Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, January 12, 1992 TAG: 9201120265
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARIA C. JOHNSON
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
FIRE IS MORE THAN A STATISTIC TO FAMILIES TRYING TO COPE
On Sept. 3, fire killed 25 people and injured 56 at Imperial Foods, a chicken packaging plant in Hamlet, N.C., 75 miles southeast of Charlotte. This is the story of three people who died that day: Don Rich, a 24-year-old mechanical whiz and new father; Lillian Wall, a 50-year-old divorcee who planned to apply for another job; and Josie Coulter, 40, a divorced, single mother of three who looked forward to a vacation she would never get to take.
Their families and friends talk about what kind of people they were, what their work was like and what holes their deaths leave.
Patty Loveless was singing "Blue Side of Town" when Don Rich's radio alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. He rolled over and switched on the bedside lamp, careful not to wake his 2-week-old son, Cody, in his crib a few feet away.
At the breakfast table, Don downed a bowl of Cheerios as he told his wife, Mary Sue, about a co-worker who was having car problems. Don planned to help; he was going to stop at an auto parts store after the first shift at Imperial Foods, where he had been working as a maintenance man for exactly one week.
"Don't be too late," Mary Sue said, reminding him that she wanted to go to the drugstore that afternoon. She wasn't supposed to drive for another week or so; she still had stitches from childbirth.
The baby was the reason they had come to back to Richmond County, which hugs the South Carolina border between Charlotte and the coast. Don had been baptized the year before, and he insisted on raising his son in a church-going atmosphere. When Cody was 5 days old, Don moved the family from Anderson, S.C., where his mother and father lived, to the community of Derby, where Mary Sue's family lived.
Jobs were hard to come by. The Richmond County economy is moored to textile, plastic, paper and poultry processing, and jobs in those industries fill quickly. At Imperial Foods, employees worked for very little money, constantly aware, as management reminded them, that replacements were easy to find.
At first, Don felt lucky to get the job at Imperial, but after seven days he could tell he wasn't going to like it. He got only one weekend off every six weeks, and the pay was bad. A licensed millwright, he was used to getting $14 to $16 an hour. Imperial paid him $7.
Don assured his wife that the job at Imperial would be temporary. He already had another job in mind. When they had saved enough money, they would buy a mobile home and a few acres of land. Meanwhile, they would live with her mother and stepfather in their cedar-sided house in the country.
As Don left for work this day Mary Sue, 24, handed him a cup of hot coffee and two peanut butter sandwiches in a brown paper bag.
"I love you," Don said, kissing her at the side door.
"Be careful," she said.
Twenty miles away, Lillian Wall was headed to Ada Blanchard's house. For the past year, Lillian had been giving Ada a ride to work at Imperial Foods.
Divorced and childless, Wall, 50, lived in in the heart of Rockingham. When she learned that Blanchard, a single mother who also lived in Rockingham, needed a ride, Wall was quick to offer.
Lillian was a stickler about punctuality and arrived at the plant early to claim a good parking space. It was partly because she always arrived early that her supervisor had asked her to come in for an unusually early shift this morning.
One honk. That was the signal. Ada looked out her bedroom window. Lillian's car was outside, engine running. Minnie Mae Thompson was with her this morning. Minnie Mae had been riding with them for the last month, since she moved from Hamlet to Rockingham.
First stop: the Jr. Food Mart. Lillian picked up a cup of coffee and some headache powders.
Lately, her hands and her legs seemed to ache constantly. She couldn't make a fist with her right hand. She blamed it on working in the plant, which was cooled to keep the chicken from spoiling, and from handling frozen chicken. Even under cotton work gloves and plastic sanitary gloves, her hands got so cold she sometimes walked away from her line to put her hands under warm running water.
On U.S. 74 headed toward Hamlet, Lillian leaned over and turned up the radio. Luther Vandross was singing "Power of Love."
"Ooooooo, Luther! I just love to hear that man sing! He's got the prettiest eyes," said Lillian, who had tickets to see Vandross in Charlotte two weeks later.
