Workplace Massacre in Alabama: Did Endless Downsizing and Slashed Benefits Cause the Rampage?
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Authorities say they discovered a list -- presumably a hit list -- of people and companies whom McLendon felt had done him wrong. Popular culture tells us that the hit list and his grievances are themselves signs that he suffered from a persecution complex, like so many Charles Mansons. No need to actually look into who was on that hit list and why -- the mere discovery of such a list should be enough to indict him, case closed.
But nothing's solved, nothing's closed; and if we're serious about understanding the "why" of this massacre, as everyone claims to be, then that list is the best place to start.
As with so many of these rage massacres from the past 20 years, the more you look at Tuesdays' killing spree, the more you see that the system we've been living under since Reaganomics conquered everything has created all kinds of monsters and maniacs, from the plutocrats who've plundered this country for three decades straight, down to the lone broken worker -- McLendon -- who took up arms in a desperate suicide mission against the beast that crushed him.
So far we've learned that McLendon's hit list names the three companies he had worked for since 2003 -- Reliance Metals, which makes construction materials; Pilgrim's Pride, the nation's number one poultry producer, where his mother also worked, until she was suspended from her job last week; and Kelley Foods, a smaller family-owned meat-processing company from which McLendon apparently quit just last week.
Even more striking to someone who has studied these workplace massacres, it appears that McLendon was bullied and abused at work. One clue as to why he'd end his spree at Reliance, where he hadn't worked since 2003, could be that he was trying to kill the source of the pain: workers at Reliance used to taunt him incessantly, giving him the nickname "Doughboy." Which basically means "fatso" and "faggot" combined: McLendon was 5 feet, 8 inches tall, but he weighed roughly 210 pounds.
Maybe it's just a coincidence, but "Doughboy" is the exact same nickname that workers at Standard Gravure, a printing plant in Louisville, Ky., gave to a guy named Joe Wesbecker back in the 1980s.
Like McLendon's case against Pilgrim's Pride, Wesbecker also was locked in an ongoing labor dispute with his company, whose top shareholders had gone on an eight-year plundering spree, leaving little for the workers; the government backed Wesbecker's case against Standard Gravure, and he "won" his dispute, but it was irrelevant.
By 1989, the culture had changed, all power went to the CEOs and major shareholders. Standard Gravure's senior executives ignored the arbitration rulings and continued to treat Wesbecker however they felt, slashing his pay under a different pretense, which would require a whole new round of arbitrations.
Joe "Doughboy" Wesbecker finally cracked: on Sept. 14, 1989, he unleashed America's first private workplace massacre, pitting aggrieved worker against vampiric company, borrowing from the numerous post office shootings that had erupted a few years earlier. The result: seven killed, 20 wounded, and the death of the company that drove him to the brink. And an unending string of workplace massacres by "disgruntled employees" ever since.
Next time any asshole calls a kid or a co-worker "Doughboy," put the bully and the bullied on the top of your next Ghoul Pool list. Bullying in the workplace, like bullying in the schoolyard, is only now being recognized as a serious problem, with devastating psychological consequences -- and the occasional rampage massacre.
Conventional wisdom used to say that victims of bullying should "deal with it" since it was "just the way things are"; nowadays, after all the workplace and school shootings, anti-bullying laws and codes are becoming increasingly common.