© 1999 by European Society of Cardiology
Copyright © 1999, European Society of Cardiology
Wasting away: what a waste
Part 3
Division of Cardiovascular Diseases, University of Tennessee, Memphis College of Medicine, Rm. 353 Dobbs Research Institute, 951 Court Avenue, Memphis, TN 38163, USA
* Tel.: +1-573-882-8580; fax: +1-573-884-4691 WeberKT{at}health.missouri.edu
Received 5 July 1999; accepted 26 July 1999
Wednesday, July 3, 1996. Chief Benton, Sam Adams, Frank Watkins and C.O. sat together reviewing information they had gathered about events in Hawk Point (see Cardiovasc Res 1999;42:xxx and yyy). Dr. Brian Parsons, practitioner in Hawk Point, had reviewed the telephone survey, distilled clinical features and was prepared to present his diagnosis.
‘Provisionally — and given the negative lab results obtained for parasites and bacterial pathogens, together with the clinical presentation — I believe we should implicate Cryptosporidiosis,’ said Brian. ‘I will immediately call my office to obtain stool specimens from affected families. Cryptosporidium oocysts have been identified as late as 20–30 days after the onset of infection,’ noted Parsons.
‘I heard about testing untreated water for Cryptosporidium using a fluorescent labeled monoclonal antibody technique,’ remarked Frank Watkins. ‘We could use it.’
‘Brian and I have pinpointed households of affected families,’ Chief Benton said. He brought out the county map, identifying a clustering of affected residences on the west end of town surrounding the lake and Refuge. ‘The artesian well on that side of town must be contaminated. And that is consistent with Daisy's Day Care Center being involved, but not Wonder World or the pool in Stetson. But how, and why?’
‘Let's think about what's located above the well that could pollute its water,’ remarked Frank.
‘The new hog farm located on the bluff!’ said Sam, smacking his hands together. ‘That must be it. Those waste lagoons are allowing fecal contaminants to seep through the earth into the well.’
‘I'll use a tracer dye to see if such a communication exists between the farm and our well water,’ said Frank.
‘Could such waste also be affecting the lake and Gregor's Creek in the Refuge?’ asked C.O.
‘Let's all four of us head up to the hog farm and have a look around. Talk with the owner,’ suggested Benton.
They all piled into Benton's unmarked car and drove north on Route 61. Vehicular traffic soon came to a crawl, and then a halt. A traffic jam did not occur often in Hawk Point. Local officials had made provisions for the Boy Scout Jamboree to parade through the Refuge and across the roadway at this hour. Waiting patiently in bumper-to-bumper traffic, windows rolled down for ventilation, the investigative team was startled by the sound of a vehicle speeding along the shoulder of the road. It was a red pickup truck driving recklessly and with a callous disregard for safety and road etiquette. It passed all stopped traffic on the right. Slouched over the steering wheel was a skinny, elderly man. His hands firmly gripped the wheel at 11 and 1 o’clock, while he peered straight ahead. As it passed, the word P-R-E-D-A-T-O-R was seen painted on the rear panel. A gun rack complete with rifle was visible in the truck's rear window. A cloud of dust soon provided cover.
‘If we weren’t on business, I’d give him a ticket,’ said Chief Benton, his face crimson with anger.
‘What road rage!’ commented an irritated C.O. ‘I’m no psychiatrist, but that man is arrogant, selfish, and power-hungry. He's likely filled with ruthless ambition, and he's endangering the lives of those scouts and all these motorists. A callous disregard for human life.’
‘You’re likely right, C.O.,’ noted Brian. ‘But in addition, he's probably on a markedly restricted cholesterol diet. Wouldn’t be surprised if his serum cholesterol is less than 180 mg%. Studies have shown that aggressive behavior, including road rage and suicidal behavior, are fostered when cholesterol is reduced too drastically. Not to mention faulty judgement. He needs that backbone molecule for the lipid bilayers of his brain cells and for steroid hormone formation.’
‘OK. A thug with cortical atrophy, then,’ said an exasperated C.O.
Benton's dark gray sedan was finally able to resume its journey. As it pulled onto the long dirt driveway at the entrance to the hog farm, the car passed under the archway of a wrought-iron sign that stretched across the path. It read: Tyrant's Farm. Benton parked near the farmhouse between several pickup trucks — a red one to the left labeled Predator and a black one to the right named Intimidator. C.O. noted each truck had cast-iron front fenders that protruded 12 inches from the truck's body. Paint smudges were evident on each, particularly on their right sides. The hood to the red truck was still warm, heat waves shimmering off its surface.
The group was greeted by a young man wearing jeans, a plaid western-style shirt and wide-brimmed hat. He introduced himself as Chuck Jokes, foreman at the farm. In response to their request, he volunteered to take the visitors on a tour of the facilities. He claimed the owner was not available. The four visitors stared at each other. Strange. Did he have something to hide?