By the time they crested the hill where the Imperial plant sat, the mood was more subdued. Lillian pulled into the sand-and-gravel parking lot and backed into her usual spot, at the end of the squat, brick, personnel building across from the plant.
"I hate to go in this plant," Ada said.
"Me, too," Minnie Mae said.
Lillian agreed. She hoped she wouldn't be working at Imperial much longer. She planned to drive that afternoon to Laurel Hill, about 15 miles southeast of Hamlet, to apply for work at a L'eggs pantyhose plant. She was tired of the cold at Imperial and tired of the way the managers treated the workers.
Leaving Lillian and Minnie Mae in the car until time for their shifts, Ada crossed the street, walked through the plant's main entrance and punched the time clock. It wasn't working right, but that didn't surprise her. Things around the plant were always breaking.
Sometimes the conveyor belts that carried chicken past the workers broke, and they moved the chicken manually until the maintenance crew arrived.
She went to the women's locker room to put on her hair net, gloves and smock. Then, she walked into the break room, which led to the plant. Before every shift, workers congregated in the break room, on unfinished picnic tables surrounded by vending machines, and talked before they were called to the floor.
Josie Coulter was sitting with her usual group. She and her friends always camped at the same spot: the table nearest the door that was locked, from the inside, with a metal hasp and padlock.
In years past, some workers had stolen chickens, but as far as Josie and her friends knew, those workers had been fired long ago. Occasionally, someone would look at the padlocked door and ask, what would happen to the workers in case of fire. They thought it wouldn't do any good to complain to the supervisors.
No one was thinking about fire this morning.
Josie was talking excitedly about going to Myrtle Beach. She and her boyfriend planned to leave the next day. It would be a real treat. Most of Josie's take-home pay - $170 a week - went for rent, utilities, food and clothes for her children.
Divorced, she had guided her children through their teen-age years by herself. Daughter Betty Jo lived in Rockingham with her husband and two children. Angela, 18, and Rodney, 19, still lived with Josie. Five years ago, she had quit a job as a steam presser at a local dry cleaner to take the better-paying job in the packing room at Imperial.
Usually, Josie stood at the end of a conveyor belt where she weighed plastic bags of frozen chicken fingers and nuggets, sorted them by weight and carried the 18-pound boxes to another scale.
More than once, her supervisor yelled at her for not weighing the chicken correctly. Her friends had watched as she walked to the break room and cried.
Her work was frustrating and physically demanding. She had developed back problems. She had taken at least two medical leaves: one after she slipped on the packing room's wet concrete floor and sprained her wrist; the other after someone ran over her foot with a hand truck.
This morning, there was nothing to do in the packing room, so Josie and her co-workers - including Lillian Wall - were assigned to the trim room, where six women faced six others across a white conveyor belt that ferried raw chicken breasts from a steel vat. It was one of the least desirable stations. The room was cold and wet. The smell of raw chicken was overpowering.
Lately, Josie and Ruby Bullard had been working side by side. They could always find something to talk about as they heaped raw chicken on the stainless steel counter in front of them, pulled two pieces of meat from each breast and threw them into a huge cardboard box lined with plastic.
This morning, Josie, 40, was talking about getting a better job.
"I want to go to nursing school, I really do," Josie told Ruby.
The plant was starting to pick up momentum after the Labor Day holiday. In the next room, maintenance men had just finished working on the 1-inch hydraulic line that descended from the ceiling to the fryer below. Using pressurized fluid the consistency of motor oil, the hydraulic system lifted the heavy hood that closed over the fryer.
This morning, the rubberized, wire-reinforced line had sprung a leak, and a maintenance crew - which did not include Don Rich - had turned off the pressure so it could replace a section.
When the job was finished, the workers turned the pressure back on. In seconds, hydraulic fluid under more than 800 pounds of pressure per square inch was spewing from the metal coupling. The seal was faulty. A spray of fluid hit the gas burners of the fryer, flaring into brilliant orange-red flames that tapered into plumes of thick, black smoke. Unchecked, the fire grabbed everything it could reach: cardboard boxes, wooden pallets and plastic bags.
