Living on the Fenceline

Overview | Conversations with Advocates of Fair Growth | Living on the Fenceline

Deloris Brown

Deloris Brown, 71, lives at 240 Diamond Street in the Diamond subdivision of NORCO, LA. She lives hard up against the railroad track and our conversation was frequently interrupted by the rattle of tank cars passing a few feet away. A tank car derailed in a neighbor's ditch not long ago, she notes. Shell ran a pipeline through her back yard and cut down two of her shade trees so that the roots would not interfere with the pipe.

Brown's blue clapboard house is in urgent need of repair. Her brother, who lives with her, has multiple health problems and shuffles painfully through the house as he makes his way to the screened porch. His loud, labored breathing suggests serious respiratory problems. Despite the clearly difficult circumstances in which she lives, Brown remains dignified, thoughtful, and even philosophic in her responses to my questions. She paused periodically to sell hard candies and frozen cups out of her refrigerator to a stream of neighborhood kids who use her living room as their penny-candy store. Again and again she patiently counted out the pennies and nickels from the neighbor children's hands and explained to them what they could afford with their money, chatting in a familiar way with each of them. Brown is clearly part of the social glue that holds this neighborhood together.

Brown is so discouraged by Shell's refusal to relocate the people on Diamond and East Streets that she says she just wishes that if Shell won't relocate her at least they will help her fix up her home like they fixed up the homes of the people in the white part of NORCO on Apple Street.

Interview:

I moved here to this house about 31 years ago but I have been here in NORCO all my life and I am 71 years old. My dad was from Baton Rouge but my mom was from NORCO, born and raised. We lived in Belltown when I was about four or five and then moved to what became the spillway where that built the chemical plant. Then they [Shell] took all that and we moved back here on Diamond.

My sisters were still over there in Belltown when they sold the Diamond plantation. The owners gave the people the houses but they sold the land to Shell. They tore down the houses and took the materials with them. The part where the plant [now] is there was a pasture and they had a few houses over there, but the houses were right in where the plant is [now and had to be moved]. The man who owned all this, Dan Ziegel (sp?), sold them lots to build. A lot of people had their own lots but they had never built on them so when they put pressure on them that the man was selling out the plantation house, they had to move and relocate.

I remember the old plantation. Yes indeed . . . yes indeed. The old houses had pecan trees where the plant is . . . and the muddy street going down to River Road. Yes, indeed, [I remember] the pastures and fields, the barns where we would clean shallots. I was married while we still visited there . . . . People had gardens and farm animals and when they moved over some of them started up gardens again. They don't do that any more. Everybody on both sides [of the street] they had their own gardens. But they started having problems with the plants. Mostly everything they grow looked like it didn't work out. Now some people still have a garden . . . like J. T. Johnson . . . I think they are moving out . . . so a lot of people started complaining about their trees and different things were not producing and they thought it was from the chemicals from the plant. It was hard on people on Washington Street who raised everything . . . everything.

I don't know if you heard about it . . . two people . . . they had an explosion over there . . . about 17 years ago . . . they just buried his momma, Miss Ruth [Jones]. And he [Leroy Jones] was killed and another old lady [Helen Washington]. So when Margie [Richard] started a group, and I was with Margie, I contacted Shell [to sell] and they looked at everything and in about a month . . . I will never forget it . . . they offered me $20,000. But this is all I have. It runs from this street to the next street . . . . $20,000. (Outraged.)

It [the offer] had to be in the early 1980's . . . right after Miss Washington died [in 1977] . . . . because I was shook up. Other people got over it right quick but I will never get over it. When that explosion happened I was under the line hanging up clothes . . . because we have a pipeline running right here because they [Shell] gave those people $250 to run that pipeline. The house where my son is . . . it is on his land too. I knew the pipeline was here when I bought it but I was just desperate and wanted somewhere to stay. And they offered me $20,000 for my house. (Incredulous.)

I signed to let them cut down a couple of trees because they said the roots would go under the pipeline and cause a problem and they gave me $300 to cut down two nice trees. And my son was angry about it. He said: 'Don't do nothing with those people.' I was cooperating with them. Then they asked me not to pour a slab on that side of the house because it would be hard for them to get to the pipeline. So I said I would sign that I would not pour a slab over there. I said: 'You can't stop progress.' But that was too much when they offered $20,000, my God. Since then I have not gone down to the office on Apple Street [where the Voluntary Relocation Program is located] I said, no, I am just going to stay here. A couple of my kids still live here. It is confusing sometimes with these trains going in the plant and noise. It is scary.

