[SOUND — GRASS AND WIND] [MUSIC] They were just good guys, far as I knew. I have to say honestly, they were happy
in Atalissa. We never had any reason to doubt. Even though they were adult men, they
were boys to us, they were like our boys. [MUSIC CONTINUES] It's just hard to realize, how old they
were as they didn't seem that old. I'm sure some of us, a lot of us maybe,
had second thoughts that we should have. Looked into it a little deeper, but again,
when you'd ask the boys how's it going, and none of them ever said well, this happened to
me or this happened to me or whatever. I never heard them complain. You know, it didn't cross my mind that
they were being abused. [MUSIC] Routine can be a dangerous thing
for all of us. Because we stop looking outside of
our to-do list for the day. So things that are happening around us,
sometimes we miss them because we just weren't looking. Grab them by the two legs. I go [SOUND of TURKEY CALL]. And they'd go [SOUND of
TURKEY CALL]. And they'd talk right back to me. Narrator (NR): For more than 30 years,
Willie Levi belonged to a crew of men working some of the
worst jobs at the turkey plant. Reaching into crates, grabbing live 40 pound
birds, and sending them to be slaughtered. Then they'd eviscerate the carcasses
and pull out the guts. [SOUND]. Takes three fingers. You gotta pull it this way and you gotta take
and pull it all down at the same time. All that. NR: The men have never publicly spoken
at length about their experiences. NR: Now, most of them are
in their sixties. Retired, but without any pension. Or, in many cases, any savings. Back in the early 1970s, the men were part of
an experimental work program in Texas. That at the time was seen as progressive. It would also benefit the two ranchers behind
the program, T.H. Johnson and Kenneth Henry. [MUSIC] [SOUND OF TRAIN PASSING]. A little bit amazing when you think
about all the boys. You know we had very few that went through
the program that I would call lazy. They didn't mind getting up. After they'd been here awhile and kind of
knew the routine. Get up and go do whatever we had to do. They were getting better, and they
were taking pride in that. I can do this. For what reason? What reason were they so positive
when they came here? They wanted out of that place they were in. They didn't want to be there anymore. They didn't want somebody filling
their plate. They didn't want to set in front
of the TV all day every day. And do nothing. NR: These men, many without family,
some as young as 11 years-old, had been living in Texas institutions for the
developmentally disabled, or "state schools," as they were known. [MUSIC] Meanwhile, in the Texas town of Goldthwaite,
rancher T.H. Johnson saw opportunity. For years, he had benefited from a controversial government arrangement
called the Bracero Program, in which Mexicans were allowed to
cross the border for farm work. When that program was shut down in 1964, Mr. Johnson and Mr. Henry devised a new
program, one that would take in the men from the state schools and
train them in job and life skills. [MUSIC] This way, the rancher's business, Henry's
Turkey Service, would receive cheap labor, while also helping the men to avoid being
warehoused in an institution. They could work and they could pay
their own way. That's what the program was. NR: Eventually, Henry's Turkey Service
began to subcontract crews of these men to poultry businesses in other states,
including a turkey processing plant in Iowa. So, in 1974, a dozen or so men from the ranch
in Goldthwaite were trucked north to work in the plant and to live in the town of Atalissa in an old schoolhouse
converted into a dormitory. [MUSIC] (Voice from inside) Big thank you for
a delicious meal and an enjoyable time. A special thanks for the generous
fruit basket. She told me that she was in Nebraska
with her daughter. [CROSSTALK] Daughter-in-law. Sarah gets into those kind of things. Yes, she did. She does. NR: For twenty-five years, the
ladies of the Atalissa Betterment Committee have gathered to organize holiday parties
and bake sales, all in the hope of instilling community pride, but this
may be the last meeting for the ABC's. Yeah, there's not that many of us
left, and the younger crowd are busy raising
their families, and working. Well, I think that... [CROSSTALK] They try, but they don't put in
the effort. Originally Atalissa was a booming town. Yeah. We had an opera house, [CROSSTALK] you
know we had banks, we had schools. You know. NR: But with expansion of the interstate highways in the 1960's, drivers
bypassed Atalissa. One by one, the towns businesses
began to close up. I mean, we're down to a post office
