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Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American Scandal early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. It's a Saturday afternoon in 1960 in a working-class neighborhood in Niagara Falls, New York. Eileen Voorhees tromps down the stairs to the basement of her small house. She carries a bag of clothes under her left arm and runs her right hand along the banister.
The wood is solid and smooth, polished even though it's the stairs to the basement. It's a small thing, but it's details like this that makes Eileen proud of her home. Eileen and her husband Edwin built this house themselves, and they and their young children just moved in less than two years ago. They were excited to find a plot of land they could afford on her husband's salary. And the area is quickly growing, filling with other families looking for a comfortable, safe place to raise their children.
But as Eileen descends the stairs, she's hit with a sharp plasticky smell that feels like it's burning her nose hairs. She sighs, frustrated, because she knows the odor well. The neighborhood was built next to an old landfill, and the scent of chemicals sometimes fills the air. But it's one thing to smell the chemicals outside. It's another to discover them inside your own home. Lately, that's been happening more and more often.
Eileen follows her nose to the bottom of the stairs and across the basement to the source of the smell. On the far wall, she sees a gooey, black, tar-like substance seeping through the exposed cinder blocks of the wall. Eileen plunks the bag of clothes on the floor and hollers to her husband. Edwin, can we come down here? Yeah, what's wrong? It's back. How? We've already applied two coats of sealant. It's not working.
Alright, alright. Let me take a look. We will try something else. Well, I think you should call the city again. Maybe they have some ideas. I've already done that three times. They never return my call. But I guess that's a good thing. It means they're not concerned about it. Or maybe they don't want to take responsibility.
If they really thought the chemicals buried around here were dangerous, do you think they'd let us build our house here? I don't know. But I'm looking at this stuff, and it seems toxic. Well, look, we know this land used to belong to Hooker Chemical, and we know a bunch of people who used to work for Hooker, and they're fine. Whatever chemicals are in that goo, I'm sure it's harmless. Just an ugly, smelly pain in the neck. Well, I hope you're right. Listen, look, I'll add another sump pump. Maybe with two, we can get rid of this stuff.
I'll go to the hardware store this afternoon. Okay, but I'm going to tell the kids to stay out of the basement. I don't think that's necessary, but if it makes you feel better, sure. I mean, we'll get this figured out. Don't worry. I know, but it's our home. All homes have problems. My parents' house, they're plumbing backed up all the time. Tree roots. This is just our cross to bear. I bet a second sump pump will do the trick. And if it doesn't work, we'll come up with something else.
Eileen nods, and Edwin rubs her back reassuringly, then heads upstairs while she loads the laundry into the washing machine. Before she leaves the basement, Eileen casts one last look at her oozing wall. She knows Edwin's right. All houses have their issues. But this black goo looks like something out of a horror movie. Eileen shakes her head. She's likely being ridiculous, letting her imagination get away from her.
This is just an annoyance. A few chemicals seeping into the house. Niagara Falls is practically built on chemicals. Nearly all of their friends work at one of the big chemical plants that mine the river. So it's nothing to be worried about. Or at least, that's what Eileen tries to tell herself.
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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. In 1892, a man named William T. Love arrived in Niagara Falls, New York, with a vision of building a new utopian city.
The key to his model city was an 11-mile canal that would connect the city to the powerful Niagara waterfall, providing cheap electricity for residents. But after only a mile of canal had been dug, the economy crashed and the project was abandoned. The ditch sat empty for nearly 50 years until 1942 when the Hooker Chemical Company started using it as a waste disposal area. For 10 years, they filled the unused canal with metal drums full of chemicals.
Then in the early 1950s, the open land surrounding the canal was turned into a residential neighborhood. The canal itself was covered over with landfill and turned into a park, and at one end of it, the city built an elementary school. The blue-collar families who lived in the Love Canal area thought they'd achieved the American dream. Not far from the banks of Niagara River, it was an idyllic neighborhood full of leafy trees, singing birds, and kids playing in the streets.
But throughout the 1950s and 60s, residents began noticing strange substances and odors in their homes and yards. Children playing in the park discovered the presence of fire rocks, which would spontaneously ignite if you threw them onto the sidewalk. Sticks dipped in the local creek would come out black.
