Silver Bay: Living in Limbo

Silver Bay: Living in Limbo

Silver Bay, Minn., is a pleasant community of 3,500 people nestled in the birch forests that line the northwestern shores of Lake Superior. Last year it celebrated the 20th year of its existence. This year may prove to be its last.

The fortunes of Silver Bay are tied to those of the Reserve Mining Co., which produces 15% of the nation's iron ore by extracting it from the area's flint-hard taconite rock. Reserve also employs 80% of the town's work force. In the late 1960s, U.S. Government scientists concluded that the taconite wastes, or tailings, left over from the extraction process did not sink harmlessly into the depths of Lake Superior as everyone supposed they did. Rather, the scientists said, the 67,000 tons of waste dumped each day contained asbestos-like fibers that contaminated the drinking water of towns around the lake.

After years of costly court fights, Reserve was ordered by a U.S. district court last summer (TIME, July 26) to end its pollution of the lake by next July 7. At present, the company is fighting with the state of Minnesota over possible sites for on-land disposal plants. Unless Reserve gets the site it wants (seven miles from Silver Bay, v. a site 20 miles distant proposed by the state), it is threatening to close down its Silver Bay plant --and in effect the town itself. The fight has engulfed neighboring communities. Citizens of Duluth (pop. 100,000), 60 miles to the southwest, are particularly bitter because more than three years ago the asbestos-like fibers--believed to be cancer-producing --were detected in the city's drinking water. Duluth now gets asbestos-free drinking water from a new $7 million filtration plant, largely financed by the Federal Government, but the animosity against Silver Bay lingers. "This is a hell of a way to live," complains Gene Jadwin, 37, owner of the Silver Bay Motel. "This anxiety is really hard on your family life." Marital tensions have risen as the town's predicament has worsened; there were five divorces in 1971 and 30 in 1975. "We're seeing a lot of stress-related symptoms," says Dr. Donald Haase, 53, one of the town's three physicians. "We're getting more cases of acute and chronic depression, and more gastrointestinal problems too." Lutheran Minister David Kupka, 36, likens the town's behavior to that of a family with a terminally ill patient: "First there's denial; then anger, depression, hostility; then bargaining; and finally acceptance." In Limbo. Silver Bay's children have responded with anger and disruptiveness. Says Assistant School Superintendent Elmer Frahm, 45: "We see many more students smoking, drinking, using drugs, and there's a lot more vandalism too." The Reserve Mining case has been hanging over Silver Bay for eight years. Says Mayor Melvin Koepke, a machinist at Reserve's $350 million lakeside plant: "It's like living in limbo." Understandably, most residents now postpone major home improvements. Savings deposits in the local bank have almost doubled in two years. Many residents are prepared to leave. Others are not, like Robert Carlson, 58, a 20-year foreman at Reserve, who has almost finished paying off a four-bedroom house. "We couldn't afford to go anywhere else," he says. Silver Bay residents have taken some hope from the fact that Minnesota's new Governor, Rudy Perpich, has designated the Reserve case as his top priority. "It is extremely important," he says, "that we not only stop the pollution of Lake Superior but see to it that the people dependent on Reserve for their livelihood continue to have jobs." More months may pass before the Reserve case--and Silver Bay's fate--are finally decided. Whatever happens, vows Ruth Ericson, wife of a Reserve lab analyst, "if we go down, we're going down in a blaze of glory. On July 7 we're going to put a barricade across the road into town, and then we're going to throw one hell of a party."

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