My Gripe With Unions

I don't like unions. I believe, like many institutions, they have served a necessary purpose, but they have outlived their necessity. I believe that unions are divisive, by nature, and have made the designation "Made in the USA" a joke, if not extremely rare. But my dislike, distrust, and distain for unions comes from a more personal standpoint. To understand, you need to have the whole story...

In the summer of 1999, I was working as a mechanic in a bowling center. I had completed my BA in English, and had spent much of the previous year substitute teaching, during the day, and being a mechanic at night. As a "sub," I made $90 for five classes. At the bowl, I was earning $7.50 an hour. I wanted to teach, but lacked the "fifth-year studies" required to become a credentialed teacher, so I subbed. I was moving into a new home, and a friend, who happened to be the Summer School Principal for that year, asked me if I would consider teaching a couple of 9th grade English classes over the summer. It meant a lot, as I was able to procure an "emergency" credential, which meant I was legal for a year. I made about $4,000 for the summer, plus my bowling alley job.

I was in the Personnel Office, one afternoon, visiting with a friend, who said I should talk to a guy at Vacaville High (my alma mater), about a 60% teaching position for the fall. Emergency credential in-hand, I talked to the guy, and got the job. Face it, even 3/5 of a teacher's salary was better than being a grease-monkey, and I gave my notice to the bowling alley.
It was a strange year, but a good year. I started with three 9th grade classes, but ended up with two 11th grade, and one 9th. I was back at my old school as a teacher, with a novel approach to "Back-to-School Night." Most other teachers would have only a handful of parents stop by for their 10 minute "Meet the Teacher" sessions; my room was packed every period. My colleagues all wanted to know how I managed it, it was simple. Being back in Vacaville, there were many last names the same as some of my former schoolmates. In fact, more often than not, they were children of my former schoolmates. I told my classes to tell their parents that their English teacher said that if they went to Vaca High between 1965 and 1972, and claimed to have never been in trouble, they were liars, and I had the pictures to prove it. Presto! One great parent event.
I coached both boy's and girl's golf the following year, in addition to teaching two 10th and three 11th grade classes. Heaven? Hell yes!! It's what I had always wanted to do, teach English and coach golf. The year after that, 2002 - 2003, I should have known things weren't going to last. I had been named Head Coach for the girl's golf team, and had a stroke 10 days before our first practice.
The girl's were great, plain and simply great. Some visited me in the hospital, but all of them helped me work through my physical problems, from the first practice to the last. We didn't do well, but everyone learned something, and had a great time playing golf along the way.
The Head Coach position opened-up that year for the boy's team, and I had been an Assistant for two years, the girl's Head Coach, and the recommendation of the previous Head Coach. I knew the drill, knew the boys, and knew all of the other teams. I didn't get the job. I won't get into the details, suffice to say that the Number 1 guy said, "He f-ed things up." I was too busy with other issues to sympathize.
The School District announced in March 2003, that they would be laying off teachers at the end of the year. The union demanded that a full accounting of seniority be made, and the District stripped me of my tenure (after 2000 - 2001), three years of seniority, and handed me a pink slip. I was furious, but sure the union would do something to help. Yeah, those three years were on an emergency credential, but I met all requirements necessary to renew it twice. Yeah, it probably isn't right to grant tenure to someone without a Preliminary, or Permanent credential, but I never asked for it, applied for it, or even thought of it. I was the most surprised person of all, opening that letter in my box. But I did it all. No matter what was asked of me. My class sizes always exceeded the norm, others would have 30, I'd have 38. I even performed the twice-yearly slave labor ("supervising" two events per year on my time) without a great deal of complaining. I did it for my school, and my students. Now I was being screwed.
The union didn't want to talk to me, and a lawyer frankly told me that.
I don't like unions.