Aches, rashes and fear linger after Ohio derailment
EAST PALESTINE, Ohio — Heather Bable speaks rapidly, recalling the terror of the night when a train loaded with hazardous chemicals derailed less than a half-mile from her home in East Palestine, Ohio. She heard an earthshaking boom and, from her bathroom window, “all you saw was the flames.”
Mind racing, she thought of the nearby filling station — its gasoline pumps, its diesel and propane tanks.
“I kind of kept myself under control, told my kids, ‘OK, guys, we have to leave,’ ” Bable says. “The only thing I knew was I had to get my kids to safety. Take just the necessary things and get out of there.”
Her voice catches, tears welling in weary eyes, as she describes the physical and emotional toll following the Feb. 3 disaster and subsequent chemical burn: eight days in a hotel and an uneasy return home; hoarseness, congestion, nausea and itchy rashes; inconclusive doctor visits; the “god-awful smell” that disturbs her at night; anger at train company Norfolk Southern over the crash and government agencies she thinks responded too slowly.
And constant fear — to breathe the air, drink the water, let her 8-year-old son play outdoors. Fear for East Palestine, where her family has lived for four generations. Now, at 45, Bable is eager to move. So is her mother, who has been here even longer.
“We don’t feel safe anymore,” Bable says at Sprinklz On Top, a cozy downtown diner. She pulls a bottle of water from her jacket pocket and takes a sip. She won’t drink from the tap these days.
Bable’s plight mirrors many in this village of 4,700 near the Pennsylvania line a month after 38 train cars derailed. A preliminary National Transportation Safety Board report blamed an overheated wheel bearing.
Several tanker cars carried hazardous chemicals that ignited or spilled. Days later, after evacuating thousands of residents nearby, crews vented and burned toxic vinyl chloride from five cars to prevent an uncontrolled explosion, sending another black plume skyward.
Fear and mistrust still grip many in a community whipsawed by government assurances that the air and water are safe; warnings from activists like Erin Brockovich about coverups and danger for years to come; and social media misinformation.
“It’s hard to know what the truth is,” said Cory Hofmeister, 34, after Brockovich and attorneys seeking plaintiffs for litigation hosted a packed gathering at the high school that highlighted potential health risks.
Sherry Bable, 64, stands near the roadblock keeping gawkers from the derailment site. Her house is just down the street. Heather lives a couple of blocks away with Ashton and her 25year-old daughter, Paige.
“Every time I hear a train, all I keep thinking is, ‘Oh my god, don’t let nothing happen this time,’ ” Sherry says. “And I’m not the only one in town like that.”
She gazes sadly at Sulphur Run, a creek near the railroad. Previously a popular wading spot, it’s now among waterways getting “KEEP OUT” signs amid testing and cleanup.
“That railroad company should buy all these houses, tear them down — get families that’s got kids first, get the elderly ones out, and then work with everybody else,” Bable says. “Because I still say this stuff is going to cause cancer.”
Heather wants to move outside the danger zone. But her search for another house or apartment is going nowhere. She says many places take advantage of the situation and “are charging double or triple what we’re paying.”
As long as she’s around, she’s determined to hold the railroad company and the government accountable. “They think we’re ... little-town hicks,” she says.
“They keep telling us that it’s OK down here, the air quality. Now, I would like to see them come down here living in houses, especially right behind the crash site, see how they like it, and how safe they feel.”