Where the Beef Is

A labor dust-up at an area meat-packing plant ends where it began.

by Tom Namako

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Published: Aug 20, 2008

Alyssa Grenning

Maria C. Garcia spent her first couple of years at Moyer Packing Co. (MOPAC), in Souderton, about 45 minutes outside Philadelphia, making $9 an hour as a herder — a person who leads cows from their pens to the slaughter.

The El Salvador native — she has permanent resident status — moved on to several different jobs at the plant, eventually landing a data entry position. There was one role she assumed, though, that she never expected to play in her nearly six years at the meat rendering plant: labor organizer.

Then again, "labor organizer" is a relative term. The 1,300 employees at MOPAC have made clear, after all, that they don't want a union. It's a fact that hit home hard for Garcia in 2006.

MOPAC has seen several recent attempts at unionization fail. In 2003, Teamsters local 929, which represents mostly food warehouse employees, sought to organize an election, but the effort petered out. The next year, the union tried again. This time, they successfully brought the issue to a vote. It was a public referendum, and about 760 employees voted — 55 percent of them against the union (that same year, a small union of about a dozen mechanics and washers formed within the plant). Finally, the Teamsters tried in 2005. Sixty-five percent of employees voted against them.

The workers at MOPAC, one of the largest plants of its kind in the region, were either too happy with their treatment or too scared of retribution to unionize. Either way, ideas of collective action faded — until a yearly bonus the workers had come to expect allegedly went missing.

In December 2006, workers in MOPAC's slaughterhouse — known as the "kill floor" — collected their paychecks and went on morning break. They usually received a Christmas bonus, about 20 hours of extra pay that could go toward gifts. But as they took their seats in the cafeteria and opened their envelopes, the workers found just their normal paychecks. Garcia, acting as a representative, told managers that they wouldn't return to work until a top-level employee gave an explanation.

As more workers came off the floor, a crowd asked several midlevel managers where the bonus was. Eventually, Elliott Keller, vice president of operations, "introduced" himself to the employees, according to court records. As he tried to speak, one employee, Mercado Peralta, kept yelling, "The bonuses are right, we're not animals, we're human beings, you owe us the bonus and we're not leaving here until we get it," and banging lockers. Security tried to take him away, but Garcia and several other workers blocked the guards. Eventually, the Franconia Township police were called and told that workers were beating a security guard.

No guards were being assaulted. There wasn't even a fight, and police told managers that they didn't "see any laws being broken." Still, Keller repeatedly asked police to arrest Peralta for instigating. Police instead took him outside (another man, Armando Ortiz deJesus, was arrested after failing to follow police orders).

Later, the five leaders of the group, including Garcia, Peralta and deJesus, were fired. There was no union contract to protect them.

With the help of a local attorney, the fired employees filed a complaint with the National Labor Relations Board. This May, a judge found for them, saying Keller "lied" during testimony and that other officials' statements were "not credible." The five employees were, according to NLRB Regional Attorney Daniel Halevy, "made whole" with back pay, and agreed to not work for MOPAC again (they've found different jobs, or, in Garcia's case, become a homemaker). This August, MOPAC issued a statement calling the bonus shortage "a miscommunication" that was "cleared up to the satisfaction of a vast majority of employees."

So: All's well that ends well, right? Five employees stood up for the others. They got fired. And they were "made whole" through the legal system. What's not to like?

Well, says Garcia, her former colleagues at MOPAC still have no ability to exert leverage over their employer — and the last time they saw someone try to, those people were fired.

Bob Daubenspeck, a spokesman for MOPAC, says employees can still try to unionize: "We have consistently respected the right of our employees to organize if they choose to do so," he says. Garcia, though, doubts the workers will be emboldened by the bonus dispute. "I tried to set an example ... for many who are afraid to advocate for themselves," she says. "It hasn't worked."

In the meantime, Fabricio Rodriguez, executive director of Philadelphia Jobs with Justice, a pro-labor group that helped coordinate the NLRB challenge, says the best his group can do is show the employees what works. "We've hung the decision in the plant," he says. "Hopefully, people will read it and see."

(tom.namako@citypaper.net)

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