EAST PALESTINE, Ohio – This hamlet was once known as a factory town. When the pottery and tire makers closed, it became a bedroom community for steel mills and an automotive plant. More recently, families have called it a quiet haven offering good schools and a reasonable commute to and from Pittsburgh. Then came the Feb. 3 train derailment, and, days later, the enormous black cloud of burning chemicals.

Two weeks after the derailment, many residents are wondering if their village can recover from the disaster and retain its identity, or inherit an unwanted new one. Melissa Smith, owner of a farm and candle shop, says her community will have to be strong, and she fears what the disaster’s legacy will mean for it.

“How can we not be known as that toxic town?” she wondered.

Ever since a Norfolk Southern train caught fire and crashed here on Feb. 3, just a few miles from the Pennsylvania border, many of East Palestine’s 4,700 residents find themselves trying to both protect their families and salvage their community’s reputation. A few have already made decisions to keep their kids out of school or to leave altogether, skeptical of assurances that the air is clear of hazardous chemicals released during and after the crash. That leaves the rest with little choice but to hold out hope and fight for accountability as they watch disaster continue to unfold.

Across the nation are towns scarred by industrial pollution, including several still in recovery. The most famous of these is Love Canal – a community built on a toxic waste site near Niagara Falls, N.Y. – which has endured decades of litigation and remediation, with some residents still unsure if their neighborhood is safe. Lesser known but on the minds of some is Times Beach, Mo., which was evacuated in 1983 after flooding and extensive dioxin pollution.

In East Palestine, residents are just starting to seek answers. Hundreds of them packed a town hall this week, shouting questions and venting their frustrations to state and local leaders. Ben Terwilliger was among those who thought better to just stay home, stay patient and conserve energy for the fight ahead.

“I don’t have any illusions this is going to resolve itself anytime soon,” Terwilliger said. “I’m in it for the long haul.”

Flay Stewart, a former town firefighter and council member, is, too. He said he knows his lifelong home as a place where neighbors look out for each other; dissension is rare. But his next-door neighbors fled to West Virginia after the derailment and told him recently they aren’t coming back.

A diabetic, Stewart said the stress of the situation caused his blood sugar to skyrocket. He can’t help but wonder what will happen the first time a heavy rain falls, and what toxins it will bring to the surface. It makes it hard to believe the crisis will just blow over.

“I hope that and I pray that, but I don’t know that,” Stewart said.

Before there was such a thing as the Rust Belt, East Palestine had a passenger train stop and a theater, and in 1920, it was a bona fide city of nearly 6,000. In the decades to follow, that proved to be a peak – East Palestine is now considered a village – but the community found its footing nonetheless.

Residents flock to high school football games – despite their losing record – and to a spacious park, with its walking trail and public swimming pool that Terwilliger said often draws more vehicles with Pennsylvania license plates than Ohio ones. Many who grow up in town stay, or if not, return to raise families, Smith said. Shops at the heart of town, long hurt by the rise of malls, Walmart, the internet and the covid-19 pandemic, had been seeing a resurgence of commerce, Stewart said.

“We were starting to make a comeback,” Stewart said.

But then came a Norfolk Southern train bound for Conway, Pa. Surveillance video showed it was on fire more than a dozen miles before it reached East Palestine and skidded off its tracks late on a Friday night. Eleven of the 50 rail cars involved in the crash contained hazardous materials including vinyl chloride and butyl acrylate, both used in plastics manufacturing.

Two days later, concerned that a tank explosion was imminent, authorities ordered residents to evacuate and decided to allow the controlled release of vinyl chloride from a train car that was getting alarmingly hot. Norfolk Southern has been reimbursing residents for expenses related to evacuation and home cleanup, and also pledged to remain on-site until safety is ensured.

The emergency response phase isn’t done yet, Ohio Environmental Protection Agency Director Anne Vogel said Thursday. But when it is, the road to recovery remains long, and not assured. Environmental officials are readying plans to search out and remediate any toxic waste spreading in soil and groundwater.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Vogel said at a news conference. “It will take as long as it takes.”

That’s okay with Terwilliger, who said he’s confident more will become clear in the coming weeks and months about the hazards, and the future, the community faces.

He lives with his wife, Kristy, another lifelong East Palestinian, and their two teenage children, on the north side of the tracks. This week, a view of the towering black smoke out their front windows was replaced by a parade of tanker trucks coming to haul contaminated water away from the derailment site.

“I’ve usually been the guy with answers, but now I can’t be,” Terwilliger said. “I don’t really blame any of the officials. I think they did the very best they could under the circumstances, and they don’t have answers either.”

He attended one of many meetings around town this week where lawyers were seeking out clients, explaining to residents their options going forward. It still feels too soon for any decisions, he said.

“I thought I had things figured out at 51, and this just hit me in the face,” Terwilliger said.

But across the tracks, the disaster is too much for Jenna Catone to bear. The single mother wonders what level of contamination has poured into the windows of the house where she and her 9-year-old son live. It directly faces the crash site.

She has felt at home there the past four years, happy with the special attention her son, Kayden, receives at school. She worries it will be impossible to keep him safe if she stays in the house – which she rents for less than $1,000 a month – but also isn’t sure where else she could afford to go. When Kayden asks whether it’s safe to take a bath, she doesn’t know what to say.

Catone said she can see East Palestine’s resolve. Shops downtown have hung signs that say “Please Pray for E.P. & our Future” and “EP Strong.” But it’s not enough to keep her here.

“There’s not enough strength in a community that would let your child breathe in toxins,” Catone said. She plans to find a new home this spring, perhaps near her hometown of North Jackson, Ohio, some 45 minutes away.

When she heads out of town, she’ll pass welcome signs that declare what East Palestine still is for those staying behind: “Where You Want to Be.”

– – –

Rebecca Kiger contributed to this report.

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