Emily, let’s go over the material we’re presenting at the Ames County Zoning Committee tonight,” suggested Assistant Professor Randy Oakfield. “I need to be brought up to speed.”
“There’s no need,” answered Emily Jordan. “I’ve checked the figures a couple of times. We’re ready for this evening.”
“Still, I’d like to look over the data.”
“The surveys are in my apartment, and I just put my laptop with the PowerPoint presentation in the car. Trust me, everything is in good order.”
By 6:30 p.m., the community room of the Willow River Library was filled to capacity. The room had 150 chairs, with people standing in the back of the room. Josh sat in the front row with tape recorder and camera at the ready. Billy Baxter from the Ames County Argus, with a camera hanging around his neck, stood off to the side. Josh noticed Ben Wesley sitting toward the back, with a clipboard for note-taking. He also spotted Oscar Anderson, who had spoken up at the winter meeting. Several people coming into the room greeted Ben and shook his hand.
Cindy Jennings, member of the Ames County Board and chair of the Ames County Zoning Committee, called the meeting to order and made a few brief comments.
“We all know this is an important meeting, and we want to hear what you have to say. But please, let’s be civil; don’t interrupt when someone else is talking, and try not to repeat what someone else has said. And to make sure everyone has a chance to speak, we are holding you to three minutes. We have a timer: when it beeps, finish your sentence and please be seated. I’d add one more thing—please turn off your cell phones.” She reached into her pocket, removed her Blackberry, and turned it off. “Almost forgot to turn mine off,” she said, smiling.
Marcella Happsit, president of the Tamarack Historical Society, held up her hand and was the first to speak. “I would like to read a letter I recently received from Nathan West Industries,” she began slowly:
Dear Ms. Happsit,
Thank you for the opportunity to visit your wonderful museum and your tour around your fine village. We at NWI wish to be good community neighbors.
As a small gesture of our good-neighbor policy, we are prepared to fund the building of a new library for Tamarack Corners, including the purchase of books and computers. We will also establish a fund to pay for library staff. Tamarack Corners has a rich history, going back to the logging days of the late 1800s. I’ve learned that the Tamarack River Trading Post supplied the logging crews that floated logs down the Tamarack River on their spring logging drives. The Trading Post replenished food supplies and sold the log drivers new clothing and equipment, such as axes and pike poles. We are prepared to fund the creation of a special exhibit about this rich history for your museum.
Also, as we have become acquainted with the village’s history we have learned about Mortimer Dunn and the Tamarack River Ghost. We will fund the creation of a life-sized statue of Mortimer Dunn and his dog, to be placed in front of your museum.
Sincerely,
Ed Clark
Regional Representative
Nathan West Industries
“And,” Marcella concluded, “we have already commissioned an artist to create the statue. This is a rare opportunity for the Tamarack Corners community. I can’t see how we could possibly not favor Nathan West Industries becoming one of our neighbors.”
A brief round of applause followed Marcella’s comments.
The discussion began with questions and comments from every perspective. For Josh, it seemed a repeat of January’s meeting, but this crowd was larger and the questions seemed better informed. It was clear that people had been doing their homework; some even quoted from Farm Country News about advantages or disadvantages of factory farming.
For nearly an hour, people stood, most voicing their opposition to Nathan West coming to their community. Some, impressed with the corporation’s promise to contribute money to Tamarack Corners, seemed on the fence.
Shotgun Slogum raised his hand and slowly rose to his feet. “Most of you folks know me, and you also know that I am 100 percent opposed to this factory pig farm coming to our community. Those of you impressed with Nathan West’s promises to the community should not be taken in. Do you know for sure NWI will keep its promises?” He turned to Marcella Happsit, who had a perplexed look on her face. “Of course you don’t. Don’t you see that this is merely a ploy to gain your approval, your good will? We need to send Nathan West packing. We don’t need it stinking up our valley.”
Another round of applause came from those who were adamantly opposed to Nathan West and its plans.
At 9:00, Cindy Jennings said, “I want to introduce Dr. Randy Oakfield, who is with the Department of Agribusiness Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. Dr. Oakfield has been researching large hog operations for several months. His research has included surveying citizens here in Ames County. Dr. Oakfield.”
Randy, with little experience talking to citizen groups, stood and walked to the microphone. He wore tan trousers and a dark brown corduroy jacket. His white button-down shirt was open at the top.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said quietly, looking down at the notes he had put on the podium.
