Humans had their own precise methods of arrival. Entering into Lab 101 each morning, they walked down a flight of stairs and through a one-way turnstile into a change room, where they showered and changed into blue and white coveralls and white Keds. The air inside, under negative pressure, felt clammy and dry; in the most pressurized areas, it felt like being inside an airplane cabin. "We sucked on hard candy and cough drops to keep our throats moist," remembers one worker. For the burly animal handlers who moved about the lab, it was not unusual to take eight or ten showers, each supervised by guards, in a single day. "We were awfully clean when we got home at night," an employee recalls. Showers were frequent; the Plum Island records for most showers taken per shift stand at seventeen for animal handlers and twenty-three for scientists. To avoid a constant changing of clothes, workers often went about their business wearing only rubber boots, which made for quite a sight.
The only way to exit the laboratory was through the anteroom, where workers scraped under their fingernails (a perfect hiding spot for viruses), coughed, spit, and blew their noses into paper towels, and walked through a one-way metal gate that automatically triggered the spray chute of rinsing showers. Five showerheads deluged seven and a half searing gallons of water per second upon the occupant, as he washed thoroughly with hexachlorophene-infused soap. And no cutting corners, either. "Skip any part of a bath and get caught doing it," says a worker, "and you're out of a job so quick it's a pity." If a worker exited an especially "hot area," he has to take two showers with two changes of clothes in between; otherwise it was just one, but that shower had to last at least three minutes.
Even eating had rules. No going down the block for a bite to eat. Cold box lunches went into the lab through the air lock. Lab glassware, tools, and other objects went through walk-in-sized autoclaves, giant steam pressure cookers with two hot and clean doors that screwed shut and sterilized items going in, and decontaminate them going out.
Workers were required to follow other rules even after leaving the island. A sign posted at the ferry dock eliminated any misunderstandings between the director and the three hundred plus workers in his keep:
ATTENTION
YOU ARE NOW LEAVING A QUARANTINE AREA
AVOID CONTACT WITH THE FOLLOWING ANIMALS
CATTLE POULTRY MICE DEER SHEEP DUCKS GERBILS HAMSTERS
GOATS PET BIRDS GUINEA PIGS RABBITS SWINE
Security was taken extremely seriously in the beginning. From the moment the Army transferred Plum Island to the USDA, the aggies disclaimed an active role in military affairs. But they set up a first-rate operation with the type of security and secrecy worthy of a military installation. Plum Island's "armored division" consisted of twenty-six trucks, four buses, two carryalls, and three jeeps, which cruised the island's perimeter on twenty-four-hour armed patrol. As employees disembarked from the ferry each morning, three uniformed guards, in dark brown shirtsleeves and black caps, examined each worker's security pass at the harbor gatehouse and checked off his identification number on a clipboard. A red pass meant the employee worked in a "hot zone"; it allowed him on the "red" bus and then gave him clearance into the laboratory building, confined strictly to the reds. A yellow pass allowed him inside the labs' outdoor compound, but not inside the labs. A brown pass permitted island access, but not near the labs. More guards patrolled the fences around the lab and admitted people into the compound at the lab gatehouse.
Obedience of biological safety and security rules was drilled into the heads of employees over a mandatory two-day orientation program. Entering a restricted area without a pass, entering an animal holding area without permission, or leaving Lab 101 or 257 without showering out were all egregious violations — even minor infractions were verboten. The degree of punishment was tied to the severity of the infraction and meted out as follows: reprimand for the first offense, ten days suspension without pay for second offense, discharge on the third offense. One worker remembers the second day of his orientation course: "After lunch, we were escorted by Pete DiBlasio [Plum Island's first chief of security], and he was held up at the door holding it for someone carrying out something, and he called out to us, 'Stop!' But we kept walking a few steps because we were in direct rays of sunlight. I took a shortcut off the path and walked on the grass, and Pete ran over to me. He said, 'Listen, I understand that this is your second day on the job. But if I ever see you walk on that grass again, I'll write you up — and after one more write-up, you're gone.' "
In the 1950s, dealing in lethal germs required loyalty oaths ("I hereby pledge full allegiance to the United States Government…") and State Department and FBI national security checks. Clearances at Plum Island were termed "Sensitive," meaning that most personnel had to be screened by the feds in a review that took up to three months. Sensitive positions included security (armed guards and full-time firefighters); employee-residents of the island; those with access to red areas; animal caretakers; and those with access to classified research material. The case of Isaac Gaston reflects the seriousness with which the rules were then regarded. Gaston was a truck driver who drove from building to building, carting items and people all over the island. He had been a truck driver on Plum Island since day one, but now fell under the new security rules because he made stops inside the laboratory compounds. Until the driver received his Sensitive clearance, Doc Shahan ordered his duties immediately curtailed to supply runs between nonessential buildings, far away from the restricted areas.
The rules for visitors were simple. There were no visitors. Once the germs were uncorked, no visitors, no matter how important, were admitted on Plum Island. "Nobody," said Doc Shahan to a nosy reporter, tamping fresh tobacco into his pipe for emphasis. "Nobody goes just to see." He even denied access to Dr. Herald Cox from Lederle Laboratories, a dedication day VIP who had discovered the germ warfare agent Q Fever. Cox merely wanted to observe safety procedures for a lab that Lederle was building in Uruguay. Though Cox's friend Dr. Hagan called repeatedly and lobbied to allow the visit, Doc Shahan put his foot down — no visitors allowed while the lab is in operation.
The beaches and the harbor were also off-limits. Doc Shahan moved against lobstermen and fishermen setting their traps and nets in Plum Island area waters. Often fishermen, pleasure boaters, and thrill-seeking snoops had to be waved away by guards brandishing shotguns, shouting through booming bullhorns from the silky beach or from high atop the island's rocky coves. Any picnicking boaters who set foot on the island had to sign release affidavits ("I consent to any quarantine and detention imposed…I will avoid contact with… I consent in the event of emergency to be detained…my clothes and personal items may be held for decontamination… ") or they were promptly arrested, and their foodstuffs confiscated.
Once, a boater's puppy dove from the craft to chase after a piece of driftwood and swam to shore. Because the dog had set its paws on the island and might communicate disease, it was forcibly confiscated by the guards, put to sleep, and incinerated. Rules were rules, and this one was clear: "None of the animals that land on Plum Island are ever permitted to leave."