The Last Union Town

“The scene at that construction site was right out of Vietnam,” the Evening Bulletin reported the next day.

Union men burned seven of Altemose’s trucks and a construction trailer, damaged a variety of large equipment and destroyed a concrete foundation, costing Altemose $2 million. LeGrand shrugged it off: “Not one person was hurt up there.”

Not yet.

The perpetrators weren’t merely angry about one big job. They knew that if Altemose succeeded — if he built the Valley Forge Plaza without union workers — he might break the influence of Philadelphia unions in the suburbs.

Two months passed. In August, Altemose visited his bank at 15th and Chestnut in the city, and as he left, he encountered a group of about two dozen union supporters. Under the marquee of the Duchess Theater, they fell on him, punching him until he dropped, then kicking him in the face. They threatened to kill him.

“Egotistical fool. What was he doing [in that area]?” LeGrand told 60 Minutes. “Maybe one of our wives did it.”

As Altemose predicted, the three union members charged with battering him were found not guilty in a Philadelphia court. But Altemose continued his work in Valley Forge, and eventually finished the Plaza.

The unions never quite recovered in Philadelphia’s suburbs.

In 2001, a developer named John Westrum moved his business from the suburbs to the city, where he encountered stronger unions. This past November, he testified before City Council about the relative cost of construction in Philadelphia.

What are construction costs outside city limits? a Council member asked. Not with land — just straight construction.

“That’s $60 to $75 per square foot,” Westrum said.

And with the same materials, inside the city?

“That’s $125 per foot.”


THAT BUSINESS IS all in the past, union leaders say. That stomping and burning and bombing and so forth. Those guys were uncultured and uncouth. Nobody does that now.

It’s difficult to get anyone who works with the trades to speak openly about the power they still wield. But with time, stories start to emerge: a black town car sitting at the school bus stop where a contractor’s children wait. Cars following a developer’s employees from Center City across two counties. Handbills distributed to children at a school. Threats.

“Look, I can’t talk about this stuff on the record,” one major Philadelphia developer said. “You’re talking about some rough people. And this is my living. These are my children.”

A developer who recently relocated to Philadelphia from another city said he’s now forced to allocate a million dollars each year for security at his job sites — “All union-related,” he said.

What was his security budget his last year in the previous city?

“Zero,” he said, forming a circle with his fingers and thumb.

One developer arms his workers with pocket-size video recorders, so they can capture any nefarious acts on film.

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