Cold Open

It’s just before midnight on September 9th, 1919, in downtown Boston.

A 20-year-old Harvard student discreetly sidesteps into a dimly lit alley, melting into the shadows as a group of raucous men heads his way. On a normal night, the city center buzzes with college kids looking for a good time. But tonight, this young student is no reveler—it’s his job to keep the peace.

Earlier today, Boston’s entire police force walked off the job, going on strike for fair pay and better working conditions. In response, there was a call for volunteers to help maintain order. And this Harvard student is one of hundreds of classmates who’ve signed up. But now, alone and crouching in the dark, it hits the young student that he’s hopelessly unprepared for the task.

He peers around the corner. The men have stopped outside a storefront. And one of them picks up a rock…and hurls it through the glass. The student tightens his grip on the baton he’s been issued—his only equipment. He knows he should intervene. But he also knows that he’s outnumbered.

Before he can work up the courage to emerge from his hiding place, the vandals scatter, laughing. Finally, the student takes a deep breath, steadies himself…and steps out onto the street, broken glass crackling under his feet. A fire bell rings somewhere in the distance. Then, a crack of gunfire echoes off the brick buildings. The student glances at the fleeing vandals, then the baton in his hand, beginning to wonder: Is he going to survive the night? 

Over the next few days, Boston will spiral out of control. Nine people will die, as the streets become a playground for criminals, thugs, and opportunists. The fate of thousands of citizens, and the career of a future president, will hinge on how the city responds to the crisis that engulfs Boston after the police walked off the job on September 9th, 1919.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham, and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is September 9th, 1919: The Boston Police Strike.

Act One: Tensions Rise

It’s summer 1919 in Boston, Massachusetts, two months before the city’s police go on strike.

46-year-old Patrolman John McInnes slumps down into a rickety chair and smiles weakly as his wife serves dinner. As usual, he’s spent a long day on the streets, and he’s exhausted. But John knows he only has a few minutes to enjoy this home-cooked meal before he has to leave again. As chairman of the Police Relief Association, John’s not only a beat cop. He’s also involved in the effort to improve working conditions for himself and his colleagues—and there’s plenty that needs fixing.

Recent economic upheaval in America has had a huge impact on Boston’s police force. Since 1913, the cost of living has risen 75 percent, but police wages have gone up only 18 percent. They work 13 out of every 14 days, and even their rare days off often get canceled by last-minute calls to cover a shift. Making matters worse, working conditions for police are grim. The hours are long, and they must pay for their own uniforms, and patrol stations are often infested with rats.

So, John devours his dinner quickly. Then, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek, he heads back out to lead another meeting of the Relief Association. As always, there is a single topic that dominates the discussion: whether it’s time to form a union.

For the last four years, the association has pushed for fairer pay, fewer hours, and better working conditions. But every effort has been ignored by Boston’s Police Commissioner, Edwin Upton Curtis. Requests for even the most basic of improvements have gone unanswered, with Curtis dismissing the complaints as insubordination. So now, Boston’s Police can see only one way forward: to unionize.

After a heated discussion and then a vote, the members of the Relief Association agree to form an official union, affiliated with the American Federation of Labor. As chair of the Relief Association, John McInnes is the obvious choice for the union’s first president—and he doesn’t hesitate to accept.

But the police are not alone in embracing unionism. In the wake of World War One, there was a sudden surplus of labor thanks to a glut of returning servicemen. As a result, wages fell and working conditions worsened. That sparked a series of strikes across America. Earlier this year, New York’s harbor workers walked off the job. Soon after, dressmakers followed suit. A general strike in Seattle shut down the entire city for five days. And closer to home in Boston, more than 9,000 telephone operators went on strike for almost a week, only going back to work when they were promised a raise.

