Larry Mitchell’s phone rang early in the Easter afternoon. On television, Office Space neared its flame-throwing conclusion. The much-abused Milton walks off with over $300,000 in hand to a life where he is in charge, far away from his former workplace now ablaze from the fire he started. But before he could make it to that portion of the film, Larry picked up the phone and realized that things happening on TV are not funny when they play out in real life.
He rushed from the house to meet his wife, who delivered the terrible news: her workplace of 26 years was burning to the ground before the eyes of an entire town, and no one could do anything to stop it.
“We don’t know what we’re going to do,” Mitchell said. “It takes my entire salary to make ends meet. Janet’s job was a necessity. She carried our insurance, which I will now have to pick up, taking home even less. We have a five-year old at home. If Janet’s going to get another job, it will have to be in Booneville, but it doesn’t look like there will be anywhere to turn.”
The fire that burned the Cargill plant in Booneville on Easter Sunday is still under investigation. While it has subsided, it continues to do more damage than what it’s already done to the buildings that lie in ash and ruin. For someone who has never worked in a factory, it’s easy to take one for granted until something like this happens.
For me, it’s much more personal.
Larry and Janet are my blood family. The five-year old? My nephew.
Six years ago, Janet and the rest of the Cargill crew were there to offer me a job and a paycheck and a way out of the town where I called home to a life of many other possibilities. It was a place where I could get back on my feet, and prepare for my calling. When I went to work at Cargill as a saw-line cutter in the spring of 2002, I thought I was entering into the darkest period of my life. But the sense of family I found there… the cool environment… and the admittedly monotonous but useful labor gave me a routine that kept me active and provided a little extra cash. I actually found myself enjoying what I did, despite not being too good at it.
The guys on the saw-line were very supportive, and wanted me to succeed, despite my often inferior efforts. We laughed. We joked. We comforted. One day a fellow colleague caught the bone of his index-finger lengthwise to the middle joint on the band-saw. The thick finger cracked like a wishbone.
He hardly whimpered.
In my short time as a Cargill employee, I realized what heroes these people were. They played hard, and worked harder. And offered a service in “doing the dirty work” necessary by putting food on the tables of our homes and restaurants, and by feeding the hungry of our nation who – it’s becoming easier to believe – are out there.
Cargill employees had their complaints like any of us in the workforce; but every day they showed up, did their jobs, took pride in them, and loved and accepted their co-workers as if they were blood family. I miss that about the place. And now, so will an entire town – a town of 4,000, twenty percent of whom called Cargill their professional homes. The majority lived within Booneville itself. With Today’s Kids and Magnetics also shut down, Cargill was the last vestige of gainful employment for many in the area. As gas prices continue to soar, it’s hard to know if anywhere else can offer relief.
But Cargill employees were never the types to wait around for assistance. I’m confident the current crisis will prove no exception. The hearts of these 800 employees exemplify the American spirit, and can remind our country – also down but not out – that there is still a lot of life to live and a Dream that will never die… so long as we refuse to let it.