Bottles, cans, debts and vomit
For trashmen, life's no good under city recycling law

by Wayne Laugesen

When recycling was a hobby in Boulder, life was easier for trash haulers. Today, in response to a new financial mandate, even slobs recycle. It's enough to gag the garbage man.

"Before the city's mandate, most people who recycled took pride in it. Some even rinsed out their bottles and cans," says Mick Mahoney, owner of One Way Disposal Service. "Today, people are recycling half-drank cans of beer that spill all over you. Just recently I went to dump a recycling bin and the top layer was bottles and cans. Under that, it was nothing but barf." In the old days, most barf was tightly sealed in the garbage bags of those who didn't even possess recycling tubs.

The garbage business just plain stinks since the city's new ordinance took effect last fall, forcing people to recycle or pay substantially more for trash collection.

It has placed such a hardship on small, mom-and-pop style garbage hauling businesses that one legendary garbage man called it quits last week. Lloyd Gerbitz, owner of Gerbitz Rubbish Removal, sold his fleet of five trucks and 1,000 customers to Western Disposal Services-a large corporation that provides the bulk of Boulder's garbage collection.

Gerbitz, 64, has been in the trash business almost his entire life. His father, Robert, was a local garbage collector and at one point in the '70s the two of them competed with separate businesses.

The business has always been profitable-a fact made obvious by Lloyd Gerbitz' comfortable rural spread on the northern outskirts of Boulder.

"You've always been able to tell where a garbage man lives because there's usually a big-ass boat, an RV or two and some nice cars," Gerbitz says. "For a long time this was a good honest business to be in. Now it's nothing but a good way to lose money."

Behind his spacious ranch-style home is the warehouse that until last week contained the garbage trucks. Today it houses only a small kitchen that Robert Gerbitz, 90, uses to cook for the family's brood of chickens.

"Dad gets out here real early in the morning and fixes them rice, and spaghetti and other fancy meals," Lloyd Gerbitz says. "He just loves animals, and he wants them to enjoy their food."

Gerbitz says the days of making a comfortable living ended for him quickly after Nov. 1, when the new recycling regulations took effect. Gerbitz, like other haulers, had to buy expensive new equipment in order to haul recyclables to the county's new $15-million recycling center run by Eco-Cycle. On top of that, he had to begin running routes twice instead of once in order to pick up all of the recyclables. Adding to his troubles, customers began reducing their service packages-from two or three cans a week to only one-in order to reduce their collection fees under the city's new regulations.

"Suddenly all we were doing was losing money," Gerbitz says.

Although he hasn't quit or sold the business, Mahoney talks as if it's only a matter of time. His reward for enduring unprecedented amounts of consumer vomit and un-guzzled beer is a monthly net loss.

"From an economics standpoint, this whole thing is complete nonsense," Mahoney says. "It's costing society, and it's definitely hurting the small, independent hauler. Just think of the good you could do with the $15 million we spent on that recycling center. You could send kids to college, and you easily keep Ocean Journey afloat."

Mahoney isn't some trash man with just enough economics horse sense to be dangerous. He has a Ph.D. in economics from the University of Colorado. He was a professor of finance at CU and taught economics at the University of Texas. He's the former city manager of Aspen and Steamboat Springs. He took up garbage hauling in order to make an honest, simple living.

"Environmental economists all understand that forced recycling programs like this are stupid and counter-productive," Mahoney says. "Many of the knowledgeable faculty and students at CU poke fun at this whole thing. Publicly, however, they sit on their sinecures and refuse to rock the boat. It makes you wonder just what's happening to this town."

Mahoney and Gerbitz each claim to embrace the general concept of recycling and reusing resources. Gerbitz heats his warehouse with used motor oil that's poured into an emissions-controlled heater. He sometimes heats with old, discarded forklift pallets that burn in wood stoves. He often finds uses for items that his customers throw away. And leftover spaghetti? That goes to the birds, of course, who in turn make eggs.

But Gerbitz has seen first hand some feeble attempts by consumers to recycle on a massive scale. Once, while fulfilling a community service requirement for a traffic offense, Gerbitz was asked to haul three enormous roll-off truck beds of "recycled" phone books to the landfill. Other haulers also tell tales of "recycled" goods ending up in landfills.

"Eco-cycle has always been very aggressive in finding homes for recyclables, but it doesn't always work out," says Gary Horton, president of Western Disposal. "That's just the reality of it. Recycling has to be viewed and understood as a social movement, not an economic movement. There's something visceral about recycling. People just feel good doing it."

