Chicago Meatpacking Plant Investigation

     This morning I got a telegraph from my muckraking partner Upton Sinclair.  He told me about a meatpacking plant in my hometown of Chicago.  He said that it was worth investigating and we should take a look around.  Since the plant was close to home, I agreed to go with him.
      When you go on an investigation, it is important to look inconspicuous.  I dressed the way a normal worker would, complete with dirty work boots, and I headed down to the plant. 
       Sinclair met me at the door, explaining that we would be taking a tour of the plant with the rest of the new workers.  We would act natural and at ease, then write anything suspicious down on our notepads.  A scruffy looking man met us and some other workers at the entrance.  He looked at all of us with a hard glare, then turned around expecting us to follow. 
      We climbed up a long staircase until we made it into a room filled with hogs.  I had never seen so many in one place before!  Everything seemed okay at the moment, workers going about their business, our guide explaining the breed of hogs they used.  Nothing suspicious here; then came a screeching, high pitched screech.  I looked up sharply, to realize one of the hogs had been lifted harshly from the ground by its hind leg. More and more hogs started being flinged up one by one, and the whole room filled with squeals and cries.  Blood splattered onto the floor, and I recoiled back to make sure I wasn't hit.
        Before the hog corpses went to the freezing room, they passed a government health inspector.  The inspector looked at the corpses, checking for deadly diseases, but many just went on by without him noticing.
         Outside, there was a branch of the Chicago River that people have nicknamed Bubbly Creek.  It was where all the drainage from the plant came to rest.  Right there in the river; the same river that the workers washed their hands in!  You could see that the water in the river was oily with filth, and the stench made me want to be sick right then and there.
            Inside the packing house, laborers were working busily at packaging all the meat so it could be sold in the next week.  It looked normal, but there were hidden horrors behind it all.  The meat was stored in a dark, rat invested room.  The meat was soiled with dropping and no one bothered to separate these from the clean ones.  Some would fall onto the scummy floor and those would be sold with the rest too. 
          When the tour was done, Sinclair and I exchanged knowing glances and headed our separate ways.  I am writing this from the comfort of my home, but I may be scarred for life in witnessing the horrors I did today at the Chicago Meatpacking Plant.