American Scandal - Love Canal | Superfund | 3

Episode Date: May 21, 2024

By 1979, officials in Washington, DC are taking notice of the situation in Love Canal. A young congressman from Tennessee, Al Gore, invites Lois Gibbs to testify at the capitol in support of radical updates to the nation’s laws on chemical waste. But local officials, like recently-appointed state health commissioner David Axelrod, continue to stand in the way. Need more American Scandal? With Wondery+, enjoy exclusive seasons, binge new seasons first, and listen completely ad-free. Start your free trial in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts, Spotify or visit wondery.app.link/IM5aogASNNb now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Hi, this is Lindsey Graham, host of American Scandal. Our back catalog has moved behind a paywall. Recent episodes remain free, but older ones will require a Wondery Plus subscription. With Wondery Plus, you get access to the full American Scandal archive, ad-free, plus early access to new seasons and more. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. podcasts. It's January 1979 in Albany, New York. Dr. David Axelrod is in his office at the New York State Health Department, reading through a mountain of memos stacked on his desk. As the recently appointed health commissioner, he's already overwhelmed by his new workload. Today alone, he's received a report about a state hospital that's infested

with roaches and another one about a nursing home that's neglecting its patients. And for the people caught up in these crises, things can get emotional. But as Axelrod flips through the pages of each report, he reminds himself that it's his job to make sure that the government's response is dictated by science. He hears a knock on his door and looks up to see one of his deputies, carrying a binder as thick as a phone book. The analysis of the health questionnaires and medical tests conducted on the Love Canal residents. Axelrod eagerly reaches for the binder. Love Canal is one of the biggest problems facing the state health department. It's an old chemical waste site in Niagara Falls, and the toxins

buried there have started to leak out, angering residents. Nearly every day, furious locals call his office, demanding more action from the state. They interrupt community meetings and give fiery interviews to the press. But as far as Dr. Axelrod is concerned, the state has acted appropriately with the information it has. They've started a cleanup and paid to move residents who lived in the areas where there was proof that the chemicals were causing harm. On top of that, the state has continued to search for evidence that the chemicals are affecting other people who live near Love Canal. They've conducted thousands of surveys, tested the soil and the air, collected hair and blood samples. And here in this binder is the result of all that work. Dr. Axelrod sets the binder on his desk and opens the cover, hoping that the data inside will provide a clear path forward so that he and the governor can finally find a solution to the crisis.

Axelrod gestures for his deputy to take a seat and then begins flipping through the report. Did you read all this? I've read a summary in key sections. All right, give me the top line. Well, residents report 150 different maladies, but for the most part, we're not seeing evidence that any of those are occurring at higher rates than average. For instance, there are no elevated cancer rates present. You said for the most part. Well, yes, for example, the rates of liver problems are higher, but when we retested residents who had moved out of Love Canal,

their liver functions were once again in normal range. Well, that's good news. That means the temporary evacuations are working. Well, maybe, but there is one major issue. The rates of birth defects and miscarriages. That's outlined in Section G, if you want to take a look. Dr. Axelrod flips to the tab and quickly reads. Hmm. It is higher, but not by much. Well enough to be considered statistically significant.

Dr. Axelrod leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. Well, if I'm understanding it correctly, it sounds like there is some risk to pregnant women, but other maladies are less clear-cut. That's how I would interpret the data, but you know, the governor isn't just concerned with numbers. He's going to ask if more people need to be moved. Dr. Axelrod stares up at the ceiling, thinking, well, there's probably enough evidence to support evacuating all the pregnant women in the area. But as for the rest of the residents, that's more of a political question than a scientific one. I mean, it's just not clear what's causing people's health problems or if their health

problems really are worse than average. Then again, these residents are loud and organized. The governor may feel that he has to move them. Well, so what are we advising? I think we'll present several options. One is that the state buys all the remaining houses in the entire Love Canal neighborhood and moves everyone out. At the other end of the spectrum, there's the option to move no one. And then we come up with four or five other options that

