
[Picher is a former mining town in northeast Oklahoma. It was the site of the May 10 EF-4 tornado that killed six people and leveled half the town. It’s also one of the oldest and biggest toxic waste sites in the country, with the contamination due to waste from the abandoned lead and zinc mines. Photo by Gary Crow]
By John Sutter
As I reported in today’s paper, Picher-Cardin schools opened again today, despite a spring tornado that almost leveled the town, and a government buyout that is sapping Picher of its remaining residents because of environmental and safety risks.
This is a nostalgic moment for many of the people who live in the area, or have moved away from the dangers of sink-holes and lead poisoning associated with Picher’s abandoned underground mines.
Sitting in Oklahoma City or Tulsa, that may be hard to understand. Whenever I talk to people here about Picher–which is the heart of the Tar Creek Superfund site–they invariably think it’s bizarre that residents would cling to a town that’s had so many problems. According to the school’s elementary principal, there are students who have been saving up all summer so that they can afford to drive back into town from their new homes outside the waste site. Other residents insist that they’re not leaving town, despite evidence they’re putting themselves in danger.
When asked why they cling to this place, time and again Picher residents give me one answer: it’s home.
Picher and its tough times and make-it-work attitude will live on in their minds. Some people are starting to accept that. Others simply don’t want to let go. There’s too much history, too many memories, too much emotion.
I must admit that I too get a bit nostalgic on days like today, when so much is uncertain about the future of the town. I know that Kim Pace, the elementary school principal, typically prays over each classroom in her school on the night before the first day of classes. She wants school to be normal for her students, but in a year in which all but one of the students in Kindergarten through 3rd grade have moved away because there houses were destroyed by a tornado, that’s hard to imagine, even for an eternal optimist like Pace.
This year is particularly hard because of the agonizing limbo the teachers and students have been in for three years–or decades, really, since environmental problems date back to the 80s. In 2006, Pace readied her classrooms for the first day of school thinking she’d never be doing it again, because the school and the town were expected to close. She was teary eyed on that day as she talked about anticipating the school’s final moments, and the day she would close down a campus where she was the high school homecoming queen, where she developed a passion for Picher and its residents.
Those feelings came back again in 2007, and they’re back again today.
In 2006, I attended the first day of Picher-Cardin classes with a senior student named Tracy Carder. As I wrote in a story for The Oklahoman, Carder sat in a science classroom alone. She tapped her old basketball coach’s door, knowing enrollment at the school was too low then to support the Gorilla team, on which she was a star 3-point shooter. She cried over the fact that few of her friends were there. She stayed because she wanted to graduate from her hometown high school. She was sure she would be part of the last class.
This year, 47 students are expected to enroll at Picher-Cardin, and again, people are speculating this will be the school’s last year — maybe the last year for the town.