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Low Graduation Rates, Jacksonville FL. Dioxin at Coleman-Evans Site: Near Whitehouse Elementary School. |
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This page: http://www.geocities.com/fltaxpayer/endocrine/Whithous.html
General Note: Dioxin causes expensive disabilities like ADD/ADHD, diabetes and cancer. Eliminate endocrine disruptors like dioxin and save $4,000/year/household on unnecessarily high Medicare and private medical insurance, disability taxes and extra income taxes to make up for taxes not paid by unnecessarily disabled people. |
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"Whitehouse Scandal"
by Ann Schindler Photos by Walter Coker Jacksonville FL 6/1/99 Folio Weekly Newspaper [Note that this award winning article has "scrolled off" the archive files for the newspaper and I are working on having Folio Weekly post this story again.] Jacksonville's Worst Toxic Realities are buried in it's most forgotten community. [MAMIE NORMAN] Photos: Whitehouse Resident Mamie Norman began complaining about the Coleman-Evans Wood Preserving Plant years before the site was identified as a toxic waste site of national importance. Old photos offer graphic evidence of the poisonous contents of the drainage ditch that flowed from Coleman-Evans's disposal pits into Norman's front yard. A sweet honeysuckle breeze heavy with the scent of Confederate Jasmine, blows west across Whitehouse, Fla. It rustles palm fronds and live oaks, and sends a stray hair skidding against Mamie Norman's temple. She pushes it back with the heel of her wrist, a gardener's habit born of long days keeling in the dirt, hands black with soil. "You've caught me in the yard," her answering machine explains, and it's almost always true. I she's not out working in her five-acre plot, then she's gone fishing, steering her Chevy Blazer up Heckscher Driver or "over Dinsmore," where she lived before moving to Whitehouse in 1961. Eight months pregnant and newly married, Norman " didn't have a damn thing to do with" here husband's decision to move to this small Westside town that hot July. She didn't regret it, either. The house needed work, the yard was a mess if you ever saw on," but : Miz Norman," ans she's known to most of her neighbors, liked her home just fine. Except for the ditch. Running along the street in front of her house, a drainage ditch - no more than six feet across - cut a fluid path across the yard. It flowed to the western corner of the property, where the culvert took a sharp left turn, cutting down the side of the lot before eventually emptying into McGirts Creek. The ditch has since been covered, but in those years a small footbridge spanned its width. Norman often stood on the wooden planks and studied the liquid flowing past her home. Sometimes she took pictures. It was an evil smelling liquid, coated with an oily sheen, and Norman knew all along it was trouble. Even before the neighbor's dog was blinded by the stuff after chasing a ball into the ditch, even before she lost 14 pet mallard ducks in a single day, Norman knew well enough to keep her family far away from it. At least as far as she could. Forty years later, a stack of square, faded photographs documents her recollections; years of federal soil research bear out her darkest fears. She was right about the liquid: It was a river of poison. The ditch flowed directly from one of the most toxic industrial sites in the region, the Coleman-Evans Wood Preserving Plant. A Whitehouse economic centerpiece from 1954 to the mid "80s, the plant's operations were familiar to employees and neighbors: Pine and fir trees were "cooked" - pressure treated with creosote and diesel fuel - to make fences, dock pilings and telephone poles resistant to fungus and boring insects. What most people don't know was that the plant was also creating a toxic empire in the center of town. Only years after the fact would residents learn of the danger posed by the plant's treatment and disposal process. Carcinogenic sludge was routinely dumped into two open pits - pits that, in turn, emptied into neighborhood drainage ditches, and ultimately into Norman's yard. Unusable limber was also a hazard; when the chemical-soaked wood was burned, one of the deadliest chemicals know to exist - dioxin - was the byproduct. The discovery didn't disturb the community so much as drain it. The same long odds that make this rural Westside Outpost kin to the city of Jacksonville conspire against its environmental health as well. By the time the 15-acre Coleman-Evans site was labeled a hazard, the community had already learned of a similar threat just around the corner. [THE PITS-THE OTHER WHITEHOUSE SITE] Photo: Despite decades of federal attention, both of Whitehouse's Superfund sites continue to exude a potent toxicity. The barrels are the only sign of pollution at the town's notorious Pits, which broke open in 1976 and flooded nearby McGirts Creek. One half-mile from the Coleman-Evans miasma is a site known simply as the Pits. Once the property of Allied PetroProducts, the Pits literally comprise seven unlined holes in the ground, each filled with a toxic stew of waste oil and acidic