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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 August 9th, 1978 in Washington, D.C. In the executive office building next door to the White House, a group of political staffers are holed up in a nondescript conference room talking about how to address the toxic waste problem in Love Canal.
Sitting around the conference table are representatives from the office of New York Congressman John LaFalls, as well as members of New York Governor Hugh Carey's staff and people who work for President Jimmy Carter. Also seated at the table is Lois Gibbs, who until a week ago carried little title except wife and mother. But over the last several months, things have been moving quickly for her.
It was only recently that Gibbs first heard that the Love Canal neighborhood was built around a dump site for chemical waste and that that waste is now leaking into the soil, groundwater, and the air. Gibbs and many others have come to believe that the chemicals are causing health problems in the community, and she's spent the last several months fighting to get the government to address the problems.
Now it seems like the government is finally listening. They've convened this meeting to discuss an aid package for helping relocate residents of Love Canal during the cleanup. Gibbs is here in Washington as the newly elected president of the Love Canal Homeowners Association to represent the interests of her community.
But she's anxious as she listens to these political insiders trying to figure out how the conversation is going. Everyone's speaking at once, and it sounds like they're competing to see how much jargon they can fit into one sentence. Gibbs feels out of her league. These are government bigwigs, and she's never even been to Washington before. But she knows her neighbors back home are counting on her to make sure they get as much assistance as possible. So she refuses to let them down. She keeps listening, trying to understand what's being said.
Finally, the meeting breaks up, and a member of Governor Kerry's staff approaches her. Gibbs sits up straight, hoping he'll translate all the political talk into plain English. The staffer takes a seat next to her and gives her a big grin. Well, I've got some good news. Yeah, what's that? Well, in addition to the $4 million that Congressman LaFalse already secured, we've secured more funding to cover moving expenses for the families who live nearby.
Well, that sounds great, but when you say families who live nearby, which families do you mean exactly? I mean everyone living on 99th and 97th Street, right next to the canal. There's 230 families, and each of them will get a one-time payment of $400 to cover moving expenses, plus another $300 to cover rent. Well, I'm sure those families are going to be very relieved, but what about the rest of us, those who don't live on 97th or 99th?
Well, we just don't have the data that suggests people living that far away are in danger. Well, respectfully, that's only because you haven't tried to collect it yet. I've talked to the people on those blocks and they're having all sorts of health problems.
Cancer, miscarriages, you name it. Beverly Pagan, the scientist who's been helping us, she thinks the chemicals might be moving underground following something called the swales. Well, we haven't seen any evidence of that. That doesn't mean it's not happening. I mean, just a few weeks ago, the state was saying the chemicals in Love Canal were safe. But now the government is paying people to move. Lois, this new aid package is projected to cost the federal government $7 million. This is real concrete help. You...
You should feel proud you helped get this. I do feel proud, but okay, well, great. Now, can I ask you a favor? There's a rally scheduled at the school tonight, and if you could go ahead and call it off, that would be a huge help. What? Well, you don't need to protest and interrupt meetings anymore. You've won. You got the help you wanted.
But there are still other families, more tests that need to be done. We've gotten you $11 million to address this issue. Just take the victory. In the future, if there's need for more aid, you can have my number. We can have a civilized conversation about it. But what we don't need is theatrics. Theatrics? Well, I'm sorry, that's just not a promise I can make. All right, well, thanks for coming, Lois. I hope you'll realize this is a real victory. Someone will take you back to the airport.
The staffer gets up and walks away, leaving Gibbs to sit there. It seems like this whole trip was about appearances. It's as if the government just wants to look like they're doing something about the problem when what they really want is for the community to keep their mouths shut. But Gibbs is done being quiet. She's going to do whatever it takes to make sure every resident of Love Canal is safe.
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Help Dell make a difference and shop AI-ready PCs powered by Snapdragon X-Series processors at Dell.com slash deals. That's Dell.com slash deals. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. In the 1950s, a working-class residential neighborhood started to build up around an abandoned canal in Niagara Falls, New York.
