[music] Welcome to GAS, the true story of a toxic-trained derailment. I'm Ron Scholl. Last time on GAS, despite removal of the contaminated soil, the cinnahodges and other spill victims were unable to tolerate returning to their Albertan area homes. Meanwhile, Dr. K. Kilburn began a neurological study on the Albertan spill victims. We now begin Part 3, the long haul, with Chapter 1, ACCEH. Epigraph. Everybody got drafted into this by the fact that MRL can't keep their trains on their tracks. Lucinda Hodges. When Hodges made her part-time attempt to return to Albertan in August, the ace office across from her home had closed. Pretty much everything had totally fallen apart, she said. Paul Lodge recalled, "Ace got a rep for being a bunch of wild-eyed radicals looking for a cause in life. If I hadn't really believed I was affected, I would have been skeptical myself to a certain degree." There was kind of a stigma where if you said, "I think I was affected by it, you kind of looked at as, 'You must be out for a big settlement or something, or a complainer, a liner.' But the critics, he noted, did not seem to be injured. The divide evident during evacuee meetings widened between the haves versus the have-nots, those with and those without chronic illness." Hodges increasingly teamed with neighbor Deborah Griffin to seek answers. Of similar age, the relative newcomers to Albertan became the anchor of the floundering ace. They believed the site and Albertan were still contaminated. They understood their health problems were not temporary, as promised. Neither woman had preexisting conditions, neither supposedly received a severe exposure. Still, here they were many months later, sick and made worse by being an Albertan. When Dr. K. Kilburn returned in September to conduct control group testing, he visited Hodges and told her he could smell the phenols. He just said, "I can't back him up, Albertan. You can't live here." But Hodges felt she had no choice but to try. Her attorney's advice as well. That month, Griffin wrote Governor Mark Rasko about her health concerns. And Rasko replied that the state health department and the Montana DEQ were conducting an ongoing investigation of the incident, along with local and federal officials. But all this really meant was ATSDR's health survey. Whatever value the health survey might offer eventually, the agency did not address current illness. People wanted help now. Fortunately, there does not appear to be an ongoing public health threat in the Albertan area, Rasko wrote, citing environmental test results. Post cleanup, government agencies dismissed claims of chronic illness that residents attributed to the Albertan area. The women wanted to move forward on their own health survey as planned by UM graduate student Hope Seek, who asked Ellen Leahy for her support. An obvious thing to look at was chemical sensitivity. Leahy declined to help, citing state and ATSDR jurisdiction. Lacking funds, the women eventually abandoned the ambitious survey. Concerned about negative impressions in the community, Hodges thought a change necessary. She, Griffin, and Deb Janekaro reconstituted the Spill Victims Group as the Albertan Community Coalition for Environmental Health. Hodges converted space in the old Merc into the new ACCEH office. After Janekaro moved that fall to California, Hodges' closest connection to the Spill was Griffin, and the two became good friends. Living a few blocks apart, Hodges hardly knew Griffin before the Spill. What brought Deb and I together was the fact that our health was totally changed and devastated, she said. And we started talking about that every day and realizing it isn't just her, it isn't just me. So we thought, since this has wrecked our lives, let's see what we can do with it. If I wouldn't have latched down to her and started ACCEH, I just think I would have had a total mental breakdown because there was no explanation being offered by anybody on why we were having these damn things happening to us. Nothing, except for Kilburn. At that point, it was still so new. Everything had changed in our lives. It was a bad time. Mostly, the friends talked by phone. I remember one day I started to walk down to Deb's house, I couldn't even make it. That's how frail I was at that time. I couldn't make it a couple of blocks and she sure couldn't make it down to my house. She was really bad at that time. We talked on a phone and we held each other up, and our way of coping with what was happening to our lives was to make ACCEH. Hodges and Griffin staffed the office during school hours for anyone stopping by. So would only come in one time Hodges said, cried their hearts out, and then they would never talk to you again. Others might drop by for information. Others wouldn't even look in the window. Hodges proposed a new steering committee of three to five residents with activist acting as advisors. A general funding request letter elaborated that many residents still suffered effects, including difficulty breathing, headaches, chemical sensitivity, dizziness, nausea, skin rashes, memory loss, vision impairment, joint