by Robin Lamont
“No. The chain has stopped for today,” said Emmet. When his boss whipped back around, he went on, “It’s gone on too long. The animals suffer, the workers are treated like shit. You and your bosses all the way up to Raleigh know it. The USDA knows it. And nobody will do a goddamn thing.”
“You’re out of line, Chapel!” Warshauer pointed his finger in Emmet’s face.
Emmet angrily swiped Warshauer’s hand away from his face. “Like Frank Marino was out of line?” he challenged. “Out of line when he made the video? Out of line when you found out he was going to turn it over to an animal welfare group? Is that why you had him killed?”
Warshauer’s face went slack, but he stood his ground. “How dare you accuse me. You’re crazy.”
As if to affirm that he was indeed, Emmet held his knife up to Warshauer’s throat. “And then when you found out my daughter had a copy of the video, you sent someone to kill her.”
“I … don’t know what you’re talking about,” stammered Warshauer. “I don’t know anything about any copy.”
Inching the knife closer, Emmet said, “I could kill you right here on the floor, hang you up with the pigs and never think twice. And it wouldn’t be the first time it crossed my mind.”
“Get a grip, Chapel. I don’t know what happened with your daughter or with Frank Marino. You got nothing on me.” Knowing Emmet’s hands were tied in front of so many witnesses, Warshauer warned, “Now, get the fuck out of here. You’re fired!”
Emmet stared at him for a moment longer, then slowly put the knife on the floor. But instead of doing as he was told, he began to unbutton his coveralls and said, “Fine by me. But we’re going down together.” He wrenched open the front of the uniform to reveal adhesive tape strapped around his torso – holding in place a small camera and microphone.
“You sonofabitch!” exclaimed Warshauer. He grabbed for the camera, but Emmet slapped his hand away. Red-faced, the plant manager pointed to a worker standing a few feet from Emmet and ordered, “You, get that camera from him.”
The worker offered an apologetic shrug and said, “No hablo Ingles.”
Wheeling around, Warshauer shouted to the group of men who had gathered. “Somebody take that goddamn camera!”
No one made a move. Not until Emmet turned to leave, and then the men silently stepped back and opened a path for him. He walked past a few pigs still loose in the passageway to the holding pens; behind him Warshauer was screaming to start the line again. Once outside, Emmet stripped off the camera and went around the building to the parking lot where a knot of reporters waited. His hands shook with emotion and more than a little fear. The future he thought he had was gone in an instant, leaving in its place a daunting, blank emptiness. But he felt like an honest man – and that was enough.
The female reporter from WXTO, a local television station, was the first to thrust a microphone in his face. “Mr. Chapel, you alerted our producer that there are serious violations of the law going on at this plant. What kind of violations?”
He cleared his throat. “Uh, violations of the Humane Slaughter Act for one.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a federal law meant to ensure that the pigs and cows that we slaughter in this country are killed humanely.”
Another reporter shouted, “And you’re saying that they’re not at D&M?”
“Not all of them, no.”
“Why is that?”
“Because companies like Marshfield care only about their profits and how they get them doesn’t really factor in.” Emmet stood taller, his confidence growing. “Here at D&M, the faster the hogs are slaughtered, the more money the company makes. That means we have to keep the line speed going so fast the workers can’t keep up. The animals pay a steep price for that and so do the workers who are getting injured every day.”
“Workers are injured every day?” one called out.
“That’s right. Go ahead and look it up. The fact is in any slaughterhouse, the injury rate is about triple that of other manufacturing and processing jobs. And it’s not just physical injury. There’s even worse damage to the insides of people.”
“Where is the USDA?” shouted another.
“You’d have to ask them.”
The first reporter moved in to stand next to Emmet so her video crew could get them both on film. “How long have the terrible working conditions been going on at D&M, Mr. Chapel?”
“As long as I can remember, and I’ve been here a long time.”
“You say you have proof of these abuses?” asked the woman.
“Yeah,” he said, handing the minicam to her. “The stuff that’s on here, it’s just a few days, but that’s pretty much how it goes all the time … except for the last part … what I said to the plant manager. But I’ll swear in a court of law that what you’ll see in the rest of the video is not in any way unusual.”
