Supermarket Job on Horizon

By SUZANNE WILSON

 

Jeff Mathers of Williamsburg is working at Riverside Industries, Inc., in Easthampton, preparing himself for a job in the community   (JUNE 6) -- Jeff Mathers has been thinking about what kind of job he might like. He's thought about working in a grocery store, stocking shelves. He's wondered about learning to use a computer. "Now that would be something!" he says.Sometimes it all seems a little overwhelming. He likes the idea of having a job in the community -- "I wouldn't know where, though" -- and he isn't sure just who would be in charge. "I wouldn't know who I'd have for a supervisor."

He has been going there since he was 21 years old. Jeff is now 35. At Riverside he spends his days at a sheltered workshop where he gets paid for doing various types of assembly work. For the past two years, he has been participating in a Riverside program designed to help him do what he has never done before --work part time, perhaps just an afternoon or so a week, outside of Riverside at a job in the community. In some ways, that wouldn't be such a big deal. Jeff is already a conscientious worker. "I just try to do it right,"he says, talking about his current job piecing together hundreds of metal plates and rivets every day.

Hard work Jeff knows a lot about hard work. He has a friend who used to be at Riverside and now works at a company in Northampton. She calls sometimes to compare notes. They've decided neither one of them has a job that's a piece of cake. "We talk about how rough it is," he says. Jeff knows that when you have a job there are certain things you do and certain things you don't do. "I hate being late," he says. "You wouldn't get paid if you're not back on time." He knows that you shouldn't go to work in dirty clothes. "You wear them one day and change them the next," he says. "If you were out working in the community, people wouldn't like it if you didn't do that."In other ways, a job in the community could turn Jeff's world upside down. New people. New situations. New challenges. It might work out and it might not, his mother says. It's easy to say that Jeff should leave Riverside, Judy Mathers points out, and she would like to see him give it a try. But, she adds, "he thinks Riverside is the only place in the world. To Jeff, this is the community."

Jeff Mathers, left, and Keith Johnson, a co-worker, get paid extra to clean the break room at Supported Employment Training each day. (Gordon Daniels photo)

His mother knew His mother knew that there was something not right when Jeff was only about two weeks old. She was holding him, cradling his head when she suddenly felt that the plates of his skull were not properly meshed; through his skin, she could feel his brain. The condition was hydrocephalus, an abnormal increase in the amount of cerebrospinal fluid within the cranial cavity. It causes an enlargement of the skull and atrophy of the brain. Jeff's childhood was punctuated by countless doctor visits, tests and seven surgeries. When he was 5 years old, the hydrocephalus began causing the partial paralysis that has left him with only limited use of his right arm and leg. His parents knew then that he would be mentally disabled. He lived at home, with his parents and two brothers. He went to the Helen E. James Elementary School in Williamsburg until he was 16. After that, he went to programs offered by the Hampshire Educational Collaborative. When he was 21, he began making the daily commute to Riverside, where he was taught daily living skills and became a production worker. Today there are many things Jeff can do and things that are beyond him still. He can talk easily and carry on a conversation. He can dress himself, tie his shoes, tell time, count money, play a good game of Crazy 8s, heat something up in the microwave and sign his name. He can't read but recognizes at least a few letters -- he is, his mother has noticed, somehow able to pick out the can of tomato soup when that's what he wants. One of his biggest problems is that he can't get around on his own. Left to find his way from the parking lot into a store, he will wander aimlessly unless helped. He rarely misses his daily 4 o'clock engagement with "Oprah. "Tuesday nights are reserved for the detective squad on "NYPD Blue. "That Andy Sipowicz, he says, shaking his head, "he can be crabby, a real pain in the butt." Every night before he goes to bed, Jeff takes a shower and lays out the clothes he will wear to Riverside the next day. Clean slacks. A pullover top. Maybe a cardigan if it's chilly. He checks to make sure the digital alarm clock beside his bed is set for 6:30 a.m. When it starts beeping, "I'll wake right up and start rushing around, "he says. Jeff hates rushing, but he's philosophical about it: "I have to go to work to earn money." He makes his bed, carefully smoothing all the wrinkles out of the blue-flowered spread -- "It's hard to do, but I do it," he says -- and set his well-worn stuffed Snoopy on top of the pillow. His room is nicely decorated with family photos and a signed picture of President Clinton that one of his aunts, Lynn Wolf of Williamsburg, sent away for. "He's a nice guy," says Jeff. On his bureau is a purple hairbrush and next to it, lined up in a perfectly straight row, are 13 Energizer batteries. "I put them in my Walkman and listen to any station that I like," he says. He makes his way down the hallway, dragging his right leg slightly as he walks. Out in the kitchen, he downs one mug of Maxwell House and pours a refill. "It's better to stay awake than to fall asleep," he says. "That I would not care to do!" His bright blue nylon lunch bag, packed with Hawaiian Punch, a tuna fish sandwich and potato sticks,sits on the kitchen table. "My mother makes my lunch," he explains.

