Bethlehem Steel Extinguishes Furnaces At Flagship Plant

BETHLEHEM, Pa. - There's not much fire-and-tongs fight left in Local 2599 anymore. Old steelmen like Rebel, Chico and union boss Danny Mills know they've lost the battle to keep the hot end alive.

"There was a time when we were unbeatable," said Mills, pointing to framed black-and-whites of steelworkers toppling police cars and hurling bricks during their first walkout, in 1941.

"Those men didn't fight for something like this to happen," Mills said.

Last Saturday, Bethlehem Steel Corp. extinguished the last blast furnace at its flagship plant, sending home 1,800 workers and ending an operation that has been pouring steel - the "hot end" - since before the Civil War.

The closing has left Bethlehem workers feeling betrayed. They helped bail out the company with concessions in the 1980s, only to see it spend the money on other plants out of town and out of state.

The hot-metal workers and big-beam shapers are the latest to fall to cutbacks that have shrunk the Bethlehem plant in northeastern Pennsylvania from 31,000 workers at its postwar heyday in the 1960s to the 1,200 workers that were left after Saturday's blast-furnace shutdown. The skeleton crew will continue non-steelmaking operations, including a coke furnace and a combine mill that rolls unfinished steel.

Bethlehem was once America's No. 2 steelmaker, back when 85 percent of all goods manufactured in the United States had some steel in them and 40 percent of the nation's work force owed its wages, directly or indirectly, to steel.

Metal forged here went into landmarks such as the Golden Gate and George Washington bridges, helped erect missile silos and built more than 1,000 naval and merchant ships during World War II.

But over the past 30 years, American giants such as Bethlehem and U.S. Steel have been caught in what industry expert Paul Tiffany called "the twin pincers of foreign steel and the minimills."

"Bethlehem had to get out of the `hot end,' " Tiffany said. Making iron and steel "is the most labor-intensive part of the industry, and Bethlehem was far out of the running."

For instance, Bethlehem sells the massive I-beams that were once its trademark product for about $900. Foreign mills, using modern techniques, scrap metal and cut-cost labor, turn them out for $450.

Minimills are small operations that specialize in melting scrap steel and recasting it. The minis are nonunion, offering employees production incentives instead, and operate at a fraction of Bethlehem's costs.

Minimills were once believed to be incapable of filtering impurities out of the scrap. But they have refined their technique.

America has largely ceded heavy steelmaking to the Japanese. Some U.S. steelmakers have formed joint ventures with foreign competitors.

The loss at places like Bethlehem is not limited to paychecks, said Bob Powell, an industry consultant. "America is losing one hell of a resource," he said. "Companies like Bethlehem . . . had physical and technical expertise that you just can't marshal with joint projects."

Bethlehem steelworkers and plant operators largely blame each other for the company's failure to modernize in time to stay competitive.

"The union made wage concessions all through the 1980s so that the company could modernize," Mills said. "Millions of dollars, and where did the money go? Not here."

Bethlehem chief executive Curtis "Hank" Barnette acknowledged that "the unions did their part when we asked them."

But rather than try to modernize the antiquated Bethlehem plant, Barnette decided to build a minimill in Steelton, Pa., and refurbish the steel plant in Burns Harbor, Ind., strategically located near major auto manufacturers.

Bethlehem's restructuring has enabled the company to rebound somewhat. For the first nine months of 1995, Bethlehem posted profits of $147 million.

Barnette believes that trying to modernize the 150-year-old Bethlehem furnace and plant with its aging work force would be a losing effort.

More than half of the laid-off workers have opted for early retirement, figuring that their specialized training and the reputation steelworkers have of being "difficult" have made them unemployable in the Bethlehem area.

"I don't know what will happen to these men with kids in school, mortgages to pay," said 48-year-old furnace worker Larry Brandon. "We've got guys here with little ones, and that little nickel job they're going to find won't go too far."