Word: wolle
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...once an A. F. of L. spokesman had turned out a brand of invective as good as that of John L. Lewis. The report, attributed to the pens of little Matthew Woll and'John P. Frey and adopted by a convention vote of 25,616 to 1,227, recommended that the A. F. of L. executive council be empowered to expel suspended C. I. O. unions at its own discretion. The rebel unions marked for first expulsion were John L. Lewis' United Mine Workers of America and Sidney Hillman's Amalgamated Clothing Workers of America...
...executive council of the American Federation of Labor announced his successor as chief of U. S. Labor: William Green. No one was more surprised than inconspicuous Mr. Green. Old Cigarmaker Gompers, who regarded the A. F. of L. as his own personal property, had willed the job to Matthew Woll, head of the little Photo Engravers Union. But having grown restive under long Gompers rule, the individualistic members of the A. F. of L. high command were in no mood to honor the cigarmaker's dying dictates...
Least willing of all was John L. Lewis, who had even dared on one occasion to campaign for the A. F. of L. presidency against Samuel Gompers himself. In that abortive campaign Mr. Woll had bitterly opposed Mr. Lewis-something which Mr. Lewis never forgot or forgave. Therefore with the aid of other rebels against the dead hand, Mr. Lewis pitch-forked into the nation's No. 1 Labor office, the pink-cheeked secretary-treasurer of his United Mine Workers. So William Green, a quiet, cautious character virtually unknown out side his own union, became and still is, president...
...Matthew Woll, Samuel Gompers' short, swart "Crown Prince," a high-tariff Republican who wears wing collars and is as conservative as a life insurance company president, which he is (Union Labor Life). Luxemburg-born, he is more sophisticated than his A. F. of L. colleagues, dislikes Bill Green almost as much as he does John Lewis...
...decade and a half slipped by, at the end of which he received the appointment of Comptroller of Customs on wools, hides, and woll-fells in the port of London. By grant of the mayor and aldermen he occupied an entire dwelling on top of Aldsgate, ten minutes' walk from the quay known as Wool wharf where he worked over dull figures in heavy ledgers. Here at the eastern edge of turbulent little London, high over a busy street, and above his modestly-stocked buttery, the poet passed another decade--reading, writing, and drinking from the King's daily pitcher...