are somewhere in between. Then we let the governor decide how much money he wants to devote to this problem and how much political blowback he can withstand. I can't believe that after all this testing and analysis, it's still coming down to just politics and money. Politics and money. That's public health for you. The deputy leaves and Dr. Axelrod sighs. He doesn't know which option the governor will pick, but he's pretty sure it won't be the option to move everyone. That'll just cost too much. But Dr. Axelrod suspects that angry residents won't settle for anything less, which means the issue of Love Canal is not going away anytime soon. In the past decade, Boeing has been involved in a series of scandals

and deadly crashes that have dented its once sterling reputation. At the center of it all, the 737 MAX, the latest season of Business Wars, explores how Boeing

allowed things to turn deadly and what, if anything, can save the company's reputation. Make sure to listen to Business Wars wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American Scandal. In the spring of 1978, residents of the Love Canal neighborhood in upstate New York learned that toxic waste was leaking into the water and soil under their homes. Soon, these residents, led by a shy housewife named Lois Gibbs, began fighting to get the

government to evacuate all the residents of their neighborhood. Along the way, Gibbs gathered key allies, like Elena Thornton, a longtime resident of a local public housing project, Luella Kenny, whose seven-year-old son died from kidney failure that might have been caused by the chemicals, and Beverly Pagan, a biologist who studied the effects of pollution on human health. But despite all their efforts, after nearly a year, the state had moved only the residents who lived closest to the canal. But while Gibbs and the other protesters feel like they were hitting a wall, officials in Washington, D.C. were taking notice of the situation. They soon realized that radical changes were needed to the nation's laws dealing with chemical waste,

but even the most savvy D.C. politicians faced an uphill battle. This is Episode 3, Superfund. It's February 1979 in Buffalo, New York. Lois Gibbs paces the office of Attorney Richard Lippis, venting her frustration with the state of New York. After six months, the state has finally finished analyzing the results of the testing and surveys they conducted in Love Canal, and as expected, they found elevated rates of liver disease,

miscarriages, and birth defects. But instead of evacuating everyone, the governor decided to take another incremental step. He agreed to temporarily evacuate families with pregnant women and children under two, but no one else. It's literally the same solution the previous health commissioner proposed months ago, just expanded to cover more of the neighborhood. So Gibbs is feeling tired and defeated. She wants to understand what it will take for the state to do more. They've found highly toxic chemicals in the canal,

and they have data saying that people are suffering health problems. Now she wants someone to explain to her what more evidence do they need. Lippis shakes his head in sympathy. He describes himself as a lawyer of lost causes, but Gibbs knows that representing the Love Canal Homeowners Association pro bono must feel like an especially futile experience. So to answer Gibbs' question, Lippis explains that it comes down to money. The cleanup efforts are already over budget.

This newest evacuation order will cost at least another million dollars. And Governor Hugh Carey has said he doesn't want one more penny spent on Love Canal. So that leaves the federal government. But President Jimmy Carter is dealing with a bad economy and focused on cutting budgets. Lippis has also helped the Homeowners Association file a lawsuit against Hooker Chemical, the company that dumped the toxins in the first place. Maybe they can pay for the cleanup and relocation costs. But Hooker Chemical insists that when they sold the land to the Niagara Falls School District, they released their liability. And even then, the case is still pending and could take years before it goes to

trial. Gibbs flings herself into a chair and throws up her hands. If everyone is just dragging their feet and passing the buck, how is she supposed to help the residents, who still want to move? Lippis replies that in situations like this, there's only one thing she can do. Make so much noise that Love Canal will be impossible to ignore. Gibbs straightens up in her seat and nods, because if there's one thing she's learned in this fight, it's how to make a scene. Over the next few months, Lois Gibbs comes up with more ways to keep Love Canal in the public eye. She organizes one group of residents to travel to Albany, carrying cardboard boxes shaped like coffins, drawing the attention of the press.

She also helps set up multiple television interviews for Luella Kenney, the mother whose child died of kidney failure. With her short bob neatly coiffed and her eyes enlarged behind thick glasses, Kenney tells the world about the little boy who was taken from her, and asks how many more children need to die before the government takes action. Still, the state refuses to expand the evacuation order. But unbeknownst to Gibbs, her actions have caught the attention of a high-ranking administrator in the Environmental Protection Agency. Tom Jorling is a government lawyer who helped write both the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts in the early 1970s.

