Who Killed My Daddy?
A Behavioral Safety Fable

Beth Sulzer-Azaroff

Chapter 1 The Funeral

Like the crack of a hunter’s rifle, the child’s sob-choked voice pierces the morning stillness. “Why did you kill my Daddy?”

A collective gasp rises from the assemblage as Francie’s mother draws the child back.

“Oh Francie, we aren’t sure about how it really happened,” Trent hoarsely responds. “We’re all really sorry. But, Honey, you can bet we’ll get to the bottom of your Dad’s accident as soon as we can.”

A pert young woman of about thirty, with green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, watches from the edge of the group. Her dark curls bounce as she shakes her head in denial. She can still hear the echo of her instructor’s pronouncement during her training as a safety professional, “Ms. Jensen, there is no such thing as an accident! Injury, yes; near miss, yes. Accident, no.”

She had been describing a ‘freak accident’ at the plant her dad managed. A pile of shipping boxes had toppled over, injuring a worker severely enough to put him out of commission for almost a month. “Every job-related injury is the result of human error, either in planning, design, execution or management. In the case you describe, think. What could someone have done differently?” She recalls her answer. “I suppose they could have piled the boxes more carefully and not quite so high.”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing I’m getting at," the instructor had agreed. Yet the discussion afterward with her classmates, who had rallied to her defense, was heated. Most argued that the instructor’s conclusion was ridiculous, because he obviously had failed to consider acts of God, equipment breakdowns, and the like. Yet, in the past eight years, as Myra had progressed through the ranks first as an assistant, then senior director of safety at a circuit-board manufacturing plant, she found herself agreeing more and more that if people had acted differently, the vast majority of employee injuries probably could have been prevented.

Now, a few months into her new job as Divisional Safety Director at Big Yellow (the nickname for a large electrical utility company), she protests under her breath ‘Let’s not call what happened to Harvey an accident!’

Once again, Myra reviews the pieces of the puzzle she has assembled so far:

Harvey was generally liked and popular among both workers and managers. He shared the rugged individualism typical of outdoor utility crews and relished the freedom and physical challenge of tough outdoor work. Yet, he had also a warmer, more congenial side. He volunteered to work on Big Yellow’s yearly family picnic, met other crew members at a local pub for a beer on Fridays and enjoyed activities with family and friends. For two years he had been coaching his son Kevin’s Little League team and he and his wife Joyce never failed to attend his children’s school performances.

Of course there was the argument her buddy Helen had mentioned. One of the guys, Phil, had been downing beers one after another. Gesturing wildly to make some point, his arm collided with a busboy, causing Phil to spill almost a whole mug full on himself. While attempting to sop up the liquid now thoroughly soaking through his shirt, he began making nasty racial slurs about the busboy. Apparently Harvey had accused Phil of being a drunken bigot and told him in no uncertain terms to shut his face.

Alcohol and substance abuse, what heartache! By now, Myra has repeatedly been in the unfortunate position of having to discipline workers who came to work under the influence. Right now, several employees have been referred to employee assistance agencies and one of her department’s functions is to keep track of their continued participation in the programs. She worries that if any fail to attend, she will have to terminate them.

The movement of the mourners away from the graveside jolts Myra back to the present. The ceremony is over and she notices her predecessor, Art Cavenaugh at the edge of the crowd. As she begins to approach him, he pointedly turns away, hurrying off alone. Taken aback, Myra reminds herself that Art might not feel too fondly toward the person who has replaced him. She falls into step with some of the others who disperse in clusters of two’s and three’s. Softly they review the tragedy.

According to Jim, Hanks’ partner, they had been just about to finish their last assignment for the day. Harvey was in a hurry to wrap up so he could catch the lighting of the candles for Francie’s sixth-birthday. The cake was white with lots of pink icing, her favorite. Just then he noticed his pliers were missing.

“OOPS. I must have left them. I’m going back up for a minute. Back in a jiffy.”

“Sure thing."

It was the clink of the door latch giving way, as Harvey reached over to retrieve the tool, that caught Jim’s notice. In a macabre duet, Jim’s own screams of helplessness mingled with Hank’s as the technician plunged 40 feet to the pavement below.

After that, word of the disaster spread like wildfire. Harvey’s coworkers had gathered in knots, outside the garage, at the pub, later at Harvey’s home.

Fear. Anger. Frustration. Blame. Despair.

“How could he do such a dumb thing? The safety harness was right there. It only takes a minute to hook it on,” remarks Mary, whose job on a different crew is comparable to Hank’s. Her twelve-year-old son, head male of the household since his father left two years ago, grasps her hand and pleads. “You won’t let anything like that happen to you, Mom?”

“Don’t worry, son. I’m always extra careful. I know how much you kids depend on me,” but a tiny shudder ripples across her shoulders.

Another protests, “If our stingy company weren’t so worried about profits and those friggen compensation packages for the top dogs, it would buy us better equipment. Did you see how they laid off a third of those guys last year to cut costs? The corporate chief should be sued.”

“Gosh,” confesses another, “all I can think of is ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ Who thinks of bothering with a safety harness when you just need to go up for a second? I know I’ve done the same thing more than once.”

“Just, like, why bother putting on your seat belt when you just have to drive down to the store for a minute.”

“Are we sure he didn’t attach the harness? Maybe it came loose. And how did he manage to fall over the edge?” a fellow from one of the other crews inquired warily.

“Hey, you aren’t hinting someone might have rigged the equipment, are you?" another challenged.

“These days you never know," answered the first. "Have you seen the latest statistics on homicides in the workplace? I just read an article in the paper that said ‘about one million Americans are killed or injured that way.’ The numbers seem to be growing too; and remember how some of the guys around here can get real ugly. I know a couple who could have had it in for Harv. One has his eye on the next supervisory position and sees – (OOPS, it sure is hard to talk of him in the past) saw Harv as competition.”

“I keep thinking about his family. Sure, they’ll get some reasonable insurance, but how can that be any substitute for a father.”

“What I want to know is what they’re going to do to avoid a repeat.” says one of the men, looking accusingly at Myra. “Do you know this is the second time this year something like this has happened?”

“Oh yeah. I think I heard about that one out in the Southwest Division last spring. Didn’t some guy fall off the cherry picker while trimming broken tree branches.”

“Right. But he was a temporary replacement, hired after all those storms, and hadn’t been to training like all of us,” interrupts Al, the shift supervisor. “This is different. Harvey’s been in his job for years and went through the outdoor craft college.”

“Maybe he was rushing to finish the job. The company’s always on us to get done in a hurry. What do they think we’re doing, hiding in the woods taking a nap or playing poker?”

“Well, whatever the explanation, Big Yellow had better get its act together or it’s going to find itself even more tied up with insurance investigations, higher premiums, lawyers, OSHA and all the rest. That’s going to eat more into its profits than any amount we can save them by working faster. And wait ’til the union gets hold of this one. That’s gonna eat up plenty of our time,” warns Al.

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