sludge. The bane of nearby residents during the 60's, the Pits became a threat of regional significance in 1976 when they spit open and leaked thousands of viscous gallons into nearby McGirts Creek. Patched with haphazard haste, the Pits continue to exude a potent toxicity even as the effort to clean them up drags into its 23rd year. Both of the Whitehouse sites are considered threats of national importance by the Federal Environmental Protection Agency - there are seven such sites in Jacksonville and both are subjects of prolonged federal cleanup efforts. But despite a combined four decades of attention, the two sites are today as toxic and threatening as they were when they were discovered. In some cases, they're even more dangerous, as the pollution continues its natural migration through soil and groundwater. In the years since the sites were discovered, the town of Whitehouse has grown. As recently as 1980, it was defined by a dozen blocks around West Beaver Street and claimed just 30 families. Today, it loosely encompasses land from Cecil Field to Baldwin; current demographics indicate the large, rural area is home to 9,000 mostly poor, mostly white families. Despite the growth, residents of the original town continue to view their home according to the old map. Within those boundaries are two convenience stores, one elementary school and a few thousand residents. But it's the two toxic waste dumps that rally define the town, and they continue to have an immeasurable impact on the lives of Whitehouse's families. Fenced and off-limits, they are nevertheless a palpable presence, impossible for residents to ignore. Their barbed-wire borders inspired fear and frustration in adults, like caged and defiant bogeymen. They tempt heedless children, who use the mounds and pits as a proving ground for their dangerous rites of passage. And they touch every facet of residential life: from health to property values to social lives. And yet, while the hazard is manifest, it is also a mystery. Most residents admit they know almost nothing about the ongoing federal cleanup. The sites are the subject of much local folklore, but specific, scientific knowledge is rare. Residents largely fault the federal EPA, which they believe has neglected to involve locals in the process. Indeed, the agency's cleanup plan has failed to engage either neighborhood interest or input and lacks any community imprimatur. But Whitehouse residents are up against more than the inattention of federal regulators. Bereft of financial resources, political influence or much formal education, the residents of this remote town are eminently forgettable, perpetually overlooked. The toxic sandwich of Whitehouse, unthinkable in the city's more upscale neighborhoods, has been the dim daily reality of residents for more than 20 years. With the heavy lifting of the cleanup at both sites set to begin this year, there is hope that Whitehouse many finally be relieved of its two most notable features. But no one is promising that the sites will ever be completely safe. And the people who continue to be most affected by these toxic hot spots remain little more than bystanders. It's a disconnect that Mamie Norman has been fighting for years. As the oldest and most persistent voice for cleaning up Whitehouse, Norman has found the deck stacked against her. She raised her voice against pollution in "nineteen and sixty three," and she hasn't stopped hollering since. But her lungs, compromised by her 65 years and endless cartons of Benson and Hedges, aren't always up to the task of rabble-rouser. I get sick of it, to tell you the truth," she says, sitting on the couch in the cool dim of her living room. " It 's hard to get other people interested. Bust I can't really blame theme is some ways, after the run-around we've gotten for all these years. I guess they just give up." HIS MOMMA TOLD HIM NOT TO. Insert: The two toxic waste dumps are a palpable presence in Whitehouse, inspiring fear and frustration in adults and luring neighborhood children into dangerous rites of passage. His head agreed. But his friends and his sense of adventure - won out every time. With one good jump, James Smith and his pals could catch the side of the chain-link fence surrounding the old wood preserving plant and swing over the top. Landing on the other side, the boys would spread out and explore, peering into the thick, soupy waste pits, poking around in the sandy dirt. For the most part, Smith says, they escaped unscathed. But once in a while, one of the boys would slop some of the pit's contents on another, and "the creosote from in there" would stick, and burn the skin like fire. "That stuff in there would burn you, leave big red marks on your arm," recalls Smith. : We knew it was bad, but you couldn't keep ups out of there." At least the Coleman-Evans site has a fence. At the Pits, another of Smith's childhood haunts, there was nothing to keep neighborhood kids at bay. A fence was eventually erected in 1992 (10 years after the Feds labeled the site a health hazard), but for Smith, now 27, memories of his youth are riddled with trips to these toxic playgrounds. "[At the Pits] we would stand on the ground where they had covered [the sludge], and we would go back and forth like this," he says, rocking from one foot to the other. "We would step on it like that, until it burbled up. The stuff that would come out was black, dark like oil, and it smelled. You could really smell it." Nancy Tillman listens to her son's recollections with one hand clamped tight across her mouth. Every now and then she shakes her head in mute horror. It's not the first time she's heard these stories, her grown son confessed his trespasses long ago. But the magnitude of what he did still hits her like a wrecking ball. Hearing about it doesn't get any easier - especially now that she knows what's in there. "Back then, everybody knew it was bad," she says, her blue eyes clear and angry. "But we didn't know how bad. We had no idea that it could kill us." In fact, although Tillman has lived in Whitehouse for 23 years, and directly across from the Coleman-Evans site for six, she says it's only in the last year or so that she's come to understand what she's living with. Her situation is not unique among residents, nor especially surprising. The pollution at Coleman-Evans stains even the limits of scientific knowledge, to say nothing of a layman's understanding. Unmasking the threat posed by the old wood preserving site has required piecemeal - and arduous labor. Discovering the existence of hazardous chemicals was only part of the job; researchers have spent many more years trying to determine the extent of the problem. They've don so while standing on the shifting sands of environmental science, where safety standards become more rigorous even as measurement tools become more precise. The result has been an evolution of cleanup "solutions," ranging from an emergency soil excavation from residential properties in 1985 to a proposal to simply cover and leave the site, to the current plan, which entails burning off [evaporating off] the toxic chemicals by heating the soil to extremely high temperatures, a process know as "thermal desorption." Map: [Map shows Coleman-Evans Superfund site "close" to the Intersection of Interstate 10 with Chaffee Rd..... ....The site is north of General Ave-- where Whitehouse Elementary is located...... More specifically, the site is just east of Celery Ave and south of CSX railroad and Beaver Street.] Map caption: Located just a few miles west of downtown, the rural outpost of Whitehouse seem much farther away. Though it has grown considerably in the past two decades, the town still has few landmarks: two convenience stores, one elementary school and tow toxic waste sites. For Whitehouse residents, the ever-changing plan has only aggravated their suspicions about the process. From the beginning, many have felt ignored by regulators and health watchdog agencies - and not without reason. Residents complained for years about Coleman-Evans before anyone began paying attention. As far back as the '60s, residents were sounding the alarm. One man Ike Pierson, routinely complained about the contents of the drainage ditch that flowed past his house (south of I-10) and into McGirts Creek. One year, the ditch overflowed and flooded his property, killing a newborn colt. Pierson sued, and Coleman-Evans settled, agreeing to dig the ditch deeper to prevent future flooding. Mamie Norman's calls to health officials were so persistent, she eventually got a visit from "Old Man" Jack Coleman himself. He wasn't especially apologetic. "He told me that there was nothing dangerous about [the ditch], and he told me I was a simple little housewife," she recalls. "I was so mad, I didn't even go out to his car. I stayed behind the fence." In 1980, resident Grady Moore grew so fed up with the regulator run-around, he stormed into health department offices with a sample of his foul-smelling well water, demanding it to be tested. Moore, who lived directly south of the Coleman-Evans site, claimed that his well had been poisoned by the same stuff that "coated" his lawn. Though the water sample was not found to be contaminated, a subsequent investigation revealed that his yard - and the yards of five other neighbors - was soaked through with a pungent, slick liquid. Tests revealed it was the wood preservative petachlorphenol or PCP. Ironically, the discovery was made the same year that the federal government passed what is know as the Superfund act. An outgrowth of the "Love Canal" ordeal in New York, where a toxic waste dump was discovered under a suburban subdivision, the Superfund law made cleaning up hazardous waste sites a national priority. Under the direction of the EPA, the Superfund program targets the worst and most dangerous sites, and attempts to clean them. It is a process fraught with bureaucratic and legal pitfalls - not least of which his the government's attempt to force polluters to foot the bill - and it often takes decades for a cleanup to actually begin. At Coleman-Evans, the processes has been further complicated by the discovery of dioxin. Through PCB itself is extremely hazardous - responsible for birth defects, weight loss, chronic headaches and nausea - dioxin is an even more potent and menacing pollutant. Through dioxin's impact is still being studied, it has been linked to