It seeps through the air vents, shape-shifting, spreading. Reeking. Sludges past the classrooms and down hallways, slides down the pink-and-white walls, past the paper airplane on the floor, over the high-school-quality collages made to Mozart and immigrants and Sir Thomas Moore, beyond the sign advertising the school's prom, circling the area where First Lady Laura Bush gave a speech in February, marking its path with the smell of rotten eggs. "The Gassing," teachers call it. "A-Tech Stink," say the students. And while it harkens to tales of invisible airborne infections, it's no Stephen King plot. It's taking place, they say, at Advanced Technologies Academy, a magnet high school with a stellar reputation, on Vegas Drive between Rancho and Martin Luther King Boulevard. It's more than just a hold-your-nose stink, they tell you.
"It smells like frying dog shit," one senior wrote when her teacher asked the class to try to describe the smell. "I'm so goddamned mad I'm going to vomit."
The author's attitude may be more than just high school hormones. If you believe medical experts and those affected at the school, this smell makes you irritable and aggravated, as the headaches, nausea and sickness attributed to sewer gas set in.
The teachers know the pattern of The Gassing so well that when one teacher begins smelling it, he'll e-mail a colleague or two, letting them know they'll get a whiff in under an hour. It's sewer gas, or hydrogen sulfide that's finding its way into their school and workplace, and despite their complaints, their pleas for a solution, their sicknesses, some say not enough is changing. Two weeks ago, the smell was so overpowering that a student called the fire department. The east wing of the school, where they say the smell can get overwhelming, was evacuated. A private hazardous materials team was sent out. And teachers whose classrooms were affected by the smell spent up to five days holding class in the cafeteria or the gym or the library, all while trying to administer Advanced Placement tests and, well, teach.
But it's not harmful, the district says. Environmental tests have yet to show conclusive evidence that the levels of the gas are affecting anyone. Of course, the more than 40 teachers and students who have joined a class-action lawsuit against the school say otherwise.
Some teachers will say that the smell of gas has been there since the school was built in 1994. But it was less offensive then, a background smell. It took center stage in half a dozen classrooms in 2002, when the school opened the newly constructed east wing. It's in this wing that teachers say the gas is the worst; they refer to some of the more potent rooms as the gas chambers. A few of them began noticing that as the days ticked by and the smells worsened, they were all feeling similar symptoms: headache, dizziness, fatigue, burning eyes, nose and throat. They say they told administrators about the problems, and Michael Kinnaird, who was principal until he retired at the end of the 2003 school year, even admitted on the news that there was a problem and that it needed to be addressed. (Kinnaird could not be reached for comment.) Once he left and former assistant principal Jane Oler took over, some teachers say that the problems were shrugged off, called "odors" and "smells" and downplayed. It seemed litigation was their only hope.
"It was seeing these teachers who are extremely bright and well educated and could probably make a lot more money doing something else than teaching, but they choose to because they love it," says David Francis of Mainor Eglet Cottle, one of the attorneys handling the case. "And coming to us and saying this is going on in the school district and they're not doing anything about it. That's what really moved us to get involved."
With the rumblings of legal action came validation. Construction consultant and expert witness Richard Franklin began studying the situation. He suspects that an abandoned sewer line running under the east wing wasn't properly abandoned. Says that if you go up on the roof, you can see that the sewer gas vents are too close to the air handlers—when the air handlers suck in air, guess what goes in with it? The Gassing. Franklin says minor remediations have been done to try and change that, but not nearly enough.
"They're spending more money trying to prove that they're right than what it'll cost to take care of the situation," he says.
Sarah (not her real name) is an attractive young woman in her early 30s with blond hair and concerned blue eyes who, until two years ago, had a clean bill of health. She began working at A-Tech in the summer of 2002. She taught in the Cyber Schoolhouse, which offers distance education through interactive online courses. In previous jobs, she rarely took advantage of her sick days. Once she began working at A-Tech, she says, emergency room visits became a weekly occurrence.
"I was in the bathroom most of the time, throwing up in my trash can," she recalls. "Just sick, sick, sick. I took all of my sick leave days." In September, she was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease, which involves chronic inflammation of the intestines. (Researchers have not been figured out what, precisely, causes Crohn's.) Friends suggested that her ailment could be "building sickness," or an illness brought on by the environment she spent much or her time in, but she shrugged them off, thinking that A-Tech, with its strong reputation and funding, had to be safe. But after just a year of teaching, the illness became too much. In June 2003 she took a medical leave. But even now, a year later, she has a nasal lesion, a splotchy spot on her chest that has changed shape and color and broken open, and places on her back that hurt when gently touched. Still, she hasn't been to the emergency room in more than a year.
Two weeks ago, Sarah's phone rang. It was a former colleague, telling her that the fire department was at A-Tech and parts of the school were being evacuated. That's when she heard about the class-action lawsuit that was filed more than a year ago. She didn't know until then that so many other people were also getting sick. Or that her sickness may possibly be related to her former job.