feed mill and a fertilizer plant. You know, it was a thriving
little town. [MUSIC] But from the time I was old enough
to remember, we were reduced down to what you see now and it
hasn't changed in 40 years. [MUSIC] NR: Atalissa is a close knit community,
but in 1974 its demographics changed when the town leased an old
schoolhouse to Henry's Turkey Service. And dozens of men from Texas moved in. [MUSIC AND WIND] We just knew that they were contract
workers for Louis Rich Foods. At first, the town kept their distance
from these new neighbors, who'd be seen tending to the flowers
on the schoolhouse lawn. Or walking down the hill to the minimart. Gradually, the men came to be known
as The Henry's Boys. Or, just, "The Boys." [MUSIC] I'm not gonna say there was
never a problem between some of the townspeople and mabye some of
those gentlemen, but... They were accepted. They went to church here. Well, cuz they had Sunday school
at 9:30. And they were the only Sunday school class,
because we didn't have any little ones. NR: The men had trouble reciting the Lord's
Prayer, so they would hum instead. They'd line up here by Dwight,
that I remember. And they'd, they'd line up here
and Dwight would go "O.K.," you know, he'd cue them and start playing, and they'd just
start singing. [MUSIC] They would do it the best they could. And they loved to dance. The thing of it is, if you danced with one of
em, you danced with all of 'em. (Dennis Hepker) We'd have an Atalissa Day
celebration, and we always had a parade and a dunk stand at the fair. And those guys would come up and wanna throw
balls, you know. I don't wanna say our game was rigged, but we could trip it, whether you hit the
little dot or not. So we'd make sure that each one of them
got to dunk us at least once. [MUSIC] (Denny Spilger) I remember some of the pictures
they were dressed up as clowns, they loved that. Going to the fair and stuff. In another, they were dressed up as the
shepherds and the we three kings. They loved, like acting, I guess. They all did good playing parts
and stuff like that. [MUSIC] NR: Several towns people remember visiting
the schoolhouse in the early days. The men had caretakers, exercise equipment
and even a pool table. They used to have open houses and
things, and I'd been in the building back
when it was nice. I remember going over there for a
Christmas party. Mm-hm. And they'd come in and they
showed us the gym, and I mean, they were
proud of that gym. NR: They knew that the men worked
hard in the turkey plant. Often taking on the jobs that no one
else wanted. In my mind, that was a good thing,
Mm-hm. Because it offered financial support
for the mentally challenged people. Right. Gave them a place to live. I don't know if they loved it, but they. [CROSSTALK] They did have their own
money to spend. Yeah. Yeah. NR: But few in Atalissa understood
the harsh economics behind the operation. That, despite the decades the grueling
full-time work, the take-home pay for these men was kept at $65 a month. Or, that the care-takers punished the men if they thought them to not be
working hard enough. Access to television was denied. Trips to the minimart or church
were forbidden. For many, the BBQs and Christmas parties
early on seemed proof enough that life inside the
schoolhouse was all right. [MUSIC] The "boys" never indicated otherwise. [SOUND] NR: An early warning of the trouble
inside the bunkhouse came in the winter of 1987. When one of the men, Alford Busby, apparently
tried to run away. [SOUND OF TRAIN] NR: Local enforcement agencies
searched for days, but could not locate Alford Busby. Months past, winter gave way to the
spring thaw, and that is when a local farmer noticed
something in his fields. [MUSIC] NR: The body of Alford Busby was found less than a
half mile from the bunkhouse. And today we're here to rejoice in and
celebrate another Independence Day. With today's signing of the landmark
Americans for Disabilities Act. Every man, woman, and child with a disability
can now pass through once closed doors, into a bright new era of
equality, independence... NR: Over the last quarter of
the 20th century, much had changed in the nation for
people with disability. But not for the Henry's Boys in Atalissa. Many of them had come to Iowa in their
twenties, and were now nearing middle age. (Denny Spilger) Some of them were 60 and 65,
you know, I'm thinking high-thirties or mid-forties. So I
underestimated their age like by 20 years. They had little to show for years of
hard work. Now they didn't really understand, that
they were working to help pay for in-kind care, and their
clothes and all that stuff. NR: In a company manual titled