“Louder,” someone in the back of the room said.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said again with a bit more force. “My research assistant, Emily Jordan, and I have been studying citizens’ reactions to large factory farms. We have not completed our final report—indeed there will likely be several of them—but we do have some preliminary results that I think you will find useful. I’ve asked Emily to share with you some of these early findings.” He nodded toward her, and she stood and walked to the computer projector she had earlier set up and snapped it on. On the screen appeared the words “Preliminary Findings: Citizens’ Reactions to Large-Scale Hog Farms.”
“Hello, everyone,” she said when she got to the podium. She had tied her red hair in a ponytail. And she wore a dark tan skirt with a matching blazer and a light tan blouse.
“How’s everyone doing? Interesting meeting. Very interesting,” she said. Where her professor seemed shy and tentative, she was bubbly and forthcoming.
“We’ve still got lots of work to do with these data, but we have some preliminary findings I think you’ll find interesting.” She looked around the room; everyone was looking in her direction, not only because it was a pleasant break from the previous often contentious discussion, but because she was easy to listen to.
“Let me tell you a little bit about how we put this research project together,” she began. She very consciously avoided mentioning that the National Affiliated Hog Producers, of which National West Industries was a member, had financed the project. She didn’t want to get into an argument about the pros and cons of an industry financing research that ultimately related to what that industry did.
She pushed a button on the projector’s remote control, and a new slide appeared on the screen:
Survey Forms:
One for Whistler County, Iowa
One for Ames County, Wisconsin
One for the Tamarack River Valley
We developed the first set of questions for Whistler County, Iowa, which has several large, confined hog operations. We developed a second set for Ames County, Wisconsin, with a special subset for those living in the Tamarack River Valley. We didn’t send the questionnaires to everyone, but rather to a randomly selected sample of the landowners. So you may not have gotten one of our forms. We asked several questions, but I believe the one of most interest to you is this one.” She clicked the remote once more:
Whistler County, Iowa, Sample:
Do you approve of large, confined hog operations in your county?
“For Ames County and the subsample of folks living in the Tamarack River Valley, we asked—” She pushed the remote again:
Ames County, Wisconsin, and the Tamarack River Valley Sample:
Do you approve of a large, confined hog operation coming to Ames County?
“I’ll bet you’d now like to see what we’ve learned? Right? So here goes.” She once more clicked the remote.
Approval Percentages for Large, Confined Hog Operations in Whistler County, Iowa:
Yes—65 percent
No—30 percent
No opinion—5 percent
“Now let’s move to Ames County.”
Approval Percentages for Large, Confined Hog Operations Coming to Ames County, Wisconsin:
Yes—67 percent
No—20 percent
No opinion—13 percent
Approval Percentages for Large, Confined Hog Operations Coming to Tamarack River Valley:
Yes—75 percent
No—20 percent
No opinion—5 percent
Once people had seen the numbers on the screen, some of them looked astonished that the numbers in favor were so high. Of course, this was the first time Randy had seen these preliminary figures, and he had a perplexed look on his face. The figures weren’t close to what he would have guessed, but he remained quiet. He was kicking himself for not having insisted on seeing the numbers and how Emily had arrived at them.
Josh was also surprised. He had expected at best a fifty-fifty approval level for the entire county, with the Tamarack River Valley numbers falling and probably sixty-forty against. Remembering something about survey research from his college days, he held up his hand.
“Yes,” Emily said.
“Can you tell us how accurate you believe these figures are?”
“I surely can. We have followed standard survey research protocols. The error rate is no more than plus or minus five percentage points. It’s clear from our research that the people of Ames County, especially those living in the Tamarack River Valley, approve of large, confined hog operations.”
“Thank you,” Josh said.
“Any more questions?” asked Emily. She stood smiling, the picture of confidence.
Several more people asked questions about how they selected the people who received the forms and how confident she was that the results represented the “true” opinions of those living in Ames County and the Tamarack River Valley.
“I have every confidence in these results,” Emily said.
After a few more questions, Cindy Jennings returned to the podium.
“Let’s give this young woman and her professor a big round of applause for their hard work.” The applause was muted. People were still shaking their heads, not believing that so many people in their county thought large, confined hog operations were a good thing.