"I'm so angry that people would mess around with someone's life, someone's health and their future," she says, switching from anger to laughter when she talks. "I feel hurt. I feel like something was taken away from me. My health."
Pam Young says the smells range from chemicals to crap to that of a meth lab. As a law teacher who'd been at A-Tech since the building opened in 1994, she's been increasingly sick since she moved into the new east wing two years ago. In April 2003, she began marking the smells and symptoms on her calendar. That month there were eight incidents. In May there were five. One day a student became dizzy, nauseous and burst into tears. In August, the second day back in the building for the new school year, she wrote down "fuzzy mental process," noting that she was bitchy as hell. In September there were two days. In November, two more—on the 11th she noted a sewer odor, and on the 25th it smelled like paint. December had 10. January, 15. Some days her eyes would burn, others she'd have trouble breathing and become dizzy. She had raging sinus infections that, even on antibiotics, would last for months. Her doctor tells her she's on the verge of developing lung disease and is investigating whether her heart's been affected. She says she submits workers comp claims, and the district sends her to a doctor not covered by her medical plan. The claims are all later denied, and she's billed for the doctor's visit. (The workers comp office refused to answer any questions because of pending litigation.)
But the worst part isn't the money. It's the attitude teachers say they're faced with. The principal, Jane Oler, rarely even smells the stench. And when she does, she rarely correlates it with the sewer gas. "We've been told its coming from the outside," says Young, in reference to Oler. "She said it was a stink bomb. There's no evidence [of stink bombs] ... When I told the kids that they were laughing hysterically."
The fire department visited the school May 4, after a concerned student called to report the stench, which was particularly ripe that day. As in past visits, they found nothing conclusive. Some classrooms had been evacuated when they arrived, says Tim Szymanski, public-information officer for the fire department, but nobody was treated for medical problems or taken to the hospital, and their meters didn't indicate any harmful levels. The prognosis: Drain traps that are usually full of water—that's what stops the naturally occurring sewer gas from entering the building—had dried, allowing the stench to fill the halls. The fire department told the principal to call a plumber.
The haz-mat team had similar findings—no harmful levels detected. Still, it was enough of a disruption that Principal Oler sent home memos with the students alerting parents that there was an odor issue at A-Tech.
"Dear Parent and Student,
"For the last few days, we had an unpleasant odor in some classrooms. Although we have had some other times during the year with an odor, today the odor was more unpleasant and we moved some classes to alternate rooms while district personnel expanded their investigation. We also had the fire department come to check the rooms with their instruments. Although the smell was not found to be at a harmful level, it was not pleasant. Tomorrow as personnel work to correct the problem, we may need to again move some classes ..."
Teachers say it was the first time Oler, who's been a principal there for a year and was assistant principal prior to that, acknowledged the smells. In a clean, institutional feeling conference room across from her office, dressed in a blue jacket and white pants, Oler agrees that on May 4 they had "a situation with smells." She says in the 10 years she's been there, they'd never had a problem like it, and she's not convinced that the smell was internal. Though she admits she's smelled a sewer-like smell twice before May, she thinks this problem came from outside the building.
And she's proud of that student who called the fire department. Because safety comes first. "That was great. And I have to say that was great because my thing for every teacher, student, custodian or whoever, we want it to be safe for the kids. So I appreciate them coming."
Oler can't discuss the class action lawsuit, but gives the impression that she'd say a mouthful if she could. With stern lines on her face, Oler is well-spoken, carefully choosing her words, and she seems genuinely mystified by the complaints. Perhaps, she says, some people are more sensitive than others.
"Don't get me wrong. If I sit there peeling my little onion, will it bother my eyes? Yes. But it won't always." Then again, Oler goes on to admit, she may not be the best person to talk to when it comes to odors. "I'm at a disadvantage," she admits. "I can smell it sometimes, but I don't have a very good nose."
Disadvantage? Sounds more like a symptom to Dr. Kaye Kilburn, a professor in the department of medicine at the University of Southern California who's a sewer gas expert. Though Kilburn isn't familiar with the A-Tech situation specifically, he's at the forefront of the study of hydrogen sulfide on the body. And when told about Oler's olfactory shortcomings, he's quick. "Can she smell anything? Because this is the first thing you'd be suspicious about." After prolonged exposure to sewer gas, he explains, well, "She's probably lost her ability—you lose the ability to smell hydrogen sulfide because of nasal fatigue."
Of course, hydrogen sulfide exposure can become far more serious than nasal fatigue. Kilburn says the main organs affected by sewer gas exposure are the lungs and the brain, exhibiting problems with balance, memory and concentration—all measurable enough results that Kilburn says the plaintiffs in hydrogen sulfide lawsuits almost always win.