Known as Love Canal, the site had been used for roughly a decade as a dumping ground for the Hooker Chemical Company. Eventually, it was filled in, and the town built an elementary school on top of it. Over the years, residents who lived near the canal started noticing chemicals seeping into their basements and strange odors filling the air. Finally, in the late 1970s, the city acknowledged that the dump site was leaking, but they insisted the risks were minimal.
Despite the city's assurances, a reporter for the local newspaper decided to dig deeper and unearth some alarming facts about the potential harm these chemicals could cause. And residents, spearheaded by housewife Lois Gibbs, began to demand that the government take more action. They wanted to evacuate everyone while the chemicals were cleaned out.
Finally, the state issued an evacuation order for residents living on the streets immediately adjacent to the canal. But for Gibbs and others who lived farther away, this wasn't enough, and soon even more residents joined the fight to get compensated for damage to their homes and their health. This is Episode 2, Housewife Data. It's late August 1978 in Niagara Falls, New York, not long after Gibbs' meeting in Washington, D.C.,
Elena Thornton walks into a meeting of the Love Canal Homeowners Association at the local fire station. The room's full, and Thornton shuffles down a narrow row of folding chairs to one of the few empty seats. The air is stuffy and humid, and sweat beads on Thornton's forehead. But it's not just the weather making Thornton feel hot. She's self-conscious, because it seems like everyone's eyes are on her.
Thornton is one of the only black people in the room. And unlike most of the other attendees, she doesn't own a home in the neighborhood. Thornton is a resident of a public housing project called Griffin Manor, located west of the canal on 93rd Street. She's lived there off and on for 20 years and raised six children there. Over the past few months, Thornton has closely followed the newspaper coverage of Love Canal. She's read about the chemicals discovered in the ground and about Lois Gibbs and her campaign to get the neighborhood evacuated.
And at first, Thornton hadn't been terribly concerned about the chemicals. Griffin Manor is several blocks away from the canal, so it didn't seem like her home was at risk. But then Thornton realized something significant. Griffin Manor was roughly the same distance from the canal as Gibbs' home.
And as Thornton read more about the various illnesses that Gibbs' friends and neighbors were experiencing, she flashed back to 17 years ago when one of her sons had died of leukemia. Now she can't help but wonder if his death was connected to these chemicals. So even though Thornton doesn't own her home, she decided to attend this homeowners association meeting to find out what's really happening with the evacuation and to make sure that the renters in Griffin Manor are included in the process.
Thornton settles into her chair, and Gibbs calls the meeting to order. First, she runs through a series of updates, and then opens the floor for questions and comments. Thornton is still feeling a little nervous, but she stands and introduces herself as a resident of Griffin Manor. Immediately, a rustle of disapproval moves through the crowd. But Gibbs reminds everyone that all residents, whether they rent or own, are welcome at these meetings.
So Thornton continues. She explains that she feels like Griffin Manor has been left out. Residents there deserve to be given the same blood tests many of the homeowners have already received, and they need help with moving expenses too. One man, a few rows up, turns and glares. He says if she's that concerned about it, she should just leave. If he was renting, he'd be long gone. Others nod in agreement. But Thornton explains that many of the residents can't afford to just pick up and move.
the crowd isn't persuaded. Another man with thinning hair and a handlebar mustache says that this group's activism needs to focus on homeowners, those who have put their life savings into their houses. Their fates can't be tied to the renters at Griffin Manor. As the din of voices grows louder, Gibbs tries to calm everyone down. She hears the homeowners' concerns but says she thinks there are still ways they can all work together
But as Thornton sits down, she realizes that joining forces with the Homeowners Association is going to be an uphill battle. Griffin Manor residents need their own group, one that will make them a priority. And she's going to start it. The next month, September 1978, Elena Thornton founds the Concerned Love Canal Renters Association to advocate for residents of Griffin Manor. She gets support from the local chapter of the NAACP, which helps her hire an attorney for the group.
