After I got home on February 15, 2008, my world turned upside down. I wasn’t allowed inside the house; Jack and a couple of the cops entered so Jack could show them what chemicals he had. As he entered the house, Jack freaked out a bit, grabbing all of my hanging clothes (which were on a chinning bar and blocking the entrance to the back hallway) and flung them onto the floor in the living room and front hall (a very small space). They got trampled over the next few days as countless police and firemen entered the house. however, the path to Jack’s room and the basement door was now unobstructed. Jack identified his chemicals and the circus began. Firetrucks arrived, as did town police cars, state police cars, and a variety of other vehicles. The Hazmat crew blocked the road. News crews arrived. An ambulance was used by law enforcement personnel for conferences. It was quite cold. The Red Cross set up in the church across Route 202, for bathrooms, coffee, and food for all of the first responders.
Hours went by. Men from different agencies argued in the driveway and in the ambulance. My immediate neighbor was evacuated from his house but he didn’t go far; he stayed the night in the house across the street from my house. Eventually, Jack and I we were asked into the ambulance so Jack could identify his chemicals again, in Polaroid photos that they had taken. At this point, I was told that we weren’t going to be allowed back into the house until the next day. I was allowed in briefly to pick up my prescription medications (I could tell that they had been examined as all of the lids were loose), my cat (she had been confined in the bathroom throughout the afternoon and evening), and my toothbrush. I had no clean clothing; (I got clean underwear at Walmart the next day). They parked a firetruck in the driveway; we parked Jack’s car around the corner. Jack and I went to a local motel for the rest of the night; we smuggled the cat in. We cried together. The cat bounced from bed to bed. She is agoraphobic and has never done well in new places. We didn’t sleep very well, either.
The next morning, I got a call from the ATF agent about 9 AM. We were still at the hotel, trying to figure out what we had to do; Jack had an appointment with his new lawyer, David Hoose, that afternoon. We wanted to see what was going on at the house and I needed a place to park the cat. The ATF agent wanted Jack to come back and identify chemicals again. We called Jack’s lawyer. He was out of town and didn’t want Jack to talk to the cops without him; he wouldn’t be back until afternoon. I called the ATF agent back and finally agreed that I would accompany Jack and not let him say anything that Hoose didn’t approve of. When we got back to the house, again, I wasn’t allowed in but the ATF agent told me that he wouldn’t allow any interrogation. He understood that we were trying to cooperate but that we had invoked the right to counsel. Still, one of the cops tried to get Jack to admit to making methamphetamine in the lab (which, of course, he hadn’t). Jack sarcastically asked the cop if he saw the specialized equipment and gas tanks required for that synthesis; another cop laughed at Jack’s comments and said something about the ignorance of the first cop. The first one shut up.
The Hazmat team had set up a heated tent in the middle of my street. The ATF agent brought us into the tent and we chatted; he gave us bottles of Red Cross water and food. He was not happy with what was happening but told us that it was out of his hands, that once Hazmat arrived, they controlled the scene. At some point, one of the Hazmat guys had told me that my house might have to be blown up because they didn’t think they could get all explosive materials out of the house safely. Jack got excited and told them that he would be happy to bring everything out. The Hazmat guys also had a giant Winnebago for a Command Center. As Saturday wore on, Jack and I sat in the Winnebago for a while, watching ”Private Benjamin” on the giant flatscreen TV.
Jack and I left midafternoon, to bring the cat to John’s house and to go to David Hoose’s office in Northampton. We returned to the house as dump trucks filled with sand arrived to take away Jack’s chemicals. They went to the dump, to be detonated by the bomb squad. They made about twelve trips before it got too late. They called it a day around 11 PM. Jack went to his father’s house and I went to a different hotel, a nicer but cheaper place.