cancer, diabetes, brain damage and myriad skin disorders. A deadly component of Agent Orange, dioxin's most insidious attribute is it's ability to mimic the body's natural chemical messengers: hormones. Hormones control human functions, from digestion to personality to sexual development; as a hormonal impostor, dioxin causes a wide range of health dysfunction. Because dioxin is dangerous even in infinitesimal amounts, the standard measurement is similarly tiny: parts per billion. This yardstick measure one unit of dioxin for every billion units of something else. The reason for the small scale is twofold: First, dioxin is generally found only in minute amounts. Second, it is dangerous - even deadly - tiny exposures. The discovery of dioxin at Coleman-Evans forced the cleanup effort into a new direction. EPA officials felt confident that if they cleaned dioxin to a 1 part-per-billion level, the site would be clean enough. But state environmental regulators disagreed. The Department of Environmental Protection, which helps pay for and must approve all Superfund cleanups in Florida, claimed the EPA's "acceptable" dioxin level was - and still is - too high. The state demands a tougher standard of 7 parts per trillion, or .007 parts-per-billion. Currently, dioxin concentrations on the site reach 230 parts-per-billion. Evan using the EPA's standard, a lot of dioxin will be removed. But given dioxin's almost unmatched toxicity, both state regulators and environmental activists believe the EPA's level is not clean enough. Nancy Tilman, whose 13-home trailer park is located just west of the site, is inclined to agree. Over time, she believes flooding and high winds have carried toxics from the site over to her property, exposing her and other residents to illness. Despite these perceived dangers, and her years of living next to a Superfund site, she feels shut out of the cleanup process. "You get the sense from the folks at EPA that they really don't want us to interfere," she says. "They say, 'We're handling it, and if you don't like it, maybe we'll just leave it. We just won't do anything.' It's a threat." EPA .... After 10 years of waiting for a cleanup at this site, I think the public deserves more from it's government than it's getting." Despite being a federal bureaucrat, the EPA's Randall Chaffins still enjoys the occasionally lucid fury. His 1997 e-mail to state regulators offers a glimpse of what he calls "my slight frustration" over the pace of the Coleman-Evans cleanup. "I'm sorry if I sound upset," the e-mail continues, "but I've spent two years trying to move this site to the next step without any luck." Chaffins has reason to feel frustrated. During the four years he's headed up the project, he has sought public input and state support, but has endorsements from neither. Nineteen years after the site was slated for cleaning, project still hasn't begun. Disagreement over appropriate dioxin levels delayed the cleanup for years, but the state and the EPA eventually hammered out an interim agreement. According to the deal, the EPA can clean the site using it's less-rigid dioxin standard, at least pending the results of EPA's long-awaited dioxin reassessment. The report - the agency's third in a decade - should offer a firm standard for "acceptable" dioxin cleanup levels. [LARGEST MEETING ...TO INFORM RESIDENTS] Photo: George Jeffrey believes the proximity of Whitehouse Elementary to the two Superfund sites should spur the EPA to more aggressive measures - including relocating residents and moving the school. But even as the EPA mover ahead on the dioxin issue, community relations are becoming more strained. Several weeks ago, two passionate community activists began educating residents on the cleanup effort. Susy Spencer, a former schoolteacher, and George Jeffrey, a chemical engineer, have in recent years emerged as two of the most articulate and committed voices in the regions's dioxin debate. Both believe their own health has been compromised by dioxin exposure, and both believe a great deal more needs to be done to educated the public about its unique perils. In late March, the two headed to Whitehouse, armed with pamphlets and a fierce determination to involve residents in the Superfund process. Too often, Spencer says the government patronizes pollution victims, excluding them from meaningful participation and failing to explain the process in real terms. The fact that most Whitehouse residents are uninformed about their two Superfund sites, Spencer believes, is the clear fault of regulators. "They don't gain anything by involving and educating residents," she says. "So they just keep things quiet. The less the public is involved, the less they have to deal with." From the EPA's standpoint, that simply is not the case. Chaffins observes that the agency sends hundreds of mailings in advance of meetings, and publishes the public notices in the daily paper. All documents related to the Superfund sites are available at nearby Whitehouse Elementary school, where the EPA keeps a repository for the convenience of residents. Chaffins says a few years ago he even went door to door in the neighborhood, soliciting input from nearby residents. Despite