Most residents had heard that there were chemicals buried in the old canal, but few thought they were dangerous because many of them worked for companies like Hooker themselves, and the toxicity of certain chemicals was not well known at the time. The economy of Niagara Falls was so dependent on chemical production that some locals called the foul odors the smell of money. But over time, the toxic substances buried at Love Canal became impossible to ignore.
Finally, in the 1970s, a group of ordinary citizens, led by a courageous housewife, began a years-long fight to expose the dangers of Love Canal and protect the area's residents. They fought corporations and politicians who did their best to minimize the problem. And along the way, this unlikely group of activists forever changed the way the United States deals with chemical waste sites. This is Episode 1, The Education of Lois Gibbs. It's 1977.
Seventeen years after Eileen Voorhees found black goo seeping through her basement walls, and in a drab municipal building in Porter, New York, Mike Brown is sitting in a metal folding chair, struggling to stay awake. Brown is a reporter with the Niagara Gazette, and he's here covering another boring community meeting. At the front of the room, an executive from a chemical disposal company is explaining their plans to dig a new pit in town to store chemical waste.
Porter residents are not pleased with the proposal. The company already has six pits in town, and they don't want another. But it's largely old news, and Brown stifles a yawn and lightly slaps his cheek, trying to keep himself awake. This isn't the hard-hitting journalism that made him want to become a reporter, but he hopes if he does a good job covering community meetings like this, he'll work his way up to a more exciting beat.
Finally, the chemical company executive wraps up the spiel and opens the floor to questions. A city council member directs attendees to a microphone at the side of the room, and one by one, residents line up to speak. Brown readies his pen and notepad, preparing to jot down any good quotes. But instead of talking about the pit proposal, the first resident launches into a diatribe about the trash collection schedule. Brown sighs and caps his pen. There's always someone wildly off-topic at these meetings.
Eventually, the city council member convinces the man to sit back down and give the next person a chance to speak. Brown checks his watch, trying to figure out if this will wrap up in time for him to grab a sandwich. But the voice of the next speaker pulls his attention back to the meeting. Brown looks up and sees a young woman standing at the microphone. Her voice shakes as she introduces herself and says she's not from Porter. Brown can tell she's nervous, and he wonders what inspired this woman to come to this community meeting if she doesn't even live here.
The woman says she's from Niagara Falls, about 20 minutes away, in a neighborhood near Love Canal. She claims that her neighborhood has been ruined by chemicals and that her friends and neighbors have started getting sick. Brown sits up and uncaps his pen. This meeting has suddenly gotten more interesting.
The woman then turns to address the audience directly. And fighting back tears, she says the Porter residents have to prevent this company from building another pit, because if they don't, Porter will turn into another love canal. Tears stream down the woman's cheeks as she returns to her seat, unable to say anything more.
And in his chair in the back of the room, Brown jots Love Canal in his notebook. His reporter's instincts are vibrating. Whatever is causing this woman so much distress, Brown needs to investigate further. Soon after attending the meeting in Porter, Mike Brown starts looking into Love Canal to find out if there's something going on there that's worth writing about.
He starts digging through the archives at the Niagara Gazette, but he finds very little reporting on the place. And to him, that's a good thing. Even though it doesn't give him much to go on, it could mean there's a story here for him to break. In his research, Brown learns that until the 1950s, Love Canal was used as a dump site by a company called Hooker Chemical. Brown knows Hooker well. It's one of the largest employers in the city. It makes a wide variety of products, including a potent insecticide called Myrex.
But what Brown did not know before reading these articles is that Hooker sold the Love Canal property to the Niagara Falls School Board as a site for an elementary school in 1952. He also learns that the company's chemicals had started to leak out of the canal and into the surrounding area. But Brown can't find anything written about the health problems described by the woman at the Porter meeting. In fact, one article published just a few months ago states that the chemicals in Love Canal pose only a slight health risk.
