Labor Day was originally created to honor the worker and the
work ethic but its impetus seems to be fading.
Labor Day was originally created to honor the worker and the work ethic but its impetus seems to be fading.
In the late 1800s, union leaders were the first to publicly acknowledge the economic achievements of the American working class. They willingly gave credit to whom credit was due when it came to the strength and prosperity of our nation.
Some ascribe the concept of an annual-one-day-labor-tribute to Peter McGuire, general secretary of the Brotherhood of Carpenters and Joiners. His vision included a festive day of recognition for, “those who from rude nature have delved and carved all the grandeur we behold.”
Others argue that the idea had its roots in Europe. The Socialist and Communist parties had been honoring their working classes on May 1, or May Day, for years by giving them the day off and celebrating the results of their efforts. (These proponents say that the reason the U.S. chose the first Monday in September instead of May was that they didn’t want our holiday linked to Europe’s communist systems.)
Although the starting point of the idea may be debatable, records show that the Knights of Labor hosted our first Labor Day celebration on Sept. 5, 1882 in New York City. It included a street parade and a festival for the “recreation and amusement of the workers and their families.”
When I was growing up in Wisconsin, Labor Day seemed like a significant holiday in some ways and not so special in others.
It meant that summer was unofficially over and it was time to go back to school – I always considered that a most excellent reason to celebrate.
It also meant a change in attire. Since it was considered a fashion faux pas to wear white after Labor Day, one of our Labor Day rituals included cleaning, wrapping, and shelving all of our white shoes and handbags. We wouldn’t see them again until Memorial Day when it was time to polish and put away our black patent leathers.
Sometimes, it also meant going to a company picnic. For just that one day, the leaders served. They made and passed out hot dogs and drinks, organized games for the kids and, at some point, gave speeches and awarded plaques. Even the kids were expected to sit cross legged on the itchy grass and listen to them talk while we finished eating our Dixie cup ice creams with wooden sticks.
However, aside from the minor rituals and occasional outing, the holiday really just seemed like an extra September Sunday.
I hate it when I talk like I’m 110, but … when I was growing up in the ’50s and ’60s, Sundays were different than the other days of the week. On Sundays, you went to church, watched the Packers beat whomever they were playing, ate dinner with family and RESTED. Stores and businesses weren’t open – none of them. Sundays were like a mini-holiday built into the start of every week.
Labor Day celebrations have changed considerably since that first one in 1882 or the ones I participated in as a kid. We won’t be having a parade or festival in Christmas Hill Park. Our kids have already completed a week of classes. We can wear white any time we want. We’ll even have a few workers on the clock and a few patrons who’ll make the time-and-a-half worthwhile.
That makes me sad. Since Sunday is no longer sacred to the economy, I feel we’re in dire need of at least one day per calendar year of “no labor.”
We need a day to remember that spending time with family is critical for their well being as well as ours. That children don’t grow up to be productive members of society if they don’t know how it feels to belong to something bigger than themselves.
We need a day to remember that being able to work is a gift and a responsibility. That it’s a privilege, not a punishment. And on the other hand, if ever there was a time when people needed to remember that we work to live and don’t live to work, it’s now.
In short, we need a day to remember that renewing our souls and spirits is required for wholeness and hope. And, if ever there was a time when men’s hearts needed hope, it’s now.
