Toms River (71 page)

A few blocks from town hall along the river, in the far corner of Riverfront Landing Park, a mass of unkempt shrubbery is encroaching on the granite memorial to the lost children of Toms River. But the names etched into the stone are still starkly clear, and the families—those who have not moved on or moved away—are as determined as ever to protect their legacy. There has been no talk of dissolving the citizens advisory committee, even though its meetings are canceled more frequently now. “It is hard to keep it going after all this time, but we’ve learned that you can’t assume somebody else is going to take care of things for you and make all the right decisions,” said Kim Pascarella, who still co-chairs the committee with Linda Gillick.

“I feel that’s the best way I can honor the memory of my daughter, by staying involved, even if we never get definite answers from the
scientists,” Pascarella said. “In the end, what I’ve learned is that when it comes to this type of science, you really can’t be arrogant and assume you know the answers. Arrogance by these companies and by the government is what got us into all this in the first place. We know that now.”

Nonfiction writing is a community endeavor camouflaged as a solitary one. If you have made it this far, you know that
Toms River
is the story of a very large number of extraordinarily passionate people. I will always be grateful that so many of them were willing to extend their passion to the creation of this book. The events recounted here were often painful and always intensely emotional for everyone involved; the passage of time has done little to dull the pain. That 140 people were nonetheless willing to talk to a stranger—several times, in many cases—demonstrates a level of trust and commitment that I have tried very hard to honor in these pages.

I owe a special thanks to Linda Gillick for initially helping to orient me in Toms River. Her decision not to sit for a formal interview does not diminish my deep admiration for what she has accomplished in her community. Even now, after twenty-five years of service to local families in crisis, she and her staff at Ocean of Love are continuing to do outstanding work providing emotional and financial support to Ocean County children with cancer and their siblings and parents. You can learn more about their work at
www.ocean-of-love.org
and can assist them directly by sending contributions to Ocean of Love for Children with Cancer, 1709 Route 37 East, Toms River, New Jersey, 08753.

The list that follows includes all those I interviewed who were willing to be named. Others asked me to withhold their names and I have done so. I am profoundly grateful to them all, including Richard Albertini,
Bruce Anderson, Melanie Anderson, Emma Ansara, Robert J. Baptista, Richard Bellis, Don Bennett, Esther Berezofsky, Michael Berry, Lois Bianchi, Eula Bingham, James Blumenstock, Lisa Boornazian, John Bucher, Bob Butler, Dan Carluccio, Judith Carluccio, Gary Casperson, Rajendra Chhabra, Dick Chinery, Angelo Cifaldi, Richard Clapp, Philip Cole, Craig Colten, Mark Cuker, Tom Curran, Bob De Sando, Michele Donato, John Paul Doyle, Michael Edelstein, James Etzel, Jerald Fagliano, Barry Finette, Heather Galick, Floyd Genicola, Robert Gialanella, Michael Gillick, Michael Gordon, Jon Gorin, Andrew Grange, Melvyn Greaves, John Groopman, Clark W. Heath Jr., Rich Henning, Peter Hibbard, Susan Hibbard, Bruce Hills, Jon Hinck, Kathleen Hughes, William Hyres, Donna Jakubowski, Laura Janson, Yu Jie, Steven Jones, Jeff Josephson, Allan Kanner, Charles Kauffman, John E. Keefe Jr., Judith Klotz, Alfred Knudson, Roden Lightbody, Liu Xiao-Mei, Liu Yu-Shu, Christine Livelli, Joanne Livelli, Gary Lotano, Harold Luker, Ray Lynnworth, David Malarkey, Jack Mandel, Jim Manuel, Morris Maslia, Nancy McGreevy, Sheila McVeigh, David Michaels, Bruce Molholt, Ernest Nagel, Gerald Nicholls, Terry Nordbrock, Kenneth Olden, Marian Olsen, J. Patrick O’Neill, David Ozonoff, Kim Pascarella, Richard Paules, Frederica Perera, Carole Peterson, Jerome Posner, Joseph Przywara, Dave Rapaport, Eric Rau, Bertha Reich, Juan Reyes, Herb Roeschke, Michael Rosenblum, John F. Russo Sr., Leona Samson, Jan Schlichtmann, Gale Scott, Nancy Menke Scott, William Skowronski, Martyn Smith, Wayne Smith, G. Wayne Sovocool, Tomm Sprick, Samuel Sprunt, Dennis Stainken, Shanna Swan, Jon Sykes, Jackie Talty, John Talty, Ray Talty, Deliang Tang, Ray Tennant, Anthony Travis, Pamela Vacek, William Warren, Dan Wartenberg, John Wauters, Stephanie Wauters, Dane Wells, Richard Wendel, Jorge Winkler, Steven Wodka, Carl Woodward III, George Woolley, and Mitchell Zavon.

Some of the people listed above provided assistance extending far beyond merely answering my questions. In their interactions with me, they showed the same commitment to unvarnished truth that they had demonstrated earlier in helping to uncover the secrets of Toms River. At the top of this list are those whose lives have been cleaved by cancer. The horror of losing a child, or almost losing one, is unfathomable
to those of us who have not experienced it, yet Ray Lynnworth, Kim Pascarella, and Bruce and Melanie Anderson tolerated my intrusive queries; so did Michael Gillick, one of the bravest people I have ever met. Others who provided extraordinary help include Don Bennett, Mark Cuker, Jerald Fagliano, Barry Finette, and Bruce Molholt. They are credits to their respective professions. I am also grateful to Frederica Perera, Deliang Tang, and Mariette DiChristina of
Scientific American
for making my trip to China possible.