In the same article, city health officials acknowledged that the chemicals had an unpleasant odor and encouraged parents to prevent their kids from digging in the ground near the canal. But overall, they said the chemicals were not dangerous. Brown follows up with reporters in the office who covered the story, and none of them are concerned. They say the leakage seems to be affecting only a handful of homes, and the city's working to contain it. In their view, there's no story at Love Canal.
And after digging even further, Brown is inclined to agree. Whatever the woman in Porter was warning about seems to have been overblown. So Brown forgets about Love Canal and goes back to his regular beat. But a few months later, in the fall of 1977, Brown has a random encounter that changes his mind. That day, he's in a corporate office building in nearby Buffalo, New York, following up a lead on another story.
And as he's waiting for the elevator, he overhears a tall man with a southern accent mention the name Love Canal. From Brown's earlier digging, he knows that one of the consultants investigating the Love Canal leak has offices in this very building, and he begins to wonder if this man is working with that consultancy. The elevator doors open, and the tall man says goodbye to his friend in the lobby. Both he and Brown step inside.
Brown is still skeptical that there's any real story with Love Canal, but he can't pass up the opportunity to ask this man a few questions. So when the doors close, Brown makes his move.
Hey, excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear you in the lobby. I take it you're not from around here? No, I'm from New Orleans, just in town to do some consulting. Can I ask on what? Chemicals found in Niagara Falls. Love Canal? Oh, you've heard of it? Yeah, I'm a reporter, and I've done some looking into it. How's it going? Well, it's incredible. Every time I go to the site, I'm more amazed by what I see there. There's a whole host of chemicals in the ground. Brown pulls out his notebook.
Hooker hasn't supplied a list or something of everything they stored there? Not to my knowledge. The man then hesitates, glancing down at Brown's notebook. But he continues. Well, to be honest, I'm getting more and more worried about what might be buried down there. You're worried? Yeah, and I'm not the only one. Other consultants working on the project are starting to suspect that this is a much bigger problem than we originally thought. Is there a chance that the chemicals buried there could be hurting people living in the neighborhood?
Well, there's no way to know that until someone digs them up and sees what's there. The man pauses again, looking at the floor numbers change as the elevator rises. For a moment, Brown worries that the man's having second thoughts about saying any of this to a reporter. But then, just as they reach the man's floor, he speaks again. You know, I will say this, and you can quote me. If you don't find out what's in that canal, your children, or your children's children, are going to start having problems.
Brown stares at the man. This is the kind of quote reporters kill for. But more than that, the sentiment behind the quote has convinced Brown that there is a story here after all. The elevator doors open and the man steps off with a nod to Brown. Brown nods back and as the doors close, he writes down the quote in his notebook. Brown's not done looking into Love Canal. He's just getting started.
After his conversation with the consultant, Mike Brown starts working the phones, trying to find out what chemicals are buried in Love Canal and what the government is doing about it. Hooker Chemical gives him the runaround, refusing to turn over any kind of list of what chemicals they might have dumped at the site. But Brown learns that the newly formed Environmental Protection Agency has begun testing to find out what's there.
Everyone acknowledges that there are chemicals leaking out of Love Canal and that they need to be contained. The problem, it seems, is that no one wants to pay for a full-scale cleanup. Hooker Chemical, the city, the school board, and the federal government all think someone else should foot the bill, so the cleanup project is stalled before it begins. And there also seems to be no sense of urgency. Health officials assure Brown that the danger to residents is minimal, but Brown isn't so sure.
When he walks around the canal area, his eyes sting and he struggles to breathe. He decides to start interviewing residents to see if they're experiencing anything similar or worse. And in 1978, he knocks on the door of a small house adjacent to the canal. A middle-aged woman opens the door and Brown introduces himself and then asks if she's had any encounters with the chemicals buried in the Love Canal.
The woman lets out a snort. She gives her name as Eileen Voorhees and says she has plenty of experience with those chemicals. She welcomes Brown inside and escorts him down into the basement. Her husband, Edwin, joins them, and as they descend the stairs, Brown is hit with an intense, acrid smell. Edwin and Eileen show Brown a thick, black substance that's bleeding through the wall. Brown steps back, instinctively wanting to be as far away from that black gunk as possible.