"The Magic of Simplicity," Henry's Turkey Service outlined a typical
financial arrangement for its workers. The company deducted nearly all of
their pay to cover lodging and care. This odd but legal arrangement caught the attention of both
labor regulators and The Des Moines register as early as 1979. But nothing changed. By 2000, the men were still taking home
just $65 a month. As little as 44 cents an hour -- the same amount they had been receiving for
the last 25 years. But things were changing around the
bunkhouse. In the mid-1990s a local couple, Randy and Dru Neubauer, were hired to help
supervise the men. Like all supervisors inside the
schoolhouse, they had no experience or training in caring
for people with disability. They put up the do not enter
and private property signs, and, when, Randy and
Dru kind of took over. When you have a rental property, if it's immaculate and the lawn is well kept,
you assume it's that way on the inside. [MUSIC] NR: But one day, Mr. Hepker drove onto the schoolhouse property to do some
maintenance work. And that's when I first noticed that the doors were chained and locked
from the outside. Hang 'em! Hang 'em! NR: The men say that Randy Neubauer
harassed them at the plant. Withholding bathroom breaks, urging them to
work faster on the line. NR: The men say that they often punished
by the bunkhouse staff. Hit. Kicked. Forced to stand in place
with their hands on a pole. One man was even handcuffed to his bed. At one point Gene Berg underwent chemotherapy
for throat cancer. In 2007, the turkey plant notified
Henry's Turkey Service that its employees had seen Randy Neubauer physically
and verbally abusing the men. Neubauer was eventually banned from the
plant. They wouldn't let him go into Louis
Rich any more because he went in there an, and was
being a complete idiot. And they banned him from going in. And so if he acted that way there, it's hard
telling how he was acting in there. I know they were definitely afraid of him. NR: For Dennis Hepker, those padlocked
doors at the schoolhouse were troubling. [MUSIC] He called Iowa's Department of Human
Services. I said I just think you need to look
into it, that's all. [MUSIC] Just like if you saw your neighbor with a
real skinny dog in the yard. You'd call and say, maybe you ought to go
check that dog out. They probably would do that quicker than
these guys did that. And as I look back on it, maybe I should have been a more responsible citizen, and
looked into it. But... I don't know how they did it. But they'd still always have this big
smile on their face. And you never heard them complain. Never. They were always clean. They always had nice clothes. And they always seemed happy. NR: These residents of Atalissa would soon
receive a fuller, more disturbing picture. Of the conditions inside the schoolhouse. [MUSIC] I couldn't believe what I was hearing. 21 men? Where? They were describing to me, a report that had been received in a small town
called Atalissa. There are 21 residing in a bunkhouse being abused and neglected. And that was the allegation. NR: By the winter of 2008, the turkey
plant had changed hands and was now being operated
by West Liberty Foods. Kenneth Henry's partner, T.H. Johnson, had
died. And Henry's Turkey Service began winding
down its operations in Atalissa. They were gonna get four wheelers, they
were gonna live on a big farm [CROSSTALK]. Mm-hm. [CROSSTALK]
Mm-hm. Blah blah blah. NR: For years, Henry's Turkey Service
had promised the men a nice retirement on the ranch, back in
Goldthwaite, Texas. [MUSIC] I don't think that ever happened. [CROSSTALK] No, they came and took them
away. No, but I think that what they were
told was not true, is what I'm thinking. NR: In fact, that retirement plan
had fallen apart. The company had begun sending some of the
men, to a nursing home in Texas. I honestly thought that they were all
going home. I had no clue. No well nobody knew [CROSSTALK]. Because didn't the Feds come
during the night and take them away? NR: A sister of one of the men, had
called state authorities and The Des Moines Register, after discovering that her
brother's life savings totaled a mere $80. Local authorities descended upon the
schoolhouse in early 2009. Other than the snow, this is exactly
what it was in February of 2009. Same color, same windows. This is a bit misleading, because you, we
really couldn't come out this door. It was blocked. Denise Gonzales was a supervisor for
the Iowa Department of Human Services, but her 20-year career in social work had not
prepared her for what she saw inside. [MUSIC] (Denise Gonzales)
The rodent feces was everywhere. In the kitchen area. In the bedrooms, on the stairs. [MUSIC] And the roaches, I mean, you could see
