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An amateur photographer in Minot pointed a camera out his kitchen window about 2 a.m. Jan. 18 and captured the white mist caused by an anhydrous ammonia spill. Photo by David Eide / Special to The Forum
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Lost in the cloud: Ammonia spill leaves Minot in blind panic
By Steven P. Wagner
The Forum - 08/18/2002
MINOT, N.D. -- Kenny Moe finished his shift at the Minot Post Office and dashed outside shortly after 2 a.m. Jan. 18, braving the 6-below cold to warm up his car and scrape the windshield. His ride home would take him three miles outside of Minot, along Highway 2 and a narrow hillside road to the home he shared with his wife, Jen. As he headed west, Moe found his thoughts wandering to the pending spring: raising his purebred Roller pigeons from England, restoring a 1928 Dodge Coupe and entertaining friends at the lake. His attention turned back to the highway as he saw the red flashing lights of emergency vehicles at Behm's Truck Stop, a 24-hour haven for semi drivers hauling loads to the West Coast and Canada. Normally well-lighted and lively, Behm's showed no signs of life. Next door, the Country Kitchen restaurant also appeared desolate, except for the cluster of fire trucks parked outside. "They never stopped me," said Moe, 55, recalling the morning his life changed unexpectedly. He drove on, unaware that parts of Minot had been jolted awake by the derailment of a 112-car Canadian Pacific Railway train at 1:34 a.m. He drove on, toward a toxic cloud of anhydrous ammonia that spewed from punctured rail cars and drifted through the Souris River Valley. Moe didn't know what to make of the slow-moving, mysterious cloud that appeared before him on the deserted highway. It looked like a giant gray pillow, then a slithering silver snake. "I saw a haze in front of me and I thought there was a fire," Moe said. Within seconds, it would consume him. Born from the rails Nestled between the north and south hills of the Souris River Valley, Minot owes its early roots to the arrival of the railroad industry in 1886. Its nickname, "The Magic City,'' refers to the near-overnight population boom that occurred as thousands of workers pitched camps and began laying tracks west across barren prairies. Yet by Jan. 18, the day Minot awoke to a deadly derailment, the railroad appeared as an afterthought to most of its 36,567 residents. The city today serves as a hub for northwestern North Dakota, with most jobs tied to the Air Force base, a regional hospital and back-office support for businesses such as ING Group and Sykes Enterprises. The last time the railroad made significant news was eight years ago, when another Canadian Pacific train wrecked outside of town. Propane from a derailed tank car exploded, severely burning Chad Yale, a 16-year-old boy who lived near the tracks. The Jan. 18 wreck was far greater in magnitude, resulting in what local fire official Bob Wetzler called "the largest release of anhydrous ammonia in the world.'' A poisonous vapor plume filled the valley, affecting about 15,000 people -- more than 40 percent of Minot. Canadian Pacific's train No. 292-16 began its journey in Medicine Hat, Alberta, and was bound for St. Paul. About a half mile west of Minot, traveling 41 mph through a light snow cloud, it rolled over a rough spot in the track. Conductor Craig Benson told the train engineer to hit the brakes. "I turned and looked out the window and I began to see sparks flying out from underneath the wheels," Benson later told federal investigators. "I then looked out the window again, and we had a major explosion. I knew there were explosions because I felt the concussion and I heard it." Seven tanker cars crumpled and burst, and three others cracked, spilling more than 250,000 gallons of anhydrous ammonia onto the ground. Within minutes, the chemical formed a vapor cloud in the still night air. The train crew frantically unhitched the two locomotives and headed toward Minot, where they called 911. Initial 911 call from the conductor on the derailed train Behind them, they left 31 cars strewn like Pick Up Sticks alongside the tracks, which skirt the Souris River and a small, wooded neighborhood called Tierrecita Vallejo -- Spanish for "Lovely land of the valley." The 350-foot-tall vapor cloud quickly filled the valley and settled over an area five miles long and 2.5 miles wide. 