But Eileen and Edwin explain that it's been seeping into their house for nearly 20 years. They show Brown a homemade gutter running along the base of the wall, an attempt to catch the flow and channel it outside. That's only their latest attempt to stop it. Brown can't take the smell anymore, so suggests they continue this conversation upstairs. And once they're settled in the living room, Brown quietly asks the Voorheeses if they've experienced any health problems.
They say not personally, but several trees in their backyard have died. And they're concerned that all the dead trees are lowering the value of their property. Brown nods and then asks about their neighbors. Do they know of anyone on the block who's had unusual medical complaints?
Voorhees exchange a glance. Then Eileen explains that their daughter lives just a few doors down, and that ten years ago she had a child who was born with several birth defects. There was a hole in the little girl's heart, and she was partially deaf and had some bone deformities. Recently, she's also been diagnosed with an enlarged liver.
Brown leans forward in his seat and asks if their daughter has the same black goo coming into her house. But Edwin shakes his head no. Still, a few years ago, their daughter's swimming pool suddenly pushed two feet above ground when she and her husband tried to replace it, the hole where the pool had been, filled up with yellow and orange liquid. Edwin is then quick to add that he doesn't think any of this has to do with his granddaughter's health issues. But Brown remembers what the consultant in the elevator told him.
The residents' children and grandchildren could develop problems, so Brown thinks there might be a connection. After a while, Brown thanks the couple for their time and continues to knock on doors along their street. Over the course of the next few months, he speaks to people experiencing everything from asthma and rashes to much more serious health problems, including cancer.
Brown is starting to realize that the situation in Love Canal isn't just a story. It's a crisis. And he's determined to sound the alarm. American Scandal is sponsored by Audible. Ever notice how a whisper can be more captivating than a shout? It's because your mind races in to fill in the blanks. Listening doesn't just inform. It invites in your imagination. And that's why Audible is such a great place to let your imagination soar.
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In the spring of 1978, Mike Brown begins publishing a series of articles in the Niagara Gazette about the chemicals leaking from Love Canal and how they're affecting the houses and residents adjacent to it. He writes about the black sludge invading the Voorhees' basement and the chemical-filled groundwater at their daughter's house. He also details the various health problems people living near the canal have experienced. The headlines are big and bold, proclaiming the canal a serious threat
And in the neighborhood around the canal, the articles land with an impact. Some residents had no idea that their homes had been built near a chemical waste site. And among residents who did know, it never occurred to them that the chemicals could be dangerous. Now they're alarmed, both for their health and their property values. One of the people reading Brown's articles is a young mother named Lois Gibbs.
Gibbs grew up 10 miles from Niagara Falls, and she had a rough childhood. So when she got married and bought a house on 101st Street, two blocks east of Love Canal, she was determined that it would be a loving and safe home for her two children, Michael and Missy. But recently, she's grown concerned about Michael's health.
Shortly after starting kindergarten at the 99th Street Elementary School, Michael started having seizures. The doctor diagnosed him with epilepsy, but couldn't explain why Michael had developed the disorder. There's no history of epilepsy in the families of either Lois or her husband, Henry.
Then Gibbs read Brown's stories about the potential toxicity of the chemicals in Love Canal. According to Brown's articles, the 99th Street school is built directly on top of the old chemical dump site. And Brown is reporting that people who live nearby are experiencing health problems. So Gibbs starts to wonder if the chemicals under Michael's school are the cause of his seizures. She worries that she's being paranoid. Brown's articles don't say anything about the kids at the school being in danger.
But no matter how hard Gibbs tries, she can't get the thought out of her head. So she decides to confer with her brother-in-law, Wayne Hadley, who's a biology professor at the University of Buffalo. The next time Gibbs sees him, she tells Hadley about the articles in the Gazette and asks if it's possible for Michael to develop epilepsy from the chemicals buried under the school. Hadley can't say for sure, especially since they don't know what specific chemicals are in Love Canal. But he doesn't think Gibbs is being paranoid.
