Firing up incinerator construction

This story was published Thu, Jul 8, 1999

By Theresa Goffredo
Herald Oregon bureau

HERMISTON - Jay Bluestein smiled almost wickedly as he recalled the day he stood with a pack of burly steelworkers as they autographed the last piece of steel on the tallest incinerator stack at the Umatilla Chemical Depot.

As the 5-foot-4-inch Bluestein lingered with the group of muscle-bound men, one steelworker with a full beard turned to him and asked him if it were true: Did Bluestein have a collection of teddy bears and a stuffed opossum in his office?

Yes, Bluestein admitted, the story was true. And the steelworker replied: "I like you. You're my kind of man."

Bluestein isn't the least embarrassed about his collection of 36 teddy bears and other toys.

No matter that he's helped build the Hawk and Patriot missile weapons systems or now leads construction of a machine to destroy deadly chemical agents. The bears and toys are part of Bluestein's personality.

And they're gifts from his employees. By keeping the collection prominently displayed on his office bookshelves and desk, he is being true to his staff and himself.

"It's human. It's what I have," Bluestein said, speaking with an East Coast inflection that makes every statement sound almost like a question.

"If someone here's had a tough day, they know they can come in and borrow one. Hug it, hold it," Bluestein says of the bears. "One or two have disappeared, but they come back. ... It's a little sense of humor. But it's also human."

And those same terms - funny and humane - are used by Bluestein's employees and partners to describe this 54-year-old, bald Jewish guy from Brooklyn who's in charge of building the device that will destroy the 3,717 tons of aging lethal nerve agent stored near Hermiston.

"He's not afraid to show people he is a human being. And that's a very endearing quality, and I think it draws people to him, that kind of confidence," said Chris Early, Raytheon's protocol officer.

It was Bluestein's leadership skills and his expertise at overseeing complex projects involving more than 1,000 employees that convinced the bosses at Raytheon Demilitarization Co. that he was right for Umatilla.

Work on the state's largest construction project began in June 1997. But last year, it became clear the incinerator had hit some snags. Reports of schedule delays surfaced along with talk that changes in design were going to increase the incinerator's cost.

As it turned out, the construction schedule was extended, and now the target date for completion is February 2001. The price tag also is up from $567 million to $604 million.

The blunt Bluestein had to use a strong hand to take over the incinerator project at a tense time. Even so, Bluestein appears to have made no enemies since becoming project manager Nov. 11. Even among Raytheon's partners building the incinerator, there are no harsh critics of the man who moved from Dallas, Texas, to ensure work on the incinerator stays on track.

Officials at the Department of Environmental Quality, the state's environmental watchdog over the project, declined to comment on Bluestein's performance, saying that would go against agency protocol.

"I think we're still in those tough times and time will tell, but Jay is a very competent and capable manager," said Chuck Galloway of the Army Corps of Engineers, one of the partners building the incinerator.

"There are people less comfortable with stepping up to the plate, but Jay is very willing to make things happen," Galloway said.

Bluestein describes himself as akin to a hard-hitting, seventh-inning slugger who comes to bat to settle the outcome of a questionable game.

His fans include Lt. Col. Martin Jacoby, Umatilla Chemical Depot commander. "He came in at kind of a rough time, and although he came in aggressively, he did that in a sensitive way," Jacoby said.

"He has very aggressive standards, and they are extremely high," Jacoby added. "And that's not a bad thing at all. That's the right way. He doesn't accept anything less than excellence."

Striving always to improve seems to be the tack Bluestein has taken in his life.

Born into a lower-middle-class family, Bluestein grew up in Rhode Island and Boston before his family moved to New York.

The young Bluestein had aspirations of becoming an electrical engineer. And though typically "Jewish kids don't go to vocational school," Bluestein said his father, a machinist, believed in allowing his children to dream their dreams.

So, Bluestein enrolled in the William E. Grady Vocational Technical School in Brooklyn. He graduated with honors and went on to Brooklyn Polytechnical Institute, where he earned a bachelor of science degree in electrical engineering.