These were landmark environmental laws, the first federal legislation that restricted pollution and ensured citizens access to safe air and water. Now, Jorling wants to change the law again. From his perch in the EPA, Jorling has been watching the crisis unfold in Niagara Falls, and he can see that Love Canal is exposing gaps in America's environmental policy. And you can see that Love Canal is exposing gaps in America's environmental policy. Until recently, there were no regulations on chemical dumping, so companies could dispose of toxic chemicals in landfills without penalty. But now that the dangers of these chemicals are being exposed,

impacted communities are stuck in limbo, with nobody legally responsible for covering the cost of cleanup. And the problem is much bigger than just Love Canal. Jorling and his team at the EPA have identified more than 600 abandoned chemical dump sites throughout the United States. If any one of them were to start leaking, it could trigger another crisis. But Jorling thinks he's come up with a solution. He's drafted legislation that would require chemical corporations to pay annually into a super fund that would serve as a cash reserve to cover up the cleanup costs of any

future leaks. He's anticipating that the corporate fees would generate $1.6 billion a year. But before he can put this plan into place, Jorling has to convince Congress that they should pass such a law, and he knows there will be pushback. He's asking for the government to enact more federal regulation at a time when many Americans think that there should be less. Plus, the chemical companies and their lobbyists are expected to fight the Superfund law tooth and nail. But Jorling is undeterred.

He begins a full-scale press campaign, leading reporters on tours of abandoned dump sites to emphasize the urgency of the situation. He talks to politicians on both sides of the aisle about why they should support the act, and one young congressman eagerly embraces the cause. Tennessee Representative Al Gore sits on the subcommittee that oversees all environmental legislation. In an effort to build support for the Superfund Bill and raise awareness about toxic waste dumps, Gore starts holding hearings about Love Canal, and in the spring of 1979, he invites Lois Gibbs to testify. Despite her anxiety about public speaking, Gibbs seizes the opportunity, delivering powerful testimony about what it's like to live near Love

Canal. She talks about the noxious odors, the illnesses her son and neighbors suffer from, and living with a constant fear of what other health problems might follow. At the end of her testimony, Gore thanks Gibbs for her activism and persistence, and then she heads home feeling like she's made some headway in Washington. But back in Niagara Falls, the situation is looking increasingly dire. More and more people have decided they can no longer wait for government assistance to move their families, including one of Gibbs' strongest allies, Elena Thornton. For months, Thornton had been determined to stay in Griffin Manor, the public housing project near Love Canal. But every

day, the thought that she and her family were being exposed to toxic chemicals chipped away at that determination. So when an apartment opened up in a different public housing unit across town, Thornton decided to leave. Now, as she stands in her kitchen, surrounded by boxes, Thornton feels the weight of that decision.

She's grateful to get away from the chemicals of Love Canal and the disruption of the cleanup efforts. But she's lived in Griffin Manor for 20 years. She's raised six children in this apartment, baked dozens of birthday cakes, roasted plenty of Thanksgiving turkeys, and made hundreds of bowls of macaroni and cheese in this very kitchen. It breaks her heart to leave it all behind.

But Thornton also feels guilty. There are only a few public housing projects in Niagara Falls, and openings are rare. She knows she was lucky to find another place to live, and even luckier that she can afford to make the move without government assistance, when so many of her neighbors can't. Still, she has to do what's best for herself and the two children who still live with her. So Thornton resumes packing, taking plates off the shelf and wrapping them in paper. But then Thornton hears yelling from just outside her apartment. She can't make out the exact words, but from the tone she can tell something alarming has happened.

