In the Field, Not on the Phone

First, in interest of full disclosure, I need Fred Koehle's help acquiring a fresh pair of mosquito fish. Both of mine lived three days in my front yard pond, and then they died. That said, I admit it: I am a Fred Koehle fan. He did what I have tried to do and failed at.

 

Koehle unshackled himself and his staff from the telephone, freeing up endless hours to kill mosquitoes. Starting this year, six operators answer complaint calls for Richmond County Mosquito Control. Koehle, who heads up special operations for the district, didn’t like the department’s answering machine. People weren’t always clear about where they lived or the location of the mosquito problem, he notes. And in a district that covers 324 square miles and runs on $145,000 per year, he needs his people in the field, not taking messages.  

 “This is my 11^th year in mosquito control after 50 years in restaurant training,” says Koehle. “Management is management. It is dealing with people and situations. It is trying to figure the best way to come to a solution and working to find the best people to help you get those answers. I have to find ways to do more. That is part of management—finding ways to get it done.”

Koehle contacted Augusta 311, the nonemergency call-in center for Richmond County, and asked if its operators could take mosquito calls. Augusta 311 agreed. Koehle conducted a half-hour training session on how to get the information needed to handle mosquito complaints from callers.  Then the mosquito district exchanged its answering machine for one concise 5 p.m. summary email sent daily from Augusta 311. Koehle turns the complaints into work orders for the next day.

Bottomline: Complaints get addressed faster and service is improved without any increase in budget, he notes. If only I could get someone, anyone, in St. Louis to take complaint calls for me. The calls wouldn't be about mosquitoes, but they are complaints--just ask my family. They're the ones calling in. And I love them anyway.  

West Nile, Lymes & Shrimp

This woman is too unlucky to stand near during a thunderstorm, I thought.

I first heard about the West Nile virus 10 years ago. I was attending a luncheon that lumped strangers together at tables. As we started our salads, the woman I sat beside told me she was recovering from the West Nile virus. At the time, the mosquito-spread virus was new to St. Louis. Its primary notoriety was as a killer of crows and blue jays. And I knew very little about mosquito-borne illnesses.

Our plated lunch arrived, and the young woman shared that before the West Nile virus hit, she had Lyme's Disease. Ticks spread that illness. And, I vaguely knew that my mother had been ill with it.

We went on to sip our iced tea and chit-chatted over slices of cheesecake. Then, she told me that after recovering from Lyme's Disease and before contracting West Nile virus, she nearly died. While at work, a crystal bowl filled with crushed ice and raw shrimp shattered in her hands. A shard of glass sliced through the skin and blood vessels of her wrist. She nearly bled to death waiting for the ambulance. 

My guess is that I told her about my children and my cats. I had nothing as interesting as this woman's near-death story to share. I remember the encounter because she was so young--in her 20s--and to outward appearances, she seemed unscathed by life. But her words said different. Once, twice, three times she struggled through awful and now as she ate lunch and networked, she could see her world start to turn normal again.

In the time that has passed, I have learned about mosquitoes and how they transmit disease. I really appreciate how the unlucky young woman beat mosquitoes twice and a shrimp bowl once. Recently, during a check-up, my physician and I talked about mosquitoes. She brought up the West Nile virus. Four years ago, she said, one of her patients--a man not yet 50 years old--got the West Nile virus and died. 

There is unlucky three times. And there is unlucky once.

Augusta's Fred

I have a soft spot for August, Ga. My grandfather's dentures are buried there in a back yard on Baker Avenue. They are tucked away behind the house where I learned that when Grandma is trying to rent out property, you don't complain about fleas biting your ankles.

I am a critter magnet. Fleas love me as much as the dogs and cats who share them. Mosquitoes love me, too. When I tell others that mosquitoes are out, they deny it. Truth is, my fragrant skin stands as a fully loaded buffet while theirs, I assume, bears the appeal of forgotten limp carrots and festered celery.

Two weeks ago, I traveled to Augusta to talk mosquitoes with Fred Koehle, head of mosquito control for Richmond County. He is 76 years old. The point in pointing it out is that you'd never guess.

I first found Fred on Goggle as I ferreted out the frustration that badly kept swimming pools present to mosquito control districts. Fred's name popped up linked to pool owners getting thrown in jail. 

I emailed Fred to ask about pools and jails. He emailed back that he'd talk if I made it clear that the courts, not Fred, were the element casting offenders behind bars. I agreed.

When we met, Fred didn't introduce himself as 76 years old, but it came up quickly in conversation. Fred believes in the power of age. In a 50-year career in restaurant staff and management training, Fred empowered staff, emphasized follow through, and appreciated good work.

Fred hires seasonal workers who are retired from other careers. They like the part-time work, show up every day and have a steadying influence with the public. They can also coax their grandchildren into dressing up like mosquitoes for local parades where bystanders cheer Fred and his mosquito staff and call to them by name.