My students at the Science, Health, and Environmental Reporting Program at New York University’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute are a perpetual source of inspiration and delight. Several aided me directly as researchers. Susan Cosier and Alison Snyder did extensive document research, while Emily Elert, Kristina Fiore, Robert Grant, and Erica Westly also assisted. For help in tracking down sources and obtaining public records, newspaper clippings, and other documents, I owe thanks to Marcus Banks, Betsy Dudas, Stephen Greenberg, Jon Hinck, Cheryl Hogue, Robin Mackar, Mary Mears, Ralph Roper, Ellen Tracy, John Wauters, Stephanie Wauters, and Jorge Winkler as well as the reference librarians at the Ocean County Library, the Ocean County Historical Society, and the New York regional office of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

Colleagues and friends vetted portions of this manuscript, providing welcome suggestions and corrections. This group includes Marla Cone, Howard Frankel, Stephen S. Hall, Robert Lee Hotz, George Johnson, Ivan Oransky, Anthony Roisman, and Charles Seife. Any remaining errors are my own. I also want to thank my NYU colleague Brooke Kroeger, who was always supportive as I pursued this project and adjusted to academic life. It is a joy to work with such smart, dedicated colleagues and students, all of whom are committed to finding a sustainable future for deep journalism in service to democracy.

I have tested the patience of a succession of editors at Random House throughout the long gestation of this project. I am so grateful for their unflagging support, which began with the fabulous Ann Harris and continued with John Flicker, Beth Rashbaum, Susanna Porter, and finally Ryan Doherty, a terrific manuscript editor and a real champion
of this book. My literary agent, Jane Dystel, and her business partner Miriam Goderich similarly never lost faith and have been sources of savvy counsel over the years.

My feelings about my family’s contributions are impossible to commit to type. I hear the voice of my mother, the late poet and playwright Lois Levin Roisman, on every page. My father, Arnold Fagin, is my exemplar in many ways, even though, deep down, he still hopes I will become a lawyer. (Too late, Dad.) My wonderful daughters Anna and Lily tolerated my obsession with grace and good humor. As they grew into adulthood, so did this book; theirs is the more significant accomplishment by far. As for my wife, the legal journalist Alison Frankel, this book could not exist without her. She read and critiqued almost every word, but her contributions go much deeper than superb editing. Alison has listened to me talk incessantly about Toms River—and
Toms River
—for seven years, and about so many other stories for twenty-five years before that, and yet not once has she run screaming from the room (though there have been several close calls). With Alison’s love, anything seems possible; without it, nothing would.

1.
The origin story featuring Thomas Luker and Princess Ann was related in a twenty-nine-page book written in 1967 by Pauline S. Miller, who for many years held the officially designated title of Ocean County historian. Her self-published book, called
Early History of Toms River and Dover Township
and written to commemorate Dover’s two-hundredth anniversary as a chartered township, also includes a version of the “Old Epic Poem” about Tom Luker and his Indian bride. In 1992, the town placed a plaque honoring Luker next to a footbridge in Huddy Park, near the ferry crossing he supposedly established in about 1712. Miller’s brief chapter on Luker carries the optimistically definitive title “How Toms River Got Its Name.” Skeptics of the story, however, note that Luker partisans, including his descendants, did not publicly champion their forebear until the 1920s. Only “Indian Tom” and William Tom (sometimes spelled William Toms) are suggested as likely namesakes in histories of the region written during the nineteenth century, including
A History of Monmouth and Ocean Counties, New Jersey
by Edwin Salter, published in 1890, and
Historical Collections of New Jersey
by John Warner Barber and Henry Howe, published in 1868. Casting a bit more doubt on the Luker story, the fight song of Toms River High School (now Toms River High School South) begins this way: “Oh! Old Indian Tom was the man who gave his name to our high school upon a hill!” Teams at the school, founded in 1891, are known as the Indians.

2.
The description of the 1782 British raid on Toms River, first published in
Rivington’s Royal Gazette
, a Loyalist newspaper in New York, is reprinted on pages 328 and 329 of
Historical Collections of New Jersey
.

3.
The Dover Township name was finally formally discarded in 2006 when residents voted to change the name to Toms River Township. Fierce debate preceded the plebiscite, in which more than 40 percent of township voters voted against the switch.

4.
Thomas A. Mathis’s political career came to a startling end in 1958. Suffering from an undisclosed illness, he shot himself in the head in a second-floor room of his mansion, just a few days after he was discharged from a Philadelphia hospital.
While several local newspapers reported the suicide, the Mathis-owned
Ocean County Sun
was more circumspect, telling its readers that the eighty-eight-year-old party boss “succumbed at his capacitous Main Street residence Sunday morning after two weeks of illness.” Today, most residents of Ocean County know Thomas A. Mathis only as the namesake of the older of two adjacent bridges that connect Toms River with the beach communities on the Barnegat Peninsula. The Thomas A. Mathis Bridge was built in 1950 and cost $6 million. Mathis and his son secured the state funds for the project.

5.
Anthony S. Travis, “Perkin’s Mauve: Ancestor of the Organic Chemical Industry,”
Technology and Culture
31 (January 1990): 51–82.

6.
Working from recipe books, Egyptian dyers used reddish pigments from henna, madder, and safflower plants and blues from
Indigofera tinctoria
, or true indigo, to stain the linen cloth used to wrap mummies. The Greeks dyed their wool and linen tunics in vats of indigo. Centuries later, when the Romans invaded Britain, they were startled to discover that the Celts painted their bodies with a blue pigment that was probably made from woad. In fact, Britain may have gotten its name from the Greek
prettanoi
, or “tattooed people.”

7.
Arriving on the South American shore in 1500, Portuguese explorers were so excited to find dyewoods that they named the newly discovered territory
“Terra de Brasil”
because the trees there yielded a red that was the color of burning coals, or
braise
in medieval French.