USDA

Working for the Federal Government in 1970 was a personal accomplishment for me, but also it brought me close to situations I wasn’t used to, coming from a Mennonite background. Bad language and salacious stories were some of them. One man, Jenkins, regaled the roomful of inspectors, of which I was one, with his sexploits of the weekend. No one really cared for his forwardness and some even left the room at times.

One Friday in March I brought in a $6 book from home on ways to save on income taxes. Jenkins eyed it several times during the day and finally asked me if he could borrow it over the weekend. I felt I would never see the book again so I helpfully suggested that if he gave me $6 he could keep it, to the amusement of everyone in the room. A scowl crossed his face and he got up and stalked out of the room, muttering something derogatory about my character.

I had come into the service of the U.S. Department of Agriculture not really knowing what to expect. I was fresh off the farm, not much into the world’s way of seeing things, but eager to learn more about life outside my plane of awareness. Dr. Barsh was my supervisor, a GS-11 government veterinarian. He had been a feisty government worker in his day but now his demeanor was tempered by declining health and many years of service in the agricultural industry, a fact which I was apprised of by other inspectors who knew him in his younger days. Dr. Barsh, I was told, was a real terror then. If his demands for cleanliness and proper procedures in the workplace were not met, he would sometimes snatch off his hard hat and slam it to the floor, exhibiting a temperament generally expected of spoiled brats.

Fortunately, he liked me and we got along fine—except for one day early on when I rubbed his feathers the wrong way. In an unthinking moment I made a rather stupid remark after which he exploded and sent me to the office for reflection, or further reprimand.

At the time I had very keen eyesight. One of the diseases chickens are cursed with is leukosis, which is manifested during post-mortem examination by spots on the spleen or liver, or anywhere else. A single spot, no matter how small, would determine the chicken go be inedible by the rules of government regulation. I happened to see a tiny spot, so I hanged the chicken back on the rack for Dr. Barsh to make a determination as he made his rounds of the inspectors’ stations. He questioned me about it and I remarked that maybe he couldn’t see the spot, it was pretty small. Well, Dr. Barsh exploded, fairly shouting at me and said if he could not see it, it isn’t there, and ordered me off the floor.

It was the first (and last) harsh reprimand I got, but I didn’t know what consequences awaited me as I waited in the government office. He sound just like my Dad. After awhile he came in, sat down beside me, put his arm around my shoulder and apologized for his outburst, something my father really never did. By that demonstration of compassion, I saw a side of Dr. Barsh that appealed to my sense of fairness and found it was not so difficult to stay on his good side.

As I worked on the eviscerating line, inspecting thousands of chickens per day, I also had my duty to study government regulations and procedures of proper inspection of the premises and of the products which were manufactured in the plant: chicken parts, batter-dipped chicken, chicken roll. I had to learn the necessary details of avian anatomy, systemic and local diseases, biophysics, and what my job description as a Career Conditional GS-5 government inspector entailed.

I was initially assigned to government inspection at Victor Weaver’s poultry processing plant in New Holland, PA. That was to be my home station. But I was told to report to the Bird-in-Hand Food Company in Bird-in-Hand in lower Lancaster County across the mountains from New Holland.

Occasionally Dr. Barsh’s boss would come in from Harrisburg to check on us. In meeting him, he informed me that I was entitled to a mileage and per diem allowance since I was actually not working at the station I was assigned to. Ordinarily, mileage is calculated from the home station to the station temporarily assigned. Since I had never been to my home station, I was allowed mileage from home where I lived to Bird-in-Hand, a distance of 110 miles per day roundtrip. This was mentioned a few weeks after I started and fortunately I had logged the miles on my brand-new 1969 Datsun, only for the novelty of keeping track of the use and abuse of a new car—my very first car.

The other inspectors told me I probably wouldn’t get the money. They had filed mileage allowances and often didn’t get a penny, thanks to government bureaucracy. But after Dr. Barsh learned I had kept a log of my driving record, he asked for the booklet for over the weekend and he filled out the necessary papers for me. He told me I could travel back and forth from home if I wanted to but he would like me to stay in a motel for one night, being sure to get a receipt to establish the per diem rate.

We had lots of paperwork to fill out every day and I signed lots of documents in the course of my work. Dr. Barsh was a stickler for detail and proper procedure, and any paperwork that required his signature had to be filled out properly before he even touched it. Apparently his signature meant something—he had that kind of reputation. I got the money, to the tune of over $300 allowance per month for the next two months, until I “graduated” from preliminary training under Dr. Barsh and was transferred to my originally assigned station in New Holland.

