The Man Behind the Cloning Movement

Why is Scott Simplot pushing so hard to clone animals for supermarket shelves? He's following in his father's footsteps

by Pallavi Gogoi

At the Simplot ranch: a mother and a calf, whose father was a clone

It's a cold February morning, and a thin layer of snow covers the ground at the Simplot ranch in Grand View, Idaho, about an hour south of Boise. Scott Simplot drives out to one of the nearby fields to see the cows giving birth. On the windswept field, the tall, wiry 60-year-old asks a ranch hand how the new calves are doing. He smiles when he hears that the first 26 calves weigh in at about average for the breed, 78 pounds each. These are no ordinary calves. They are the offspring of clones. "Great news," says Simplot.

This is the beginning of a grand experiment at the Boise-based J.R. Simplot Co., a producer of food, fertilizer, and livestock that was founded by Scott's father in 1923 and has become one of the largest privately owned companies in the U.S. Simplot is one of the first large beef-producing companies anywhere to clone cattle and then breed them on a commercial scale. Neither clones nor their offspring are in the food distribution system now. But if the Food & Drug Administration gives its approval as expected, Simplot plans to bring beef from the offspring of clones to market by next year. No other company has been nearly as aggressive in the controversial effort to clone animals for supermarket shelves. "Simplot is a pioneer in many senses, being the first adaptor of this nascent technology as a livestock producer," says Michael MacNeil, a research geneticist with the Agriculture Dept.'s research service in Miles City, Mont.

The effort is being spearheaded by Scott, the youngest son of J.R. (for John Richard) Simplot, one of America's legendary entrepreneurs. J.R. was an eighth-grade dropout who left home in the early 1920s at the age of 14 to set up his own pig farm. It was the first step he took toward becoming a billionaire potato baron.

Scott's personality is a striking contrast to that of his gregarious father. Unassuming, with a thoughtful, almost professorial air, Scott stayed in school long enough to get an MBA from The Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania. He chafed under his father's strict hand and ran away repeatedly in his youth. But he clearly inherited some of his father's drive. "I guess we do share the same DNA," admits Scott, who is now chairman of J.R. Simplot Co.

Protesters' Beef

Because he has invested energy and money in cloning, Scott is now right in the crosshairs of a national controversy. Ever since Dolly became the first successfully cloned sheep in 1997, people have debated the promise and pitfalls of trying to create genetic copies of animals and perhaps one day humans. The controversy was reignited on Dec. 28, when the FDA issued a preliminary report concluding that meat and milk from clones are safe for consumption, opening the door for commercial sales. The FDA has asked for public comment on the issue through Apr. 2, but it appears very likely to give final approval by the end of this year.

The prospect of FDA approval has sent off waves of protests around the country. In February, about 100 protesters marched outside the U.S. Capitol. Protesters dressed in cow costumes, including some from the Consumer Federation of America and the National Farmers Union, chanted "Cloney Baloney" and other slogans. Their primary demand is that meat and milk from clones be labeled as such. "Consumers have a right to know what's in their food," says Jerry Greenfield, co-founder of Ben & Jerry's ice cream, who was also present at the protest. Retailers such as Whole Foods (WFMI) and Wild Oats (OATS) say they won't carry cloned products, and milk processors Dean Foods (DF) and Organic Valley insist they won't use cloning in their production.

Scott Simplot argues that the controversy is unwarranted. Cloning, he says, is simply another kind of technological advance, like fertilizer, that we should be using to full advantage. As he points out the calves sired by clones at his ranch, they gambol around playfully and behave just like other newborns. Simplot is dead set against clone labels, because he's convinced that would kill the business even before it starts. "The people who are having a fit over this are using technology every day in their lives, but they don't want others to benefit from it," he says.