Her most pressing concern is the state's plan to clean up Love Canal. The state has started buying up homes closest to the canal, and soon workers with trucks and diggers will be coming to clear out trees, fences, and even garages surrounding the dump site. Then they'll dig trenches along either side of the canal to funnel the leaking chemicals into a holding tank. The hope is that they can contain the chemicals safely so they'll no longer seep into the residents' basements or escape into the air.
Thornton doesn't have an issue with the actual solution, but she's worried that the process of digging the trenches could have a devastating effect on the neighborhood. She's concerned that the workers could hit pockets of gas or old barrels full of chemicals, releasing vapor clouds or even triggering an explosion. So she wants the state to relocate Griffin Manor residents before they start the cleanup. And through her lawyer, she files an injunction to stop the work from starting. But the injunction gets denied.
Lois Gibbs and the homeowners are also concerned about the dangers of the remediation work. Some members of the homeowners association threaten to block the trucks and diggers from entering the neighborhood. Gibbs uses their threats as leverage and negotiates with state officials for a comprehensive safety plan, which includes parking 60 buses in strategic locations around the neighborhood ready for people to run to in case of disaster.
Neither Thornton nor Gibbs feel satisfied with the plan, but it seems like the best they're going to get. So Gibbs tells her fellow homeowners to let the cleanup work proceed, and Thornton turns her attention to another problem. She feels that the state has not done enough testing of Griffin Manor residents to see if they're suffering from health issues caused by the chemicals. So she makes an appointment to meet with a state doctor who's overseeing the testing while he's in Niagara Falls from Albany.
And on the day of the meeting, Thornton strides into his temporary office, determined not to be cast aside. The doctor thanks her for coming in and assures her he wants to help, but mentions he doesn't have a lot of time. So Thornton skips the small talk and turns to the notes she's prepared for the meeting. She explains that she spent the last few months knocking on doors at Griffin Manor and has discovered that her fellow residents are suffering from a host of health conditions. Asthma, bronchitis, rheumatic fever.
She's also learned that almost none of them have been contacted by the government about getting their blood tested for chemical exposure. And she insists that needs to happen. The doctor says they've had 12 blood testing events that Griffin Manor residents have been invited to attend, but hardly anyone from the housing project has shown up. Horton says that's because when residents do come, they're told to come back later or forced to wait. The people running the tests seem to be prioritizing white residents who live closer to the canal.
The doctor says he'll take that under advisement, but unfortunately, he needs to get to another meeting. Swithorton gets up and leaves the doctor's office frustrated. It seems clear from his attitude that Griffin Manor residents are a low priority for the state.
But Thornton isn't the only one frustrated. Lois Gibbs is also disappointed by a general lack of progress. And so is one of her staunchest allies, Dr. Beverly Pagan. Pagan is a biologist who works for a state research facility where she studies the effect of pollution on human health. She's been volunteering her time to help Gibbs and the Homeowners Association.
And back in August, Pagan theorized that the chemicals were traveling underground, along sunken channels that were formed by water runoff. These channels, known as swales, were filled in when the neighborhood was built, but Pagan believes the chemicals could still be getting through. She doesn't have any proof, though, and her efforts to investigate the theory have been thwarted by her boss, who reports directly to the state health commissioner.
Ever since she first suggested she wanted to study the swales, Pagan's boss has been making her file monthly reports on her activities. He's also demanded that she gets approval before attending meetings or making any public statements about Love Canal. The demands are tedious and time-consuming, and Pagan is no closer to proving her theory. But Gibbs needs answers now.
The cleanup efforts are about to begin, and the state's investigation still hasn't determined whether or not she and her neighbors outside the evacuation zone are in danger. So one night in September, Gibbs decides to take matters into her own hands. She pulls out a map of the neighborhood and spreads it out across her kitchen table.