'Acid in my eyes' As postal worker Kenny Moe continued his journey home early that morning, his eyes burned as he drove into the cloud. "It hit my eyes like two ice picks," he said. "It was like somebody dumped acid in my eyes. "My lungs just filled up with the crap. Then, like a snake, it came slithering across the road. This pillow pushed the other pillow up." Anhydrous ammonia is a clear, colorless and highly corrosive chemical primarily used in farm fertilizers, refrigeration and household detergents. The human body acts as a magnet for ammonia because the chemical is attracted to moisture, with the eyes, skin and respiratory system susceptible to exposure. "When you're sucking that stuff in, it's pure chemical, and you hope there is a pocket of chemical that isn't as strong," Moe said. "You go into a cloud of smoke for 20 minutes and your whole life is different." Blinded and gasping for oxygen, he struggled in the anhydrous cloud. "I thought I could drive out of it," he recalled. "I said, 'Stay calm,' and I had to get out of it." Memories raced through his mind: his wife at home, flashbacks from the Vietnam War, where he spent three tours building base camps for troops under siege by the Viet Cong, and summer weekends at his family's cabin on Lake Metigoshe near the Canadian border. Moe slowed the car, unable to see, hoping to feel the road beneath the tires. In front of him, through the dense cloud, he saw faint lights from a parked pickup. He pressed a button to roll down the car's electric windows, hoping to see and breathe better. "I rolled down the window and wham, that stuff hit me," he said. "My face muscles were just twitching and stuff was running out of my nose." Gagging, Moe struggled to remain conscious. The pickup sped away, leaving him alone in the cloud. "All my plans and dreams were going to end right there," Moe said. "I prayed a lot in 'Nam, but in that cloud I didn't once because I knew if I did, I would give up." He turned onto a narrow, winding two-lane blacktop, hoping to outrace the cloud before it reached his home. Code Green John Grabinger and his wife, MaLea, were among those who, in a panic, tried to leave their home after hearing the explosion and breathing the caustic air. A 33,630-gallon tanker car landed about 150 feet from their Tierrecita Vallejo home. John drove their pickup into the blinding cloud and into the side of a neighbor's garage. MaLea left the truck and found her way into the home. John got out, too, but tried to make his way across the street to his home. He never made it -- he was overcome by the toxic fumes. "There's a man down in his driveway," neighbor Linda Juntunen told a 911 dispatcher at 2:06 a.m. "His wife just came into our home and she's very, very sick." John Grabinger, 38, president of a local hardware store and avid Green Bay Packers fan, was the lone fatality Jan. 18. Before the day ended, more than 330 people would be treated at Trinity Hospital and emergency triage centers. Eleven would remain in the hospital with serious burns and respiratory problems. In the next two months, more than 1,600 people would seek treatment for recurring ailments. A quarter-mile from the Grabingers' home, Ward County Deputy Scott Erb, responding to the report of a derailment, drove straight into the cloud. At first, he thought it was a patch of fog stretched across the road. "I'm down by the bypass, I'm not really sure where," Erb said over the police radio at 1:53 a.m. "Don't come in." "Well, get out of there," another deputy warned. "I'm stuck in the ditch someplace," he said. Disoriented and unable to see in the plume, Erb covered his mouth with his jacket and waited for help. The pungent air forced him to vomit eight times. He swallowed it each time, easing the burning in his throat and lungs. Firefighters pulled him to safety an hour and 47 minutes later. Firefighters and deputies set up roadblocks around the cloud to prevent anyone from entering it. The wind shifted the cloud back and forth in the valley and forced rescuers to move the roadblocks several times. By 2:15 a.m., the first disaster victim arrived at Trinity Hospital in downtown Minot. Hundreds of people -- reporting sudden coughing, heavy breathing and burning eyes and skin -- followed. Officials declared "Code Green," representing a disaster situation, and told all employees to report to work. "I wondered if there would be a lot of fatalities," recalled Julie Waldera, nurse manager for the emergency trauma center. "You didn't know when the worst was going to be over." Fighting to survive Tierrecita Vallejo residents awoke to the sound of colliding steel tankers, explosions and trees snapping in their neighborhood. One tanker car flew about 1,000 feet and ripped through the bedroom of a home. The wreck also knocked down power lines, leaving the surrounding area in the dark. Without electricity for well pumps, residents couldn't follow advice from 