them. They would fall off the ceiling. A lot of them. And they had like a, an open bathroom area. And you could see the mold on the walls. Their blankets had, you know, mold in them
that you couldn't get out. [MUSIC] And the smell... You, you can't, I'll never forget that smell. You could see their filthy, stained
clothing. And this: They were arthritic and their hands
were like this. Their fingernails were long and embedded
with, now I know, turkey blood. It, it's hard to talk about. There are 21 men here that need to be rescued. NR: When the state fire marshal declared
the schoolhouse to be uninhabitable, all eyes turned
to Mrs. Gonzales. Find them shelter, clothing, nutrition. I looked at the men and I said,
"We're going on vacation." "We're going on vacation." NR: That night the men were taken to a
Super-8 motel in Musketine, 15 mi. away. I was so glad to get out of there. Pleased to death to get out of that
bunkhouse, you know. I would pleased to death, you know. An Iowa social worker captured this
footage in the days after the rescue. [CROSSTALK] Pardon? Glad you all came up here. I enjoy these people. They protect me and I, and I, and I
like them. And they take care of me real well. And who was your social worker? And she told me she went swimming with
the dolphins and shorts. Uh-uh. And I miss her. Thank you. NR: Back in Atalissa, residents were
gradually discovering the disturbing truth about the
conditions inside the schoolhouse. Oh god! Through the newspapers. Yes. [CROSSTALK] Through the newspapers. I never realized that there was no
windows. That there was no air conditioning. That there was no [CROSSTALK]
about it. I felt ashamed. I felt angry. All these affiliations, all these government institutes... You know, the sheriff's department, police department,
whatever. They all knew that these boys were there. You know? I think we were all. I was in shock. Kind of in denial. Like. Shock. Somebody's all screwed up here. [CROSSTALK] The bad reputation that we got was the
worst, as far as the city was concerned. We had nothing to do with what was going on. I was told by one of them that I had blood on my hands because I didn't, that we
treated them like slaves. When that all came out, we were
just devastated. And then, they took em away,
and they wouldn't let any of us see em, they wouldn't let
anybody go up and visit them. NR: Waterloo, Iowa, population 68,000, is a
two-hour drive northwest of Atalissa. [MUSIC] NR: About a dozen of the men from Henry's
Turkey Service live there now. Instead of age, they've recaptured
some youth. They have a lot of life and a lot of
things that they want to experience. Feeling okay to voice their wants,
needs, and desires, took awhile for folks to feel
comfortable with that. Susan Seehase is a program supervisor
at Exceptional Persons Incorporated. This non-profit organization helped the men adjust to living with much
greater independence. Deciding where they wanted to live,
and that they were going get to choose whether they continued to
work or not... Trying out different types of opportunities
for work. [SOUND] NR: This was a process unlike anything she
had experienced. The records are still incomplete. Some of the men found out that the
name that they had been using for a number of years
wasn't actually their name. [MUSIC AND SOUND IN DISTANCE] Not having to participate
in major group hobbies was very refreshing to a lot of the men. The most predominant thing that
we spent time teaching [MUSIC] Was, it's okay to be an individual
and like the things you like. [MUSIC] NR: Choice means different things
to each man. It might mean riding your John Deere
tractor, gardening, relaxing in retirement, or
going out on a date. [MUSIC] [LAUGHS]
NR: It is a much different life than the one that Kenneth Henry says he
envisioned for the men on the ranch in Texas. To begin with, construction on the retirement
bunkhouse remains half finished. (Kenneth Henry)
We didn't make it to the end. We didn't get there. But I, know the boys pretty well. [MUSIC] Somebody has got to help em. Can't do it on their own. Nothing would be better for me than, for
those little boys to be right here today. NR: In the spring of 2013 the
Equal Employment Opportunity Commission tried its case against Henry's
Turkey Service in federal court. It charged that the company had
forced the men to live in squalor, subjected them to neglect and
abuse, and financially exploited them. Let me, let me say this about the boys. The boys would be truthful. But -- if one of the boys did make up a story, say, and he told another boy,