If she can prove that the chemicals are traveling through the swales to streets farther away from the canal, it could push the state to evacuate more people. So Gibbs begins marking the houses of her neighbors who've reported health issues, assigning symbols to each kind of illness. And slowly, a pattern begins to emerge. Standing back to inspect her work, Gibbs feels certain that she's on to something big.
When Lois's husband, Harry, comes home from work, she beckons him over to the table. Harry, you have to look at this map I made. I think it proves Beverly's theory. The chemicals are moving. Harry steps over and looks at the map, and the notebook strewn all around it. He lets out a weary sigh. Well, Lois, if you say so, but I can't make head or tails of this. It looks like one of the kids drew all over it. No, no, no, no, no, look.
I use a different symbol for each disease group. Squares are for central nervous system disorders. Triangles are for miscarriages and birth defects. Circles are for cancer. Yeah, there's a lot of health problems, but we've known that. No, no, the point is where. See how they follow these lines?
Those are the swales, and the diseases track along them. This proves Beverly was right. I thought the swales were filled in. How could chemicals be moving through them? I asked Beverly that. She said they're filled in with things like rocks and trash, and those materials are porous enough to allow the chemicals through. Maybe. I don't know. Beverly's a scientist. She knows what she's talking about. Harry shrugs, unconvinced. Frustrated, Lois jabs the map with her finger.
It's all right here. Why are you acting like you don't see the pattern? Well, because frankly, the pattern I see is one where the house is always filthy, the kitchen's empty of any home-cooked meals, and I'm wearing a dirty shirt. I know I'm behind on the housework, and I'm sorry. It's been a crazy time. But I'm doing this for our family, for the health of our kids. I know. And I know what you're doing is important. Just sometimes, I wish things could go back to normal. I do too.
And I'm going to show this map to the health commissioner, and this will prove that they need to expand the area of houses being evacuated. And once we're away from these toxic chemicals, things will go back to normal. I promise. Well, I hope you're right. Harry shuffles off to the bedroom, and Lois watches him go for a moment, then returns to studying her notes, making sure she's plotted every last illness on the map.
She does feel guilty about all the household tasks that she's been neglecting. She knows her newfound role as community activist has put a strain on her marriage. But she's sure this map is the solution to their problems. And soon she and her family will be out of Love Canal once and for all.
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The morning after Lois Gibbs made her map, she calls Dr. Beverly Pagan in an almost giddy mood. It's September 1978, and she's been working on trying to get the state to evacuate the residents of Love Canal since June. But now she finally feels like she has the data she needs to force the state to take action. She's ready to take this map to state officials and get it published in the newspaper. But the swale theory was Pagan's hypothesis, so Gibbs wants to tell her the exciting news first.
Gibbs paces her kitchen as she talks, stretching the phone cord to its maximum. I just have to say, Beverly, you're a genius. I can't wait to show you the map I made. It proves exactly what you said. The chemicals are spreading underground. Well, Lois, this sounds very promising. And thank you for doing all that work to get the ball rolling. Do you think I should set the meeting with the health commissioner first and show him or go straight to Mike Brown? Get it published in the paper. I'm leaning toward Brown. You know the government only responds when you assert public pressure. Well,
What I think is you might want to slow down a little. Slow down? What do you mean? Things have been going slow enough as it is. I've been out here gathering signatures, staging protests, trying to get the government to do the right thing for over three months. Yeah, I know. But the government is not going to take a hand-drawn map as data. The best case scenario, they're going to say, hmm, that's interesting. We'll follow up.
And then they'll take their own sweet time to investigate it. If we want the Swale Theory to be taken seriously, we have to present it seriously. Okay, how do we do that? Well, we'd want to do a comprehensive health survey of every family that lives near a swale.