911 dispatchers to run their showers. The hot water would create a steam room that would absorb the ammonia vapor. At least one family, looking to cover their mouths from the burning chemical, dipped towels into their toilet and used them to cover their faces. Several more hopped in vehicles to drive away but became lost in the cloud. Nearly 90 minutes passed before local TV and radio stations broadcast the first emergency message informing residents to "shelter in place," or remain in their homes. Panicking residents jammed 911 phone lines -- more than 2,800 calls were answered that day -- searching for help and advice. Others braced themselves for personal battles against the cloud: - Cory Thompson, who stopped at the Country Kitchen to drink coffee and chat with friends about midnight, was among those who rescued truckers sleeping inside their semis. Thompson, 25, ran into the cloud again and again, his lungs burning as he stumbled to reach trucks parked in two nearby lots. - Two Minot police officers drove into the cloud four times, desperately attempting to reach their families and take them to safety. Gasping for air, they covered their faces the final time with gas masks and ran inside a convenience store, where nearly 40 people gathered to escape the plume. Footage from squad car approaching the anhydrous cloud - Sue Ellen Johnson, a 50-year-old elementary school music teacher who sings weekly at her church, was trapped with her husband and son inside the family's mini-van in Tierrecita Vallejo. "If you don't have Jesus in your heart right now, you had better get him in your heart right now, because I'm not going to heaven without you," she told them. Twenty minutes later, she declared the family would die. - "I honestly thought we were going to die if we didn't get out of this house," recalled 34-year-old Monique Aller, a customer service agent for Northwest Airlines. "We couldn't breathe." She fled the family's home with her husband, Ron, and their two children, and later sought shelter inside his office at the Minot Air Force Base, 11 miles north of the city. "Until I heard it was a derailment, I thought it was terrorists," she said. "I thought little Minot was bombed." Return to the cloud The air cleared as Kenny Moe drove up the hillside toward home. Relieved but disoriented, he stumbled as he stepped into his driveway. "I got home and fell to the ground. I was coughing. My back muscles were twitching,'' he said. But the cool and clean air provided temporary relief to the burning sensation in his mouth, lungs and throat. Moe didn't notice the subzero temperatures as he forced himself up and reached for the door. Once inside, he attempted to make sense of the mysterious cloud. Everyone in Minot would die, he thought. No one would be left to perform the funeral services. He called Trinity Hospital, where he told a worker he had been in the cloud and felt severe symptoms. "They said to get into fresh air," Moe said. "I said I was, and they hung up." Then he called 911. The line was busy. He called the emergency assistance number printed inside his telephone book. "If you have any contacts whatsoever, you'll get somebody to close that road," Moe told the operator. He called the hospital again and an operator told him to come in. He and Jen climbed into the car and drove back roads to Minot's south side. "There was this huge cloud hanging over the valley," Moe said. "I said, 'Hell with the hospital.' I wanted to get Jen's mom out of her house in the valley." Dolly, Jen's 80-year-old mother, lived alone and might not make it out on her own. So despite his own reservations, Moe headed back. This time, he encountered an officer who told them they weren't allowed past a roadblock. "You already let me in once," Moe told him. The officer warned that he was on his own and let him drive through. "We went in and, to me, it wasn't bad," said Moe, recalling his earlier drive through the cloud. "My wife, by the time we got there, could hardly breathe." At Dolly's, Jen woke up her mother and Moe grabbed towels from a closet. He wet them and told the women to breathe through the moistened cloth. Moe's hands were burning from the ammonia, like he had just washed them in gasoline. "By the time we got outside, the cloud bank is rolling in," he said. It was time to move again. Moe ushered the women to the car and raced home. "I said we need to get home and listen to the radio. All we can do is sit and wait.'' Wednesday in "Derailed Lives'': Neighbors help neighbors as the ammonia cloud engulfs Tierrecita Vallejo. Readers can reach Forum reporter Steven P. Wagner at (701) 241-5542
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