pain, and flu-like symptoms, they wrote. "We wanted a registry of people who were exposed. We wanted a way to track them and help them," Hodges said. Some residents purposely avoided us because they've either been instructed to by the Frenchtown Fire Department or MRL, of course, but also by attorneys. Don't get involved with ACCEH. They are a radical faction. If so, Hodges and others have been radicalized by toxic exposure. That fall, Hodges and Griffin began a campaign of letter writing. Little information was yet available in the public files, and the two women started a correspondence hunt to gather more. In November, they wrote the Board of Scientific Counselors, part of the CDC in Atlanta, which oversaw ATSTR. "We are requesting that ATSTR not study," they wrote. "We are requesting that ATSTR, which is mandated to assist public health emergencies caused by exposure to toxic substances, provide us with medical care, and proper medical testing," they emphasized. Hodges and Griffin had come up to speed on ATSTR's reputation of all study, no action, and wanted no additional studies without community involvement and consent. "We wanted medical care per their mandates," Hodges said, as she understood ATSTR's purpose. "We wanted to know why it was being characterized as a chlorine spill, but we came home to smell pesticides, why people were having symptoms that weren't related to chlorine." Griffin Hodges and Beverly Ridenauer phoned Chris Weiss, the EPA toxicologist who had responded to Alberton. When they mentioned the array of symptoms people were still having, including chemical sensitivity, Weiss didn't seem surprised, and referred to them as "typical chlorine exposure symptoms," Hodges recalled. He also wasn't surprised that owners emanating from exposed objects still bothered them. "He made the comment," Hodges said, "I still have my clothes that I wore while I was responding, and I keep them in the trunk of the car because they stink, and I won't take them in the house." Weiss acknowledged the smell was likely from chlorinated organic cotton material, perhaps hypochlorate bleach. Weiss said earlier assured evacuees that any sensitivity would only last six to eight weeks. These complaints came half a year after the spill. "That's a little longer than I would expect sensitivity reactions to happen," Weiss said later, "but it's not unheard of." But this wasn't the message at the time of reentry that smells related to the spill would persist that symptoms might go on indefinitely. That fall, Weiss requested ACC EH write a letter and be specific in their needs. Hodges and Griffin did so. After reiterating ongoing health effects, they wrote in bold, "Why are we worse when we go home? Why are some of us ill and getting worse? Why does it smell like pesticides in Alberton?" The women claimed that people had gotten ill who were not originally exposed, merely from visiting, and that utility company employees wore gas masks in the area. The gas mask reference came from the grapevine that electric meter readers had taken to wearing masks because of symptoms while checking meters around Alberton. In October, Jack Hunt of the Missoula Electric Cooperative, MEC, told DEQ's Tom Ehlerhoff that two of the co-op's meter readers had headaches after reading meters in Alberton in September. One worker in the natural peer bridge area reported smelling a fertilizer scent. In November, Hunt reported the workers had again experienced severe headaches in the petty creek area and on plateau road. As a result, Emerald contractor Olympus would work with Hunt about the complaints. Ehlerhoff took little action with residents, but perked up when complaints came from industry. Jackie Spencer's first exposure came on April 11, while reading meters for MEC along the Clark Fork River, over 20 miles from the spill. She developed a sore throat and an extremely bad headache, along with congestion that made it a little hard to breathe. She noticed a slight unidentifiable smell. "I definitely felt bad and nearly went home sick that day," she recalled. Spencer's symptoms returned in early May while she read meters in the outline areas of Alberton. Once a month over a two day period, her job took her to Plateau Road, Sawmill Gulch, West Mountain Creek, Petty Creek, and Nine Mile. Another employee, Greg Flesch, split the roots. Neither Alberton or Ponderosa Acres were part of the co-op. Spencer felt sick only when she worked in this Alberton area. "My chest would be congested. I would feel nauseous. My head would just pound," Spencer recalled. "Everything that they say a migraine headache is I would have." The effects lasted until she got home, then slowly subsided. She equated them to extreme flu-like symptoms. In June, she said, her co-worker told me that he had exactly the same symptoms every time he was in that area. Despite rumors of the meter readers wearing gas masks that fall, Spencer said MEC merely gave her a paper-filter mask, which she felt worthless. By December's cold and snow, smell subsided, as did her symptoms. In their letter to Weiss, how does engriven CC'd Montana Senator