Ready to leave By 7:15, Judy Mathers is ready to leave for her job as a licensed practical nurse at the Community Health Plan center in Hadley. Her husband, John, a truck driver who is semi-retired, has already hit the road. "Sometimes she gets pooped at the end of the day," Jeff says, talking about his mother. He knows he wouldn't want her job or a doctor's job, either. "I wouldn't know whether to operate or give blood, or what." Judy pats down the collar of her son's yellow shirt, then folds him in a warm hug. As he switches off "Good Morning America," Jeff peers out the door and is relieved to see Leo Desmarais climbing out of the van. Earlier in the week, when Desmarais had to take time off to go to a funeral, Jeff felt badly for him. "I know it's hard," he says. "I've been to my grandmother's funeral and it wasn't fun. Wasn't fun at all." Jeff says he's got "the best driver anyone could ever have. You can tell him your problems. If you're mad or upset about something, you just tell your driver and he knows what to do about it." Arm in arm, the two of them walk back to the van and Desmarais helps Jeff get buckled into his seat.

Jeff Mathers says that driver Leo Desmarais, right, is his confidant: "If you're mad or upset about something, you just tell your driver and he knows what to do about it." (Gordon Daniels photo)

The workshop The workshop at Riverside is a cavernous room with a high ceiling and worn wood floors. "This is always where I am," Jeff says. "Every day." On the table are two boxes filled with the metal plates, pins and O rings that will be used to make watertight box handles. Jeff places two flat pieces of metal in front of him, slides two metal pins through the holes and fastens them together by attaching two tiny O rings. The pieces will be used by Hardigg Industries of Deerfield; the company pays Riverside for the assembly project. Jeff averages more than 300 completed pieces a day. The amount he is paid, usually about $30 a week, varies depending on his productivity. It is tabulated based on a prevailing wage of about $5.90 an hour for a certain amount of work; the amount is figured according to the number of the pieces produced. "At first this job was hard," Jeff says, as he tosses yet another finished piece into the cardboard box. "But now I know what to do." Besides Jeff, about a dozen other people work there, performing various tasks -- assembling pieces of a battleship game for the Milton Bradley Co. of East Longmeadow; running a paper shredding machine; putting labels on jars of glue and packing the jars. During the last month, Riverside has been doing work for Hardigg, Milton Bradley and Summit Plastics Inc. The lineup of companies changes as projects get finished and new ones are taken on. Jeff and the others with disabilities here work alongside several people without disabilities, who are hired to help out when there's a lot of production work to do. Their presence has the added effect of making the workshop feel more like a "real world" place of employment, rather than a segregated, hidden-away program. There are usually several jobs going on at once and -- unless there is a pressing deadline to get a certain job finished and shipped out -- each person chooses what he or she wants to work on. "I used to run that thing before Eric did, now it's Eric's turn, "Jeff says, pointing out one of his co-workers who is operating the papershredder. The bales of confetti-like paper are sold to some of the arts and crafts businesses in the building. "It's hard work, but it's gotta get done," Jeff says. Courtney Brough works to Jeff's left, assembling the white, gray and red battleship pieces. Every so often he comes over to chat. "Jeff," he asks, leaning in close to Jeff's left shoulder, "How many reindeer did Santa have? How long did it take the wise men to get to Bethlehem?" Sometimes Jeff answers, sometimes he doesn't.