Well, can you get some students to help? Okay. Well,
Well, if you get those photos, I'll conduct the surveys. It's too big a job for one person, Lois, especially someone who isn't trained. These surveys need to be very detailed. Then I'll get some of the other ladies from the homeowners association. You can train us. Beverly, we need this data. It's our best shot at getting more people evacuated.
I'll start gathering some volunteers and I'll start putting together the questionnaire. But I want you to be aware, this is time-consuming, tedious work. But we'll do whatever it takes. Gibbs hangs up the phone and starts thinking about who she'll ask for help. She's frustrated again that she has to jump through even more hoops to get families evacuated. But she trusts Pagan. If Pagan says this is what they'll have to do, they'll do it.
By October 1978, Lois Gibbs has assembled a reliable team of fellow housewives ready to collect data, and Beverly Pagan has given them specific instructions on how to collect it.
Above all else, the women need to be organized and consistent. Every house will be contacted by phone. Each person they talk to has to be asked the exact same set of questions, and their answers have to be precisely documented. They need to ask about a wide swath of medical issues, everything from miscarriages to kidney problems to mental health concerns.
Pagan tells Gibbs and the other volunteers that they can only count an illness in their data if the person has gotten treatment for it from a doctor. Everything needs to be verifiable. They're also instructed to get detailed life histories, including how long residents have lived in their homes and whether they have ever worked for Hooker or any other chemical company.
And while Gibbs had initially wanted to focus on houses along the swales, Pagan explains they need to canvas a much wider area. That way, homes not located near any swale will serve as a control group. So in total, the women are calling over 500 households.
They meet every morning in the teacher's lounge of the now-closed 99th Street Elementary School, which they've turned into the headquarters of the Homeowners Association. After some coffee, they hit the phones. The work is arduous. A lot of people don't answer. And many people who do pick up aren't keen to divulge private medical information to their neighbors. And when Gibbs and her team get to the part of the questionnaire that asks about nervous breakdowns and suicide attempts, people frequently hang up.
Also, state officials soon hear about the project. And in one meeting, they tell Gibbs she's wasting her time, explaining that the health commissioner will dismiss her evidence as useless housewife data. But Gibbs and her team persist. It turns out Gib actually enjoys the work, despite how tedious it is. It makes her feel like she has a purpose, and it gets her out of the house, where things have become increasingly tense with her husband. And the housewives aren't the only ones in the neighborhood gathering data.
Elena Thornton and the concerned Love Canal Renters Association have begun conducting their own health survey focused on the residents of Griffin Manor. Meanwhile, Beverly Pagan is using whatever free time she can carve out to analyze all the information these two volunteer armies are collecting.
And there's one family that Gibbs and her team are especially eager to reach. Norman and Luella Kenny and their three boys. Gibbs has heard that the youngest son, seven-year-old John Allen, is sick and she suspects it has to do with the canal. For Luella, her son's illness has been nerve-wracking.
It started in early June, when he woke up with a swollen face. Luella thought it was allergies, and the family pediatrician agreed. He prescribed Benadryl and assured Luella that her son would be feeling better soon.
But over the next month, his condition only got worse. His belly distended, and he suffered from extreme fatigue. His pediatrician kept insisting it was seasonal allergies, but Luella began to think otherwise. She's a cancer researcher at the same state-run institute where Beverly Pagan works, and her scientific and maternal instincts told her that whatever John Allen was suffering from, it was far worse than allergies.
So on Saturday, July 1st, roughly a month after he first exhibited symptoms, Luella took her son back to the doctor's office and demanded that they check his kidneys. The on-call doctor listened, and when she ran a urine test, it showed that Luella's suspicions were correct. Her son's kidneys were not functioning properly. Luella scooped John Allen up and drove him straight to the nearest hospital. There, the doctors confirmed that the problem was in the kidneys.
Steroids were prescribed and the boy was monitored closely. Doctors weren't sure exactly why John Allen had suddenly developed a kidney disorder, but they were optimistic that with medication, a special diet, and regular checkups, the condition could be managed. So when John Allen was discharged from the hospital three weeks later, Luella felt hopeful that they'd gotten through the crisis. But after just a few weeks at home, John Allen's symptoms flared up again.
