ANYONE who walks into the San Francisco longshoremen's hall on the third Tuesday of the month around 7:00 p.m. will witness a monthly spectacle. If that person is a stranger, the activities look chaotic, they seem neither focused nor organized. The hall is filled with longshoremen. Some mill about, talking and joking. Others are seated in rows of chairs, listening to speakers on a raised platform near the front of the room. The noise level is high; hearing even amplified voices is frequently difficult. Periodically someone goes to a microphone near the front of the hall and addresses the group. Speaking with passion, he argues vigorously, sometimes verbally attacking the people seated on the raised platform.

The men seated on the floor participate in the proceedings with continuous verbal commentary. “Act like a president, goddammit!” shouts someone to a man standing on the platform in front of a microphone, during a heated and confused exchange. “Take the nails out!” yells someone else when a speaker claims he is being treated unfairly.

Dialogue is routine: “Put a fine on his ass!” hollers somebody, referring to a disrupter. “Do you want me to fine him?” asks the man at the microphone on the platform. Judgment is rendered swiftly. “Yes!” roar the assembled, sounding more like the chorus in a Greek play than the jury in American courts (field notes).