Supported Employment Training Jeff's program is called Supported Employment Training -- SET, for short. Although Riverside has been placing people in community jobs for many years, SET provides what Riverside's president, Ronald Bittel, calls a more "concentrated focus" on preparing people for employment. That is done primarily by running the workshop in a manner that simulates a real-life setting as much as possible. People are expected, for example, to be on time, call in sick, dress appropriately and get along with co-workers. Opportunities to teach and reinforce those behaviors occur daily. On one recent morning, when a worker called in sick several hours into the day, Kyle Schaller, SET's manager, made a note to talk to him about having called in too late. At the same time, she said, the fact he'd called at all was a big step: Someone at home used to call for him. Role playing is used to introduce people to such practices as handling job interviews, or negotiating a day off. Visits are also arranged to different workplaces, such as department stores, delis and farm stands. At Riverside, which currently serves about 140 people, there are now about 15 people in the SET program. About 40 people are currently working outside Riverside, with some dividing their time between Riverside and outside jobs. Most of the rest are in Riverside's day habilitation program, which offers help with daily living skills and vocational training. Participation in SET is voluntary. Though he says community employment is a laudable goal, Bittel points out that there are people who don't want to leave Riverside or who, in bad economic times, will only be able to get temporary jobs. To Bittel, that means there will continue to be a role for the sheltered workshop: "There are people in this field who don't think so, who look on this as an inherent evil. But I think there needs to be a spectrum of services." The question of outside employment is discussed in sessions held with clients and their staff and family members. There is no timetable and the approach must be tailored to each person, says Kyle Schaller. One person might be eager to try a job as soon as possible, while another may need to take it gradually, beginning with short visits to different workplaces. "People do change their minds," Schaller says, and vacillate about making such a big change.

Away from Riverside A job away from Riverside can help someone like Jeff in several ways. For one thing, she says, "working at Stop & Shop is respected more than working in a supported shelter. Maybe it shouldn't be that way, but it is. Also, Jeff's a sociable guy and he might like to meet and get to know some other people." A third factor is money. With a community job that pays by the hour, he may earn more. At a meeting last February, Jeff and his mother and several staff people talked again about his job prospects. Of the different work sites he has visited, Jeff has always been intrigued by grocery stores. That doesn't surprise his mother. "He's always been an orderly kind of person," she explains. "He likes to stack, fix and arrange things." At that meeting, Jeff seemed most interested in a store job. "I can go fast," he promises. Jeff's chances of getting a community placement have, in some ways, improved. Compared to 20 years ago, people with disabilities face less outright prejudice than they did, says Ron Bittel: "I do think the business community understands that these people can hold jobs, and be good employees." Still, the task of finding such jobs is daunting. Nationally, it's been estimated that as many as 70 percent of those with mental disabilities who are willing and able to work are unemployed. (The figures vary, however, depending on whether people in sheltered workshops are counted as employed or unemployed.) Job development Cynthia LePouttre, a job developer at Riverside, knows a great deal about the struggle behind that statistic. In her office, local papers lie spread out on the desk, open to the classified ads. Besides combing through them, she also makes cold calls to various companies and checks in regularly with state employment centers. LePouttre begins looking for a placement as soon as a client has said he or she is definitely ready to start. In Jeff's case, that hasn't quite happened yet, though he seems to be moving in that direction. When it does, she says, she will likely make some inquiries to small businesses in the Williamsburg area. "I think we'll want to find a place where people know him," she says. In a rural area like Hampshire County, LePouttre also has to factor in transportation, which is often a major stumbling block. In Jeff's case, getting him from home to work and back again would take some juggling of his parents' schedules since they would probably have to take over some of the transportation now being handled by Riverside. "But the number one barrier right now is that employers want people to be very diverse," LePouttre says. "If you work in a store, you've got to be able to do many different jobs." David Peake-Jones, one of Riverside's job coaches, says that is, hands down, the biggest problem. "You can't just work the fryer," at many fast food restaurants anymore, he says. "You've got to be able to do the floors, customer service, and make salads. And for many of the people we serve, the most difficult thing is adjusting to a new task -- each one is a whole new learning curve." Though Jeff has been a fast learner and a consistent, accurate worker, his training at Riverside has been primarily in assembly tasks and janitorial duties. His physical problem -- the limited use of his right side-- also affects what he can do. Finally, because Jeff has a history of sometimes getting angry and upset when something goes wrong, the work environment will have to be a fairly quiet one that isn't too intense. Some time ago, when he tried working in the kitchen of a restaurant that is run by Riverside, the match didn't take -- the place was too chaotic, too confusing.

