Trashin’ With a Passion

I am standing by a piece of machinery that crushes aluminum cans and I am seriously discussing the beneficial nature of trash with a grown man in a Woodsy Owl T-shirt when it occurs to me what I’m doing.

I say to myself, wait.

You have had 30 years of big-city reporting.

You have profiled some of the great leaders of your generation.

You have personally eaten pepperoni pizza with Michael J. Fox.

And now you are standing by a crushing machine in Van Nuys talking beer cans with a guy who is passionate about debris?

What happened?

The thought strikes me like the flat side of a shovel and for a moment I am tempted to tell him that I do not give one brass-plated Oakland damn about beating beer cans into plowshares and that he can take Woodsy Owl and stuff him down the commode.

But I hesitate.

I mean, the guy is really proud of his trash and he is talking about Woodsy Owl as though he is an icon of our age.

He is boosting recycled beer cans like they are an answer to crime and teen-age pregnancy. He is talking an end to human poverty and emotional degradation. He is talking America here, Elmer.

Let me explain.

The man’s name is Errol Segal and he runs a recycling center where, he says, he will buy anything but dead snakes and dog spit.

Errol is 41 years old and worked as a dental technician and then a junk dealer before he and his brother-in-law created the Woodsy Owl Recycling Center, a bird logo he is entitled to use thanks to a deal with the U.S. Forest Service.

Woodsy Owl, you see, is an anti-pollution symbol and Segal, who did not just fall off a turnip truck, thought it would be a terrific idea to have old Woodsy as his symbol too. That is why he is walking around with an owl on his stomach.

On back of the T-shirt it says “Give a hoot, don’t pollute,” a motto I find if not offensive, dumb.

Doggerel may amuse children, but bashing a cat with a chair leg will also amuse children, which only proves you can’t trust the judgment of kids.

But that is neither here nor there while I am out in the noonday sun with Errol Segal listening to him talk about trash.

“People think a recycling center is dirty,” he is saying, glowing with enthusiasm. “Not true! People think cans have to be flattened to be brought in! Not true! People think glass has to be washed before they can bring it here!”

“Not true?” I ask.

“Right,” he says, “not true.”

If teen-agers were told to go out and gather trash for recycling instead of being given an allowance, there would not be so much crime and trouble today, Segal says.

“You can make as much as $100 a day selling cans,” he adds. Later he will lower that to $50 a day.

“For some old people, it’s a whole income. They go around the neighborhood with shopping bags gathering cans and bottles.”

There is a catch in his voice. He waits, no doubt looking off at an army of old people with shopping bags going from door to door.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Errol says.

But before I have time to work up sympathy, he is off in another direction, evoking images of happy singles laughing and pushing each other playfully at recycling parties. Women with cute behinds splashing in the spa and square-jawed guys with rakish half smiles and chin dimples.

“You can have a lot of fun,” Errol says.

I am fascinated by the guy. He is talking nonstop about bundles of newspapers and plastic soda bottles and auto batteries. He tells me how I can bring in used frozen food trays and car radiators in a voice that trembles, like he is reading it in Genesis.

“They have been recycling trash for thousands of years,” Errol says. “Think about it. Thousands of years! Weapons into plowshares. It’s in the Bible.”

Last year they even sponsored a Woodsy Owl Parade, although Errol is forced to observe that hardly anyone came.

“Well,” I say, “you know how it is with parades. People just don’t appreciate the good things in life.”

“We’re going to try it again in September,” he says, impressed with my observation. “You’ll be there, I guess.”

I hadn’t expected that.

“Hey,” I say, “you kidding?”

Vague enough.

Errol and I talk for maybe an hour about how his two recycling centers, this one and a place downtown, are the answer to the excess-junk problem in America, and I am beginning to feel a little sorry for him as he tells me he began the business with a borrowed three grand.

“What do you figure it’s worth now?” I ask, just to make conversation.

“Oh,” he says, “maybe four and a half million.”

I look at him. He smiles.

“What do you think?” he says. “You feel any better about trash?”

As I was saying, I am standing by a piece of machinery that crushes aluminum cans and I am seriously discussing the beneficial nature of trash when it occurs to me what an interesting conversation this is.

That’s a sweet little bird on my T-shirt too.