Sensationalist media reports have warned of a socialist revolution, and fears of a Bolshevik takeover like the one in Russia have taken hold among many Americans. Among those who are most alarmed at the growing influence of unions is Police Commissioner Curtis. He doesn’t like any union, let alone a police one. So, McInnes’ new organization in Boston represents a direct challenge to Curtis' authority. He refuses to even recognize its existence.

And when John McInnes and his fellow union leaders appeal the commissioner’s decision, they’re suspended from the force. Doubling down, Curtis then adds a new rule to the department’s regulations, making it illegal for any police officer to belong to a union. As far as he’s concerned, the wider interest of public safety overrides the right to collective bargaining. Then, in a move that triples down on his anti-union stance, on September 8th, 1919, he suspends 19 more officers for union activity.

For the exasperated police, this is the final straw.

That same night, the union members gather at a meeting room above a bar to debate whether to begin an organized strike. More than 1,100 officers wait patiently for hours to cast their ballots. And when the result is announced at 8 AM, the following morning, it’s near-unanimous. Only two cops have voted against strike action, and the rest are in favor.

The atmosphere is somber as union president John McInnes declares that all Boston police officers will strike when the 6 PM shift change takes place the following day. But that will leave the entire city of Boston without a police force—and unless someone else steps into the breach, the city will be left to fend for itself.

Act Two: Harvard Steps In

It’s 2 PM, on September 9th, 1919, at Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts, five hours after the Boston Police Strike was announced.

Harvard President Abbott Lawrence Lowell storms down a hallway, his polished shoes echoing off the marble floors. He stops at the door to his secretary’s office and flings it open. The secretary looks up, startled, her face turning pale as she sees the fury in Lowell’s eyes. Lowell growls that he’s calling an emergency meeting of the university staff. Then, he turns on his heels and marches straight to the faculty chamber.

Only a few moments ago, Lowell was given a telegram bearing disturbing news: Boston’s police have voted to strike, and all 1,136 officers are walking off the job at 6 PM tonight. But Lowell was born and raised in Boston, and he isn’t prepared to see his city collapse into anarchy.

At the emergency meeting he calls, Lowell delivers a rallying cry. He calls on faculty and students alike to volunteer as a peacekeeping force; otherwise, Boston may descend into lawlessness and looting. Even the university’s many historic buildings may be at risk.

His message lands with a receptive audience. A recruiting post is set up in University Hall. Notices are posted on dormitory doors, telling students to report for duty immediately. By the time the police strike begins, 250 students and 150 staff have signed up, and the evening papers dub them the “Harvard Regiment.”

Armed with nothing more than borrowed batons, these volunteers fan out into the streets. They’re now Boston’s only line of defense against civil unrest. Their presence is largely symbolic, but they reassure worried citizens and seem to deter at least some opportunistic violence. Boston is a big place, though, and the Harvard Regiment is mostly restricted to the university district and surrounding suburbs.

Elsewhere, panic takes hold as the city slides into chaos. Property is destroyed in Roxbury. Armed rioters fill Scollay Square.

The Harvard Regiment cannot hold the line alone. So, as disorder spreads, the students are joined by several other volunteer patrols, including groups of war veterans and local business owners. Commissioner Edwin Upton Curtis deputizes the volunteers as special police officers. But despite pleas from the mayor, Curtis refuses to call on the Massachusetts State Guard. He insists that his patchwork of volunteers can fill the void, and that troops from outside the city are not needed.

But it’s soon apparent that the volunteer police force lacks the authority they need to do the job. Crowds jeer them. Some throw rocks. And in busier corners of the city, the violence only escalates. Volunteers are cornered, beaten, and left bloodied in the street.

Horrified by the backlash, Harvard President Lowell tries to calm the tensions on the street, denying that his university has become a training ground for strikebreakers. He issues a statement supporting the police and their demands for better paying conditions, and he reiterates that the volunteers are not there to undermine the strike. They are merely peacekeepers who serve only to protect life and property, not to take sides. But this attempt at reassurance fails, and the unrest rolls on.