Finding placements Once a placement is found, a job coach from Riverside accompanies the new employee to assist in the training and the transition. The coach stays as long as needed, from a few days or weeks to indefinitely. The placements don't always work out. In the past couple of years, Schaller estimates that about a half dozen have been terminated. The reasons have included layoffs, a company going out of business, conflicts with other people at work, transportation problems, an inability to master the needed skills. When that happens, the person usually returns to Riverside.

Girlfriends "How many girlfriends do you have -- two?" Jeff asks. Patrick Regan shakes his head somberly. "One. Believe me, Jeff, all I can handle is one." Regan, Jeff's adviser at Riverside, comes by to see him several times during the day. Because of the high turnover among those in social services, he is only the latest in a long line of people to work with Jeff. But the two have forged a strong connection, thanks in part to Regan's style, which combines a breezy and casual enthusiasm with an obvious liking for Jeff. "Jeff can josh with him," says Judy Mathers, "but he also respects Patrick." Jeff's work ethic is solid, Regan has found. "He's very goal-oriented and you only have to show him something once," he says. Over the last month or so, Regan has started to role-play interview situations with Jeff, to introduce him to the idea of talking about himself and answering questions: What kind of experience do you have? What kind of job would you like to have? Do you like to work outdoors? Bad days Regan also has put a lot of effort into helping Jeff deal with his emotions, a skill he'll need in order to handle himself at a job. When he gets frustrated or upset, Jeff's tendency in the past has been to either withdraw, or to explode in anger, sometimes unleashing a stream of invectives. Regan has focused his sessions with Jeff on getting him to articulate his feelings, something he rarely did before. "He's been able to open up to me," he says. Jeff's angry outbursts, which used to happen at least once or twice a month, have become few and far between. When they do occur, he has been able to defuse them by taking a break, as Regan has taught him, or asking for help. "I just have my bad days," Jeff says. "I try to cool off and then go back. I'll go sit down and take a break. I'll talk to Patrick. I'll tell him what my problem is." Because of Jeff's long-standing attachment to his routine and friends at Riverside, Regan also thinks he will have to start small, probably with only a few hours a week. Maintaining a connection to Riverside is important to some people, Regan says, citing the example of a man who has a job at a local supermarket. Though he no longer works at Riverside, he regularly stops by in the mornings to spend a little time with the friends he's had for years. Placements are sometimes found that allow several people from Riverside to work together -- an option clearly worth considering for Jeff and his good friend, Keith Johnson.

Jeff Mathers, right, and Keith Johnson, a co-worker, in the cafeteria, a place where all Riverside Industries workers can socialize together -- and with others who rent space in the building. (Gordon Daniels photo)