So after conferring with her brother-in-law, Gibbs decides she doesn't want Michael attending the 99th Street School anymore. In the late spring of 1978, Gibbs calls the superintendent of the Niagara Falls School District to request a transfer for Michael. Gibbs is shy and hates asking for favors, but she forces herself to push through her anxiety.
and after being placed on hold, she hears the superintendent's gruff voice. Yes? What can I do for you? Um, hi, my name's Lois Gibbs. My son Michael is enrolled at the 99th Street Elementary School. Okay. I'd like him to be transferred to another school. Well, I'm afraid that's not possible. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean this school year. I mean, there's only a little left in the term. I meant next fall. Well, ma'am, if...
If your son is assigned to 99th Street, then that's where he has to go. I can't be moving students around willy-nilly. It's not willy-nilly. Michael has epilepsy. And it only started after he began attending 99th Street this fall. I think the chemicals under the school caused it. Well, I'm sorry for your son's condition. But it's not because of the school. I've read some reports that say there are chemicals in the ground there that are dangerous.
And if there's any possibility they're making my son sick, then I don't want him attending that school. Well, ma'am, I don't know what you've read, but I'm telling you the school has been tested and it's safe. It's making him sick. Do you have any proof that chemicals caused his epilepsy? What kind of proof? Well, look, I'll tell you what. If you can get two doctors to write letters saying that the chemicals in the ground are causing your son's illness, then we can transfer him. Fine. Thank you for your time.
Gibbs hangs up the phone, frustrated but resolved. If she needs two doctor's letters to get Michael transferred to a school that's not built on top of toxic chemicals, then that's what she's going to get. Lois Gibbs procures letters from Michael's pediatrician and her own general practitioner, recommending that Michael be transferred out of the 99th Street School. Gibbs then submits them to the superintendent and waits for a response.
but she never receives one. And every time she calls to follow up, the superintendent is unavailable. Gibbs calls multiple times a week for several weeks until finally the superintendent takes her call and tells her he's still denying Michael's transfer.
He says the doctor's letters claim the school is contaminated, but he doesn't believe that to be true. Besides, if that were the case, then it wouldn't just be Michael needing to be transferred. The entire school would have to be closed, and the superintendent insists that's not going to happen. Gibbs is furious. She hangs up the phone and gnaws at her cheek as she considers what to do next. She and Harry can't afford to send Michael to a private school, but there's no way she's going to send her son to a school built on poisoned ground.
And that's when Gibbs realizes she can't be the only parent who feels this way. And while it's fairly easy for the superintendent to bully one housewife, you'll have a much harder time saying no to a group of parents. So that June, Gibbs writes up a petition demanding that the school board close the 99th Street School until the chemicals are removed. Then she heads out to start collecting signatures.
Gibbs starts at the home of Michael's best friend, Curtis. The boy's father answers, and Gibbs explains what she's up to. And to her surprise, she learns that Curtis was recently diagnosed with a hyperactivity disorder. Curtis's father asks if that too could be caused by the chemicals under the school. Gibbs says she's not sure, but based on what she's read, the chemicals can have psychological impacts as well as physical ones. So Curtis's dad signs the petition. And then Gibbs heads to the next house.
Over the next few weeks, she knocks on over 100 doors and is shocked to hear about the array of health issues people are suffering from. There's asthma, juvenile arthritis, migraines, miscarriages, heart conditions, leukemia, and more. It's seeming like these chemicals are causing harm to the entire neighborhood, which means the solution to the problem goes beyond just shutting down the school.
So when the state health department holds a community meeting at the 99th Street School at the end of June, Gibbs is eager to attend. She wants someone to tell her how to protect herself, her family, and her community. But at the meeting, she finds that the doctor leading the discussion gives unsatisfying answers. He says that the government is continuing to do tests on soil and air in the area. And soon they'll begin testing the blood of residents who live adjacent to the canal.
Once those tests are complete, then they'll be able to assess how much the community really is at risk and what can be done about it. A few days later, as promised, the health department sets up testing sites to collect blood samples from people who live on 99th and 97th streets, the two closest to the canal. And a month later, in late July, Gibbs hears that the health department is planning to reveal the tests at a meeting in Albany, the state capitol.