Thornton sets down the plate in her hand and heads outside. And as soon as she steps foot out the door, she's hit with a smell that makes her eyes water. She follows a trail of residents, yelling as they make their way to the next street over, and joins a crowd standing on the sidewalk, their hands covering their noses. Thornton steps through piles of melting snow from a late winter storm and gasps as she looks into the street. Amidst the snow runoff is a river of a green, oily substance running right down the middle of the street. And all around Thornton, residents theorize that the cleanup work must have disrupted something, pushing these chemicals to the surface. But Thornton doesn't care what's causing it. She turns and heads back to her apartment with renewed

purpose. Griffin Manor had been her home, but it's a contaminated one. Now she needs to get out as fast as possible. When she hears of the news, Lois Gibbs also checks out the green runoff in the middle of 97th Street. And upon seeing it, having left Washington hopeful, she's again frustrated and depressed. The day after her testimony to Al Gore's committee, New York Health Commissioner Dr. David Axelrod also testified. He poked holes in the data collected by Gibbs and her scientist ally, Beverly Pagan. Dr. Axelrod argued that because neither woman was an epidemiologist or a statistician, they were not qualified to collect or interpret any

data about health issues. But then when the committee asked Dr. Axelrod to turn over the state's reports on its own data, he refused. He said that New York state health experts had been receiving death threats, so he needed to keep the records confidential to protect the experts. And ultimately, the congressional committee was unable to get him to change his mind. So now, as Gibbs stands on 97th Street, watching a chemical river flow through her neighborhood, she feels more defeated than ever. She's tried everything she can, but even with federal politicians involved, Dr. Axelrod continues to outflank her. Gibbs isn't the only one who feels like Dr. Axelrod is impossible to pin down. In June 1979, Luella Kenny is at the state-run research facility where she works as a

cancer researcher when her boss pops in to tell her that Dr. Axelrod is going to be stopping by later in the week. Kenny is glad to hear it because months ago, on the day of her son John Allen's funeral, the state promised to look into his death, but she's heard nothing. But the day before the meeting with Dr. Axelrod is scheduled, a member of the state health department comes by the Kenny house to collect samples of soil and water from the creek that runs through their backyard. Kenny takes this as a promising sign. And when Axelrod arrives at Kenny's office, she's hopeful that she'll finally get some answers about what caused her son's death. Kenny welcomes Dr. Axelrod into her office and offers a chair on the other side of her desk.

He accepts, unbuttoning his suit jacket before taking a seat. Miss Kenny, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I just wanted to stop by and offer my condolences. You know, I'm a father myself, and I can only imagine the grief you're going through. Well, thank you. It's been devastating. We're muddling through. Axelrod nods, and Kenny waits for him to say something about the results of the tests, but he just sits with a sympathetic look on his face.

So Kenny decides to break the silence. I was glad that someone from your staff came by yesterday to collect samples. Yes, yeah, and we'll analyze them as soon as we can. I'm sure your agent told you, but ever since the cleanup effort started, there are times that creek in our backyard turns orange. To me, that implies that chemicals have been getting into the creek. Well, not necessarily. The remediation process has disrupted a few things, sure, but it's all in service of the greater good.

Yeah, but John Allen played in that creek. If there's any possibility that it caused his kidney disease, Dr. Axelrod leans forward. Can I be honest with you, Mrs. Kenny? Please. I don't think we're ever going to get you the answers you're looking for. Even if we find that there are chemicals in your creek, we won't know just how much John Allen was exposed to them.

The fact of the matter is that kids develop kidney problems for all sorts of reasons, and we almost never know why. I'm not sure I understand your point. You've suffered an unimaginable loss. Nothing is ever going to make it make sense. Kenny leans back in her chair, trying to understand why this man is in her office. You, uh, you want me to stop talking to the press? Nope, it's a free country. I would never tell you who you should or shouldn't speak to.

I just want to make sure your expectations for this testing are realistic. Well, why don't we wait until we see the results before we say whether or not they're conclusive? That's fair. Sure. All right. Once again, I'm very sorry for your loss. Kenny sees him to the door, her hands trembling with rage. If Dr. Axelrod hoped this display of sympathy would get her to shut up about her son's death, he is sorely mistaken. Watching him walk down the hallway,

