep an automobile plant running.

He announced brusquely, Nobody gets fired. Newkirk goes back to his job, but from now on he uses his fists for working, nothing else. The assistant plant manager fixed his eyes on Illas. Open navigation menu. Close suggestions Search Search. User Settings. Skip carousel. Carousel Previous. Carousel Next. What is Scribd? Explore Ebooks. Bestsellers Editors' Picks All Ebooks.

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General Motors. They were the Big Three, accused by critics of greed, monopoly, and abusing the public trust. In the shadows of these towering giants is American Motors, blazing its own path to greatness. About the author AH. Read more. Related Books. Final Approach by John J. Without Due Process: A J. Beaumont Novel by J. The Last Hostage by John J. Pandora's Clock by John J. Related Podcast Episodes. Hess is assistant professor of government and education at the University of Virginia.

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