For Cleanup Crews, Stadium Job Means Big-League Trash

Summer’s almost over in Orange County and some here are mighty glad to see it go--especially the maintenance crews who gather up the garbage after games at Anaheim Stadium.

“You never realize how much trash there is until you’re a trash man here,” said Tim Abbott, a part-time maintenance supervisor, surveying the wreckage left over from a recent Angel game. “The day seems like it’s never going to end.”

Summer is the busiest time of the year for the 65 men and 30 women responsible for a presentable sports venue, said Greg Smith, stadium manager. The Rams play only three exhibition and eight regular-season games in Anaheim Stadium, as opposed to the 81 Angels’ home games.

Last year, the Angels drew 2.7 million to their home games. And city littering laws don’t apply in the stadium. It’s a trash free-for-all.

“It’s unfortunate,” said Robert Donovan, head maintenance man at the stadium and a part-time student of the sociology of trash.

“It’s the modern-day mentality,” Donovan observed, walking the infield track early one Monday morning. “People don’t pick up after themselves. A lot of them enjoy making a mess. They come here with the thought that they spent $5 so they can destroy the place. And they try to.”

The numbers are on Donovan’s side. Concession sales statistics show that today’s fan has evolved into, well, a slob.

This summer, sports fans dropped the better part of 3 million beer and soda cups on the floors and steps of Anaheim Stadium. Another 620,000 peanut bags, 300,000 gooey ice cream wrappers and 150,000 Cracker Jack boxes were slipped under the seats.

And the maintenance workers definitely do not look forward to the surprise in the box, either.

“Cracker Jack stickers, those things are everywhere,” Abbott said.

Gum is not for sale in the stadium, at the specific request of the maintenance crew, because it must be scraped off the seat bottoms with a putty knife.

Aside from rock concerts, where the normal rules of civilization are temporarily suspended, the worst trash day of the summer is Little League Day, Abbott said.

“There’s what, 15,000 kids?” he guessed.” They get into everything. Parents turn ‘em loose and say, ‘Have fun, kids.’ It’s a mess everywhere. Paper towels all over the bathrooms and spit wads on the TV screens.”

Best-Behaved Visitors

Season ticket holders are generally the best-behaved visitors, as judged by their garbage, Donovan said. “They come more frequently and eat at home,” he said.

“But there’s no ‘nicer’ trash,” he quickly added.

In fact, most of the maintenance workers said the worst messes are made up in the rarefied air of the stadium’s 105 private suites, with their commanding views of the playing field.

“I guess when they’re happy at a win they throw food around,” explained Rubina Ceja, whose official title is lead janitor. “The windows are all full of mustard. Catsup’s on the walls. Food fights are the worst. Sometimes they’ll break furniture . . . but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Ceja heads a crew of 30 women in orange smocks and blue slacks who swab down the suites. The rooms smell of the vinegar and water concoction used to squeegee the smoked-glass windows.

The job description for those cleaning the suites is unquestionably, if informally, sexist, Ceja and Donovan agreed. There are no men cleaning the suites.

Mixed Results

“The guys were doing it for about four years,” Ceja said. But the results of their labors were somewhat mixed and so they were sent back down with their brooms and 40-gallon trash bags, she said.

“Women clean better,” Ceja said, laughing. “They get every single spot. We’re very picky about our suites.”

She and her crew are also looking forward to the end of summer and the baseball season.

“The girls like it,” she said. “They can take a leave of absence. It’s been real busy.”

Beneath the suites, along the concourses in the belly of the stadium, Cushman tractors trundle wagons piled high with plastic trash bags destined for the compactor.

Feeding this garbage train are the men outside who toil in the trenches of the trash war----down the aisles and through the seats.

Along with the women, they show up at the stadium at 6 a.m. after a night game and work until 2:30 p.m., or until the mess is swept, bagged and hosed down.

Pay for the part-time jobs starts at $6.17 an hour, Donovan said.

No one’s getting rich but at least the hot days of August are ending.

Doesn’t Like Heat

“In summertime the heat is here and I don’t like it,” said Enrique Saldivar, squinting beneath a baseball cap. “But I don’t let it bother me. I just don’t think about it.”

Holding the trash bag open with his knees and the ends anchored underfoot, Saldivar demonstrated the “no-trash-on-your-pants” method of sweeping.

“You have to do it carefully in how you sweep,” he said.

He and his colleagues keep alert for lost items, including money.

“If you make a couple of dollars in change, that’s lunch money,” Saldivar explained. “It’s a good day when you hit a 10 or a 20.”

Larger bills and other valuables get turned into the lost and found, Donovan said.

“We’ve found cashier’s checks for $5,000,” he said. “You can’t believe the personal property people leave behind. We’re talking big (portable stereos). How can someone forget that?”

When the summer crowds pass and the garbage diminishes, the maintenance crew catches up on other tasks such as painting and repairs, Donovan said.

“These people don’t get half the credit they deserve,” he said. “Maintenance people here are definitely underrated in comparison to the ushers. Seems like the ushers get all the glory and they do the least work.”

Smiles at Praise

Efigeno Rios, a retired steelworker, smiled at the praise and stopped working for a moment.

After retirement, he puttered around the house for a couple of years fixing everything. “I was to the point of having to knock it down and start again,” he said. So he became a part-time maintenance person.

A big fan of the Angels, Rios is full of advice for team owner Gene Autry.

“I say they got to get rid of all the big people and get on with it and win,” Rios said. At home games, Rios is often in the stands rooting. But he is very careful where he puts his hot dog wrappers. He knows where he’ll be the next day.

“I make sure I don’t leave too much trash,” Rios said, lifting a garbage bag. “You know what I mean?”