Kenny feels more determined than ever to make sure that no other family in Love Canal has to suffer the loss of a child. I'm Jake Warren, and in our first season of Finding, I set out on a very personal quest to find the woman who saved my mom's life. You can listen to Finding Natasha right now exclusively on Wondery Plus. In season two, I found myself caught up in a new journey to help someone I've never even met. But a couple of years ago, I came across a social media post by a person named Loti. It read in part, three years ago today that I attempted to jump off this bridge, but this wasn't my time to go. A gentleman named Andy saved my life. I still haven't found him. This is a story that I came across purely by chance, but it instantly

moved me. And it's taken me to a place where I've had to consider some deeper issues around mental health. This is season two of Finding, and this time, if all goes to plan, we'll be finding Andy. You can listen to Finding Andy and Finding Natasha exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. On January 5th, 2024, an Alaska Airlines door plug tore away mid-flight, leaving a gaping hole in the side of a plane that carried 171 passengers. This heart-stopping incident was just the latest in a string of crises surrounding the aviation manufacturing giant, Boeing. In the past decade, Boeing has been involved in a series of damning scandals and deadly

crashes that have chipped away at its once sterling reputation. At the center of it all, the 737 MAX, the latest season of business wars, explores how Boeing, once the gold standard of aviation engineering, descended into a nightmare of safety concerns and public mistrust. The decisions, denials, and devastating consequences bringing the Titan to its knees. And what, if anything, can save the company's reputation? Now, follow Business Wars on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can binge Business Wars, The Unraveling of Boeing, early and ad-free right now on Wondery Plus.

In the spring of 1979, while Love Canal activists continue their struggle in Niagara Falls, EPA Administrator Tom Jorling is still on a quest to pass his Superfund legislation in Washington, D.C. And thanks to Congressman Al Gore's hearings on the Love Canal crisis, support for the legislation is higher than ever. By the spring of 1979, Jorling thinks he's close to having the votes to pass it. But before he can submit the Superfund bill to Congress, it has to be reviewed by the Office of Management and Budget, where it will face an entirely separate set of obstacles. The job of the OMB is to oversee the federal budget

and make sure that all regulatory agencies are running efficiently and not wasting taxpayer money. One of the ways it does this is by reviewing proposed legislation and estimating how much it will cost the American taxpayers if it were to be passed. As an agency, the OMB is generally opposed to adding more budget commitments or expanding federal bureaucracy. And while the Superfund legislation would raise money, primarily from chemical companies, the costs of managing and spending all that money would come from the taxpayers. So when Jorling submits the Superfund legislation to the OMB, he hopes they can look beyond their mandate to keep government expansion in check. But those hopes are dashed when he gets a call from OMB Associate Director Elliot Cutler. Cutler says that while he personally

supports the Superfund bill, his boss, the director of the OMB, is adamantly opposed to the idea and won't approve the legislation. Jorling is devastated. Without OMB approval, he knows that President Jimmy Carter won't back the bill and it won't get submitted to Congress. Unless something dramatic happens to change the OMB director's mind, the Superfund bill appears to be dead in the water. But then, on April 10, years to be dead in the water. But then, on April 10th, 1979, Al Gore's hearings unearth a bombshell. That night, Lois Gibbs is in her living room with a friend from the Homeowners Association. She and the other residents of Love Canal have been closely following the coverage of Gore's hearings on TV. But for several weeks, there have been no major new developments. Until tonight, when the news anchor looks into the camera and explains that a former Hooker chemical employee testified today and made

shocking admissions. Gibbs leans forward on her couch, eager to hear what was revealed, and the news cuts to footage of the House chamber inside the Capitol building, where a middle-aged man in a dark suit is sitting at a table facing a row of representatives, including Congressman Gore. Gore holds up a piece of paper and explains that it's a memo from 1958 addressed to high-ranking executives at Hooker Chemical. It informs them that four children suffered chemical burns while playing in a playground built on top of Love Canal. It also states that some drums containing a chemical used to make poison gas had surfaced not far from the playground. Despite all this, the memo advises that Hooker Chemical should take no action unless requested by the Niagara Falls School Board, which then

owned the property. Then Gore asks the man at the witness table if he wrote the memo, and the man licks his lips nervously and confirms that he did. Gore then asks why Hooker Chemical didn't inform the school board or local residents that it was hazardous for children to play in the playground. The executive stutters that they did eventually tell the school board and says he thinks residents knew. From her living room, Gibbs yells at the TV. She calls the man a liar,

shouting that she had no idea there were chemicals in the ground. Back on TV, Gore continues to grill the man, asking repeatedly why Hooker Chemical did not inform the public. The executive evades the question as best he can, but Gore finally wears him down until he admits that Hooker Chemical did not inform the public because they did not want to accuse the school board of not properly maintaining the site. Lawyers at Hooker Chemical feared that such accusations could be seen as libelous