that other boy would believe it. And I think it got into a little bit of that. NR: The jury awarded $7.5 million
to each of the men. But in keeping with the federal cap on
penalties against small businesses, the amount was
later reduced to $50,000 each. [MUSIC] The men have yet to receive any money. They missed choice. They missed choice of their life. I don't understand how 30, 40 years
this had been occurring. I don't understand that. NR: In the end, Kenneth Henry blames the
mismanagement on his employees, Randy and Dru Newbauer,
who declined to be interviewed. But he defends the program's social benefit. The guys' IQ run from 35 to 70. These lower IQ boys. The, you know, the 65 and 70s, they
can find places. But when you go below 60, then you're, that's a big step for you, any individual, to decide,
I'm going to take this individual, and I'm gonna try to take care of him. I'm gonna train him to do a job. [MUSIC] The boys will complain some, but not much. It goes back to the pride thing. They're prideful. Because these are the ones that nobody wanted. That's why they ended up there for so long. [MUSIC] Five years after leaving the turkey plant, the Men of Waterloo rarely discuss Atalissa. NR: In Atalissa, the departure of the men
has left a void. It's lonely. It's empty. It's empty. [CROSSTALK] It's. They were part of the community. You know, when you drove down on Main Street,
Cherry Street, They'd wave at you and
you don't see that anymore. It just went downhill. It's almost like a ghost town. [CROSSTALK]
Yeah! It is. Yeah. NR: The minimart the men frequented is now
shuttered. And the church is nearly empty on Sundays. It was like silence. We, we'd sing our songs and stuff, but it
wasn't the same cuz they'd been here for so long,
and you wondered where the tambourine and the guy keeping
the beat and stuff was. [MUSIC] NR: After the men were evacuated from the
schoolhouse. The town of Atalissa found itself
overrun with reporters. Yes! We got so sick of them calling it
"The Bunkhouse." And you know, the way they were describing
it, and just taking pictures of the outside... NR: Residents are tired of defending
themselves. They wished the men the very best and
they plan to knock down the schoolhouse and remove it
from the Atalissa landscape. We're working with a contractor to
try and get it demolished. He said actually the building is
structurally sound, but... We just want it gone. [SOUND] [MUSIC] [BACKGROUND CONVERSATION]
They remember Lance. Do they really? Aw. [VOICES OF ATALISSA BETTERMENT
COMMITTEE IN DISTANCE] They remember...
[VOICES IN DISTANCE] They had an uncanny way of
remembering things. Better than I did. [LAUGH. VOICES RECEDE.] [MUSIC] [MUSIC] [SOUND] [SOUND] [NOISE]
This only ended on 2009. Absolutely crazy. Obama was just elected, The Fray were headlining, Parks & Rec ran its pilot episode.
It blows my mind how recent this was.
Those 4 boomer ladies piss me off so much. Can't really tell you why either..
And Henry is a massive piece of shit.
Anybody who has an autistic or neurologically-challenged friend or relative should be very concerned about how easily this happens. Nobody really set OUT to enslave these men and force them to live in a decayed, filthy, infested group home while their earnings vanished. It just sort of happened as the years went by and people let other concerns take over.
I worked as a chicken catcher for a very short time. It was hard, dirty, brutal work. Bird shit comes out dry, you don't have to disturb it very much for the entire barn to be filled with a cloud of shit dust. Blood and guts and corpses everywhere. And I had it good where I worked. Minimum wage, regular breaks, flexibility of working hours, stuff like that. What these men endured is staggering. Kenneth Henry absolutely knew they were being horribly exploited, no doubt in my mind. He even had the gall to insinuate the "boys" were lying about the conditions. Blames everyone but himself. He belongs behind bars.
Over in South Korea there was a similar (basically identical) story that came out a few years back. Marcel Theroux (Louis' brother) did a short documentary about it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNb-twWyEz8
If this shit is allowed to happen in wealthy countries like the US and SK, I don't even want to think about what happens in developing countries. Breaks my goddamn heart.
Cool but sad story
This is the dark side of human nature. They got away with this of years and justified it in their minds. This is just one case that comes to light, there's tons of abuse all over the place. Comes from government, businesses, people.
Truly interesting and heartbreaking, thanks for sharing this.
Wow . Heavy
capitalism