Albany is 300 miles from Niagara Falls, but Gibbs is determined to attend. So on August 1st, 1978, Gibbs, her husband Harry, and their friend Debbie Cirillo take the five-hour drive down to the state capitol to hear the results. The next day, August 2nd, they enter a cavernous meeting room in the New York Health Department building. But aside from a few journalists, including Mike Brown, the room is nearly empty.
It seems only a small number of people from Niagara Falls could afford to miss work and drive to Albany in the middle of the week. Gibbs has a sneaking suspicion that's precisely why the health officials are holding this meeting in the state capitol on a Wednesday rather than in Niagara Falls. She thinks they don't want residents to hear what they have to say. So Gibbs, her husband, and Cirillo find seats at the front of the room.
and soon several men in suits make their way onto the stage. One of them introduces himself as Robert Whalen, the New York State Health Commissioner. Gibbs pulls out a small tape recorder she brought with her and hits record. She knows people back in Niagara Falls are going to have a lot of questions, and this way she can share exactly what was said.
Whalen tells the room that the experts gathered on stage have been studying the Love Canal situation for the past several months. They've run multiple tests, and they've identified 80 chemical compounds at the site. One of those compounds, benzene, is known to cause cancer. Gibbs shakes her head in anger. In Mike Brown's articles, he had theorized that benzene was among the chemicals in Love Canal. But this is proof.
She listens as Whalen continues, saying,
Residents on farther away streets, like Lois Gibbs, should remain vigilant and report any incidents or hazards as they arise. He's also ordering the Niagara Falls School District to delay the start of the 99th Street school year so that corrective construction activities can be instituted.
Gibbs tries to process what the commissioner just said. The situation is bad enough that some people need to leave their homes, and it might be bad enough that people like her or her children are at risk. But the health department doesn't know, and instead of taking any precautionary measures, the government is just leaving them to fend for themselves.
Gibbs squeezes her eyes shut, trying to calm the thoughts racing through her mind. She thinks about her children, Michael and Missy, and the cancer-causing poisons they must have been exposed to at school. She thinks about her neighbors and their illnesses, miscarriages, the birth defects in their children. And as she sits there thinking, Gibbs' face starts getting hot. She doesn't like to fight, and she's terrified of public speaking, but she can't just sit here and say nothing.
So she jumps to her feet and demands more clarity. If the area is poisoned enough that vulnerable populations like the young and pregnant have to leave, what is it doing to regular people like her and her family? The commissioner says the state is going to continue to do testing. Gibbs just needs to be patient and wait for the science to come in. But Gibbs says she and her neighbors can't afford to be patient. Not when they're being exposed every day to cancer-causing chemicals.
Inspired by Gibbs, Debbie Cirillo also jumps to her feet. "Her backyard abuts the canal," she tells the commissioner. "She's in the evacuation zone, but her child is just over the threshold at three years old. Does that mean he's really safe? If he wasn't safe just two months ago, before his third birthday, why do they think he's safe now?" The commissioner again urges patience.
But Gibbs is furious. None of this makes sense. He's telling pregnant women and small children to leave, but he's not providing any resources. He's not saying where they should go or how they're supposed to pay for it. And he's leaving the rest of them in harm's way. Gibbs begins to scream at the top of her lungs. You are murdering us. You are murdering us. She sees a shocked look pass over her husband Harry's face. She can't blame him. She's shocked by her behavior too.
Lois Gibbs, the same woman who once got nervous ordering a hamburger, is now the loudest person in the room. And she's not going to stop being loud until the people in charge start listening.
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Presto! The car you've been wanting is now within reach. So hit the road and leave your calculator at home. Find your next car on autotrader.com. On August 2nd, 1978, after the meeting with the health department ends, Lois Gibbs, her husband Harry, and her friend Debbie Cirillo pile into the Gibbs Big Oldsmobile sedan and drive the 300 miles from Albany back home to Niagara Falls. Harry drops Cirillo off at her house before heading toward his and Lois' home.