Max Baucus, Governor Roscoe, and Ellerhof of Montana DEQ, trying to inform as many agencies as possible that all was not well in Alberton. The women wrote Senator Baucus directly, recounting their story, and asking for a community meeting with him. They also wrote Dr. Susan Metcalf of ATSDR, one of the authors of the Alberton Health Survey, again requesting the agency provide medical care and testing. The flurry of letters seemed to prod one concrete result, when Hodges was invited to participate in a conference call on November 26th, with ATSDR, the EPA, the Montana Office of Public Health, and ATS to Senator Baucus. Finally, people seemed to be responding. Roger Chalmers participated in the conference call. Because they believed their Niamal property was contaminated and making them ill, the Chalmers had yet to return to stay, living nomadically in a motorhome, cabins, and in Missoula with Ada's mother. But, like others, their health problems didn't resolve simply by leaving home. The Chalmers developed a range of health problems that reflected chemical sensitivity. "You're constantly bombarded with chemicals everywhere you go. There's just no safe place," Ada said. She recounted an episode from July, while using a payphone. "Here comes a big old weed truck spraying along the highway, and I got a big old mouthful of this stuff. I was so sick," Ada said. "Immediately I couldn't breathe. My eyes were swelling shut." She threw up. "I was sick for, like, three weeks." Perhaps all their symptoms weren't spill-related, the Chalmers allowed, but they'd been told there would be no long-term health problems. Living five miles to the northeast of the spill in the Niamal drainage, which had not been evacuated, Roger Chalmers sought to prove that his property was contaminated. Chalmers had requested through the EPA to have Olympus collect soil and inside wipe samples on April 20. Officials said results indicated no deposition. He later pursued private testing. An HDSDR rep told Weiss in November that the Chalmers had made several calls to their Washington, D.C. office. "They are apparently very concerned that there has been insufficient intervention related to the spill," he said. They expressed extensive health concerns, and, in general, seemed to have some pretty wild stories. Steve Wei added that the Missoula Health Department has tried to deal with these folks and have apparently been unsuccessful. It is uncertain if the chlorine plume ever reached their location. The Chalmers were not believed. With complaints by A.C.C.E.H., the Chalmers and the meter readers converging, a November 20, A.T.S.D.R. first held a scoping conference call as state and federal agencies compared notes. The agencies characterized A.C.C.E.H. as representing people "who have refused to move back into their homes." As for Roger Chalmers' concerns, A.T.S.D.R. doubted the chlorine plume would have migrated to his house. In one concrete action, A.T.S.D.R. proclaimed, "The state of Montana will provide limited air monitoring in homes where people feel there is still contamination present." Following this meeting, A.T.E.Q.s Ehlerhof informed state senator Barry Stang and mineral county sanitarian Denise Morjowski that A.T.E.Q. would "possibly" do some indoor air monitoring. Air monitoring in homes was something Hodges had long wanted, but, once again, none would be conducted, and no explanation given for the reneging. However, on November 22, Olympus confirmed with D.E.Q. that they would work with Mr. Hunt of M.E.C. on some outside air monitoring related to the site. These meetings prepared for the November 26 conference call between Hodges, Chalmers, and members of A.T.S.D.R., E.P.A., and Senator Bogazades, chaired by Todd Damro of Montana Public Health. After conferring together with these entities, Hodges felt hopeful. Officials seemed to have really listened, but officials didn't believe the Albertan area remained contaminated, and the decision not to implement indoor air monitoring confirmed this. Weiss recalled, "I think the feeling was that it was not likely that there was much there, once the cells were removed and the chlorine was gone." But Hodges still hoped A.T.S.D.R. would listen to residents' claims of chronic health problems. Damro wrote Governor Roscoe that A.T.S.D.R. was called on by ACCEH to intervene in efforts to get M.R.L. to provide ongoing medical care for residents who continue to be impacted by the incident. The agency made it known that if coalition members were litigants in lawsuits against M.R.L. that the issue would need to be decided in the courts before A.T.S.D.R. could commit themselves to action, Damro wrote. Or, as hope seek noted, the state supported A.T.S.D.R.'s bullshit claim that they couldn't do anything because residents were involved in litigation with M.R.L. As ACCEH later discovered, A.T.S.D.R. would never commit to providing medical care. The upshot of all this conferring was very little. The state pulled back. The EPA wasn't coming back, and A.T.S.D.R. would continue to do what they were already doing, a glacial process of studying symptoms experienced