The Center for Public Integrity

Oil companies should phase out the use of a highly toxic acid that places millions at risk, a new report from the union representing many refinery workers says.

The report from the United Steelworkers cites data gathered and analyzed by the Center for Public Integrity for a 2011 story that found more than 16 million Americans live in the potential pathway of hydrofluoric acid (HF) if it were released in an accident or a terrorist attack.

The union’s report, drawing on the results of a survey of its local officials at 23 refineries that use the acid, says both regulators and oil companies have failed to ensure that it is handled safely and recommends steps that could protect workers and the public as refineries transition away from HF.

Officials at 18 of the 23 refineries reported a total of 131 accidents or near-misses involving HF during the previous three years.

“There must be a fundamental change in the oil industry’s use of HF,” the report concludes. “[Use of the acid] as it is currently performed in U.S. refineries is a risk too great, but that risk can be reduced and ultimately eliminated.”

The American Fuel and Petrochemical Manufacturers, a trade group, said Monday it had not yet seen the report. However, it said that "refiners have used HF safely for more than 70 years," and "switching from HF may either not be feasible or could simply serve to just shift risk to other parts of the supply chain."

Oil refiners use HF to boost the octane rating of gasoline.  The acid is an efficient catalyst, but it also has the potential to form a cloud that can travel long distances, sickening or killing those in its path.

FALLS CHURCH, Va. — The woman who helped free an entire community from a toxic dump, literally rewriting environmental laws in the process, was so shy at the start of the struggle she tried to hide behind a tree when neighbors called on her.

Lois Gibbs took to the stage that day 35 years ago, in the seemingly idyllic community of Love Canal, N.Y., and began to find her voice. Transforming herself from homemaker to hell-raiser, she helped convince then-President Jimmy Carter to come to town in 1980 and remove 900 families from a 21,000-ton toxic dump. Earlier that year, Gibbs and her neighbors held two Environmental Protection Agency officials captive in a ploy to get the president’s attention. It worked.

Long before Erin Brockovich became a movie, Gibbs helped secure an environmental victory of greater heft. Love Canal’s war against the toxins under its feet prompted the federal government to create the Superfund cleanup program and earned Gibbs the Goldman Environmental Prize.

Today she is still in the fight as executive director of the Center for Health, Environment & Justice, a nonprofit squired in a third-floor corner office in a nondescript building in Fairfax County, Va., a few miles from Washington, D.C. A tiny gray sign hangs outside the door, betraying no sense of the history inside.

BELLE ROSE, La. — Tim Brown eases his john boat from his back yard dock into his daily therapy: The Bayou Corne that courses through this patch of southern Louisiana like a lifeline. Brown powers past the Tupelo Gum, Cypress Moss and Swamp Maple trees that drape the bayou in a frame, and steers to the spot where he reels catfish and collects thoughts.

“If I had to actually leave this place and go back to a house on dry land, I’d probably be dead in two years,” says Brown, 65 and retiring next year. “I guess you can say it’s a totally different life out here.”

But now that life, for Brown and 350 other residents in a neighborhood with “Crawfish Crossing” signs and roads named Gumbo, Jambalaya and Crawfish Stew Street, has been shattered by discovery of a 14-acre sinkhole that fractured the community’s calm and may bury its dreams.

The sinkhole, triggered by a collapsed cavern operated by salt mining operator Texas Brine Company LLC, swallowed trees and fouled the air when it appeared August 3. Its discovery sent the Bayou Corne community here in Belle Rose into a state of emergency: Assumption Parish and Louisiana officials ordered a still-in-effect evacuation as state officials scrambled to unearth what happened.

“Initially the concern was, that first day, you have a sinkhole … and you don’t know what caused it. All you know is a 400-by-400 section of marshland just got converted to a muddy pit. Trees were sinking into it and not coming back. It was like quicksand,” said Patrick Courreges, a spokesman for the Louisiana Department of Natural Resources.

Congress, the Occupational Safety and Health Administration and the Justice Department are beginning to respond to the NPR-Center for Public Integrity Series on hundreds of persistent and preventable deaths in grain storage bins and weak enforcement by federal agencies.

Two federal officials familiar with the case say that the Justice Department is again considering criminal charges in the incident in Mt. Carroll, Ill.,in 2010, in which 14-year-old Wyatt Whitebread and 19-year-old Alex Pacas suffocated in thousands of bushels of corn. Will Piper, 20, survived but was unable to save his friends and co-workers. The owner of the grain bin, Haasbach LLC, was initially fined $555,000 but OSHA cut the fine by more than 60 percent.

NPR/CPI obtained Labor Department documents that showed the Justice Department initially declined to file criminal charges in the case, despite multiple willful violations and what one former OSHA official called "the worst of the worst" cases.

The officials now tell NPR that the Justice Department asked the Labor Department to again provide the Mt. Carroll case files. The request was made in January when NPR and CPI were pressing the agency to respond to questions about the case.

"They're taking another look" at the Mt. Carroll incident, one source said.

"They should reconsider," says Annette Pacas, Alex's mother. "It was a crime. They killed two kids. It should be prosecuted as a crime."

Wyatt Whitebread's mother Carla is hoping criminal charges will follow.

Targeting a law critics chide as dated and weak, Sen. Patty Murray has introduced legislation that would strengthen the 1970 law governing workplace safety.

The bill, called the Protecting America’s Workers Act, addresses regulatory gaps that The Center for Public Integrity has highlighted as part of the ongoing series Hard Labor.

“This legislation is a long-overdue update to the [Occupational Safety and Health] Act, and a good step towards making workplaces safer and healthier across America,” Murray, a Democrat from Washington state, said in a statement. Ten other Democratic senators have signed on as co-sponsors.

Similar legislation has died in previous years amid opposition from industry groups. The Chamber of Commerce and the National Association of Manufacturers did not respond to interview requests Thursday.

The bill would give the Occupational Safety and Health Administration more powerful enforcement tools.

Currently, an employer whose willful violation of the law leads to a worker’s death faces a misdemeanor and a maximum six-month prison sentence. A person could face twice the prison time for harassing a wild burro on public lands. Murray’s bill would make knowing violations that lead to a worker death a felony, punishable by up to 10 years in prison.

The legislation also would increase civil penalties, which have not been changed since 1990. OSHA is one of few federal agencies excluded from a law that allows fines to rise over time with inflation.

MT. CARROLL, Ill. — Will Piper and Alex Pacas were being buried alive.

It was July 28, 2010, just before 10 a.m., and the young men strained to breathe as wet corn piled up around them in Bin No. 9 at the Haasbach LLC grain storage facility. A co-worker, Wyatt Whitebread, had already been pulled under.

The ordeal in Bin No. 9 played out over 13 hours as hundreds of townspeople maintained a vigil outside. In the end, Whitebread, 14, and Pacas, 19, were dead. Piper, 20, avoided suffocation by inches.

Whitebread, compact and athletic, was happy to have summer work. Pacas, slight and musical, was an aspiring electrical engineer just days away from returning to classes at Hamilton Technical College in Davenport, Iowa. He’d started at Haasbach the day before.

“He prayed for his life,” survivor Piper said of Pacas’s last moments. “He said all he wanted to do is see his brothers graduate high school. And then he spouted off the Lord’s Prayer very quickly, and shortly after that one last chunk of corn came flowing down and went around his face.”

The three had been hired to keep corn flowing in the bin, one of 13 in the Haasbach complex on Mill Road in Mt. Carroll, population 1,700. They’d been sent in with pick axes and shovels that morning to break up corn piled 10 to 24 feet high in the bin and knock clumps from the walls. No one had told them they needed to wear safety harnesses — stored in a red shed nearby — to keep from sinking.

“I had no idea that someone could get trapped and die in the corn,” Piper told investigators with the Department of Labor’s Occupational Safety and Health Administration.

Grain storage in the United States is surging, in part because of the boom in biofuels. Yet at worksites, farmers and commercial operators keep making the same mistakes. Workers, some of them young, keep drowning in grain or getting hurt.

Should farms be regulated?

Corn storage on farms and in commercial structures doubled between 1978 and 2010, climbing from 5.4 billion bushels to a record 10.93 billion bushels, according to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

With growth has come tragedy: worker entrapment deaths in corn or other grains — wheat, barley, soybeans — hit a recent peak in 2010, a Center for Public Integrity-NPR investigation found. In at least 51 incidents that year, 26 bodies were recovered. More than two-thirds of the entrapments occurred on farms, as did four of six incidents involving workers under 16.

Commercial operations are overseen by the U.S. Occupational Safety and Health Administration. Most farms aren’t — but perhaps should be, some say.

“We’ve got farmers who are building more space and bigger space, and it’s going to cause more issues,” Jeff Adkisson, executive vice president of the Grain and Feed Association of Illinois, which represents commercial operators, said at a grain bin safety conference in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, last fall. “I think it’s time for industry, for government, for all of us to pause and have the conversation again about who is exempt and who is not exempt from some of the standards.”

Adkisson and others in the grain-storage industry have said for years that the bulk of entrapments occur on farms. This is based largely on the work of Purdue University professor William Field, who has put 70 percent of the incidents with reported locations on farms, 30 percent at commercial facilities.

But the Center and NPR found 60 fatal and five non-fatal cases in an OSHA enforcement database that were not included in Field’s studies. All occurred at commercial operations.

In response, Field redid his numbers. He found that 52 percent of the entrapments with known locations took place on farms, 48 percent at commercial facilities.

HINKLEY, Calif. – Ten days before Christmas 1965, Pacific Gas & Electric Co. station chief Richard Jacobs walked a half-block on a dusty road lined with scraggly creosote shrubs to check out a neighbor’s toilet.

Jacobs carried with him a secret, something he referred to as the “chromate problem.”

Starting in 1952, the power company began mixing a toxic form of chromium with water to prevent rust at a new pipeline pumping station in Hinkley, a remote desert community united by a single school and a general store. PG&E dumped the chromium-laced water into a pond.

Lately there had been reports of problems with the neighbors’ wells. PG&E had just drawn greenish water from one well and discovered high levels of chromium. Now, retired farmer John Speth was complaining of greenish deposits in his toilet bowl.

Jacobs took a look in the bowl but assured Speth that PG&E had nothing to do with it. “When I left Mr. Speth,” Jacobs later wrote in longhand, “he was satisfied but still concerned about his water.” Speth died of stomach cancer in 1974.

It wasn’t until Dec. 7, 1987 — 22 years after that visit to Speth’s house — that PG&E finally told the local water board that it had contaminated the underground water. The company claimed it had discovered the problem just one week earlier.

From here, the story is familiar to anyone who saw the hit film Erin Brockovich. The corporate polluter was taken to court. The victims got millions of dollars. Problem solved.