Promptly at ten, Cindy declared the listening session closed. She thanked everyone for coming and informed them that the zoning committee would now move into closed session and hoped to have a decision yet this evening.
Back in their car, Randy and Emily, with Emily at the wheel, began their trip back to Madison.
“Well, that was quite a meeting,” Emily said. “Nice bunch of folks up there in Ames County.”
“Are you certain of those numbers? Those are the highest percentages in favor I’ve ever seen.”
“Surprised me a little too,” said Emily. “But statistics don’t lie. Looks to me like the folks in Ames County, especially those in the Tamarack River Valley, want Nathan West to be one of their neighbors.”
They drove on quietly through the cool April night, reaching Madison about 11:30. “How about stopping at my place for a nightcap?” asked Emily. She seemed not the least bit fatigued from their trip to Willow River and her presentation to a room full of people, many of them not happy about what they saw happening to their beloved valley.
“We should celebrate a little,” she continued. “Most of the hard work of the research project is completed. The preliminary analysis is finished. We’ve given our first report to the public.”
“Thank you, Emily. But I should be getting back to my place. I’ve got two committee meetings tomorrow, and you know how those can drag on.”
“I owe you a lot, Professor Oakfield. You helped me every step of the way with this research project. Come on up to the apartment for a glass of wine. It’s one small way I can say thank you.”
“Oh, all right,” said Randy.
Emily’s apartment was in an older apartment building on Langdon Street, easy walking distance from the campus. Her apartment was on the second floor, its north-facing windows offering a glimpse of Lake Mendota. Emily unlocked the front door of the building. “Up these stairs,” she said as she led the way to the hallway on the second floor and the door to her apartment. She opened the door, and they stepped inside. It was neat and tidy, not at all like some of the student apartments Randy had seen. It consisted of a moderate-sized living-dining room, a small kitchen, a bath, and, he assumed, one bedroom. A large painting of a farm scene hung over a new-looking leather sofa, and a stuffed Bucky Badger sat in a chair near the sofa. A wooden table with four chairs, they looked new, sat on one end of the living room, nearest the kitchen. A big-screen TV took up most of one wall in the living room. The apartment was considerably better furnished than any graduate student apartment Randy had ever seen.
“Would you like some merlot?”
“Sure,” replied Randy. He didn’t want to confess that he didn’t know one wine from another.
“Take off your coat and relax. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Randy felt a bit uncomfortable. What if someone he knew, perhaps one of his students, had seen him enter the apartment with Emily? That would surely set tongues to wagging. He hadn’t seen anyone on the street. Late Tuesday evenings were fairly quiet, even on Langdon Street.
Soon Emily returned. She had changed clothes and was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses, plus some cheese and crackers. She wore a gray UW T-shirt and sweat pants.
She sat down at the table and poured the glasses half full.
“To our research project,” she said.
They clinked their glasses.
“And a big thank you to my major professor,” she said, raising her glass in a salute.
“Thank you,” Randy said. He wondered how he could graciously leave without offending Emily, who had obviously earlier planned to have him stop by after their trip to Willow River.
Emily made sure Randy’s glass remained filled, as they enjoyed cheese and crackers and chatted about the department, other research projects, and university life in general. Randy soon began to feel a little lightheaded— he had little experience with wine, or any other alcoholic beverage, for that matter.
As they talked, Emily put her hand on Randy’s arm and told him again what a wonderful advisor he was, and what a great future he had in the department. Soon, her hand was on his, and he began to feel things he hadn’t felt since he was in high school and had attended the junior prom with a blind date who, as it turned out, was looking for more than dancing. He could feel perspiration beading on his forehead.
An hour later, his head still spinning, Randy found himself in bed with Emily, and neither of them had on a stitch of clothing.
“We . . . we shouldn’t have done this,” he stammered.
“Why not,” she said, smiling. Her long red hair lay mussed on a pillow.
“It’s not . . . it’s not right.”
“I won’t tell,” Emily said. “Besides, wasn’t it fun?” Emily giggled.
“I’ve . . . I’ve got to be going,” Randy said as he began pulling on his clothes.
“See you tomorrow morning,” Emily said. Smiling broadly and wrapped in a sheet, she walked him to the door.
Randy drove the couple of miles to his apartment on Mineral Point Road. His mind was a clutter of mixed thoughts.