"This is a brain-damaging chemical," he says. "It will kill in sufficient concentrations. If it doesn't, it maims just as solidly as being dropped down an elevator shaft. You know, if you only drop six feet you may only break a leg, 12 feet you probably will break one or both legs. It's that kind of thing."
But not everyone in the school is being maimed. There are more than 1,000 students, and 32 have joined the lawsuit. There are 59 teachers in the school. Thirty or more were sent e-mails last week from Las Vegas Weekly, asking what they thought of the stink and the lawsuit. Are the teachers complaining seen as "troublemakers" by colleagues and by the administration, as attorney David Francis suggested?
Three teachers responded. Two said they're not affected by the smell, but if people are getting sick, they hope the problem gets resolved soon. Another took a much stronger stance. This person wished to remain anonymous, because, he or she wrote, teachers are using "strong-arm" tactics to recruit others into the lawsuit.
"As far as the health problems go, it appears to me that the problems reported could come from a variety of environmental factors including anything from the extreme pollen counts that are currently in the Valley to poor diets. The health problems also seem to be inconsistent, varying from hypertension to memory loss. If all these people were exposed to the same 'gas,' wouldn't the health problems be similar?" The writer of the e-mail goes on to wonder why, if the teachers and students are sick, don't they transfer elsewhere.
Two teachers say they don't leave because their job is too specialized to find elsewhere. Another insists he'll stay around until the problem is resolved. One faculty member says he's on the brink of leaving, if nothing changes. But until environmental tests start showing some kind of harmful result, what's to change?
For 30 days starting in September 2003, the district paid $31,000 to a company called Environmental Health Services to perform an in-depth examination of A-Tech. The company's report, dated December 19, 2003, found that there wasn't enough sewer gas or any other element to be detrimental to students or staff, according to Albert C. Jones, a district public-information specialist in the facilities division. Just like earlier this month, when the fire department didn't find any harmful levels. More tests were performed following the evacuation, which found some minor problems, like dry drain traps.
"There was a smoke test where they run smoke through the pipes," says Jones. "It found some cracks in a couple of toilets and they were replaced immediately. Otherwise there were no leaks or anything like that."
Try telling that to Mike Fox, a computer graphics and video instruction teacher who's in his eighth year at A-Tech.
"I personally witnessed the smoke coming out from the floor in the classroom across the hall from me. If smoke's coming out of there, then sewer gas is coming out of there. We were told that there was two problems by the administration that they found. I was told by some of the workers that there was multiple problems."
Fox is also part of the lawsuit, and he, as well as the other teachers interviewed for this story, insist that if the school district had corrected the problems in 2002, when the health problems began, wouldn't be an issue now.
"I'm angry that they're obviously trying to cover it up," he says. "We asked from day one, all anyone wanted them to do was fix it. And they kind of brushed us aside. And we told them if you don't fix it, we'll get a lawyer. And it wasn't until we got a lawyer that anything has been done. They've been fixing it now, two years later."
He fears it's too late. Because of constant eye irritation as a result of the gassing, Fox says, his eyes can no longer produce tears on their own. He uses drops to lubricate them. He's always fatigued—too tired to come home and do anything, much less play with his new baby and the rest of his family. Over-the-counter painkillers don't remedy his splitting headaches. He has lung problems. Although his doctors couldn't draw a solid correlation between his sicknesses and sewer gas exposure, they tell him to get out of the school anyway—harder than it sounds, considering the narrow focus of his expertise.
Same goes for Richard Warren, who teaches law. Warren had to have his sinuses surgically cleared over the 2003 Christmas break, in what he describes as "Roto-Rooter" fashion. After the procedure, Warren says, the doctor described what he found inside: "He looks at my wife and says his sinuses looked like a sewer. A virtual sewer."
A former LAPD Detective, Warren's a tough guy with a soft side. He's angry about what's happened to him—the burning eyes, lung disease, headaches, fatigue. Annoyed that on days of The Gassing, he must change clothes in his garage and then take sometimes two showers to keep the egg-rot stench out of his house. But what gets under his skin more even than the smell is the thought of the students and other teachers getting sick; the fear that it could be passed on to future generations. "I told that school district attorney that I hate, it's a female, that if one of my students ever calls me up and says she gave birth to something that doesn't look like a human being, then you're going to see the wrath of God come on you. And then I will tear you up one side and down the other. And I don't mean to be a total threat to her. But I want to imply to her that you ought to take it seriously." (Calls to the lawyer were not returned by deadline.)
And maybe they are taking it seriously. Since the evacuation, teachers say there have been trucks working outside the school at night. Carpet has been removed from at least one classroom, and it's clear that a work crew's been there. The school district says that the remediation work that needed to be done already has been. But then what are the work crews doing? Perhaps that's just The Gassing taking on a life of its own, infectious, invisible tendrils and all, at night.