He looked beyond the reporter to Jude who stood at the back of the group, observing quietly, but with a luminousness that was hard to conceal. She gave Emmet a nod of encouragement and he took strength from it as the reporters shouted out more questions. Emmet Chapel, after all, was the story.
“You’re a supervisor at D&M?” asked one.
“Not any more.”
“Why are you coming forward now, Mr. Chapel?
“I made a promise to my daughter. And to a friend named Frank Marino.”
“If it’s as bad as you say, why did you wait so long?”
The question caught him off guard and he looked up for Jude, hoping she would steady him. But like the day at Frank’s burial when she had watched him from the top of the hill then disappeared like an apparition, she was gone.
“Mr. Chapel, why did you wait so long?” repeated the newscaster.
Emmet looked directly at her and said, “I don’t know. But I’m here now.”
Epilogue
Alice lugged the last box from the kitchen out to the driveway where Emmet and Howard Bisbee were loading the trailer. Will sat cross legged on the bare living room floor watching TV, the only thing that kept him from getting under foot. The girls wanted a few last moments together, so Sophie and Caroline had meandered out to the yard behind the house where they could be alone.
Back in the kitchen, Verna was busy wiping the counters with a damp rag.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Alice, returning to see if she’d gotten everything packed.
“Oh, I have to keep busy,” replied Verna, “so I don’t cry. How do you think the girls will do?”
“It’s a big change, but kids are pretty resilient,” said Alice. “As soon as we’re settled, Sophie can come and visit. And you know them … they’ll be on the phone or texting every day.”
The two women could see the girls out the window. “Does Caroline ever talk about it all?” asked Verna.
“Not much with us. But I think Dr. Ohler has been helpful. She seems to be doing much better. She’s stopped having these morbid fantasies. She’s focused on school again and doing well. Claims she wants to be an animal rights lawyer so she has to get good grades to get into law school. Heck, she’s gotten the whole family to give up meat one day a week.” Alice touched her friend’s shoulder kindly. “How about you and Sophie? This has just been such a terribly difficult time.”
“It has. I miss Frank every moment of every day.”
“Have you talked to Grady Ward?” asked Alice.
“Not recently. It’s an active case and he insists they’ll stay on it, but in all honesty, he’s probably not going to find out who killed Frank. Even if they did catch the man, they have no proof. The video has disappeared and Marshfield is claiming it never existed.”
“But you saw parts of it, and the girls saw it.”
Verna shook her head. “I don’t know that I’d want the whole thing dredged up again. Sophie f
eels bad enough as it is.”
“Caroline would testify.”
“Oh, Alice,” said Verna sadly. “It would all boil down to the company’s word against that of a traumatized young girl and an animal activist.”
At the mention of Jude, Verna saw a hint of pain in Alice’s eyes. “What about you and Emmet?” she asked. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes, I think so.” Alice offered her friend a brave smile. “How long do you think you’ll stay?”
“Only until we can sell the house. Then we’re going to Florida to live with my cousin until we figure something out.”
Emmet poked his head into the kitchen to signal the final boarding call. The last weeks without alcohol and without the daily doses of self-loathing had put color back in his face. Money worries clenched his jaw at night and the decision to leave Bragg Falls had been difficult, but he was facing the hard choices head-on and because of that, a future felt more possible than not.
“Hey Dad!” Will called. “You’re on TV!”
The adults headed into the living room, where the five o’clock news was in progress. The anchor on WXTO swiveled to face the camera with an expression of practiced concern. We’re back now with a follow-up story from Jim Howell, who’s again on the scene at the D&M pork processing facility in North Carolina. I warn you, some of the images you will see are graphic.
The eager young reporter took the screen with microphone in hand. Just four weeks ago, the workers at a meat packing plant in Bragg Falls … in other words, a slaughterhouse, staged a walkout. Led by a floor supervisor named Emmet Chapel, the workers attested to conditions inside the plant that may surprise you and also make you think twice about where your bacon is coming from. They played the clip of Emmet speaking to reporters outside the plant, then showed the footage he had taken of conscious sows getting shackled and pulled along the chain. Excerpts from on-site interviews with Howard Bisbee and two other workers followed before the reporter returned to the screen. The media coverage of the walkout certainly got the attention of Marshfield Industries, which owns this facility. So we’re here today in Raleigh to learn more. I’m speaking with Ned Bannerman, the Regional Vice President at Marshfield.