He became swollen and lethargic once more, and at-home urine tests showed that his kidneys were starting to fail. Soon, he was back in the hospital again. This pattern continued throughout the summer and into early fall. John Allen would be discharged from the hospital and go home, only to have his symptoms worsen, landing him back in the hospital again.
So in early October, Luella finds herself sitting with her husband Norman in the cafeteria of Buffalo's Children's Hospital, wondering if her son is ever going to be healthy again. John Allen is back in the ICU. In such critical condition, his parents aren't even allowed to enter his room. But the doctors have nursed John Allen back to health before, and Luella is trying to stay optimistic. So she does her best to stay calm and focus on finishing her sandwich, but her mind is racing.
Until just a few months ago, John Allen was always healthy. And even when he got sick, the doctors had been so sure that his condition would be manageable. None of this makes sense. Luella wants to understand why this is happening. And she can't shake the feeling that she already knows the answer.
The last time John Allen was admitted to the hospital, one of the doctors asked where the Kennys lived. When Luella gave the address, he'd asked if that was near Love Canal. And Luella hadn't been able to stop thinking about that exchange ever since. She'd seen some of the newspaper articles about the chemicals in the canal over the summer, but she'd been too caught up in taking care of John Allen to pay much attention.
The Kennys live on 96th Street, outside the evacuation zone, so she didn't think she needed to be worried about it. But now she wonders if the chemicals could be the reason for John Allen's kidney failure. And she's worrying over this fact when suddenly a page goes out through the hospital loudspeaker. It calls for doctors to come immediately to John Allen's room.
Luella looks at her husband, Norman, in horror. Neither of them says a word. They just drop their food and sprint back to the ICU. The doors are locked, and the nurses won't let them in. Luella demands to know what's happening, and a nurse finally gives her a straight answer one no parent ever wants to hear. John Allen's heart has stopped. Doctors are doing everything they can to resuscitate him.
Luella and Norman clutch each other and begin praying. As they wait, Luella can only imagine what they're doing to her son. Chest compressions, electric shocks, the adrenaline injections, anything to get his heart pumping again. And finally, after an hour, John Allen's doctor emerges from the ICU. He walks slowly, his eyes downcast. Luella knows what he's going to say. She closes her eyes as the doctor gently intones that they tried everything they could.
The woman starts screaming. She wants an autopsy. She yells it over and over. She wants an autopsy. She needs to know if it was the chemicals that killed her son.
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The news of John Allen Kenney's death in October 1978 hits the neighborhood hard.
For Lois Gibbs and other parents living in Love Canal, losing a child because of chemical poison is their worst nightmare. But it's also galvanizing. John Allen's passing feels like proof that the whole neighborhood is dangerous, even deadly, and that everyone needs to be evacuated immediately.
The state announces plans to investigate John Allen's death on the day of his funeral, when no one from the health department contacts the Kennys to ask for their son's medical records or autopsy results. And no one comes to collect soil or water samples from the Kennys' property. And without proof that John Allen's death is connected to the chemicals in Love Canal, the state still doesn't expand the evacuation zone any further.
Meanwhile, Lois Gibbs and Griffin Manor activist Elena Thornton keep conducting their own health studies and pushing the state to do more. But in November, they lose an important piece of leverage. That month, New York Governor Hugh Carey wins a tight re-election campaign. When he was desperate for votes, Carey had visited Niagara Falls seven times, promising that he would do all he could to help Love Canal residents. But now that the race is over, Carey is in no hurry to return.
Gibbs feels like she's suffering one setback after another. Cleanup efforts have begun, and now chemical odors fill the air constantly. And with John Allen Kenney's death hovering in the back of everyone's mind, residents are anxious about what they could be breathing in. The situation feels dire. But while Gibbs has been grilling residents on their medical histories and staging protests, Niagara Gazette reporter Mike Brown has stayed on the story.