And here I venture off into a bit of my own thinking on why to hire experience over youth. I bet Fred and his workers understand how a marriage can go so bad that the guts of a house--its sofas, tables and large screen television can get thrown into a pool in an attempt to salve raw hurt. I also bet they can feel the embarrassment of a job loss so crushing that a homeowner lives in a mansion yet scrambles to buy milk. That person, in that moment, can't scrape up the cash to fix the pool pump--a job that six months ago, the 'pool guy' now gone would have tended to.

In neither case would Fred or his crew excuse mosquito breeding habitat. Problems need to be fixed and consequence of court lingers. But who would a property owner rather talk to--Fred and company or a young summer worker never hit hard by life.

I write it again: Fred doesn't put anyone in jail. Mosquito control refers the worst offenders to the county, the marshal issues the summons and the court hears the case. Fred brings evidence to court and judge decides what's to be done. Often, with Fred's concurrence, the court will give the offender more time.

Mosquito work fills Fred's life. After 49 years of marriage, Fred is a widower. He is grateful for his friends and how he has been able to grow mosquito control into a healthier Augusta.

A near constant stream of people stop by Fred's office. I hear "thank you," "I appreciate it" and "I'll do that for you." Gratitude is big at the mosquito office. And Fred also thanks, by letter, pool owners who clean up their problem.

Pulling out his I-phone, Fred shows me before and after photos of pools. He also shows me a photo of his new kitchen sink. His wife liked stainless steel, he wanted something different. Now the sink is different. Fred's life is different, too.

A Full Fish

I stare intently at her, dreading the answer, yet compelled to ask, "Did you eat your babies?"

One of my two mosquito-fish is thought to be a female, flush with unborn young. I've heard that a mosquito-fish can hold off on releasing her hatch until she feels safe. I have also heard, that much like guppies, mosquito-fish will eat their young.

My fish have moved from Phinizy Swamp to a tank populated with turtle, then to a water bottle and now to a somewhat larger jar that sits on my nightstand. I have separated the fish into two containers, I have put them back together. I have given them stuff to hide around and under. And I have done my level best to persuade the cat not to eat them.

Soon my fish will move to a tiny pond in the front yard, constructed specifically for them. But what I really want to know: Is Mama Fish full with babies or is simply full? 

In their current accommodations, it would be fairly easy for the lady fish to birth babies and then, with the help of her friend, to dine on them like popcorn. That fishy behavior never bothered me when I was a child and the guppies would eat their babies while I was at school. But these fish I feel different about. I'd like their young to come safely into the world and live long enough to take out a few hundred mosquitoes before a raccoon, cat or even Mama Fish provides them with their own joy ride to heaven.

So wait, or don't wait, to have your young,
mother mosquito-fish. But please don't eat them--that's something a guppy would do, and you are much more important than a guppy.

Small Weapons, Tiny Killers

For nearly a week, across 700 miles, Gambusia affinis rode cocooned in a water bottle, squeezed tight into my Ford Escape's cup-holder.  I'd stumbled on a strategy to kill, provided no one got thirsty.

Gambusia are also called mosquito fish. They eat mosquito larvae. Each day, they eat about 10 times their weight in larvae.

My mosquito fish originated in Georgia's Phinizy Swamp outside Augusta. Oscar Flite, senior scientist at the Southeastern Natural Sciences Academy, scooped my pair from an aquarium where the fish flitted back and forth to avoid the net and the turtle. Another name for mosquito fish is "turtle food."

The academy nets mosquito fish from the swamp and gives them to Richmond County mosquito control to place in pools with bad owners. Another name for bad owners is "out of state mortgage companies that don't give a damn about pools at foreclosed homes."

Turns out that abandoned swimming pools turn into cesspools of algae, slime, weeds, trees and habitat for mosquitoes to breed. If an eviction is bitter, or a marriage sours, pools can also sprout TV satellite dishes and couches. One backyard swimming pool can churn out 500,000 mosquitoes. About half of those will be female. It's the female mosquito that bites.

One bite does not a killer make, unless that lady mosquito is one of the deadly ones transmitting the West Nile virus, eastern equine encephalitis, dengue fever or yellow fever. These devastating diseases rarely rear their ugly head in the U.S. That's because mosquitoes, including those in putrid pools, are kept at bay as much as possible. And while most people don't die when they contract these diseases, some do die and others are never made whole again.

My Gambusia are special. I was the first to ever ask the Southeastern Natural Sciences Academy for a take-home pair. I wanted to watch them, to observe their one-half inch of eating enthusiasm for mosquitoes. I struggled to keep them alive. They're small--about one-half inch, and nothing like being told not to drink the water, makes you want to drink the water.

My fish made it home. Now they swim in a large wide-mouthed jar on my bedside table, observed by Cracker the cat. I am hoping the fish will breed and I will notice the hatch before the pair eat their young. That happens, too.

Once they survive a month, I'll name them. This summer, I will find a pool that needs fish. Though Cracker suggests a new collective name Cat Food. The mosquitoes would thank him. I would return to Phinizy Swamp with my water bottle ready to fill.