and exposed the company to too much legal risk. Gore repeats back what the executive said in disbelief, and in her living room, Gibbs jumps to her feet, hurling more insults at the TV. The news coverage then cuts back to the anchorman, who explains that lawyers for Hooker Chemical said the executive was speaking only for himself and he was not qualified to discuss liability. But the anchor also reiterates that the testimony proves that Hooker Chemical knew about the hazards at Love Canal for 20 years. Unable to tear her eyes away from the TV, Gibbs' friend wonders aloud if, because of this testimony,

maybe the Homeowners Association lawsuit against Hooker Chemical can finally get some traction. Or maybe the government can step in and force Hooker to pay residents to move. Gibbs nods, but she can only allow herself to feel cautiously optimistic. There have been so many times when she thought they finally had what they needed to be evacuated, only to be disappointed again and again. Now she won't believe any promise of evacuation until someone hands her a check to cover the moving costs. The news of Al Gore's hearing makes national headlines and galvanizes residents of Love Canal. Finally, it appears that someone in Washington is taking their plight seriously

and calling out those responsible. And then, in mid-April 1979, another bombshell hits. The New York State Health Department tells reporters that the levels of the chemical dioxin in Love Canal are higher than initially believed. Dioxin is a component of Agent Orange, a highly toxic herbicide the U.S. military dropped on the jungles of Vietnam. So with so much scandalous news hitting all at once, Lois Gibbs allows herself hope that the state will finally be forced to evacuate the entire neighborhood. Once again, she's disappointed. The state says it needs to do more testing. It also says that if dioxin is found in the creek that runs through the neighborhood, including through Luella Kenny's backyard, then they will fence it off so kids don't play in it.

In the state's view, that's all they need to do. With this latest announcement, Elliot Cutler, the associate director of the Office of Management and Budget, decides he can't sit on the sidelines any longer. His boss, the director of the OMB, is still adamantly opposed to the Superfund bill, and going against him might cost Cutler his job, but his conscience won't let him stay silent. So one morning in June 1979, Cutler walks into a budget meeting with a Superfund bill on the agenda. His boss, the director of the OMB, is already there. So is Tom Jorling and his boss at the EPA, but Cutler feels pretty certain that barring something unexpected,

the Superfund will get acts at this meeting. To prevent that, he's decided to do something unexpected. Cutler nods to the other man and takes a seat at the long wooden conference table. After a few minutes, President Jimmy Carter enters the room, taking his seat at the head of the table and kicks off the meeting. Carter says that the first item to discuss is the Superfund legislation. He turns to the director of the OMB and asks where the agency stands on the law. The director says quickly that they are opposed to it, explaining that administrating a fund of that size will require too much bureaucracy,

and the OMB doesn't feel it's in the best interest of the taxpaying public. President Carter nods and seems ready to go on to the next item on the agenda. But before he can, Cutler takes a deep breath and leans forward in his chair. Excuse me, Mr. President, before we move on, I'd like to say something on this matter. The president gives him a small nod and Cutler shoots his boss a nervous look. The president gives him a small nod, and Cutler shoots his boss a nervous look. I just wanted to say that I disagree with the OMB's disapproval of the Superfund bill. I think this is an important and necessary piece of legislation that we should be supporting.

Cutler's boss glares. Elliot, what are you doing? I'm sorry to do this publicly, sir, but I've been wrestling with this for weeks. I've been following what's happening in Love Canal, and I believe that the federal government needs to act. But the federal government has acted. I believe it's given the state of New York something like $7 million. Yes, but that's not enough.

