Bryan Drapp was at the grill wrapping burgers when the whole thing started. As he tells it, Jerry Guffey, his boss at a Macedonia, Ohio, McDonald's, reprimanded a coworker, 66-year-old Margaretha DeLollis, so harshly for leaving a supply of clean garbage bags next to the trash cans that she burst into tears and fled. When Guffey asked Drapp to take over trash duty, he refused and walked out. "I've never been quiet," he says. "I've always voiced my opinion."

As quickly as you can say "Mac Attack," that simple act of defiance spurred what may be the first successful strike ever against a U.S. McDonald's franchise, making Drapp, 19, a hero to fast-food workers everywhere. Though the struggle seemed to pit the small-town college freshman against a corporate Goliath, Drapp felt he had no choice. "It just sickens me," he says, "that this is the biggest restaurant chain in the world and they can't talk to their employees."

The morning after the DeLollis incident, Drapp and coworker Jamal Nickens, 20, asked to meet with their boss to raise a list of grievances, from inadequate first-aid kits to the franchise's failure to give employees sufficient notice of schedule changes. Angered when Guffey refused to sit down with them, Drapp headed to the local Wal-Mart to buy poster board and Magic Markers for picket signs. Early the next morning, instead of reporting for duty, Drapp—in his uniform, Air Jordans and sunglasses—started picketing the restaurant with Nickens. Fifteen coworkers soon joined them, and the franchise's management was forced to call in corporate executives from regional headquarters in Independence, Ohio, to flip burgers. "I couldn't believe it," says Jed Greene, who owns the franchise. "I just couldn't believe it was happening."

His shock turned to bewilderment as the impromptu work stoppage drew the attention of CNN and Good Morning America and became fodder for Jay Leno and Howard Stern. "At first, it was to get the attention of the management," says Nickens. "But as the media came, we decided to use it as a tool to spread our message."

The coverage also attracted Dominic Tocco, president of Teamsters Local 416 in nearby Cleveland, who was so impressed with the effort he drove to Macedonia to offer his support. Within days, 20 of the franchise's 40-some workers had signed up as non-dues-paying members of the union (which offered them guidance but not legal representation in the standoff).

By April 16—the strike's fifth day—Jed Greene had agreed to most of the workers' demands, including raising the base pay, posting work schedules four days in advance, granting one week's paid vacation after a year on the job and requiring managers to attend "people skills" workshops. (Since most McDonald's franchises operate independently, the agreement applies only to Greene's three franchises.) But Greene refused to replace Guffey as manager. "I wanted him fired, and I told him that," Drapp says of his supervisor, who has declined to comment publicly.

Though Drapp's job action shocked the franchise's management, it didn't entirely surprise those who know him. "Bryan has always been very enthusiastic," Dianne Drapp, 47, a benefits specialist at an electronics company, says of the second of her three sons. "He gets involved and sees it to the end." Still living at home (his father, Jeff, 49, repairs computers), Drapp works as a video-arcade attendant at a nearby racetrack in addition to his 40-plus hours a week at McDonald's to pay tuition at the University of Akron, where he takes classes in business and marketing.

Though Drapp hopes his studies will lead to a management career, he retains a proletarian bent. "I think of myself as a decent leader," says Drapp. "I'm doing this for all the other workers." (Though not for DeLollis, who stayed on the job and says, "I don't want anything to do with [the strike] anymore.") Could his movement catch on? Unlikely, says Michael Kazin, a labor expert at American University in Washington, since fast-food jobs tend to be temporary and part-time. "In labor organizing, the people you're organizing have to have some stake in the job," says Kazin. "Otherwise they're not willing to take a risk." Still, Drapp has received dozens of calls from fast-food workers around the country eager to share their travails and ask his advice. And Tocco, the Teamsters representative, has fielded so many complaints from restaurant workers since Drapp's dramatic action, he says the Macedonia strike won't be the end of the story. "They're being nice to us now," Drapp says of his superiors. "But they know they have to be."

Thomas Fields-Meyer
Shari Sweeney in Macedonia

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  • Shari Sweeney.
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