The methane stench was almost overwhelming. It imparted a viscosity to the air, a miasma that oozed its way into skin where it likely took up residence, only to evaporate days later. Sam Adams kept a watch for fallen, sick hogs. None were seen in the barns.
Frank Watkins requested a tour of farmland and waste lagoons. Jokes provided for same. The size of these lagoons was incredible, and each was filled to capacity. Like rotting Swiss cheese, there were more lagoons than surface land. Down by the creek that traversed the farm, Benton saw the remnants of a bonfire. Burnt timber. ‘What's this all about?’ he asked, pointing in the direction of the ashes. ‘Did you have a permit for this fire?’
‘Don’t know if we had a permit,’ remarked Jokes. ‘You'll have to ask the owner, Dex Tyrant, when he's available. But we had the darndest cookout over the weekend before Memorial Day. May 25 and 26, as I recall. Tyrant's annual roadkill cookout. Had visitors from as far away as Kentucky and West Virginia. Dex is a master chef. He cooks up a barbecued ‘coon and ‘possum that's out of this world,’ he added with pride.
‘Was any alcohol consumed at the barbecue?’ inquired Benton.
‘Of course. We had several kegs of beer for our guests.’
Looking up from the creek bed toward the farm, Frank noted that one lagoon had been damaged, a track of eroded dirt leading directly to the creek. The lagoon's contents were much less than its counterparts. Frank asked Jokes if there was a mishap with that particular lagoon, causing a spillage of its contents. Perhaps it occurred during the cookout, he suggested. Jokes studied the ground and shuffled his feet as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar. ‘Can’t rightly say,’ he responded.
‘When will Dex Tyrant be expected?’ asked C.O.
‘Maybe tomorrow’, said Jokes.
‘We'll come back then and tell Dex — or is it Dexter? — we expect to see him then,’ commented an intimidating Chief Benton. ‘He's got some explaining to do. We also need to conduct a test tomorrow.’
The team returned to police headquarters in Benton's car. A mood of despair prevailed. In addition, there was outrage at what they had seen.
‘Who monitors this farm? Is there any quality assurance?’ asked Parsons. ‘That owner, Dexter Tyrant, avoids any accountability for his actions. He has contempt for his fellow man and our environment. A self-assured bigot.’
‘I'll bring along the tracer dye tomorrow to assess for any connection between the open-air lagoons and our artesian well,’ noted Frank.
‘It's probably been enough for 1 day, gentlemen,’ commented Benton. ‘We'll come together again in the morning.’ He dropped them off at police headquarters. ‘And C.O., if I know what you’re thinkin’, we'll need to follow up on those pickup trucks.’ C.O. nodded in agreement, his mind abuzz with private thoughts.
That night, C.O. returned to the Flying F Travel Plaza for dinner and then to the Mystic's Lounge for a nightcap. He also wanted to speak with bartender Mike Hunt again.
‘Evening, Mike. How goes it?’
‘Doin’ fine. Did ya’ uncover any information today?’
‘We may have. Tell me, whaddya know about a man named Dexter Tyrant? Lives up on the bluff overlooking Hawk Point.’
‘Arrogant, selfish, power-hungry sonofabitch,’ commented Mike as he angrily wiped down the bar. ‘Wouldn’t trust him at all.’
‘Does he have any friends? Is he married? Any kids?’
‘Far's I can tell, he ain’t got no friends. Who would want to be seen with that miserable old man? On his second marriage, but his wife's younger, ya know. Never around. Makes excuses for needin’ to be outta town a lot. Ole Dex probably can’t keep her happy. Know what I mean? And his kids have disowned him. I’m told they never speak to him. Can’t stand the sight of him. He likes to count his money and play the stock market. Never comes to town, except on July fourth, when he always attends the dance over at the VFW Hall. Likes to watch the ladies.’
‘Thanks, Mike. I’m going to call it a day,’ said C.O. as he finished off his single malt.
Thursday, July 4. C.O.'s ride over to Chief Benton's office was again filled with thought. He had a plan.
‘Good morning, Chief. Mind if I have Betty track down someone for me? Need to talk to him this morning, if possible. It's related to the case we’re working on.’
‘Not at all. Go right ahead.’
‘Betty, would you telephone a Louis Miller for me? He lives in Urbana. Call him at home. Let me speak with him. Thanks much.’
C.O. and Benton had reviewed their findings from Wednesday. It appeared certain that fecal contamination of the artesian well from the hog farm had caused the outbreak of gastrointestinal illness in Hawk Point. Cryptosporidial infection seemed likely and awaited confirmation. The townspeople would be advised to boil their drinking water until proper assurance could be provided as to its eradication. But what about Doc Murphy? His death was another matter.