For his senior thesis, Bluestein said, he developed the first automatic cruise control system for automobiles.

"If I'd have known better, I would have patented the thing, and I wouldn't be here today," he joked.

Instead, Bluestein joined Raytheon in 1966. The Boston-based company made its earnings building defense weapons for the military, though it would later expand to other ventures.

It was good work for a boy who grew up with modest means. At 23, he owned a car, a boat and a piece of land in Mexico where he was going to build his bachelor pad. But his sister arranged a blind date with a vivacious blonde named Sheila.

Sheila suggested they see a wrestling match at Boston Gardens. The two went on their date. Five months later, they were married.

"We've been married 31 years. True story," Bluestein said emphatically, as if anyone dare dispute it. "Though now, she has less interest in wrestling."

And for those 31 years, Bluestein continued with Raytheon, moving his family from Boston to Paris, then back to the states. The Bluesteins also raised three children - a son who is a musician in Boston, a second son who works for Raytheon and a daughter who is studying to become a corporate pilot.

Bluestein eventually became deputy program manager for the defense missile system he is most proud of - the Patriot.

The Patriot was the first missile designed to provide defense against high-performance aircraft. It was the first designed to shoot multiple targets.

"You never use the word airplanes," Bluestein explained, his voice lowering to a hush. "You're never told the fact that someone is sitting in that airplane. It's extremely helpful to do your job every day."

The Patriot has only been used in the 1991 Gulf War. Bluestein recalled the night he and his family watched as the Patriot shot down Iraqi Scud missiles.

Bluestein's son told his father he had changed history. Bluestein told his son that without the sacrifices his family had made and those made by everyone who worked on the Patriot, it couldn't have happened.

"And here on this site, I try to tell people they are about to change history," Bluestein said of the chemical incinerator.

"They are building a facility that will take some very nasty agents and burn them forever, and that has a historical impact. How many can go through life and say that they changed history? It happened twice for me."

While working on the Patriot, Bluestein was responsible for more than 1,000 people. At the Umatilla Chemical Depot incinerator, there are 1,100 Raytheon employees under his guidance.

In dealing with a work force that size, Bluestein uses this philosophy:

"I do empower people. I'm not going to make their decisions, and there's no rap. We work as a team here. We will share in the successes and all share in the failures, and there will be more successes than failures."

But Bluestein knows his faults - he's impatient and demanding. He jokes that's why he has two phones in his office. But he says he tries to temper his faults with his open-door policy and his belief that "you've got to have fun at it once in a while."

Once, Bluestein ordered 1,400 muffins from Costco to celebrate a certain milestone in the construction project. It took a pickup and a van to bring the treat from the Tri-Cities.

"One of the issues is my personality, and sometimes that has bothered them," Bluestein said of employees who might be unaccustomed to his brusque East Coast style. "And I try and correct it. There are very rare occasions when I have to say, 'I'm going to do this because I'm the boss.' The good news is it's only happened three times in the last six months. Most of the things are done by consensus, and that's the right approach."

Certain leaders in Hermiston have criticized Bluestein for not being as active in the community as Sam Kasley, the man Bluestein replaced. But Bluestein said it's been difficult getting out in the community since taking over cold on a project nearly 50 percent done.

Bluestein said the team building the incinerator is now "on a roll," so he plans on spending more time in the community.

He said he's also torn about setting down too firm a set of roots in the Mid-Columbia because he knows at the end of the construction, someone will be sent in to replace him.

"It's my belief all of us have something. We each bring a certain expertise and personality at a certain time in a program, and I know I can contribute something," Bluestein said, his voice getting low. "Sam was excellent for when it started. He knew how to get things going. My expertise is to take the program and move it on, and someone else's expertise is to run this place.

"You build something, then you leave, you walk away," he said, almost wistful. "It's like leaving the community. It's a personal thing. It's going to be hard, but I haven't gotten to that point yet. But it will be hard."

 

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