Union-Busting Confidential

If you thought the union movement was in decline--Think Again!" So read an online ad for a recent seminar in Las Vegas that promised to help me remain union-free. Actually, I had thought the union movement was in decline, but I'm an open-minded sort, so I was willing to be persuaded otherwise. I paid my $1,595 and signed up. Organized by seminar-specialty firm Executive Enterprises, it would be led by attorneys from Jackson Lewis, one of the leading law firms in the field of union-busting, which has become a multibillion-dollar industry encompassing more than 2,500 lawyers and consultants offering their services. The classes would take place in the Las Vegas Westin Casuarina, which promises its guests "a sanctuary in the midst of bustling excitement" as well as craps, blackjack and three-card poker. I booked a room.

I knew I was taking a chance. Most outsiders don't know what happens in these seminars, because the firms that specialize in them have their feelers out for spies. Union organizers and curious journalists are especially unwelcome. As much as I enjoy Las Vegas in its own right, a night of Carrot Top would not make up for being expelled from union-busting class. I therefore checked in as Arthur S. Levine, the (real) vice-president of my family's real estate company, which owns one small building. This seemed to satisfy the people at the check-in table, who were careful not to say why we all were there. I was glad I found it at all: The seminar was kept so hush-hush that the name Jackson Lewis didn't appear on the sign outside the door.

Inside the seminar room, I picked a spot behind several rows of tables and chairs facing the lectern at the front. Things got off to a delayed start, however. Apparently, one of the registrants waiting to get in merited a closer background check. A grim, ferret-faced man paced outside the seminar room, fielding calls on his cell phone. He wore a pink shirt and pink silk tie. Hovering close by was a younger colleague, a burly fellow with a well-tailored dark suit and a Fu Manchu mustache. After consulting quickly with each another, the two men reached a verdict. The younger guy strode over to an unoccupied seat in our classroom and, with evident pleasure, picked up a place card. "Richard," he announced, "is no longer with us," ostentatiously ripping Richard's place card in two.

As it turned out, the two men who had purged Richard would be our seminar leaders. The older man in pink was Michael J. Lotito, a 30-year veteran of anti-union legal wars. The younger was Michael Stief, III, a protegé; and fast learner. I soon saw they knew their turf well. "We're not moralists," explained Lotito. "We're lawyers."

Once the seminar got underway, I learned that all of us were doing the right thing in resisting unions. "We believe that the union is irrelevant for the 21st century," declared Lotito. Unfortunately, "unions have new weapons." To make his point, he waved a clipping from the New York Times describing some recent public relations woes of Wal-Mart. "The risk for some organizations is not that you're going to be organized from within," he advised us. "It's that you're going to be organized from without."

My fellow students, of whom there were about 20, came from various parts of the country. We got to know one another a little when Lotito invited us to share our reasons for taking the course. It became like a support group. "We want to go to union-free, but we've got a bullseye on our back," explained Martin, a tough-looking distribution supervisor for a food services company. "It's a big threat."

Donna, a human resources manager for a discount chain store with a gung-ho manner, was more upbeat. "I've never dealt with unions, and I'm dedicated to making sure that we keep them out of our distribution center," she vowed. "It's my mission!"