Lois is relieved to be back. It's been a long and emotional day. And now all she wants to do is kiss her kids and collapse into bed. But as they pull up their street, they see Lois' mother pacing in their driveway. Then, when Lois' mother sees their car, she hustles toward them, waving her arms in the air, yelling something. Harry rolls down the driver's side window to hear better, and Lois' mother screams that Lois needs to get over to 99th Street right away.
Apparently, the neighbors have been listening to the Albany meeting on the radio, and when they heard the health commissioner say that pregnant women and children under two should evacuate, they went crazy. Lois looks at Harry. She doesn't want to go to 99th Street. She wants to go to bed, but her mother insists that Lois has to go. She makes it sound like the whole neighborhood could go up in flames if Lois doesn't get over there right away. Lois reluctantly agrees, and she and Harry make their way to 99th Street.
When they arrive, Lois Gibbs understands why her mother was so adamant. It seems like the entire neighborhood is gathered in the street. There are hundreds of people, many screaming and crying. And in the middle of the crowd, there's a fire burning. One of Gibbs' neighbors is standing on top of a box, speaking into a microphone. He directs people to the bucket and tells residents to burn their mortgage paperwork and their tax bills. Their homes are worthless now, so they shouldn't pay one more red cent.
Then he looks into the crowd and asks if Lois Gibbs has returned from Albany yet. Gibbs' mouth goes dry. She realizes that all these people are going to want her to speak. It was one thing to yell spontaneously at politicians in Albany, but she knows her neighbors are going to want a real speech from her now.
Just then, Gibbs' brother-in-law, Wayne Hadley, approaches her. He tells her that the residents are scared and upset. They don't understand what exactly the health department found and what kind of danger they're in. All they know is some vulnerable people have to leave. There's no representative from the health department in town to answer their questions, so Hadley urges Gibbs to speak. She insists that she doesn't have the answers and says she's no good at public speaking.
But before she can protest further, someone in the crowd spots her, grabs her arm, and pulls her toward the microphone. Gibbs looks desperately back at her family, and Hadley gives her an encouraging nod. Gibbs climbs up onto the box and grabs the microphone. Okay, she says. Then she sees Hadley lift his index finger. Gibbs has a verbal tick when she's nervous. She starts and ends all of her sentences with okay, and Hadley's been trying to break her of it.
She nods and then pushes forward as best as she can, telling the crowd what the commissioner said about how pregnant women and children under two need to temporarily evacuate and that the school is going to be temporarily closed. Someone yells, asking why the rest of them aren't being evacuated. And Gibbs repeats what the commissioner said, that they don't have the scientific evidence to evacuate everyone. The crowd grumbles. But Gibbs goes on.
noticing that Hadley's index finger is flying up every two seconds. Her use of okay is off the charts. Gibbs feels herself start to freeze up. She thinks she's failing. She's annoying everyone with her okay tick. She's not telling the crowd anything they didn't hear on the radio. She's losing control of the situation. Gibbs swallows and then realizes she needs to give them something to do, somewhere to channel their anger, and she has an idea about where it should go.
Gibbs tells the crowd that the health officials will be holding another meeting the next night at the 99th Street School. And if they want answers, they're going to need to pack the place, making sure it's standing room only. Only then can they pressure the government into giving them the answers and resources that Love Canal needs. The crowd roars, relieved to have an action they can take. And in the back, Hadley grins and raises his hand again. But this time, instead of an index finger, he flashes a thumbs up.
The Love Canal neighbors take Lois Gibbs' suggestion to heart, and the following night, they crowd the auditorium of the 99th Street School, and their energy is furious. Commissioner Robert Whalen takes the stage, but before he can even finish his introduction, people are yelling questions from the crowd.
They want to know why Wayland's evacuation order only applied to such a small group of people, and how he decided where to draw the line. They demand he explain how he knows that a small child on one block is vulnerable, but a child just one block over is not. Wayland's answers provide no new information, though. And everyone leaves the meeting still angry and dissatisfied. Their property values have been destroyed, and their health is in jeopardy, and it feels like everyone with the power to do something about it is dragging their feet.
