Most discussion of the Hollywood writers’ strike has centered on money: the studio chiefs, tech demigods and private equity oligarchs who have it and the writers like myself whose labor should entitle us to a greater share of it.
One morning back in the summer of 2002, I was walking my dog when I got a call that my father was having a heart attack.
Dad was a longtime Teamster, Local 340, which represents a grab-bag of freight jockeys, municipal workers and emergency services types.
By the time I arrived, doctors had succeeded in dissolving the clot that had been choking off one of his coronary arteries.
I found him lying in the I.C.U., less than a quarter of his heart muscle still functioning.
Persons:
’, we’ve, He’d, Dad, twitching
Organizations:
Hollywood, Writers Guild of America, Teamster