Sunday saw a definite difference in the attitude of the Hazmat people. I sat for hours in their command center. More dump trucks came and left but the hazmat guys had become friendly. They told me that they considered this an unscheduled drill. There were only a few police cars left and as the day progressed, they left. Finally, about 3 PM, everyone left. My house was condemned; they had shut off the gas on Friday, when they were afraid that the place would explode, and as I have gas heat, they also shut off the water so my pipes wouldn’t freeze. any house with no heat or water is automatically condemned but the mess didn't help. The gas company and water department wouldn’t come until Monday to turn the services back on. At that point, the health department would inspect and allow me to stay in the house. I went in and started picking up. I stuffed all of my trampled clothes into hampers to go to the laundry. I mopped up mud. I moved the construction materials and tools upstairs. I cleared the table. It took hours to clean up the aftermath of the invasion. I went back to the hotel for one last night, to return Monday morning to pick up some more while I waited for heat and water, and for my inspection. Other than all of the debris of the raid, the house was just messy; it didn't take long for me to pick up. Jack's scoutmaster came with a couple of helpers to move boxes from the basement into the attic of the garage.
The inspection went well; I was allowed to resume occupation of my house. I got the cat back from John and life was supposed to go back to normal.
Two big things got damaged in the raid. The Hazmat guys had opened my bulkhead doors for easy access to the basement. The doors were rusty and they broke the hinges. I had always been careful when opening or closing the doors but the guys weren't. I had to replace the doors once warm weather arrived. Also, they clogged the sink in the basement; the washing machine no longer drained. Eventually, Jack snaked the pipes and the sink once again drained, but it took a long time before he did it. I don't know what they did to clog the drain. It was a major inconvenience to not be able to use my washing machine until we figured out what the problem was. The hazmat guys had left a lot of stuff in the basement, including speedy-dry all over the floor, so they wouldn't slip on the mud and water that they had tracked in. Jack cleaned the basement.
I didn’t mention the news reports. WWLP, the local NBC affiliate, reported on Saturday morning that there was a hazardous materials situation, then speculated that a meth lab had been found. They mentioned Jack by name. they had a picture of my house with the words, "Meth lab?" underneath it. My aunt saw the report and told other members of my family that Jack had been making drugs. The local CBS station was also initially negative in their coverage but flipped and became sympathetic so they would contrast with the NBC station’s coverage. The Daily Hampshire Gazette claimed that GHB, the date-rape drug, had been found in the house. It wasn’t. Both WWLP and the Daily Hampshire Gazette either made up their claims or relied on sources who made them up. In both cases, they are lousy journalists.
On the bulletin boards of MassLive, the website of the Springfield Republican newspapers, several people who claimed to be my neighbors said that they were organizing to sue me. Supposedly, a mass meeting was going to take place at the Polish American club, down the street from my house. The lawyer that they had consulted would speak and was going to be available for others to join the suit. I went to the PAC at the scheduled time. A friend drove me, and was prepared to act as moral support. Other than the bartender, who knew nothing about a meetings, there were three people there. Two were from WWLP – a reporter and a cameraman. The third was the son of a real neighbor, who was there to defend me. None of the people who had been posting about how terrible a person – as a neighbor and as a parent - I am, bothered to show up. I eventually posted a note on MassLive, asking why they had attacked me in that venue, and telling everyone what wonderful and supportive neighbors I really have. One writer said that another poster, an old woman, had died as a result of the uproar and accused Jack of setting off stink bombs the previous year at South Hadley High School. I explained that Jack had never attended SHHS and, indeed, had never even been in the building. I also suggested that such baseless accusations might be libel. He didn’t respond.
I got bills from the state, approximately $20,000 for the hazmat response, and from the dump, approximately $8,000 for the extra hours and equipment used. I wrote both, telling the state that there had not been on chemical spill (the law under which they could make a claim against me required a chemical spill) and asking for timesheets and verification from the dump. The dump never responded and they quit billing me. The state sent their bill to a collection agency. I haven’t paid. The most recent bill was about $30,000. I’m unemployed. Even if I thought I owed the money, I don’t have it. But I don’t owe them for their “unscheduled drill.”
No comments:
Post a Comment