So the next evening, the neighbors gather at the firehouse. They form the Love Canal Homeowners Association and elect Lois Gibbs as president. Through this newly formed organization, residents hope to have a voice the politicians can't ignore.
and it seems to work instantaneously. At the firehouse, Gibbs has just been making her first speech as president when Niagara Falls Congressman John LaFall strikes in. He takes the microphone right out of Gibbs' hand and tells the crowd that he has an exciting announcement. LaFall says that for the past 14 months, he's been searching for funding to help clean up Love Canal and restore the neighborhood they all know and love. He's here tonight to tell them that he secured $4 million to put toward that effort.
The crowd cheers. Finally, a politician is doing something. The false caution is that it will take time, it will be disruptive, and some people will still need to temporarily relocate. But ultimately, their neighborhood will be saved.
Gibbs feels a wave of relief wash over her. She can go back to being a wife and mom, and she's sure her husband Harry will be happy about that. Gibbs has admitted to slacking on housework recently, but it's been worth it. She's helped make theirs a safer home for Michael and Missy. When the meeting comes to an end, it's after midnight. And as Gibbs heads home, she meets up with Beverly Pagan, a biologist and medical research scientist who's been following the plight of the Love Canal community.
They're both excited by the news of the funding LaFalse has secured. And as the two women walk through the streets of the neighborhood, passing the carefully maintained lawns and small two-story houses, Gibbs is talking a mile a minute. Oh, I just don't want to let anyone down. I mean, I'm not any kind of activist. I don't know what I'm doing, and everyone's going to find that out. But I just hope I don't mess up. No, you won't.
Obviously, it's great that Congressman LaFalse got $4 million, but that sounds like it's only for cleanup. Do you think that means it can't be used to help move people? I don't know. Because people around here, they just can't get up and move to a hotel for a few months. They don't have that kind of money. This is your street, right? Yeah, turn here. Ah, there's so much to do. I'm going to have to make a whole list of questions I need to ask LaFalse's office. We all got so excited that we lost our heads, but tomorrow, people are going to want more information, more details. Can you help me come up with what I should ask?
Pagan doesn't respond. Gibbs stops and realizes that Pagan is no longer walking alongside her. She turns back to see Pagan standing in the middle of the street, sniffing the air. What are you doing? Come here. Gibbs walks back to where Pagan is standing. Pagan takes a deep sniff. You smell that? Pfft.
"'Oh, sure. It smells like chemicals. The air around here always smells like chemicals. That's the whole problem.' "'Oh, no, no, no. That's not it. Here, follow me.' Pagan trots forward and gives trails after her. Then Pagan stops after about a hundred yards and takes another deep sniff. "'Okay, smell again. It's not as strong.' "'Yeah. Whenever we pass a manhole, the smell is stronger.' "'What does that mean?' "'I think it means the chemicals are moving.'
They're traveling underground, beyond the streets adjacent to the canal. My house is just over there. You're saying the ground here is contaminated too? Well, we'll have to conduct studies to be sure, but cleaning this up might be a much bigger job than any politician thinks. And way more people have been exposed.
Gibbs nods slowly as she takes us in. Just 20 minutes ago, she thought the end of her activist days were in sight. But if Pagan is right, and the chemicals are spreading underground, then Gibbs' days of fighting are only just beginning. For a brief second, Gibbs feels overwhelmed. She thinks of her messy house and her children who barely see her anymore. But then she sets her jaw on it. She loves this neighborhood. She loves her home. And she will fight for as long as it takes to save them.
From Wondery, this is Episode 1 of Love Canal for American Scandal. In our next episode, Lois Gibbs steps up her protests, but not everyone is happy with her approach. Meanwhile, more alarming discoveries are made about the chemicals buried in Love Canal. If you'd like to learn more about Love Canal, we recommend the books Laying Waste by Mike Brown, Love Canal, The Story Continues by Lois Gibbs, and Paradise Falls by Keith O'Brien.
This episode contains reenactments and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what was said, all our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Gabriel Gould. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Austin Rackless. Edited by Emma Cortland. Fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry. Produced by John Reed.
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