As Old Nerve Gas Storage Sites Decay, Fear Wafts Around

For the children who live near the Umatilla Chemical Depot, the hard truth of chemical warfare is softened by a friendly face. Wally Wise, a smiling cartoon turtle, tells them: Go inside, turn on the radio, stay off the phone.

But the cartoon face on posters does little to mask the daily anxiety felt by those who live in the shadow of the igloo-like bunkers in the high desert that house 12% of America’s deadly nerve gas and blistering agents--the same type that Iraq’s Saddam Hussein is believed to be hiding.

As the Army moves ahead with plans to incinerate the aging stockpile, criticism is mounting that the millions allocated for accident preparedness have been mismanaged, leaving communities without adequate alarms, protective suits or information to save their lives.

One drop can kill. But JoAnn Harris, who lives two miles from the depot, doesn’t have a disaster plan in place.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” she said as she watched her grandson play at her feet. “I just pray it doesn’t happen.”

Army officials put the odds of a deadly accident at 3 million to 1, slightly more than getting hit by lightning. They say it would take a plane crash or major earthquake to send lethal doses of the agents out of the bunkers, which are closely monitored for leaks and guarded by armed patrols with orders to shoot to kill.

But the risk to the 25,000 people who live in this remote area of northeastern Oregon grows daily as the arsenal ages and chemicals destabilize. The corrosive components have eaten through some of the M-55 rockets, mines and bombs that contain the 3,700 tons of deadly nerve agent.

More than 100 rockets are already classified as “leakers,” meaning nonlethal amounts of vapor have been detected outside the steel casings.

In a worst-case scenario, a serious discharge could wipe out 20,000 people and reach as far west as Portland, a four-hour drive.

If it was mustard gas, victims would feel a stinging sensation, followed by blistering of the skin, eyes and lungs. Nerve agents like sarin kill within seconds, paralyzing the heart and lungs.

Life or death can come down to a hairline crack in the wall or a strategically placed piece of duct tape.

“All those years people were yelling and screaming about nuclear plants, and here we’ve got something just as deadly in our backyard,” said resident Troy Fischer. “It’s one of the monsters of our past, and we’re stuck cleaning it up.”

The growing risk of storage is one of the major selling points for the $567-million incinerator, one of eight being built around the country to destroy the U.S. stockpile under a worldwide treaty.

Chemicals are already being burned at Tooele, Utah, and Johnston Island, 800 miles southwest of Hawaii. Incineration is also planned for storage sites in Alabama, Maryland, Kentucky, Indiana, Arkansas and Colorado.

An Eastern Oregon group, GASP, has sued to stop the incineration, fearing the impact of the tiny amounts of agent that will be released.

“We are guinea pigs,” said the group’s founder, Karyn Jones. “No one knows what the risks are.”

Army officials say burning is much safer than storing. The deadly agents will be painstakingly transported and sealed into furnaces; officials contend that what filters out of the stacks will be cleaner than the region’s dust-choked air.

Construction is on schedule, and officials say the furnaces will be ready by 2001.

But before disposal can begin, officials must meet strict state environmental conditions, including having disaster preparations in place.

Congress allocated $25 million for emergency preparations, including an alert-and-rescue emergency system of outdoor sirens and tone-alert radios. The systems were supposed to be in place nine years ago, and critics say what has been set up is incomplete and inadequate.

“It’s unconscionable,” said David Trott, a former employee of Oregon’s emergency preparedness program who lives downwind of the bunkers. “The most disconcerting thing about the whole situation is that the public thinks it has some level of protection.”

Residents say the 42 sirens can’t be heard indoors, and the thousands of radios that are supposed to be plugged into every home have yet to be ordered.

The region’s fire departments and major hospital are still without protective chemical suits, monitoring devices and pressurization. Emergency crews have advised people not even to bother calling 911.

“We are no better prepared than anybody else,” said Fire Chief Jim Stearns. “We would have to leave.”

Good Shepherd Hospital in Hermiston would have to lock its doors, despite extensive training from Army staff in handling chemical injuries.

“We would be rendered useless in a matter of seconds,” said Ken Franz, the hospital’s director of emergency services. “It’s like being trained as a surgeon and not being provided the instruments for surgery.”

In a scathing report last summer, the General Accounting Office blamed the shortcomings on long-standing management weaknesses in the Army and the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which head the program. The report said most of its funding disappeared in Washington, on studies and staff, and never trickled down to the threatened communities.

“Where the heck did all the money go?” asks Hermiston Mayor Frank Harkenrider. “All these years and we’re still unprotected.”

And despite drills, community meetings and mailed information, many people still don’t know how to react if the sirens go off.

Harris, who would have about three minutes’ warning, is unclear whether she should seal herself inside a room with duct tape--the correct response--or get in her car and try to get out.

Officials of the local program acknowledge that problems exist. But they say recent political pressure and media attention have helped untangle some of the funding.

Among recent improvements: Electronic signboards are up on roads and highways, a new tactical communications system is in place for emergency crews and the area’s 11 schools are equipped with positive pressurization systems to create a safe room for students.

Also, antidote kits to counter the effect of deadly chemicals have been distributed at weapons storage sites and hospitals.

“We’ve seen a lot of progress in the last six months,” said Tom Groat, a Umatilla County spokesman for the chemical emergency program. “We have a heightened awareness that things can go wrong.”