While macroeconomics theories about recycling reflect a complicated and dark science, the microeconomics of it are quite simple-especially regarding the effects on small businesses such as Gerbitz and One Way. These are the losers of a game in which winners are determined by government, not by free-market competition.

Under the new rules, as set forth by city hall, size and scale are everything. Players who can't absorb massive new up-front expenses face bankruptcy.

Gerbitz, for example, spent $30,000 on a recycling truck in order to play by the city's new rules. Payments on the truck were $1,700 each month. In addition, Gerbitz had to insure, fuel and maintain the truck.

The company is paid by the pound for what it drops off at the Boulder County Recycling Center (staffed by Eco-Cycle and county jail chain gangs), and the amount per pound represents a percentage of the market value of the recyclables. In November, that amounted to a check to Gerbitz from the county for $268.99-a whopping $1,431.01 less than the payment on the recycling truck. For December, the county's check to Gerbitz was $184.63-that's $1,515.37 less than the truck payment.

"And keep in mind, that truck payment is just a fraction of the additional costs we incurred," Gerbitz says. "We were having to drive each route twice in order to get the recyclables. We had all the fuel and maintenance expenses. We had customers, understandably, doing everything they could under the guidelines to reduce the cost of their service."

After agreeing to an undisclosed sales price, Lloyd Gerbitz and Horton teamed up on a letter to all of Gerbitz's customers explaining the transaction. Horton says he wanted to put a kind note on the letter wishing Lloyd Gerbitz a wonderful retirement.

"I told them to take it out," Gerbitz says. "I'm pissed about this, and I'm not retiring. The truth is, I have been put out of business. Now I'll find something else to do. I've always wanted to wear one of those McDonald's hats. Or I'll wash dishes. And don't laugh, because all jobs are worthwhile and important."

For Mahoney, the microeconomics of forced recycling are even simpler than for Gerbitz. Although he incurred several major expenses in order to comply with the city's new law, he needs only one as an example of how quickly the program is sinking him. He paid $6,000 to convert one of his trucks into a recycling vehicle. He financed it with his wife's credit card.

To date, he has received no money from the recycling center and he won't get a check at all for most of the recyclables he has collected and dumped to date. That's because Mahoney wasn't weighing in when he dumped recyclables, making it impossible for recycling center officials to know how much he's owed.

Mahoney says he didn't weigh in because he was told in no uncertain terms by Jeff Callahan, who manages the recycling center, that in order to use the scale he needed to buy the same kind of insurance policy one needs to transport hazardous waste. The cost was tens of thousands of dollars each year, which Mahoney can't afford.

"Callahan told me that all the other haulers had it, and that if I didn't have the insurance I couldn't sign the contract and dump recyclables," Mahoney says.

So rather than scaling in, Mahoney simply dumped in the manner that any consumer would after pulling up with a pickup or trailer.

What Mahoney didn't know was that no other hauler doing business in Boulder-without exception-has obeyed the order to buy hazardous waste insurance. Even Western officials say they can't afford it. Despite violating the requirement, all haulers except Mahoney have been weighing in, dumping, and receiving reimbursement checks.

"They want us to buy a $56,000 insurance policy in order to use their tipping scale," says Horton. "I said, 'Hey, Jeff (Callahan), I can't afford that.' So far, he's been working with us and letting us weigh in."

James Burrus, spokesman for Boulder County, says the county's risk management division requires the hazardous waste insurance in order to reduce the public's liability should something go horribly wrong.

"Suppose a jar of mercury gets thrown away with someone's recyclables, it gets dumped at the recycling center and exposes all of the workers," Burrus says. "It could cost tens of thousands of dollars. It puts the taxpayers at risk, and we don't want to do that."

Burrus says it's true that haulers aren't complying with the requirement.

"The problem is that after the events of Sept. 11, insurance companies are charging out the ying-yang for policies that could be affected by anyone trying to terrorize the government," Burrus says. "What better way to screw with government than to put hazardous materials in with a bunch of cans and bottles headed for a recycling center?"

Burrus says the county is tolerating the refusal of haulers to buy insurance, for the time being, while county officials seek an alternative solution.

"We don't want to shut anyone down with this, so we're working with the haulers," Burrus says. "Among other things, we're looking at the possibility of insuring the recycling facility and paying for it with an adjustment to the tipping fee or by increasing the amount we withhold in payments to haulers from the sales of recycled materials."

Aside from the insurance problem, Horton says Western is doing fine under the city's new program, and the company hasn't experienced a loss in revenue. Western spent $2.6 million on new equipment to comply with the ordinance, and another $200,000 on educational materials to inform its customers about changes in the city's trash laws.