The day I began in New Holland was the day I met new faces in a new environment. The crew of seven or eight inspectors wanted to know what qualifications I had, who trained me, etc. When I told them Dr. Barsh trained me, they expressed their confidence in me.

But I had some misgivings about my own expertise, or my own enthusiasm for the job. Often I discarded chickens which were determined to be diseased but other inspectors weren’t as particular. Was I being too discriminatory? According to the regulations, I was apparently on target. Leukosis is a disease which is not known to be transmittable to humans, yet a spot on the spleen, and especially the liver results in condemning the whole bird. The reasoning is that if the liver shows signs of leukosis, the whole bird could be infected. I’ve seen some pretty ugly stuff during my tenure as inspector.

There are a few privileges in being a federal government inspector. One of them is having a plant employee do all the dirty work for you. Insurance regulations do not allow an inspector to handle a knife, so an inspector’s trimmer is required to do the job for him. He/she cuts off a broken wing here, a bruised leg there, picks condemned birds off the line, and is useful to allow inspectors to concentrate on making a 3- to 5-second decision about the fate of each eviscerated carcass passing before him on a moving line.

One day a GS-18 came by—a top-level government official, Dr. Youn. I was alerted about his presence and cautioned that he would be checking out the whole crew as we worked. I made sure I went according to the book. And sometime during the day I spotted him out of the corner of my eye, watching me intently. It was easier inspecting chickens in my own way, rather than by the book, but when I caught sight of him, I switched to the book method. Later we all got the results, and a lecture from our supervisor. (If I remember right, Dr. Barsh was temporarily assigned to New Holland at the time.) He expressed the importance of going by the book, and mentioned that Dr. Youn was disappointed that only one of the whole crew was inspecting properly. Later, he affirmed to me that I had indeed gone through proper inspection procedures. He told me that he was going to recommend I be sent to Gainesville, FL for full training once I passed the Career Conditional status.

Career Conditional status is a probationary period of one year where a trainee familiarizes with government regulations and inspection procedures. After that period, if the trainee wishes to continue in government service, he is given further tests and training and given a hefty GS-7 promotion. The first day of work Dr. Barsh told me to read The Jungle by Upton Sinclair, a book which was instrumental in passing the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906. It was fascinating reading to me, if rather gruesome.

There are a whole host of ailments a chicken can acquire in its short lifespan: leukosis, airsaculitis, synovitis, and rarely, tuberculosis, being a few of them. Discarded chickens are recycled in some plants, at least at the time I was inspector. They were sent to the cookers where they were rendered into a mass of protein, the tallow (fat) removed and the remainder sent to the grinder where it was pulverized to a high-quality dry fat-free high-protein chicken feed. And it smelled just like regular feed, not oily at all. The tallow was shipped to some soap company.

Another trainee who entered government service at the same time was a Puerto Rican woman, Maria. She was of a different status than the other Puerto Rican people I had met and worked with over the years. She was white and had a cultured bearing about her. Over the several years I had previously worked in a poultry processing plant, I had picked up a handful of Spanish words and phrases. When I mentioned them, she remarked that some of them were street language and not good Spanish. She helped me refine some phrases.

Meanwhile, the Spanish workers found I knew some Spanish, and so did Management. One day the foreman asked me if I would be able to use a trimmer who spoke only Spanish; he wanted to train her to be an inspector’s helper. I told him I was not fluent in Spanish…I would give it a try but if there’s any problem I would have to stop the line oftener if I couldn’t convey the orders, or discontinue using her. So I tried it…until Dr. Barsh got wind of it. He took Maria and me aside and, in no uncertain terms, demanded that government regulations did not permit anything other than English spoken in the service of the U.S. government and we were not to converse in Spanish to any of the employees while working. Maria was dumbstruck. It was her native language. Whether she followed his orders is a matter of conjecture. I told the foreman to switch to an English-speaking trimmer and nothing more was said about it.

I alternated between New Holland and Bird-in-Hand during the course of the year and had a number of experiences which helped me acquire a more aggressive demeanor than what I was taught at home. I was gradually losing some of my timidity, which I was glad to get rid of.

Every several weeks I had the duty to report very early in the morning for an inspection of the premises before startup, leaving home at 4:30 a.m. On the first morning, bleary-eyed, but equal to the task, I inspected the equipment and environment at the Bird-in-Hand plant. It was quite dirty and I pointed out the offending spots to the foreman on duty, noting each of the areas on paper. He politely nodded but generally ignored the orders. I was just a trainee, what clout did I have? My supervisor was not yet on duty. Some of the equipment was dirty. The giblets from the day before were not cleaned properly. Even whole tanksful of chickens, stored in ice, were found to be less than standard. And there was really nothing I could do about it.