There are hundreds of residents still trapped there. There's no legal mechanism to get anyone, not the state, not the feds, not even Hooker Chemical, to pay for them to move. The Superfund would solve that problem. Well, look, I feel for those residents. Really, I do. But our job at the OMB is to make sure the government is running efficiently on behalf of taxpayers. You cannot enlarge and expand the entire federal government every time there's a local problem. I'm not suggesting we do it every time. I'm saying we should do it this time. It's a slippery slope, Elliot. Cutler turns to President Carter and

appeals directly to him. Mr. President, I know you've seen the statistics. There are roughly 600 chemical waste sites around the country that pose a risk to nearby residents, and those are just the ones we know about. There could be hundreds, even thousands more. What if one of them starts leaking and the congressman representing that district doesn't fight for federal assistance the way Congressman LaFalse of Niagara Falls did? What happens to those residents? We need a permanent fund that is not dependent on local politics, one that the chemical manufacturers themselves will pay for. one that the chemical manufacturers themselves will pay for. President Carter is quiet for a moment, thinking.

Cutler grips the arms of his chair. If the president sides with his boss, Cutler will likely be fired for speaking out. But after a long moment, finally Carter nods. He tells the group he agrees with Cutler. The Superfund legislation is too important, and he's going to throw his support behind it, despite the OMB's objection. The OMB director continues to glare at Cutler, but he doesn't say anything. The president has spoken, and Cutler lets out a sigh of relief. He may still be fired, but it'll be worth it. The Superfund legislation will live to fight another

day, and if it passes, there's a chance the people of Love Canal can finally get the help they need. He was hip-hop's biggest mogul, the man who redefined fame, fortune, and the music industry. The first male rapper to be honored on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, Sean Diddy Cone. Diddy built an empire and lived a life most people only dream about. Everybody know ain't no party like a Diddy party, so.

Yeah, that's what's up. But just as quickly as his empire rose, it came crashing down. Today I'm announcing the unsealing of a three-count indictment, charging Sean Combs with racketeering conspiracy, sex trafficking, interstate transportation for prostitution. I was f***ed up. I hit rock bottom, but I made no excuses. I'm disgusted. I'm so sorry. Until you're wearing an orange jumpsuit, it's not real. Now it's real. From his meteoric rise to his shocking fall from grace, from law and crime,

this is the rise and Fall of Diddy. Listen to The Rise and Fall of Diddy exclusively with Wondery Plus. Even with President Jimmy Carter's support for the Superfund legislation, the congressional process moves slowly. And as the summer of 1979 drags on with no relief for Love Canal residents in sight, people in the neighborhood are running out of patience. One man storms into the office of the Homeowners Association, so frustrated that he says he's going to blow up the canal.

Gibbs talks him down, explaining that blowing up a site filled with toxic waste would only make their problems worse. But she understands the impulse. The cleanup work is ongoing and often releases clouds of noxious odors into the air. At one point, it gets so bad that the workers can only continue by donning gas masks. Most people who could afford to leave the neighborhood without government assistance have long since moved away, and their abandoned houses are marked by overgrown lawns and graffiti garages,

often broken into by vandals. Gibbs and the Homeowners Association take the state to court, demanding that they pay for the remaining residents to leave. But the judge rules that the state's safety plan for the cleanup is adequate. They only have to evacuate residents who have an acute illness that a doctor has determined is a direct result of the chemicals. Some sick residents do get notes from their doctors, and the state provides financial assistance to temporarily relocate them away from the canal.

But many doctors are reluctant to write notes. They don't feel confident saying that their patients' ailments are a direct result of the chemicals. So running out of options, activists at a local church decide to take matters into their own hands. They find a doctor, a psychiatrist, who agrees to diagnose any Love Canal resident with chemical-induced depression.

He writes notes for 400 people and does it free of charge, out of a sense of moral obligation. But Health Commissioner Dr. David Axelrod is outraged by his ploy. His office grants relocation funds to only seven of the 400 people who got these notes. And all summer, Luella Kenney keeps a detailed journal about what's happening in the creek in her backyard. Day after day, unbearable odors emanate from it. Sometimes she can only smell it when she gets right next to the creek. But on other days, the stench is strong enough to fill her kitchen. Regardless, it's always there.

And she's haunted by memories of all the times she let her son John Allen and his older brothers play in that water, unaware of the dangers. So as the summer of 1979 draws to a close, Kenny makes a hard decision. She asks her husband Norman to join her in the living room. He sits next to her on the sofa, and Luella places her hand on his knee. I've thought a lot about it. It's time. We need to move. We talked about this. Months ago. Yeah, we did. But things have changed. The smell from the creek is worse than it's ever been. All the public schools in the neighborhood are closed. The schools don't think it's safe for kids to be there. But we still can't afford it.

