On a trip to Arkansas, rolling south along Hwy 69, we happened upon the (recently) abandoned -- in the last dozen years -- lead-poisoned town of Picher, Oklahoma. With both of us being unaware of the existence of this place just beyond our state's border, it was quite shocking to drive into a town with a new-looking freshly-painted water tower proclaiming "Picher, Home of the Gorillas since 1918" --- but there was no town, there were no houses, other than a cluster of brick duplexes near the water town, with a decidedly apocalyptic vibe. There was no window or door glass in any of them and the weeds were asserting dominance.
Across the street from the water tower was what appeared to be a small memorial plaza.
And a gorilla statue
proudly noting a football state championship in 1984.
It's a "blink-and-you'll-miss-it" kind of town and we were through it before either of us could really register what we had just witnessed. Steve did mention "holy crap, this looks like a Superfund town." I'm 53 years old and I don't really know what "superfund" means, although I recall hearing the term when I was a kid back in the early 80s. We did not stop on our first trip through. I'll admit it gave me a creepy, disturbing vibe .... but I was also intrigued. I spent that evening once we arrived at our destination Googling "Picher, Oklahoma" and diving deep down the rabbit hole. That sealed the deal. Although we had intended to take a different route home, I convinced the husband to drive out of the way on the return trip so we could come back and explore Picher.
A brief history of Picher's rise and fall is provided on the placards that are placed at the memorial plaza with the gorilla statue.
Picher was settled as a zinc/lead mining town in the 1920s and the mines were in operation until the 1970s. Lead from the mines was used to provide a large number of bullets in both World Wars.
A remnant of the mining era.
As a residual of that mining activity, the town is surrounded by chat piles hundreds of feet high, very visible on Google satellite view. Mountains of carcinogenic and neurologic toxicity.
Google Maps satellite view demonstrating the dozens of chat piles surrounding Picher, Oklahoma.
For decades, kids played on these piles and families picnicked on them. Townspeople mixed the chat with cement to pour their driveways. They used the chat as filler in their kids' sandboxes. They even swam in the tailing ponds.
The citizens undertook all these activities unaware of the extreme toxic danger this posed. The slag piles are composed of lead dust that poisoned the air they breathed and the water they drank, swam, and bathed in.
One of the dozens of toxic lead piles that surrounds the town.
After swimming in the tailing ponds, they assumed they just had a sunburn, when in actuality their reddened skin was the result of chemical burns.
It wasn't until the mid 1990s that awareness began to dawn. A school counselor and/or the Bureau of Indian Health (I've found both referenced) noted there were a large number of kids in the school district exhibiting learning difficulties. Eventually all the students were tested for lead and an overwhelming percentage tested positive for toxic lead levels.
The school complex is fenced off with "No Trepassing - U.S. Govt" signs
The football field and track.
Assuming this is the gym.
The school building was built in 1987, but the extensive undermining throughout the town has made all structures susceptible to being swallowed by sinkholes.
The EPA designated the area the "Tar Creek Superfund" in 1983 and deemed the area uninhabitable. The federal government ordered the entire town to permanently evacuate and provided the citizens with federal funds for relocation.
An EF4 tornado in 2008 accelerated that process, destroying 168 buildings in town and killing 6 people. That was the final nail in the coffin for the town.
Alta Street, which saw a direct hit from the tornado. Houses at one time lined this street.
In
Google Maps screenshot of Alta St, March 2008 (two months before the F4 tornado on 5/10/2008)
In May 2009, the school graduated its last class of 11 students and the school voted to disband the district.
On September 1, 2009, the state of Oklahoma officially disincorporated
the city of Picher, which ceased official operations on that day. The
population plummeted from 1,640 at the 2000 census to 20 at the 2010 census. (Source: Wikipedia)
A decade later, during our visit on a Sunday afternoon in July 2022, the place is devoid of human presence, other than vehicles blowing through at 65 mph on Highway 69. Save for the bombed-out-looking brick duplexes, there is not a house left in a town that at the turn of this century was a community of 1600 people, where families once came home every night after a long day at work, ate meals, celebrated holidays and birthdays, did homework and went to bed, in preparation for doing it all again tomorrow.
The Picher of 2022 is a surreal landscape of grids of asphalt streets (still in good condition) bisecting empty lots that have been reclaimed by nature.
If a picture paints a thousand words, this one demonstrates the tragedy that is Picher. The infrastructure of modern civilization (the paved streets, the utilities, the public fire protection), now abandoned, while in the background looms a mountain of lead dust that brought illness and death to its citizens and the town itself.
Picher is an environmental catastrophe that may never be completely mitigated.