For months, Brown has been focused on trying to answer the question of what chemicals were disposed of in the canal. Back in August, state investigators had released a list of 82 chemical compounds buried at the site, but Brown's research makes him think that that's a drastic undercount. Brown has been hounding the Hooker Chemical Company for more information, but they refuse to answer his questions.
Until, on November 8th, 1978, Brown receives some damning information that he thinks might force Hooker to come clean. Brown follows company protocol, submitting his questions in writing, and two days later, when Hooker still hasn't replied, he dials the company's spokesman, prepared for a confrontation. Brown sits at his desk in the Niagara Gazette bullpen, reading through his notes one more time as he waits for the Hooker spokesman to pick up.
After a few moments, he finally does. Bruce Davis speaking. Mr. Davis, it's Mike Brown from the Niagara Gazette. Uh, Mr. Brown, how can I help you? I have just a few questions I need to ask you. Well, as I've explained many times, we will only answer questions that are submitted in writing. Yeah, well, here's the thing. I did submit these questions to you in writing two days ago. Haven't gotten a response.
We're very busy. We'll answer when we can. I think you're going to want to answer them now. See, I've seen some reports that traces of the compound 245-trichlorophenol have been found by the crew doing the remediation work at Love Canal. I'm sure you're familiar with it. It's the chemical used in Agent Orange. And? And we both know that your company manufactured 245-trichlorophenol for 25 years, including the years you were actively using the canal as a dump site.
We both know that a byproduct of 245-trichlorophenol is dioxin, a known carcinogen. I don't hear a question, Mr. Brown. Well, I have two. Can you confirm that Hooker disposed of 245-trichlorophenol in Love Canal? And if so, how much? There's a long pause. Brown sighs, frustrated. Look, Mr. Davis, I'm going to publish the story tomorrow.
Hooker can be on record confirming it and can be seen as working with the community and with the government to identify what's in the canal. Or they can be seen as hiding something, something that could be killing people. Well, uh, yes. Hooker disposed of trichlorophenol in Love Canal. How much? Approximately 200 tons of it. This time it's Brown who's speechless. That's an extremely high amount. But he quickly gathers his wits.
I just want to make sure I got that right. You said 200 tons. That's two zero zero tons of trichlorophenyl dumped in Love Canal. Approximately, but yes. Okay. Well, thank you for your time.
Brown hangs up and immediately calls a friend and fellow reporter, Thomas Whiteside. It was Whiteside's reporting for the New Yorker that exposed the dangers of Agent Orange back when it was used in the Vietnam War. At the time, it was touted as a powerful herbicide that could reduce jungle cover and destroy enemy crops. But Whiteside discovered that it also poisoned U.S. soldiers and the Vietnamese.
So when Brown tells Whiteside how much trichlorophenol was dumped in Love Canal, Whiteside is astounded. He estimates that amount could produce as much dioxin as was dropped on all of Vietnam for the entire war. That means that the dangers faced by the residents of Love Canal are even greater than Mike Brown had thought. Brown hangs up with Whiteside and immediately begins writing his story.
In the wake of Mike Brown's bombshell reporting, the New York State Health Department holds another public meeting. Lois Gibbs and Elena Thornton both attend, along with dozens of members of the homeowners and renters groups. At the meeting, representatives from the health department try to assure everyone that they haven't actually found any dioxin in the ground yet.
but it does little to calm the crowd. Members from both groups angrily interrupt the scientists, demanding that everyone in Love Canal, homeowners and renters, should at the very least be temporarily evacuated while the cleanup work goes on. But the state officials refuse to commit to moving anyone else. The residents leave the meeting scared and frustrated, wanting concrete action. But Gibbs has a new reason to hope that the state will do the right thing.
Beverly Pagan has finished analyzing the data that Gibbs and her team collected, and the patterns seem clear. So in November, Pagan flies to Albany and meets with the state's newly appointed health commissioner, a physician and research scientist named Dr. David Axelrod.