back in April. Responding to the meter reader complaints, Olympus conducted air sampling on December 10th and 11th at eight locations, one at the site, the rest between Seer and Petty Creek, including the West Fork of Petty Creek. Sampling was not taken from soil gas, which would have yielded the highest concentrations. The tests looked for VOCs and recaptons. No SVOCs were tested for, despite phenols and chlorinated phenols matching complaint descriptions of a pesticide smell. The results, no recaptons were found, but the detection limit was a high 50 parts per billion. An EPA contractor commented that humans could smell recaptons at less than two parts per billion. Chemist Wilma Subra said, methods existed to detect recaptons at four to seven parts per billion. So she said, at the detection levels that that lab was using with those canisters, you wouldn't expect to find it. A VOCs, 17 compounds were found, all in the parts per billion range, and considered safe. Most limiting for the test, in mid-December, any off-gassing would have been greatly reduced by frozen earth and likely snow. In fact, with the onset of winter, outdoor order complaints had seized for now. Hopes withered as Senator Bock has declined to come to Alberton for a community meeting. An HESDR said they wouldn't share health survey data during an ongoing investigation. Frustrated on the Sunday before Christmas, ACCEH and Women's Voices for the Earth, ran an ad in the Missoulian, headlined, "Please do not forget the derailment victims." Next to a photograph of an evacuated mother and child receiving oxygen. The tax recounted the derailment spilling 133 tons of chemicals. It said, "Neither state nor federal agencies have told the evacuees the potential long-term health effects of these chemicals when combined together. Some are very ill and have mounting medical bills. Others report that their homes continue to make them ill and haven't returned." "This disaster has forever changed the lives of many families," the ad said. A fund was announced, created to help the derailment victims get through the winter season and beyond, seeking cash, clothes, firewood food, furniture, and air filters. Over a month, ACCEH received a couple dozen boxes of various household items and a little money. A couple weeks after the ad ran, which state public health officials clipped, Todd Danro of Montana Public Health officially requested help from ATSTR, in our investigation of possible long-term health effects, he wrote. In early January 1997, Dr. Barry Johnson, Assistant Surgeon General of the US Department of Health and Human Services, replied to the letter from Hodges and Griffin back in November. Johnson wrote, "ATSTR is considering an additional study of chronic health effects in Albertin. But as far as residents' health needs," he said, "ATSTR is unable to provide medical care." Hodges and Griffin felt nothing substantial had been accomplished from their letter writing. Officially, there was no public health emergency in Albertin, just some fringe complainers, or, as the women saw it, an untold number of suffering people. Feeling allergic to Albertin, Hodges spent the holidays with her kids at the cramped Missoula trailer. That winter, in anticipation of new EPA rules for bleaching technology, Hodges and Griffin traveled to the legislative session in Helena to throw their support behind a bill sponsored by Albertin's Bill Victim Representative Sylvia Bookout-Rineke, calling for the phase-out of chlorine in Montana as an industrial feedstock by 2020. To a House committee, Griffin recounted her personal story of financial and health woes from the spill. "My life is out of control," she stated passionately. "We volunteers are not activists or train organizers," Griffin said, referring to ACCEH. "We formed because we felt we were not receiving proper medical testing and treatment, and were being bullied into signing final claims with MRL to end any further responsibility for future health and safety concerns. They felt officials have been unable to tell us everything that we were exposed to, or the concentrations, let alone the long-term health effects." Is chlorine bleached white paper worth it, she asked? Chemical companies lined up lobbyists that day in opposition, and the bill died in committee. The Albertin women were just getting started on their journey for justice. Next time on gas, the true story of a toxic train derailment, as documents regarding the Albertin spill become available, Lissinda Hodges and Deborah Griffin scrutinized them for information to explain why they are still ill. At the same time, they hear from Roger Chalmers, who has begun his own investigation into the spill in hopes to explain his illness. Until then, this is Ron Scholl. Thanks for listening. This podcast is adapted from the book Gas, the true story of a toxic train derailment. Visit amazon.com to see the two-book series. To access support material in the book, such as maps, photos, illustrations, and video links, visit my Facebook page Gas, the true story. Or watch my Gas playlist on my YouTube channel at R.L. Scholl. [Music]
