detection the DEP found was forty-two parts per billion, which was about sixteen times less than the state’s guideline of that era but still more than eight times higher than today’s health standard. 25
There was something in the Parkway wells, but exactly what it was and where it came from was anyone’s guess. The typical state testingprotocols of the time were only sensitive enough to indicate broad groupings like “petrochemicals,” “phenols,” or “organic compounds.” “The tests that we had back then were very primitive,” recalled Herb Roeschke, who became the town’s first full-time health director in 1978. “We could not look for very specific compounds or lower concentrations.” Many years later, hydrologists would guess that the chemicals found in Parkway wells in 1974 were almost certainly industrial solvents, but that was still not proof that they had come from Reich Farm. Solvents like trichloroethylene, perchloroethylene, and benzene—all now classified as known or likely carcinogens—were important components of the chemical waste Nick Fernicola had dumped at Reich Farm in 1971, but they were also used by gas stations, machine shops, and dry cleaners, among other places. Those solvents could have come from almost anywhere; Reich Farm, almost a mile away, was only one possibility.
No matter where they came from, solvents were showing up in one of the town’s most heavily used wells, and that worried Chuck Kauffman at the county health department. He asked the DEP to order Toms River Water to install a carbon filtration system on the Parkway well where the contamination levels were highest. But the water company balked at the half-million-dollar cost, and the state—fatefully, it would turn out—did not insist. There is no record that anyone ever proposed shutting down the well or using less water or paying for sophisticated testing that could have identified specific pollutants even at low levels. Nor did anyone inform the thousands of Toms River Water customers who got their drinking water from the well. In 1974, the water company was still being touted as the savior of Pleasant Plains—its mains were being extended into the beleaguered neighborhood—not as a fellow victim of Fernicola’s dumping.
The news that a public well was tainted finally broke in January of 1975, when an article in the
Asbury Park Press
disclosed the test results from the previous summer. The DEP and the water company moved quickly to discredit the story. 26 In a follow-up article, a top DEP official dismissed any concern: “We sure wouldn’t let people drink anything that would be dangerous,” he said. 27 Local officials did not challenge him; in fact, they seemed eager to forget about thewhole thing. In pollution matters, they had a very long tradition of deferring to Toms River Water and Toms River Chemical. “You have to remember that except for the people at Ciba, no one in Ocean County had any knowledge that these kinds of chemicals moved through soils,” recalled Kauffman, the county health coordinator. Before Kauffman’s arrival in 1973, in fact, there were no full-time county health officials. There were town health inspectors, but just barely. Many Ocean County towns did not bother to do inspections at all; the Toms River inspector had a high school education and spent most of his time looking at plumbing. Kauffman’s background was in agriculture: He had been an egg farmer before getting licensed as a sanitary inspector.
The Toms River Water Company was essentially left to police itself—and its focus, as always, was on meeting the water demands of the fast-growing town. As the pollution spread south from Reich Farm, the water company’s officers did not waver in their public assertions that there was nothing to worry about. The company’s laissez-faire attitude did not change even after phenols were discovered in the spring of 1976 in thirteen more backyard wells—this time a full mile
There was something in the Parkway wells, but exactly what it was and where it came from was anyone’s guess. The typical state testingprotocols of the time were only sensitive enough to indicate broad groupings like “petrochemicals,” “phenols,” or “organic compounds.” “The tests that we had back then were very primitive,” recalled Herb Roeschke, who became the town’s first full-time health director in 1978. “We could not look for very specific compounds or lower concentrations.” Many years later, hydrologists would guess that the chemicals found in Parkway wells in 1974 were almost certainly industrial solvents, but that was still not proof that they had come from Reich Farm. Solvents like trichloroethylene, perchloroethylene, and benzene—all now classified as known or likely carcinogens—were important components of the chemical waste Nick Fernicola had dumped at Reich Farm in 1971, but they were also used by gas stations, machine shops, and dry cleaners, among other places. Those solvents could have come from almost anywhere; Reich Farm, almost a mile away, was only one possibility.
No matter where they came from, solvents were showing up in one of the town’s most heavily used wells, and that worried Chuck Kauffman at the county health department. He asked the DEP to order Toms River Water to install a carbon filtration system on the Parkway well where the contamination levels were highest. But the water company balked at the half-million-dollar cost, and the state—fatefully, it would turn out—did not insist. There is no record that anyone ever proposed shutting down the well or using less water or paying for sophisticated testing that could have identified specific pollutants even at low levels. Nor did anyone inform the thousands of Toms River Water customers who got their drinking water from the well. In 1974, the water company was still being touted as the savior of Pleasant Plains—its mains were being extended into the beleaguered neighborhood—not as a fellow victim of Fernicola’s dumping.
The news that a public well was tainted finally broke in January of 1975, when an article in the
Asbury Park Press
disclosed the test results from the previous summer. The DEP and the water company moved quickly to discredit the story. 26 In a follow-up article, a top DEP official dismissed any concern: “We sure wouldn’t let people drink anything that would be dangerous,” he said. 27 Local officials did not challenge him; in fact, they seemed eager to forget about thewhole thing. In pollution matters, they had a very long tradition of deferring to Toms River Water and Toms River Chemical. “You have to remember that except for the people at Ciba, no one in Ocean County had any knowledge that these kinds of chemicals moved through soils,” recalled Kauffman, the county health coordinator. Before Kauffman’s arrival in 1973, in fact, there were no full-time county health officials. There were town health inspectors, but just barely. Many Ocean County towns did not bother to do inspections at all; the Toms River inspector had a high school education and spent most of his time looking at plumbing. Kauffman’s background was in agriculture: He had been an egg farmer before getting licensed as a sanitary inspector.
The Toms River Water Company was essentially left to police itself—and its focus, as always, was on meeting the water demands of the fast-growing town. As the pollution spread south from Reich Farm, the water company’s officers did not waver in their public assertions that there was nothing to worry about. The company’s laissez-faire attitude did not change even after phenols were discovered in the spring of 1976 in thirteen more backyard wells—this time a full mile
Similar Books
