The investigators interviewed workers and explored related worries. They learned from their support staff that emergency backup power generators were "old and in critical need of updating." They listened to "much concern" among the ranks for the deterioration in the island's biological safety measures. Frequent travel-related absences of safety officer Dr. Jerry Walker were cited. The committee told Dr. Callis there existed a "general breakdown of security procedures that [once] served psychologically as constant reminders of the need to practice safety."
How and why the facilities were in such wretched shape were questions "which have to be answered," they said. "Certainly, however, the increase in scientific work… age of the facilities… reduction in staff… restricted budgets… [and] inflation" had something to do with it. Lack of sufficient plant management and safety personnel was a factor. "[W]hether there are in fact too few or those available are not being properly utilized is a question to be answered."
"It is unlikely that the exact route of infection…will ever be known," the committee concluded. Among the men who signed the report were the two most responsible for the disaster: safety officer Walker and chief engineer Wiggin.
It was time to run for cover.
Dr. Callis notified Washington that swift measures were taken to ameliorate the deplorable conditions. Building 62 was closed because the contractor stored much of its materials in the vicinity. Air filters were replaced except those over Lab C, which were expected to be completed by February. Two new safety positions were added to assist Dr. Walker in carrying out daily air filtration checks. He assured the laboratory brass that Lab 257 checked out fine and was ready for the Rift Valley fever virus research program. "We are anxious to complete these remaining operations… so that we can all get back to more productive endeavors."
Dr. Callis formed two more committees, an ad hoc operations review committee to evaluate inadequacies in material and staffing, and a safety committee to conduct the witch hunt. For reasons unknown, the latter included Dr. Walker as one of the members — the "safety officer" minding the store during the outbreak. On February 14, 1979, the committees sent a secret memorandum to Dr. Callis that placed the outbreak squarely upon the shoulders of Merlon Wiggin. "[Mismanagement of Engineering and Plant Management operations," began the valentine, "resulted in circumstances which led to the escape of the virus from [Lab] 101 and certainly violated the spirit and intent of the Agent Safety Program at Plum Island." Work orders for new items and change orders with the contractor took precedence over routine laboratory maintenance. An "appalling lack of effective communication" between Wiggin and the lab foreman, Truman Cook, existed, they said. Furthermore, lab foremen had no appreciation for containment, "specifically, air-handling equipment and its function in the building." Wiping the egg off committee member Dr. Walker's face, the memo noted that no one had notified the safety office about any of these conditions. This, they concluded, was the sole responsibility of chief of engineering and plant management Merlon Wiggin, and Lab 101 foreman Truman Cook.
Dr. Callis chose this time to abscond to Florida on a winter vacation, leaving the most onerous task for his assistant director, Dr. John Graves. Within days of Callis's departure, Dr. Graves ordered Wiggin and Cook suspended immediately without pay. Dr. Graves told the press that Wiggin and Cook were being held responsible for not maintaining the air-filtering system. No action was taken against Dr. Walker or against Dr. Jennings, who was in charge of the animal supply pens. One scientist says Jennings regularly shuttled between the lab and animal supply without following proper showering-out procedures. "They didn't want to go after Jennings," says Merlon Wiggin, mentioning his senior scientist, tenured status. Shortly after the outbreak, Dr. Jennings quietly retired from Plum Island.
The next morning, Graves and security guard Ed Wolf physically blocked Wiggin from boarding the ferry to Plum Island, ordering him to remain in the Orient Point dock warehouse office.
One unnamed official called the two fingered men "scapegoats…[We] could all be blamed for the outbreak. The buck stops at the top." Wiggin and Cook filed grievances with the USDA. Then they took their case to the people. "There are other people who have just as much responsibility as we had. It was a kangaroo court," Truman Cook told Newsday. "When the right time comes, I'm sure that I will get a chance to say who's responsible," said Merlon Wiggin. Back from his sunny Florida sojourn, Dr. Callis criticized their "poor supervisory and management practices… poor safety practices…[and] lack of communication."
After three weeks, Wiggin was readmitted to Plum Island, but barred from entering his office. Dr. Callis then called a rare all-hands meeting inside the old Army chapel to announce that Lab 101 was returning to full operations. The ad hoc committee, he said, had completed its report on recommendations that were now being implemented. At that moment, Wiggin realized that in addition to everything else, he had also been frozen out of the ad hoc committee, to which Callis had appointed him a member. Wiggin went home and stewed over the weekend. I am not the only person responsible for this! He decided to give the director a piece of his mind.
"Perhaps I was not notified as to when the committee was to meet because I ask questions the Chairman [Assistant Director Dr. Graves] and the Safety Officer [Dr. Walker] find embarrassing," Wiggin told Dr. Callis in a letter he handed him on Monday. Safety officer Dr. Walker appeared not to know whether the filters were tested to catch germs as small as 0.3 microns or 3 microns wide. "This to some may be not important, but it is off by a factor of 10." To those who knew, it meant the difference between no viruses escaping the building and thousands escaping every second. Most alarming was Wiggin's charge that Drs. Walker and Graves brushed off seriously flawed test results of the new Lab 101 air filters. "[Dr. Walker] was frequently getting test results of 100 % and that was an impossibility using deep bed media [air filters] which only test 85 to 90 %… " Before placing the lab back on-line at full capacity, Wiggin implored Dr. Callis, "I wondered if you were concerned about the following:
Vent filters — I understand they have all yet to be checked and the leaking ones changed.
Sanitary drainage system — We know from the recent findings that we had some badly corroded piping.
Material support — A lack of warehouse parts and supplies was a deterrent to the level of maintenance in this [laboratory] building.
Referring to the draft report Callis circulated, Wiggin questioned why it stated unequivocally that Plum Island could return to full operations. Cal-lis replied, "We'll discuss it later, Merlon." But Dr. Callis paid little mind. To him, Merlon Wiggin was a disgruntled former engineering chief now trying to make hay. Lab 101 was back in business. On with the show.
Meanwhile, the Plum Island blue-collar workforce seethed over Truman Cook's suspension. They knew that Cook was management's fall guy. "Truman was a good guy, and everybody liked him," remembers one employee, "or was related to him." His family had been in the Southold area since the 1600s. The Cook family was a proud, honest family, and Truman was no different. No way these out-of-town scientists were going to turn a local good ol' boy into a poster boy of shame. More than 150 employees — most of the support staff — signed a petition that protested Cook's suspension and vehemently demanded his reinstatement. Fearing open mutiny on the island (and loss of community support off the island), management buckled and restored Cook to his position. "I'm very relieved," he told a reporter who broke the news to him. "I think that's about all I'd better say."