"Fire!"
Ruby Bullard didn't look up immediately. When she did, she shouted, "Oh, my God!" The doorway to the processing room was filled with flames. Bullard glanced at a clock, her habit in important moments: 8:24 a.m. She threw down her chicken and turned to follow the rest of the workers, stepping quickly over pallets, heading toward the loading dock. Josie Coulter was right behind her.
By the time they reached the end of their line, the air was black. Unable to see, workers followed familiar voices and groped for others' shirts and shoulders, hoping the human chains would lead to safety. Some led to the open main entrance and an unlocked door in the equipment room. Others led to the break room, where maintenance man Bobby Charles Quick kicked open the padlocked door beside the picnic table where Josie always sat.Every few seconds, the flames flared like a dragon belching fire. In those flashes, Ruby found her way to the loading dock. So did Ada Blanchard.
Moments earlier, Ada had seen Lillian Wall running with everyone else. Now she had no idea where her friend was. Wedged between bodies, Ada had ended up on the loading dock, where one bay was blocked by a trash dumpster, the other by a tractor-trailer rig.
Through a steel-reinforced door, secured from the outside by two bolts, Ada could hear people shouting.
"They're gonna die in there! They're gonna burn up in there!"
Her eyes were burning. She could see light through a jagged hole in the tin shed that surrounded the dumpster. One man had wriggled through the rip, but it was too small for the others to get through. The trapped workers screamed as they choked on soot.
"Oh, Lord! Help us, Jesus! We don't want to die like this! Y'all please open the door! Please, let us out! Please, Lord!"
Nineteen-year-old Rodney Coulter was at a home in Laurel Hill, helping replace an electrical line. He had been working as an electrician for about a year. The job had helped smooth his relationship with his mother, who had been disappointed when he dropped out of high school at 17.
They argued often, and Rodney moved out.
This time, things were better. Rodney was working on his General Equivalency Diploma and paying his mother for cooking and doing his laundry. They began talking to each other as adults.
The cellular telephone went off with a high-pitched ring, and Rodney's co-worker grabbed it from his belt. It was the boss in Rockingham. There had been an accident at Imperial, but he didn't know if Rodney's mother was involved. Rodney's buddy told him not to worry; they would drive to Hamlet right away.
A few blocks from the plant, Main Street was jammed with cars. Rodney jumped out of the truck and ran a half mile up a steep hill to Imperial's old, brick buildings. They had been roped off with yellow police tape. People were milling around in the street. Some were dazed. Some were frantic. Smoke was in the air, and Rodney saw rescue workers carrying stretchers into the plant.
He combed the crowd for his mother, asking people he bumped into if they had seen her. He couldn't find his mother or the family's car. "Maybe she's driven to the hospital," he told himself.
Rodney and his buddy sped to Richmond Memorial Hospital. Nothing. For the next three hours, he bounced between Richmond Memorial and Hamlet Hospital, hoping for word that his mother was alive. Finally, an official at Richmond Memorial told him to go to the Hamlet Lion's Club. He met his sisters there.
When the man behind the podium asked if anyone was there for Josie Coulter, Rodney, a stoic young man with long, light brown hair, a mustache and rose-tinted glasses, put his arm around his older sister and started to cry.
They stepped up to a table and gave their mother's age, address and telephone number. Then they said where to take her body.
Magdalene Harrington was at home when her Uncle Paul showed up with news of the fire. Magdalene was surprised. She worked at another chicken plant and knew the work was hard, but her sister Lillian never had said anything about Imperial being dangerous.
Uncle Paul warned Magdalene not to tell her mother about the fire right away. "Wait till you find out definite," he said. Magdalene told her mother anyway; Ella Harrington had said nothing concerning her own mother or children was to be kept from her.
"I want to go over there," she said.