Although it would be a drop in the proverbial garbage bucket, Gerbitz and Mahoney each say they've been waiting patiently for a check from the city of Boulder to defray some of the costs associated with meeting the city's recycling guidelines. Gerbitz and Mahoney insist that Kara Dinhoffer, the city's environmental analyst, promised them each a $5,000 grant.

"She won't even return my calls," says Mahoney. "I call and call, and she never calls back. And there's never a check in the mail."

Dinhoffer didn't return repeated calls from Boulder Weekly, either.

"She does return my calls," says Gerbitz. "She just promises and promises and promises, but there's never a check."

"What check?" counters Horton. "I don't know where they get this idea that the city is going to cut them a check. We didn't get a check, and I don't know of any discussions that took place about haulers getting checks from the city to defray costs."

Mahoney answers that question by pulling from his files a document titled "Trash Hauler Recycling Transition Mini-Grant Application Form," provided by the city of Boulder. The application asks for detailed information about a company's finances, its customer base, and its plan for complying with the city's "new trash hauler and recycling ordinance." Carolann Mahoney, Mick Mahoney's wife and the president of One Way, filled out the grant form and mailed it on Nov. 22. She has received no response.

"Dinhoffer didn't even give me a form," says Gerbitz. "She just said the city would send me a check for $5,000. She has told me that several times, and now I learn that I should have filled out some application a long time ago that I knew nothing about."

While the check would represent a small fraction of the losses One Way has incurred, Mahoney says the decision to borrow money on his wife's credit card was tied directly to the "promise" of a $5,000 check.

"We have no other means of paying down that balance," Mahoney says, pointing to a bandage on his head and joking that his wife beats him for running up the credit card.

Respond: letters@boulderweekly.com

Defending Peace
Local Activists aquitted by jury

by Jeffery Smith

Just 11 days after the fateful Sept. 11, a Boulder-based activist collective, "La Mitzvah" (meaning the good deed), ascended a construction crane in Denver and unfurled a 100 pound, 70-foot by 40-foot banner bearing the words, "Wage Peace Now!" framed with the faces of Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Jesus Christ, and the Dalai Lama.

Six activists-Jamie Bouknight, Jeff Friesen, Ginger Cassidy, Amy Johnson, Harrison Fox, and Uri Koslen-were arrested by Denver police and charged with third-degree felony criminal mischief and second-degree trespassing. The activists were released after raising $10,000 in bail. The charge of criminal mischief was dropped at the arraignment hearing.

The beginning of the trial, which took place April 1-3, saw Judge Andrew S. Armatas deny two possible defenses-freedom of speech and the lesser of two evils. Famous civil rights lawyer Walter Gerash, acting pro-bono for the defendants, said, "They felt that climbing the crane would be a lesser choice of evils than killing Americans in the war. They felt the government should attempt peaceful solutions before resorting to war."

At a pre-trial rally at the steps of the Denver City and County building, the defendants spoke.

"We can't turn a blind eye," Fox said. "Are our wars just? We're moving toward a global world. If we continue in a path of war, there will be increased suffering. We need to turn toward peace as the answer."

About 25 supporters, holding signs and copies of the Wage Peace Now banner chanted, "Free speech is not a crime! Acquit the Wage Peace Six now!"

Onlookers looked but mostly ignored their chants.

After trudging through 16 rejections for a jury of six, the trial itself was filled with dramatic speeches as well, including one witness' exclamation, "Politically I feel they're close to angels and maybe flew up to the crane and performed a wonderful task."

In his closing remarks the prosecutor said, "It is a frightening, frightening thing, maybe not terrifying, but certainly disturbing thing, for educated adults to decide that they are so enlightened that their views about the way things should be prevail over the rights of somebody else to say who can come to their place of work or on their place of residence."

In a surprising move, the defense quickly rested its case, and all six defendants waived their right to speech before the start of the jury trial.

Gerash declared that the message, with the images of veterans of peace and nonviolence, speaks for itself. "This message-right now, in Bethelehem, right at the Nativity scene there, they're firing the guns," Gerash said, almost in tears. "Tomorrow, the anniversary of his death," as he pointed to the banner's image of Martin Luther King, Jr. "To make this effort a criminal offense of second degree when they haven't proved it-Thou shall not trespass, thou shall not kill! The fifth commandment is stronger than the Fifth Amendment and stronger than putting an invisible line over humanity and the communication these young people gently try to do. I wish I had grandchildren and children who would do what they did. They hurt nobody. They put their bodies with their love for humanity. They were spiritually motivated, and blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be the sons of God. We need more of these kids. They shouldn't be criminalized."

The jury unanimously agreed, and the six were set free.