Jeff Klinkenberg, Times Staff Writer
In Print: Thursday, June 26, 2008
Isabel Rodriguez, a waiter at Dixie Chicken & Seafood, sweeps around a figure of Elvis Presley on Tuesday. Owner Anita Griffin fears the closing of U.S. Sugar.
CLEWISTON — Anita Griffin is proud of her chicken, moist on the inside, crisp on the outside and never greasy. Griffin — everyone calls her Miss Anita — is a classic Southern cook who learned from her mother, raised a brood of children and ended up in homey Clewiston, where she opened Dixie Chicken & Seafood.
She's a tiny woman of 73, with white hair and apple cheeks. Sometimes after closing, folks tap on the glass, hoping for one more drumstick or a peek at her shrine to Elvis Presley.
"I feed a lot of people," she said, wiping the counter for the umpteenth time.
Now more than ever, the citizens of Clewiston need comfort food from Miss Anita.
The ultimate company town, Clewiston is losing its company.
U.S. Sugar, which began growing sugarcane in 1931, plans to sell its 187,000 acres and assets to the state as part of an Everglades restoration plan. The company, which employs 1,700 people — most of them in this town of 7,000 — is going to shut down in six years.
Everything is about to change. And nobody knows if life will change for the better or for the worse.
"This was a slap in the face to the whole town," Miss Anita said. "Who is going to buy my chicken, my collards, my German chocolate cake?"
Matt Beatty, who had stopped by for Miss Anita's takeout, said, "The important thing is not to panic."
Beatty, 42, worked for U.S. Sugar for two decades. He now sells cattle feed and serves on the Hendry County School Board.
"We take everything hard in a small town," he said. "Everything is done on a personal basis. Like, I come in here, and I don't have to order. The ladies know I want a chicken-fried steak and that I'll need double mashed potatoes because I don't eat green vegetables. That's Clewiston. You don't want that Clewiston to change."
• • •
To some in the outside world, the industry known as "Big Sugar" was a corporate villain that exploited poor workers and dumped pollution in the Everglades. But if you lived in Clewiston, in one of the little pretty neighborhoods off Sugarland Highway, it was different.
U.S. Sugar made life possible. It built Cane Field Stadium for the high school, Candy Cane Park for the toddlers. It gave money to Clewiston Public Library, sponsored the Sugar Festival and funded the Harlem Academy, the day care facility in the black community. It gave Ernestine Harris, a 35-year employee, a scholarship so she could learn the day care business.
Your daddy worked for U.S. Sugar, or your uncle, spouse, son or daughter. U.S. Sugar donated money to send your kids to college. Some kids never came back, but many did, and they got jobs at U.S. Sugar and spent their paychecks at True-Value Hardware, Wal-Mart and Miss Anita's chicken restaurant.
They bought wrigglers from Charlie's Worms to fish for speckled perch in Lake Okeechobee, Valentine's Day flowers at Clewiston Florist, a six-pack at Suzy B. Liquors.
If you needed to talk to the mayor, Mali Chamness would listen sympathetically. Her folks were sugar people.
On Wednesday, a deacon tweaked the sign in front of First Baptist Church of Clewiston, promoting next Sunday's sermon:
"A word for the anxious, angry and fearful."
• • •
For six months beginning each fall, workers streamed into the fields surrounding Clewiston and lit fires to burn dead leaves away from the cane stalks before the harvest. Smoke billowed and floated toward West Palm Beach or Fort Myers and inevitably provoked complaints about that awful sweet smell.
"It smelled like money to us. It meant tradition. Our way of life," said Christa Hill, 48, who worked for U.S. Sugar for 30 years, managing its charming hotel, the Clewiston Inn, located next to corporate headquarters. "Yes, it smells. Yes, the soot gets on your clothes. The soot gets on your car. So you wash it off. Life goes on."
Her husband, a farmer at U.S. Sugar for more than three decades, will lose his job in the near future. The company plans to pay severance to its employees, and many will cash in stock they own. "We're looking at our options, but we don't know what we'll do," Hill said.
"I want to stay. I love this town. But I have to say we're still in shock. We never thought this day was going to happen. We had a lot of smart people at U.S. Sugar who could solve any problem. The company was always going to be there for us."
Over at Roland Martin's Marina and Resort on Lake Okeechobee, manager Ramon Iglesias had another view.
"I think it might be a change for the better," he said. "U.S. Sugar helped our town, but also controlled everything in town and kept other businesses out. This will be an opportunity for new business and development."
• • •
In recent years, regulatory pressures and competition have made business tougher for Big Sugar. Layoffs at U.S. Sugar Corp. began about a decade ago. The company reduced its work force by 40 percent.
Butch Wilson, 57, got the ax in October. He had started small, worked himself up the chain, to a computer expert. Even the big shots knew him.
He was stunned to learn about his lack of importance to a company to which he had given 32 years.
Now he is the director of the little Clewiston History Museum. It is filled with 79 years of sugar artifacts, pieces of machines, photographs of machete-wielding men harvesting cane, and his memories.
"We were a great company," he said. "Look at me. I still say 'we.' When I think of U.S. Sugar, I don't think about the company that laid me off. I think about the company that allowed me to live in a small town and educate my children. They gave my kids scholarships to college. Two of my kids got master's degrees. Isn't that something?"
He got up from his desk, the one covered with artifacts, and walked over to lock the front door.
"I don't know what's happened to America," he said. "But I do think what's happening in Clewiston is the shadow that is falling over all of America. All the homegrown businesses are disappearing.
"All of us are worried. Something has gone way wrong."
Jeff Klinkenberg can be reached at klink@sptimes.com or (727) 893-8727.
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