Pagan presents the findings to Dr. Axelrod and some of his deputies. She explains how the data collected by Gibbs and the other housewives show that there are significant numbers of people with major health conditions outside of the current evacuation zone. And in fact, some of the ailments are occurring at rates five times the national average. More than that, they're clustered, following the lines of the swales.
Dr. Axelrod and his team appear to be listening. While they do have some questions about how the data was collected and the details of where exactly the swales run, they don't question the overall veracity of the data. So when Pagan flies back to Buffalo that evening, she feels good about the meeting and believes that the new health commissioner is taking her findings seriously.
The next morning, when she opens up the newspaper, she sees an article about the meeting that stuns her. In it, Dr. Axelrod is quoted harshly criticizing Pagan's data, calling it speculative and even meaningless. It changes nothing, he says, about who should be evacuated. Pagan and Gibbs are both outraged. And for Gibbs, it means it's time for more drastic action. So in December, Gibbs starts leading groups of residents out at dawn to block the trucks coming in for the remediation work.
It's cold and miserable. And at first, the turnout is terrible. There aren't enough bodies to effectively stop the vehicles. There aren't any dramatic arrests or anything that would embarrass the government. And virtually no press is generated from the stunt.
But then Dr. Axelrod calls reporter Mike Brown with some big news. They have found dioxin in the canal. Still, the health commissioner insists that the discovery isn't reason enough to order more evacuations. More testing is needed to assess the concentrations and spread of the dioxin to determine if residents are at risk.
But when Brown's story confirming the presence of dioxin is published, it galvanizes more residents to join Gibbs in blocking the work crews. Six people are arrested, but still nothing changes. The state continues its cleanup work and testing, while the residents outside the evacuation zone are forced to live with the knowledge that they're probably being exposed every day to one of the world's most toxic substances.
But then, when it seems like Gibbs is running out of options, a powerful ally arrives. In February 1979, Luella Kenney walks into the auditorium of the 99th Street Elementary School for a community meeting between state officials and concerned Love Canal residents. The place is packed, and the meeting quickly becomes contentious. Kenney takes it all in, her heart thumping. It's her first time at one of these meetings.
For months, she and her husband have cocooned themselves in grief. But they're also both scientists. And after their son's death, they threw themselves into research. The more they read, the more they began to suspect that the chemicals in Love Canal could have caused their son John Allen's death. And if they can stop any other family from going through what they did, then they need to speak up. So Kenny makes her way to the microphone.
The crowd hushes as they realize who she is. The press begins snapping photos before she even says a word. Kenny takes a deep breath and leans into the microphone. She introduces herself and tells the politicians that she lives on 96th Street and has some questions. She pauses dramatically and looks each politician in the eye. In a calm voice, she asks if any of them know what it's like to lose a child.
because she knows exactly what it's like. And how do they account for her son John Allen's death? The politicians are rendered speechless.
From her seat in the auditorium, Lois Gibbs nods. She feels terrible for what the Kennys went through, but she also knows they have a powerful story that cannot be easily dismissed. Gibbs is convinced that with Luella Kenny on her side, the governor and the health commissioner will finally be forced to do the right thing and evacuate everyone from Love Canal. From Wondery, this is Episode 2 of Love Canal for American Scandal.
In our next episode, as the government finally steps up efforts to get more residents out, a battle erupts over who's going to pay the cleanup and evacuation costs. And a young congressman from Tennessee named Al Gore takes up the cause in Washington, D.C. 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 of 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.
Was there a crime committed?
As far as I'm concerned, there wasn't. Guilty by Design dives into the wild story of Alexander and Frank, interior designers who in the 80s landed the jackpot of all clients. We went to bed one night and the next morning we woke up as one of the most wanted people in the United States. What are they guilty of? You can listen to Guilty by Design exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify.