Toxic Trailers

But that response was too little, too late in the minds of many area politicians. Rep. Bennie G. Thompson of Mississippi, chairman of the Committee on Homeland Security, was incensed and issued this statement on Thursday: "After over a year of sitting on their hands, the Bush administration has finally provided clear and accurate information to trailer occupants about the potential risks of formaldehyde to their health. It is simply unacceptable that the administration allowed trailer occupants to be exposed to these health risks at all, let alone for years."

Down here in Carrollton, folks struggled to figure out how to handle this latest twist in the long, weary journey home. The news confirmed their worst fears. But many will not find it easy to uproot yet again, and relocate to the unknown.

Ceolia Brown spent Friday afternoon in her toxic abode, catching up with a girlfriend. It was raining outside, so she kept the windows shut tight, despite the dangers, the dampness still somehow managing to find its way in. The trailer is neat and well-organized, but four people are hard-pressed to array themselves inside without touching. The family's belongings are crammed beneath benches that convert into beds. The trailer is parked just yards from the front door of their storm-damaged home. From here, they can keep watch, and guard against those who might break in to their old residence. Ceolia has heard the latest news; FEMA is moving people out of the trailers and into hotels and apartments. But the agency has not contacted her directly. She is wary of leaving; but the health risks frighten her. For now, she's staying put. "I guess we have no choice," she says, looking around the trailer sadly.

Elsewhere in the city, the boosters are trying not to let word of the formaldehyde problem crush the spirit of renewal. The NBA is in town for its All-Star game this weekend, and has co-sponsored the rehab of several houses on Lizardi Street. Kristin Gisleson Palmer, director of Rebuilding Together New Orleans, a venerable community-service group, warns against dwelling on the toxic trailers issue. Residents here "are old," she says, as basketball players wield paintbrushes behind her. "They don't need to be scared."

Sidney Davis, a 67-year-old former Merchant Marine, is doing his best not to be. He's spent his whole life here in the Lower Ninth Ward, and he is not anxious to move away from family and friends. He and his cousin rode out the storm together, and were taken by boat to the Superdome when the levies broke. They were shipped out to Texas, but started making their way back as soon as they could; both were back in the ward in FEMA trailers by December 2005. He began hearing tales of trouble early on. "FEMA knew, too, but they just ignored it," he says. Asked about relocating, Davis just shakes his head. "Where could you go to rent? The prices around here are sky high. So we are stuck." But he has high-blood pressure and diabetes, and FEMA's Paulison has said he wants to move the elderly and most vulnerable out of the trailers and into hotels and apartments within the next two weeks.

Davis says he's a plumber's visit away from being able to move back into his house. In the meantime, he does what he can to avoid exposure to the formaldehyde. "If I didn't keep the windows open, my eyes would be running. I knew about formaldehyde, I learned about it in barber school," he says. "I didn't complain about it; at least I have somewhere to stay. But these weren't meant to be lived in--they aren't healthy, not healthy for me at all." For now, he's waiting for FEMA's call.

© 2008