everything, Chaffins says, residents have refused to participate. Over the years, Chaffins has found the public "apathetic" and turnout at public meetings "disappointing," according to his correspondence. Most have drawn fewer than 10 residents. This disinterest evaporated in March after Spencer and Jeffrey made their rounds. Chaffins estimated 50 neighbors showed up at the March meeting - "our best turnout ever." Those in attendance asked some tough questions. While Jeffrey focused on dioxin levels, others used the opportunity to vent their frustration about the process. Some complained that property values were suffering. Others wondered if the site was causing mental and physical illness. Still others questioned whether the kids at Whitehouse Elementary were being exposed to unnecessary risk. After 19 years worth of bureaucracy and fear, residents took this rare opportunity to question authority. Unfortunately, there are no easy answers for residents. And their biggest question - why? - may not have an answer at all. [ANN PRINCE] Photo: Ann Prince thinks living next to a Superfund site is a health hazard, and her sister-in-law agrees - but both believe it's par for the course. Like many of the region's poor, both have lived and worked near some of the area's worst polluters. Ann Prince sits inside her single-wide trailer, taking thoughtful drags off a Marlboro Red. Flanked by a pile of Beanie Babies and a collection of porcelain unicorns, Prince is nevertheless steely and direct. Northing cutesy about the subject matter; nothing cheerful about living next door to a Superfund site. Like a lot of Whitehouse residents, Prince is acutely aware of the neighborhood's two toxic waste sites, but unwilling to invest two much emotion in the issue. She labels it "nasty" and "unfair," but says in her experience, it's par for the course. She used to work at the Jefferson Smurfit pulp mill, and grew up next to the Pickettville Landfill (another of Duval County's seven Superfund sites). Coping with industry's polluting byproduct "is just one of those things that you live with." Prince's sister in law, Gretchen Gerard, lights a cigarette and nods in solidarity. "We've practically lived moving from one dump site to the next," she adds with a wry smile. "Can't seem to get away from them." Gerald, whose son Daniel is prone to seizures and chronic asthma, has little doubt that the proximity has affected her family's health. Indeed, many in Whitehouse believe they are afflicted by an inordinate amount of cancer, skin disease, diabetes and breathing ailments. One of the most common complaints is the inability of children to concentrate and learn; many families have at least one child diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Bot Gerald and Prince have kids with ADHD, and neither doubts the root of the problem. But there have been no formal health studies in Whitehouse, and none are planned. Well testing over the years has shown that the community's drinking water source, a deep aquifer, is well insulated from the highly polluted groundwater; 65 feet of clay and rock separate the two. The tests haven't reassured residents, however, whose profound distrust of the government is coupled with a deep - and real - sense of disenfranchisement. They are marginalized not only regionally (few feel any association with Jacksonville), but economically. The median income for a family of three is about $32,000, and the average per capita income is a modest $13,000. For some, the link between income and environmental woes is as clear as it is insidious. James Smith, whose trailer is on of the closest to Coleman-Evans site, says he has no doubts about the inequity. Photo: The Colman Evans site is surrounded by a chain link fence, but residents believe the fence does little to keep dangerous pollutants in - or kids out. Photo: Roy Fuller believes that Whitehouse's two toxic Superfund sites have wrecked havoc on the health of residents and will continue to affect generations to come. Photo: James Smith and his mother, Nancy Tilman, have only discovered just how toxic the adjacent Superfund site is. Although they "knew it was bad," they say the federal government has failed to explain to residents the extent of the pollution. "You would never see this in Mandarin," he says. "Your would never see this at Sawgrass ... [And] If you did, you can be damn sure it wouldn't still be a problem 19 years later." Roy Fuller agrees. Although he now lives in Ann Prince's trailer, the 36-year-old grew up at the end of nearby Machelle Road, less than a quarter-mile from the Pits. He remembers the year that the Pits broke open and swamped the neighborhood with six inches of poisonous muck. There was no attempt to clean it up, he says: the oils simply "soaked into the ground." That same ground today holds several vegetable gardens. "And nobody's done anything out there to clean it up, so no, I'm not surprised [the Superfund sites haven't been cleaned yet]." Photo: Though the house next to the Coleman-Evans site emphasizes it's cleanliness ["ENVIRONMENTALLY CLEAN" for sale sign], few residents believe their neighborhood will every be truly environmentally clean. Nevertheless, the heavy