Because even with new volunteers signing up, the special police are still too few in number to contain the crowds. By 8 PM, on the very first day of the strike, a mob of 10,000 protesters and rioters surges into Scollay Square, overwhelming the volunteers and forcing them to retreat. Looting runs unchecked all across downtown and in South Boston.

So, as dawn breaks on September 10th, Boston Mayor Andrew Peters defies Police Commissioner Curtis and issues a press release suggesting that the city needs help from the Massachusetts State Guard. With the mayor publicly turning on him, Commissioner Curtis agrees to the request and summons state help.

Within hours, state troops flood the city, and Boston becomes a hive of military activity. State guardsmen set up a command post at the Park Plaza Hotel and surround their position with machine guns. From another temporary base in Quincy Market, more guardsmen deploy out across the city.

The state guard then imposes a curfew, breaks up crowds, and makes mass arrests. But Scollay Square is still packed with rioters, many flinging rocks at the guardsmen who approach. It’s only when the state guard opens fire and charges with drawn swords that the mob finally scatters.

But observing this unrest from the State House, Massachusetts Governor Calvin Coolidge sees a political opportunity. Until now, Governor Coolidge has kept out of the fractious arguments between the police, the commissioner, and Boston’s mayor. But later this afternoon, Coolidge releases a statement reasserting his right to control of the state guard, and he claims credit for restoring order. With that move, Calvin Coolidge will enter the national spotlight. He’ll turn the Boston Police Strike to his political advantage—and ride the momentum it gives him all the way to the White House.

Act Three: The Strike Breaks

It’s September 12th, 1919, at the Massachusetts State House in Boston, three days after the police strike began.

47-year-old Calvin Coolidge, the Governor of Massachusetts, paces his office as he dictates a statement. When his secretary finishes punching it out on her typewriter, she pulls the paper from the carriage and hands it to him. Coolidge scans the sheet, pausing as his eyes land on the line that defines his stance: “There is no right to strike against the public safety by anybody, anywhere, any time.”

For the last two days, Coolidge has held firm in this belief. He’s left the state guard in place, and 5,000 soldiers are patrolling Boston’s now mostly quiet streets. But the striking police officers are still refusing to return to duty. The standoff has reached an impasse, and neither side appears willing to yield.

So, after proofreading his message, Coolidge nods and hands the paper back to his secretary. Although it’s addressed to the American Federation of Labor, the statement isn’t really for them. It’s intended for the people of Boston, and that evening, the city’s papers run it in full. Editorials praise the governor’s resolve. Political allies rally behind him. And most importantly of all, public opinion turns in favor of the authorities. Bostonians are fed up with this continuing crisis.

The striking police hold out for one more day. But with support evaporating, their cause collapses.

And on September 13th, union leaders signal that the striking police are ready to return to work. But Commissioner Edwin Upton Curtis refuses to take them back. Instead, he fires them all and builds a new police force from scratch. He fills its ranks with military veterans, granting them many of the benefits that the fired officers wanted—better pay, improved hours, and safer conditions. But the ban on police being members of a union remains.

As an uneasy peace slowly settles on Boston, Governor Coolidge is hailed as a hero. The following year, Coolidge is the Republican nominee for Vice President. His name on the ticket helps win the general election, and then three years later, when President Warren Harding dies in office, Coolidge becomes the 30th President of the United States.

But the political impact of the Boston Police Strike won’t be limited to the rise of Calvin Coolidge. It will also spark a national debate over unions, labor rights, and public order. Suspicion of union activists will grow. Fear of left-wing ideologies will spread. And all across the country, it will become harder for workers to organize for better pay and conditions, dealing a blow to the very cause the police officers believed they were fighting when they began their strike in Boston on September 9th, 1919.

Outro

Next on History Daily. September 10th, 1608. John Smith is elected president of the troubled English colony of Jamestown, Virginia.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Gabriel Gould.

Supervising Sound Designer Matthew Filler.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Olivia Jordan.

Edited by Scott Reeves.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.