‘C.O., I’ve got Lou Miller on the line,’ interrupted Betty.
‘Good morning, Professor Miller,’ said C.O. ‘Sorry to bother you at home on July 4th. I’m with the medical examiner's office in Chicago. Calling you from Hawk Point, near Quincy. Investigating a possible homicide. What can you tell me about Ignacio Delgado?’
‘A bright young scholar and scientist visiting us from Madrid,’ replied the professor and chair of the Department of Ichthyology at the University of Illinois-Urbana. ‘He was an expert on marine biotoxins. Died in a motor vehicle accident. Tragic. Police called it a suicide, but I doubt that very much. A practitioner in Hawk Point named Murphy called me in early June about a suspicious illness that affected several of his patients after they’d been fishing in Gregor's Creek. Some were struck with memory loss, confusion, and leg ulcers. Others had headaches, skin rash, eye and upper respiratory irritation with muscle cramps. Murphy suspected Pfiesteria. Its toxins, which include neurotoxins, can cause such symptoms. I asked Ignacio to visit the area, run some tests, and make inquiries. He was on his way back here when he had the accident. The diagnosis was confirmed only days ago on samples he sent us by mail. In his letter he indicated he was taking the precaution of mailing me the samples of Creek water because he feared retribution from an irate and threatening hog farmer, a man named Tyrant. Because I was away lecturing in Spain, I never had the chance to read the letter and run the tests until this week. I called to share the information with Murphy, but learned from his office that he had died in a motor vehicle accident. Strange coincidence.’
‘Probably not a coincidence, Professor,’ said C.O. ‘Thanks for your help, and good luck to you.’
‘Chief, I think we can make a case for homicide,’ said C.O. After they’d shared the information of C.O.'s call to Professor Miller, Benton determined he would speak with the district attorney and investigate the paint smears on the front fenders to Tyrant's pickup trucks. ‘He probably ran them off the road. That would explain the damage to their taillight and the strange trajectory of their car. Thank you, C.O. I'll be forever grateful to you,’ he said as he sealed his feelings with a firm handshake. And where a handshake still meant something.
‘Floyd, why not pick up Tyrant for questioning?’ said C.O. ‘How about tonight, in the middle of the dance at the VFW Hall?’
Friday, July 5. Driving expressway traffic to the Department of Forensic Pathology, with the radio playing Three Dog Night singing How Can People Be So Heartless, C.O. wondered if the behavior of Dexter Tyrant was inborn, inbred or acquired from dietary modification as Brian had suggested. Perhaps all three. In any event, Tyrant and people like him were a scourge on society. Nothing but serial killers.
C.O. sat in Cy Litwak's office Friday morning recounting events and findings in Hawk Point. ‘That's an amazing piece of investigation, C.O.,’ said Cy with pride. ‘Well done.’
‘They don’t call me C.O. Jones for nothing. Maybe I can still take Vi Integra to the concert tonight.’
Postscript
We are ‘wasting away.’ Manure, now referred to as ‘waste,’ is damaging rural communities and threatening the health of those living in rural and urban locales. Waste handling has received much attention in recent years since illegal dumping and lagoon spills — polluted runoff — is a major contaminant of waterways. Runoffs have replaced industrial pollution as a major threat to our environment. Migrating manure contains excess amount of nutrients (e.g., nitrogen and phosphorus), as well as pathogens, heavy metals, hormones, antibiotics and ammonia. ‘Nutrient’ pollution contributes to harmful algal blooms, such as those associated with the appearance of the dinoflagellate Pfiesteria piscicida, and its potent toxins. Often referred to as the ‘cell from hell’ these one-cell microbes affect both fish and man. Pfiesteria infestation caused water-skiers and fishermen to become ill, including neurologic symptoms, after coming in contact with infested waters of the Chesapeake Bay, the largest US estuary. An estimated 400 000 people residing in Milwaukee developed acute diarrhea in 1993. The epidemic was caused by Cryptosporidium oocysts that had passed filtration at the city's treatment plant. Aside from the suffering and death of immunocompromised individuals, there were 37 million dollars in lost wages and productivity.
And what a waste! Its volume is overwhelming. Annual manure production in the US is 2.7 trillion pounds. That's 130 times more excreta than the entire population generates. In North Carolina, a state where hog farming has thrived, 19 million tons of excreta are generated annually by 10 million hogs. That's 50 000 tons per day. In 1995, a large waste lagoon burst and dumped 22 million gallons of hog waste into a river. By comparison, the Exxon Valdez disaster of a decade ago caused a spill of 11 million gallons of crude oil.
It's time for everyone to take responsibility for the environment.
CiteULike 
Connotea 
Del.icio.us What's this?
| ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||