lifting of the cleanup is set to begin this years. [Note clean up was delayed again in 1999-2000 after this article was written because additional dioxin & PCP hot spots were found] Fuller believes the pollution problem might get more attention - and action - if people realized how close the sites are to Whitehouse Elementary. The Coleman- Evans property in particular is just a few hundred yards from the school. A large ball field and a playground. School officials say that are confident the site poses no treat. : All the information we've go says it continues to be not a problem or a concern," says Duval County Schools Assistant Superintendent of Facilities Services McGlade Holloway. Whitehouse Elementary Principal Bill Rodgers says he "heard nothing in the way of complaints or concerns." For those who live nearby, however, such reassurances ring hollow. "They don't know what effect this pollution might have in years to come," Fuller says heatedly. " Those of us who live here , unfortunately, know the effect." Chief among them, he believes, is the "plain truth' that exposure to pollution "affects your mental capabilities. I know, because I can see it in myself. Being the educated person that I try to be, I can tell there's some impairment." According to Mamie Norman's math, "one eye and half sense" is all anyone needs to see the toll hazardous pollution has taken on her community. Aiming an angry index finger at the Coleman-Evans plant, she explains, "People can't live normally with that thing right over there." That's not to say people want to move. Most residents have deep ties to Whitehouse: many have lived here virtually their entire lives. Their wish is to see the site cleaned up, to have a measure of peace restored to their quiet town. But there are worries. Florida's most notorious dioxin Superfund site in Pensacola prompted the relocation of 358 families - all paid for by the EPA. In Whitehouse, only one relocation is planned, for an elderly man who lives just south of Coleman-Evans, in what was once Grady Moore's house. (The resident who has advanced lung cancer, is currently hospitalized.) Through the sites aren't identical, there are some troubling similarities. Both are former wood preserving plants. Both are contaminated with high levels of dioxin and PCP. Both have leached contamination into the surrounding residential community. And while the Pensacola cleanup has been far more politicized, by some measures, the pollution at Whitehouse is more pervasive. According to EPA project manager Ken Lucas, maximum dioxin concentrations in the neighborhood surrounding the Pensacola site were less than 3 parts per billion. In Mamie Norman's ditch, the EPA found dioxin levels of 13 parts per billion. Such comparison has sparked a call for more aggressive measures in Whitehouse. "We believe the EPA needs to relocate people,: says George Jeffrey emphatically. He suggests moving everyone living within an area "five times the size of the Coleman-Evans site." In addition, he says, "Whitehouse Elementary should be moved. Many of those children don't even live there, and they're being put at risk." If residents must continue to live in Whitehouse, Suzy Spencer believes they should at least be relieved of their property tax burden. Spencer recently met with a couple of residents and Jacksonville Property Appraiser Ernie Mastroianni, urging him to waive residents's taxes. ( Mastroianni suggested they appeal to the Jacksonville City Council). Both proposals bother Norman. "I don't want no part of that. I'm not in agreement with that, saying all my property is contaminated down to a grain of salt [sized toxic dioxin to a swimming pool sized piece of land]. She shakes her head firmly. "NO ma'am." As to the prospect of moving, Norman is quickly dismissive. A move at age 65, and me having been here for 38 years?" she asks, disbelieving. " I can't think on terms like that. Moving is one of the worst things to cope with." Besides, she adds, "there's a lot went on here that's important to me. It's my home.: She laughs short and hard. "Despite everything, I guess." ED Briefing Book Main Pages: | Endocrine Disruption Briefing Book | | Attachment List, ED Briefing Book | Attachment Pages: | ADD/ADHD | | Children-Developmental Damage | | Symptoms, Physical-Cognitive | | Diabetes | | Porphyria-LiverSpots | | Porphyria-Suppressed Detox | | Thyroid Disruptions | | Cancer, et al | | Cancer, et al | | Bethune School Dioxin | | Whitehouse School Scandal | | Belgium Govt. Topples | | 314 Toxic Chemicals | | 3700 Porphyrinogenic Chemicals | | Professional Dioxin Reports | | Industry View Dioxin | | Dust Carries Toxics (Dioxin) | Cost Estimates, For Medical & Social Problems: | Overview 5 most costly dioxin diseases | ED Briefing Book Main Pages: | Endocrine Disruption Briefing Book | | Attachment List, ED Briefing Book | Attachment Pages: | ADD/ADHD | | Children-Developmental Damage | | Symptoms, Physical-Cognitive | | Diabetes | | Porphyria-LiverSpots | | Porphyria-Suppressed Detox | | Thyroid Disruptions | | Cancer, et al | | Cancer, et al | | Bethune School Dioxin | | Whitehouse School Scandal | | Belgium Govt. 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