Keith works Keith works about 20 feet away, also doing piecework for Hardigg Industries. He leans his head against his left hand; he has brought his tape player with him and is listening to the Eagles' greatest hits. "Keith's not in our van, he comes in a different van," Jeff says. "I just like being around him." On a recent morning when Keith was unexpectedly absent, Jeff was perplexed until he found out that his friend had arranged to take the day off. "I was looking all over for him," he said. "I didn't know if he got lost or what." It is Keith who usually keeps a close eye on Jeff, reminding him of this or that. He'll notice if Jeff takes his sweater off part way through the day and drapes it over the back of his chair. "He's always telling me to grab it and take it when I leave," Jeff says. When it's time for the morning break, at 10:15, Jeff and Keith leave together and go down the hall to Tucson & Savannah's, a restaurant run by Riverside. It's a hub for the building, a noisy, bustling place that is a gathering spot both for people from Riverside and for many of the artisans who rent space in the building. One of the friends Jeff has made here is furniture maker Silas Kopf, who often joins him for lunch. "Jeff is absolutely one of my favorite people," he says. Kopf invited him up to visit his workshop so that Jeff could see what he does all day and where he does it. The two of them do a lot of good-natured verbal sparring, and Jeff gives as good as he gets. After they went to see "101 Dalmatians" together last winter, Jeff relished telling Kopf -- many times -- that he was just like that nasty Cruella DeVil. Jeff threads his way through the crowded tables, goes up to the counter and buys a Coke. Always a Coke. "Coke is good," he says. He and Keith set their bottles on the railing at the back of the restaurant and watch the Riverside world drift by. Jeff catches sight of Ron Bittel coming down the hallway. "He works upstairs, but he wanders through the building to see how everyone's doing," Jeff explains. "He's the guy who signs our checks. I'd like to give half of mine to him," he adds with some delight. "I don't know what I'd do with all the money." Bittel stops to say hello. As he has many times before, Jeff tells the president that he looks like he needs a long vacation. "You should tell that to the board of directors," Bittel replies. Jeff is curious about Bittel's job. "Maybe I'd like to do that someday -- be president," Jeff tells him. "Oh, it's easy," Bittel answers. They talk about that a little bit more and then Bittel moves on. A few minutes later, Keith notices that people are beginning to get up. "We got to get back, Jeff," he says. Figuring that out has sometimes been hard for Jeff. "Usually when everybody else goes, I go," he says. "I look at my watch sometimes and know it's time to go back." As he walks past the place where Jeff sits, Keith spots a metal plate on the floor. He picks it up, taps Jeff's arm and holds it up for him to take. He tells his friend, "When you went out you dropped it by mistake, pal." Keith and Jeff also have a routine for lunch, nearly two hours later. At the stroke of noon, Keith goes into the break room to get Jeff's blue lunch bag. He slings it over his shoulder and strides up to meet his friend: "C'mon Jeffrey!" They head back to Tucson & Savannah's. When lunch is over, they switch roles and Jeff carries the empty bag back to the break room. "Keith carries it down and I carry it back, "Jeff says. After lunch they clean the break room together, along with Allison Rubeck. The three of them get paid for this job, which takes about 15 minutes. "Allison does the dishes, I sweep the floor and he does the tables," says Jeff. Keith sprays the table with cleaner and wipes it down with a sponge. "Somebody made a mess," he says, looking disapprovingly at the scattered crumbs. "We don't want that. Can't have a messy work area."

Every Friday At 2 o'clock on Fridays, everyone in the SET program pulls up a chair and gathers for the weekly meeting. Jeff has mixed feelings about these sessions. "Sometimes I like them and sometimes I don't, "he says. Sometimes people talk about what they're planning to do over the weekend and Jeff just doesn't always know what his plans are and that bothers him. "I don't know what to say or what not to say,"he says. On this day he hesitates at first to join the group, then decides to sit down. One item on the agenda draws his attention -- greetings from a former staff member who is now in nursing school. Staff member Robert Kudelka asks if anyone knows a nurse. Jeff volunteers to talk about his mother, how she takes her lunch to work and helps the doctors and sometimes gets home before he does. "She works just as hard as me," he says. As the meeting breaks up, the room fills with the clatter and commotion of everyone finding their stuff, saying their goodbyes and heading out to the waiting vans. Jeff pulls on his red cardigan and buttons all the buttons except the top one. "I wouldn't want to freeze myself," he says. The meeting was long, he adds, "but I had to tell everybody about my mother." He notices Elizabeth Cummings, a staff member, standing nearby. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he tells her. She laughs, and they talk a bit about her weekend plans to get her new rose bushes into the ground, weather permitting. Jeff suggests she get her two brothers to help out. "It'll be a tough job," he says reassuringly, "but you'll do it." Whether or not Jeff takes on a community job, he has already learned that the high point of most every worker's week is the weekend. Saturdays, he usually watches Bugs Bunny cartoons. Later he likes spending time with his three young nieces who live nearby. "I help them if they can't reach something," he says. "I have to get it fort hem." On Sundays, his aunt, Anne Mathers of Florence, usually comes to visit. "She plays cards and eats dinner with us and then at night she goes home." Jeff has wondered sometimes what other people do on the weekends and so he asked someone he trusted for an opinion. One day, he sought out Leo Desmarais, his driver, and posed the question. "I asked Leo what he does when he's not driving. He said he likes to lounge around just like I do."

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