I would like to be relocated if it is possible. They had a paper the other day, which said they don't want to buy us out, but they might fix the houses up or something like they did on Apple Street. I haven't seen the papers to prove they did it [fixed the houses on Apple Street] but I believe they did it. All of a sudden everybody [over there] just got their house repaired and everything . . . It just looked too phony . . . a fool would know better than that. Now my dad was a Shell man. And they [the residents of the houses that were fixed up on Apple Street] might have been people who worked at Shell and had close contact . . . They had talked to me about fixing mine. And Josephine Berring, they fixed her roof: her daddy was a Shell man. I say that if they are not going to move us they should fix up my house just like they did in the white section. But I never heard from them no more . . . . So that is what I put on the paper they sent me the other day. If they would be willing to fix my house I would be willing to stay.

Yes, the explosion had a big effect on this house. But when you put the sheetrock up the [vibration of the house from the train] just makes it crack and tear and it shakes. The explosion broke out the windows and everything and I just ran out through the back . . . I just prayed I wouldn't cut my feet . . . but I was running the wrong way. Umhmmm . . . that was scary, scary, scary. Yeah, we got out by car through the spillway and stayed with my niece in La Place until about ten they next day. They gave me $15,000 to fix up the house after five years in court . . . .

The explosions worry my most . . . and the odor. You here a noise and you think: "I wonder what is happening in NORCO now. It is just scary. I am afraid of the explosion and that any time it might be something.

I have friends over on Cathy and Washington streets who have left. Some cousins also and church members. They are gone already. Members of the Good Hope Church. Oh yeah, [I'm seeing the community shrinking.] But I am glad for it because I am glad they are getting out. We went every day to the court except one day, my friend and I, but she has passed now, I'm so sorry. We lost but we won [the court battle.] We kept pressuring them [and they bought out two streets.] But the court didn't give us nothing. They [the court] didn't think it was nothing and the attorney they had . . . I used to put diapers on the attorney. He didn't forget either. I used to baby-sit him . . . All of them had their money.

I think they [the people being relocated] got pretty good prices, except the woman who had a little house in her mama's yard. She is just getting a share. For awhile people were talking that Shell was going to look for land and move everybody together so you wouldn't have to be around strangers and things like that. But that all stopped and I never heard no more about it.

I think so [my health has been affected living by the plant]. I think it has something to do with your breathing and I think sometimes it goes into your intestines . . . People say it smells like rotten cabbage. I call them [Shell officials] at night sometimes: it seems like it is worse at night . . . sometimes in the day and sometimes at night. I have called my brother-in-law on many nights [when the odor gets bad] because he retired from Shell. He would say: 'Let me call you back.' He would go out in the street and look and then call me back and tell me it was ok. I would [also] call my sister and she would say it was all right. But my nerves were just shattered when those people died. I went out in the street and looked at the flames and everything. I don't see how those people in NORCO on Good Hope Street put up with it. There is no way I would live there. If they gave me the finest house on those streets I couldn't live over there. You don't need your light and your house would be all light up in the houses right on the fence: NORCO and Good Hope Street. But I guess they are used to it. Quite a lot of them look like they are selling out, now.

I have a brother on East Street, my daughter, son, friends, church members . . . most of them are over here. I had a cousin on Washington Street. My brother is trying to get away from here too. My daughter really wants to go. My son would like to go to Hammond or get clean away from here and live in Chicago . . . get out of Louisiana. But I think they still have a heavy note on their home.

They [Shell] bought the [Gaspard] Mule property. That has been there all my life. They call it the Gaspard Line. There used to be a meat market [back near there] when I was raised up. They say they bought that. I heard they paid $150,000. They say they are going to make something out of that.

Yes, they [the store owners] would lose some business from us [if we relocated]. But I guess most of them who left will still come to church down here because most of them have cars. So they could travel.

One time I tank car came over in my neighbor's ditch, that was quite a few years ago. I didn't spill so we didn't have to evacuate. Further down, near Good Hope it did spill.

If they don't buy us out as they say I hope they do come help me do a little nailing on it. [Fix my house up]. You know . . . They say the have money for recreation but I sure hope they spend some on fixing up houses [here]. The fixed some houses up over there [on Apple street, on the white side of town] because Shell just got it out of their pocket and did it. That's right: and that is my belief. I know they did it for the XXXs (intelligible.) because she told me straight. They sure did. So I hope they fix my house. It was nice. I answered that paper [the survey] as best as I could: how do I feel, what do I think. I would love to be relocated but if they are not going to please give me a hand with my house. Maybe they found out I went to court; they might be holding that against me. (Laughs.) They might be saying: 'Oh, she was one of those smart ones who went to court.' You know people take things that way. We can keep knocking [on trying to get relocated] but if the will not do it, since I only have a few years I just want them to make it comfortable for me.

top^