The crown jewel was already paying dividends.
THE CHANGING OF THE GUARD
After spending a decade building Plum Island into a preeminent center of research, Doc Shahan retired in 1963. The young man who the USDA had groomed for the position from the very day he graduated from Purdue ascended to the directorship. Jerry Jackson Callis would remain at that post for the next quarter-century.
Dr. Callis told the islanders he had no intentions of toying with Doc's legacy, but instead would build upon it. His goals, he said, were threefold: develop the most successful research; maintain a high level of employee morale; and aspire to be the most respected laboratory, not only in the nation, but in the world. More than ambitious, the goals were heartfelt. His tenacious, almost childlike devotion to the island and its mission was never in doubt. As he encouraged communication between employees and management and promoted the freedom to speak one's mind, the new director promised firmness coupled with fairness. The most important resource on Plum Island is the employee, he said. He pledged to "respect the personal dignity…recognize length of service and work achievement…maintain continuous employment and realistic salaries…and provide work security" for all. Callis's final admonition invoked the age-old rule preached in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke—"Believe in the Golden Rule and always practice it."
Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.
Because the "Nothing Leaves" policy discouraged most outside maintenance and support, Plum Island grew into a self-contained enterprise. For example, the island had its own machine and metalwork shop from which Callis and the scientists ordered "everything from roads to rabbit restraints," says veteran Plum Island draftsman Ben Robbins. That line became the motto of the engineering department. From completing in-house alterations and repairs to adjusting the elaborate laboratory containment system, detailed over hundreds of blueprints, no task was too difficult for the Plum Island workforce. By the time Callis assumed the reins, the engineering department — along with two laboratory buildings, an armed-guard platoon, waterworks, animal corrals, electric power plant, fire department, sewage treatment plant, cafeteria, laundry, library, and two marine ferryboats — had transformed the island into a realm.
Now Jerry Callis alone presided over a virtual kingdom, a fantastically beautiful, primeval island replete with miles of white beaches and green groves, bluffs and swamps and fields, in the cradle of the most coveted real estate in America. All of this at his command, protected by twenty-four-hour armed guards and 350 people manning the island each day. What's more, no worker could pull seniority over the new director — Callis predated every single member of the staff. He helped design the buildings, and he authored the innumerable safety and security rules — placing him on a perch beyond reproach. The USDA once referred to the island as "a small town unto itself." Others who knew better called it "Jerry's Plantation." "They referred to it as 'Master's Island,' " remembers former Plum Island scientist Dr. Carol House, "because he ruled it with an iron fist — like with slaves and all."
In the eighteenth century, the locals sportively called the reclusive Samuel Beebe, who owned Plum Island back then, "Lord of the Isles" and "King Beebe." Now Callis had risen to Beebe's level of esteem — and never was this more apparent as when his next-door neighbor paid a visit and welcomed him into the clique. Remembers Callis: "Robert David Lion [Gardiner, whose family has owned Gardiner's Island since 1638, and who refers to himself as the Sixteenth Lord of the Manor] telephoned me and said, 'We're both lords of adjacent islands — we must meet.' " The eccentric codger ordered his crew to sail his yacht, adorned with a colorful flag bearing the Gardiner family coat-of-arms, due south from his manor house to Plum Island harbor. Feasting on a light salad in the Plum Island cafeteria, the two "Lords" hit it off immediately. Like a boy showing off his toys, Callis toured his new friend around the island grounds. Old Gardiner nodded and smiled and spun tales about the two island lairs from generations long ago, in an aristocratic voice not quite the Queen's English, but decidedly not American. "Lord" Gardiner then departed, thanking his companion for lunch and extending an invitation for Callis to visit his manor house. With "Lord" Callis's permission, Gardiner later sent over his niece, Alexandra Goelet, who was studying osprey while attending Yale University. In a rare dispensation, Dr. Callis allowed her and her classmates ashore to do some "birding" on Plum Island.[20] They made a special visit to the only marked grave that exists today on Plum Island, a deep pit where a Revolutionary War colonel, one Thomas "Gardner," was buried in 1786.
To his subjects, Callis was larger than life. He was greatly respected and, like many a monarch, seldom seen — spotted only occasionally in his blue seersucker suit hustling into the Lab 101 conference room. To others, Plum Island was his very own Emerald City. Callis was the wizard who, wearing a sorcerer's cap, threw the switches behind heavy curtains that shrouded the redbrick administration building perched atop the old Army parade ground, regally surveying his windswept island lair. Adding to the intrigue around the time of his coronation, Callis married Loisanne Roon, a local millionairess active in the Southold Garden Club. The couple moved into a rambling, secluded estate in Southold, tucked deep in the woods, boasting captivating views of sailboats plying Peconic Bay and the Hamptons.
Almost to a man, the workers saw him as the rare benevolent dictator who meant what he said, and practiced what he said. Stanley Mickaliger, a retired building engineer, concurs. Under Callis's reign:
You had dedicated people. This was not just a job, it was also our home, like one big close-knit family — and we're still close after all these years and keep in touch. When I sailed on ships during the war, they always said, "It's not the ship — it's the crew that makes the ship." It was like the world of a ship over on Plum, and when we worked there, regardless of what anyone tells you or says, Callis took care of his people. Callis looked out for them.
Back then, "the place was just beautiful," remembers one worker. "There were flower beds planted everywhere — the roads were swept clean and the grass was always freshly manicured. There were fourteen or fifteen guys dedicated just to what they called 'Buildings and Grounds' who kept this place such that it was like being on a big estate." After all, it was the USDA's crown jewel, and diplomats and scientists from foreign lands like Sweden, Spain, Mexico, and Australia would visit often (the visitor policy had loosened a bit). The jewel required constant polishing so it could sparkle for all to see.
When Callis encouraged open communication, he meant it. Every year, he orchestrated a family picnic and awards ceremony where he grandly recognized the seemingly small contributions of workers that, together, built Plum Island into a research powerhouse. Scientists and secretaries alike were called onstage and cited for outstanding performance and dedication. Because he listened to the workforce and implemented their suggestions, new ideas came to his desk each week. Many were put into practice, and all were acknowledged with gratitude. One worker suggested installing fluorescent arrows on each dolphin marking the harbor entrance, and another thought of a temperature alarm in the Mouse House, the mice colony building. Still another proposed to install lighting and protective wire grills in front of the big oil burners in the dark basement passageways of the labs. An engineer solved the problem of ash accumulation in the incinerator room with a simple solution — install a blower that would blow the ash into the atmosphere with the smoke. He too got an award for this toxic remedy, and Plum Island burned biologically contaminated waste this way right up until the environmentally conscious 1970s.
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Years later, Uncle Gardiner and Alexandra became bitterly estranged over future plans for their 365-year-old island estate. The rift between them grew so great that ninety-one-year-old Robert actually attempted to find an unrelated man named Gardiner to adopt as his sole heir, to wrest control of Gardiner's Island from his niece. He was unsuccessful.