Robert Richeson does a job most people wouldn't care to watch.
Yesterday, for instance, he drove into University City, grabbed a pitchfork and plastic bag from his truck, and carried away a dead possum. Then he was off to Ocean Beach, in search of skunk.
Richeson works for the city's Environmental Services Department, and when it's his turn – the distasteful task rotates monthly within a crew of six – he picks up dead animals.
Monday he picked up 25, just two shy of the city record.
Dead animal removal is a topic few of us choose to dwell on. Yet last week the City Council took a half-hour crash course in its finer points.
Number of dead animals the city removes: 3,360 a year.
Response time: within 24 hours on 95 percent of calls.
Owner notification: same day, if the pet wore a tag.
Destination of the carcasses: the Miramar Landfill.
This morbid litany was recited for good reason. The function of dead animal removal is being groomed for outsourcing to a private contractor.
The council's limited role last week was to review what is called a “Statement of Work,” a description of the services performed by Richeson, who said he makes about $19 an hour, and his fellow roadkill warriors.
It was a rare public sighting of the process known around City Hall as “managed competition,” under which Mayor Jerry Sanders has proposed that 16 city functions – an eclectic mix that ranges from graphic design to street sweeping – be placed on the auction block.
Together, those functions involve 562 positions and $120 million in budgeted expenses.
Dead animal removal is the runt of that litter.
It involves just 1.2 positions (a full-time worker, a little overtime and a fraction of a supervisor's attention) and will cost taxpayers just $120,000 this year, including equipment, maintenance and gas.
Perhaps because of its relative puniness, its Statement of Work was the first the council considered, serving as a trial balloon for such behemoths as storm drain maintenance and the grand prize – at $53 million – trash collection.
Compared with those, how difficult could it be to farm out dead animal pickup?
Funny you should ask.
The Statement of Work, it turns out, is a stalking-horse in the power struggle between employee unions and managed-competition proponents.
The simpler it is, the more attractive the contract will be to a private company. The more complex it becomes, the more money those companies will seek, increasing the odds that city employees keep their jobs.
Which is how the City Council came to be schooled in dead animal removal – and the Statement of Work grew.
The council was told, for example, that city workers will often return dead pets to their owners for burial, rather than tossing them in the landfill.
And that while dead animals on private property are referred to a private contractor, city employees, in special cases, do help homeowners who are disabled or elderly.
And that when frantic owners call about a missing pet, city workers will look for possible matches in their logs.
These additional service standards were helpfully provided to the city by Damian Tryon, business manager for the union that represents Richeson.
Tryon's helpfulness was limited only by the council's three-minute rule on public comment. Before his time ran out, he asked many helpful questions that no one can answer:
Will the contractors use city equipment? Will they use city facilities? Will they drive city vehicles?
Theresa Quiroz, a community activist from City Heights, had her own list of questions:
Would the contractor's logs be available to the public? If they use city trucks, who pays for the insurance? If they break the law, who's accountable?
She wasn't done: How will the contractor take reports of dead animals? If it uses a message system, will it be accessible to deaf and blind residents? Will it be required to have multiple languages?
The council paid close attention to the dead-animal discussion, perhaps because it includes so many lame ducks.
“This is a learning experience for all of us,” Councilwoman Toni Atkins said. “I'm glad we're starting with something that is seemingly small.”
But in the bold new world of managed competition, you can bet on this: Nothing will be small, or simple.
Take that possum Richeson picked up yesterday.
After rustling around Alan Hamel's yard all night, it expired on his driveway. When Hamel called the dispatcher to have it picked up, he was informed that the city only picks up animals from public streets and alleys – not driveways.
No problem, it turned out.
By the time Richeson arrived, the dead possum had migrated to the gutter. Did the dispatcher encourage this seeming miracle?
Try explaining that in a Statement of Work.
Gerry Braun:
(619) 542-4563; gerry.braun@uniontrib.com