But…without warning, a few USDA government officials from Washington came to the plant that morning before startup. They made the same inspection I did, and they had the clout, and boy did they use it! Three hours after normal startup the plant was once again permitted to begin, after cleaning up much of the previous day’s run of carcasses in those tanks, and the giblets, and the equipment. I was not called into account for Management’s failure. They knew I had inspected the premises but they also knew I had no real authority to enforce anything, being just a trainee.

But one day I did enforce an order, authority or not. I had to stay after the main plant was finished. There were still workers working in the cut-up department where they were cutting up chickens and putting the parts in 60-pound wooden boxes lined with paper. Their habit was to stack several boxes full before sending them to the cooler. The room they were working in was hardly cool and my sense of culinary propriety came into play.

Bacteria thrives in temperatures above 40 degrees; below 40 it is diminished considerably. Much of the problem with processed food is that it is not often dealt with properly; it loses quality and often becomes unhealthy if not sped along its course. My supervisor was not around so I ordered them—politely—to put the boxes in the refrigerator as soon as each was filled. They grumbled but complied.

The premises are always to be “kitchen-clean.” New Holland was one plant that was closest to that designation. But when my turn came to pull early morning inspection, I found something that had been neglected for months, if not years. In the cut-up department there were metal benches about 4-6 inches high whereon stood the workers as they cut up the poultry product. I happened to look underneath one of them and found it filthy. I found this on the Friday before, and alerted the foreman about it, telling him the entire lot of benches where to be steam-cleaned by Monday.

Monday morning I came in and found them untouched. I overturned each one, and told the foreman. The result was that the plant was delayed in startup and Management was not too pleased. Dr. Barsh heard about it and asked me for the details. He told me I should have written down the orders to remind those in charge. It would have saved a headache. Hundreds of dollars per hour are lost when startup is delayed. Employees are paid during the time, etc., etc. It was Dr. Barsh’s responsibility and was part of my training, but the plant was at the mercy of some of our shortsightedness.

One day at New Holland, when I was under the supervision of another supervisor, Dr. Youn returned to interrogate the supervisor in charge (I forget his name) who was allegedly failing in his duties as a supervisor. I often noticed he was the type of person to walk about, disappear for awhile, and generally not be available when some crucial decisions had to be made. Perhaps one of us inspectors complained.

During breaks we, of course, overheard some of the interrogation and were glad we were not in the supervisor’s shoes. The questions were on procedures, where certain government manuals were located, what his duties were. He sat there answering some and unable to answer others. I was a little keyed up by what I was overhearing and during one question on the location of a certain manual, and noting that he was unable to answer, I went over to the bookcase and pulled out the manual and showed it to them. Embarrassed, I quickly put the book back and generally minded my own business. Later Dr. Youn gave him a reprimand, stating that he did not know answers to questions as a GS-11 that a GS-5 trainee could answer. Later, he was transferred to another job in a lesser capacity.

I valued what I learned in all these experiences, but I could not see inspecting chickens for the rest of my life and I started taking leaves of absence more frequently.

Dr. Barsh came back to supervise and one day he became ill. As cantankerous as he was, he refused medical leave. He may have been having a heart attack or something but he did not leave. It would pass, he said. He stayed in the office sweating profusely and dressed down to his undershirt.

He was in no shape to refuse medical attention. He was a four-pack-a-day smoker and his lungs were about shot. He often had coughing fits until he lit up a cigarette. But we each baby-sat him that day. One inspector relieved each of us in turn for a break and we stayed with Dr. Barsh in case he collapsed or something. Yes, it was rather wild.

When my break came, we talked. I told him, “Doc, you ought to see a doctor.” Dr. Barsh gave me a heart-to-heart talk about my increasing absenteeism. He pointed out the benefits of government work, but encouraged me to make a decision either way, whether I wanted to continue in government service. If I continued and got promoted, it would be difficult to quit if I wanted to later on. Now in Career Conditional status I had the option to resign without any marks against me.

As he spoke he idly reached into his pocket for a match, and lit it, putting it toward his lips, until he realized what he was doing. He glanced at me sheepishly and hurriedly distinguished it with a flick of his hand. Then he pulled out a cigarette and started over. A fleeting smile must have crossed my face, but my restraint was admirable. He was not in a humorous mood today.

I took his advice. I had previously been offered a job in the graphic arts industry if I ever wanted to switch careers. I weighed the evidence, the consequences, the opportunities, and resigned from the service of the United States Department of Agriculture, richer for the experience.