The Union Man: What My Grandfather Taught Me About Leadership and Justice

 Michael Smith – ReflectiveMVS

ReflectiveMVS.com

You’ve probably never heard of John T. Smith.

But if you’re from Youngstown, Ohio—or if you’ve ever walked a picket line, cashed a union paycheck, or marched for civil rights—his work shaped your world, even if his name never hit your newsfeed.

My grandfather wasn’t just a union man. He was the union. He spent his life proving that the fight for fair wages and the fight for human dignity aren’t separate battles. They’re the same war.

Born in 1932 to Baxter and Juanita Smith, John T. Smith (or “Tommy” as they called him in the streets) came up working steel at Republic Steel in Youngstown. He started where most Black men in mid-century America did: at the bottom. Shop floors. Overtime hours. Racism so casual it came standard.

But he didn’t stay at the bottom.

He organized. He showed up. He fought not just for his paycheck, but for everyone’s. My grandfather climbed from being a shop steward on the factory floor to running the Greater Youngstown AFL-CIO Council. By the late ‘70s, he wasn’t just representing steelworkers—he was representing Youngstown. And not just in boardrooms, but in backrooms where real deals got made.

I found in my research that by the time I was born, he’d already been honored in the Congressional Record as a local leader bridging unions and civil rights. This wasn’t ceremonial. He believed unions had to fight racism, because solidarity meant everybody or it meant nothing.

When Youngstown’s steel mills started shutting down in the late 1970s, thousands lost their jobs overnight. My grandfather wasn’t silent. He rallied the unions, the churches, the Elks Lodge, the NAACP, and every community group that’d answer the phone. If your job was gone, he made sure your dignity wasn’t.

In 1979, nearly 900 people—from CEOs to steelworkers to community elders—showed up at Mahoning Country Club to honor him. They knew what he’d built.

But he wasn’t finished.

He took his fight to Pittsburgh, becoming Assistant to the President of the United Steelworkers of America, stationed at international headquarters. What that meant? It meant when policies got written, my grandfather was in the room. It meant when companies tried to roll back worker rights, he was at the table pushing back.

He ran the Civil Rights Department of the Steelworkers, teaching locals how to enforce anti-discrimination clauses in contracts, how to stand up against harassment, how to make equality not a slogan but policy.

 

Even the Clinton administration tapped him to help draft national standards for job training. Imagine that: a Black man from Youngstown, Ohio, who once dodged shrapnel in Korea, helping set federal labor policy.

And when he finally retired in 1995, after 30 years inside the AFL-CIO machine, they didn’t just give him a gold watch. They passed a resolution honoring his life’s work.

To him, it wasn’t about applause. It was about people.

He believed workers had power—and Black workers had something to prove.

He never said much about the battles he fought. That wasn’t his way. He let the work speak. But now it’s my turn.

I’m here because he fought. My life is easier because he worked to make it that way.

This blog post isn’t just a tribute. It’s a reminder:

Real leadership isn’t flashy. It’s consistent. And the fight for justice isn’t glamorous. It’s necessary.

Rest in power, John T. Smith.

Your grandson’s still watching.

And still learning.

For a detailed exploration of my grandfather’s full career—from Youngstown’s steel mills to national labor leadership—read the full report here:
John T. Smith: A Labor Leader Bridging Unions and Civil Rights