Along with his custom made Italian suit, Bannerman wore an expression of having been wronged in some way. He leaned into the microphone, saying, We’re deeply distressed about what we saw on the video. We want to ensure our valued customers that this is an isolated incident and is in no way representative of how we conduct business at Marshfield. We have fired the individuals responsible for these incidents. Marshfield has zero tolerance for these actions.
Howell asked, Didn’t the USDA temporarily shut down the plant?
It was a joint decision, responded Bannerman, acknowledging a bespectacled man standing next to him. We wanted to conduct a full review and institute additional training procedures for our employees. But I’m pleased to say that after our review, we are ready to bring D&M up to full speed again. The number of USDA inspectors has been increased, and we will assist them in every way possible.
Pushing the mic closer, Howell said, But Mr. Bannerman, I understand that some of the things we heard from the workers about the treatment of the animals and the difficult working conditions are considered standard industry practice. Can you comment?
The U.S. Department of Agriculture has set stringent regulations that must and will be followed, Bannerman said with finality.
Joining us is George McAlister from the USDA, said Howell, pushing the microphone over to the man with glasses. Question for you, sir … Do those regulations include monitoring how fast the hogs are pushed through? And doesn’t the line speed impact the working conditions inside?
McAlister cleared his throat. We are in the process of reviewing the impact that line speed has on the federal requirements of the Humane Slaughter Act. When our report is finalized, we’ll make it publicly available.
Putting up his hand, Bannerman signaled that the interview was over. He and McAlister began to walk away, but the reporter asked, Mr. Bannerman, who sets the line speed?
Bannerman didn’t respond, and Jim Howell started after him, calling out more aggressively, Mr. Bannerman, who sets the line speed?
The Regional VP stopped and turned. Through a tight smile, he replied, We will ensure that all state and federal regulations are being followed without exception. At Marshfield, we are dedicated to humane treatment and safe working conditions and to bringing affordable and healthy food to the American dining table.
“Miss, is that it?” asked the kid behind the register.
His voice startled Jude away from the television mounted on the wall of the mini-mart. “Yes, thanks.” She paid cash for the full tank of gas and a package of trail mix for the road, hesitating one last moment to see if they returned to Emmet’s interview, but the news station was on to the next segment.
Jude was encouraged that the USDA representative had stated publicly that the agency would be studying line speed, and she hoped that Jim Howell would continue to cover the story – if only to keep the pressure on Marshfield. But as Gordon had impressed upon his staff, they shouldn’t entertain illusions that the walkout and subsequent media coverage would change how the industry operated … the war would wage on.
Indeed, back in Washington, Gordon had her working with a new investigator, teaching him the ropes and creating a back story for him before he ventured into the field. She’d had a chance to catch up with the other investigators, air out her stuffy apartment, and ensure that Finn’s leg healed up. Now she was on the road again.
Back in the car, she opened the file that laid out her next assignment: venturing into the wintry world of hunters and trappers out west. Jude tried to re-read the background that CJ had put together, but images of Emmet kept playing in her head. She’d heard the family was moving to California.
Family. The word filled her with longing.
Jude tried to push the feelings away as she pulled out onto the county road. She hadn’t been west in a while. She might take a side trip to visit an old college friend after this investigation. The car gathered speed and they traveled past an open field where a flock of birds whirled in circles against the purple glow of dusk. Rolling down the windows, she breathed in the scent of damp hay and the promise of snow. And she reminded herself that hers was a different kind of family – a kinship with innocent pigs heading to slaughter, with hens and cows, wolves, bears, tigers, elephants, dolphins, the vanishing, the voiceless.
She looked over as Finn stuck his head out the window, pointing his nose into the wind. The stream of air ruffled his lips and lifted the flaps of his ears. He looked like he was flying.