A cousin drove them to the plant. Ella and the cousin stayed in the car while Magdalene got out. She found Ruby Bullard.
"Maggie, I'm sorry, but Lillian didn't get out," Ruby said. "Lillian is dead."
"My child!" Ella Harrington wailed. She tried to tell herself that there had been some mistake. She went home and waited as another daughter and a niece went to Richmond Memorial Hospital to find out what had happened.
An hour later, administrators came to the hospital chapel, asking if anyone in the Wall family was present.
Mary Sue Rich had climbed back into bed and slept until the baby's crying woke her again. She fed him, showered, dressed and set out some frozen chicken to thaw for supper. She was washing dishes when her mother called about 10 to say a radio station was urging prayer for three people who had been killed in a fire at Imperial. She told Mary Sue to call the plant and see if Don was all right. "If he's OK, he'll probably come on home."
Mary Sue sobbed right away. She knew something was wrong with Don. Just two weeks earlier, Don told her to make sure his brother got his beloved '77 Mustang if anything happened to him. Then Don asked her if she would remarry if he died. She said no.
Mary Sue called the Imperial office, but didn't find out anything. She called Richmond Memorial Hospital. They put her on hold. She said a silent prayer: "Please, don't let it be Don."
The radio was reporting more deaths by the time Mary Sue got to the plant with her mother and uncle. She saw Don's gray Ford pickup parked beside the personnel building, but Don was nowhere in sight.
Mary Sue started asking strangers if they'd seen her husband. Someone said yes. Her heart jumped. She stayed with Cody, in the shade of the personnel building, while her mother and uncle scanned the crowd for Don.
As she was standing there, a man approached. She knew by the look on his face that he had bad news to deliver.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Mary Sue Rich passed out.
When she awoke in the hospital, people kept telling her they weren't sure Don had died. Her brother had gone to the Hamlet Lions Club, where they were calling out the names of the dead. Don's wasn't mentioned. Mary Sue left for home.
Around 10 p.m., the phone rang. Her aunt took the call in a bedroom. When she came out, Mary Sue didn't have to ask. She ran out of the house.
"NO, NO, NO," she screamed as she ran down the middle of the country road, into the darkness.
Rodney Coulter's younger sister, Angie, moved out the night her mother died and refuses to come back to the house she and her mother shared with Rodney.
People have been nice, he says. His boss has given him a raise, and United Way has helped with vouchers for utility bills.
Not wanting to press their kindness, he had his telephone and cable television disconnected. He no longer uses the furnace. A kerosene heater sits in the middle of the chilly kitchen. It was a warmer place when Josie was alive.
She loved holidays and special occasions. At work, she had organized "a dollar and a dish" birthday celebrations for her co-workers in the packing room. Josie included the birthday of the supervisor who sometimes yelled at her.
Josie was just as enthusiastic at home. After Thanksgiving dinner, she put up the artificial Christmas tree. She liked getting the jump on the Christmas spirit. She went into debt so her children could have presents.
It's funny how you can miss a quiet person, Pat McCoy says. She never heard her sister Lillian's voice when she walked into a family gathering, but now family gatherings don't seem right without her.
Christmas Eve was that way when Ella Harrington's children met at her house to exchange presents. Lillian often showed up after the others had opened their gifts.
She spared little expense when it came to buying for her mother, but she usually didn't buy presents for others. "She just gave me her kindness," Ada says. "That was the best gift I could get."
Mary Sue Rich goes to the cemetery alone. She used to go to talk to her sister who died in a car wreck last year. Don didn't like that.
"I don't know why you go there and cry and cry and cry," he said. "She's not there."
Mary Sue hopes he would understand why she goes now. She needs to tell him what she's thinking - that Cody looks more like him every day, that she loves him, that she misses him.
"I hope he hears me," she says.
"I had a dream about Don last night," she said recently. "I dreamt he had come down from heaven, and I asked him what heaven was like. He said heaven was beautiful, but it was boring up there without me. Then, he looked at the baby and said he was gorgeous.
"It was so real."