No one's going to buy this house. It's worthless. We still have the mortgage. It'll be tight, but we have to figure it out. I can't risk anything happening to another one of our sons. No. I know. And they've been complaining about headaches, you know.

Maybe it's grief or just the smell, but what if? I know, and I want the boys to be safe too, but this was John Allen's home. The only one he knew. I still hear his voice yelling, Daddy, every time I come home from work. Me too. Sometimes when I look in the yard, I think I see him running between the trees. I don't want to walk away from these memories. And maybe it doesn't have to be forever, just until they finish the cleanup.

But for our other sons, Stephen, Christopher... Norman closes his eyes and nods. Okay. Okay. Luella nods. She knows this is the right thing to do, but it still feels surreal. She always thought this would be the home she'd live in for her entire life, but Kenny feels the truth in her gut. They're leaving for good. In September 1979, a few days after making the decision to leave,

the Kenny family moves into a roadway inn several miles away. There's no kitchen, laundry piles up, and the family is on top of each other every moment. But even with these inconveniences, Kenny feels certain she made the right choice. And just weeks after the move, she gets news that confirms it. In late September, the health department notifies Kenny that the levels of dioxin in the creek behind her house are shockingly high.

Eventually, it's determined that they are 31 times higher than what is considered safe. So in the fall of 1979, the state finally decides it needs to take more action. The governor's office allocates $5 million to pay relocation fees to those in Griffin Manor and to purchase more residents' homes over the next two years, enabling them to move. The remaining Love Canal residents are excited about the news until they realize it'll be at least a year before the state can buy any of their houses. The residents are angry and exhausted, and many of them feel like their lives have been torn apart, including Lois Gibbs. Because that fall, she and her husband, Harry, officially separate. Harry remains in the house on 101st Street, while Lois moves into a

condo on the edge of town. But even though she's no longer a resident of Love Canal, she doesn't let up her fight. Her family's finances are still tied up in that house, and the impact of the chemicals are still being felt. Her son Michael is suffering from seizures, and recently small bruises have begun showing up all over the body of her four-year-old daughter, Missy. In March 1980, Gibbs calls Missy's pediatrician's office and explains what she's seeing. The doctor tells her to take Missy straight to the children's hospital in Buffalo. There, doctors tell Gibbs that they want to run a bone marrow test to see if Missy has leukemia. Gibbs feels the world swim in front of her eyes. She can't believe this is happening. When she was collecting data, she learned of so many children

around Love Canal who had suffered from blood cancer, and now it might be happening to her own daughter. During the bone marrow extraction, Missy howls in agony. Gibbs squeezes her hand, trying to stay strong for her daughter. But Gibbs can't stop the tears from pouring down her face. Afterwards, in a recovery room, Missy falls asleep, exhausted. Gibbs is dog-tired too, but her mind won't stop racing. She's fought so hard, going up against the governor, traveling to Washington, organizing protest after protest, and she failed. Both of her children are

ill, likely the result of chemicals in the canal. All she ever wanted was to provide a safe, loving home for her kids, but instead that home has made them sick. Gibbs feels trapped in the small hospital, like she has to do something. But she doesn't know what. She paces, thinking. And finally, she latches onto an action she can take. Still wiping away tears, she leaves her sleeping daughter, finds a payphone in the hallway. She digs through her purse, pulling out every coin she can find.

Then she starts feeding them into the phone. One by one, she starts calling every state and federal official she knows. She calls every reporter she has the number for. She calls her colleagues in the homeowners association. She repeats the same thing to every one of them. Her daughter is sick. Her daughter might die. Her daughter is the latest victim of Love Canal. From Wondery, this is Episode 3 of Love Canal for American Scandal. In our next episode, alarming new data comes out about the dangers of the chemicals in the canal, and Lois Gibbs takes drastic action to get the government to evacuate the remaining residents. and listen completely ad-free when you join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a survey at wondery.com slash survey.

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. 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 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. Managing producer, Olivia Fonte. Senior managing producer, Ryan Lohr. Senior producer, Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Marsha Louis, and Erin O'Flaherty for Wondery.