Guardian of Grand Bois: Clarice Friloux—homemaker, arm wrestler, sludge fighter - Profile

Sierra, May-June, 2002 by Janisse Ray

Twice, state senator Mike Robichaux introduced bills that would have required a 2,000-foot-wide buffer between the facility now owned by U.S. Liquids and the community. A physician, he examined Verdin's child. "There's no question that she will suffer lifelong consequences," he says. "It was unbelievable what these people went through."

Each of his bills failed. "In the legislature, everything Dr. Mike tried to do for us was shot down," Clarice says. "Anybody who helped him, their bills were shot down."

The community begged for an official study. Finally in 1997 toxicologist Patricia Williams of the Louisiana State University Toxicology Outreach Program received funds to study the health of the now high-profile Grand Bois. For an entire year Williams collected blood and urine samples, first from women and children, then from men. What she found was sobering. Three out of four residents showed evidence of having stippled cells, damaged red blood cells in the body known to be caused only three ways--two of them genetic diseases not associated with the Cajun or Native American populations. The third cause of stippled cells is heavy-metal poisoning. Clarice's blood showed up with stippled cells.

Heavy-metal poisoning, while treatable, can cause hearing loss, kidney damage, miscarriage, and mental retardation in offspring. Symptoms of exposure to arsenic and lead include nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, and blood-tinged diarrhea; chronic exposure results in more serious illness.

Other studies, also funded by the state, found no evidence that the water, air, and soil around Grand Bois were contaminated enough to pose a threat. The community did not believe these studies. To attract attention, its members gathered to paint gruesome signs: "Warning: Airborne Chemicals Ahead," one of them read, and "If You Can Read This Sign, You Are Being Exposed to Toxic Chemicals." And another: "Send us your toxins/Your heavy metals and sludge/We'll mix it with dirt/And call it Cajun fudge."

At first the only way anyone could contact Clarice was by her home telephone. After it began to ring constantly--Glad, as she calls the attorney, needed her for this or that--Clarice saw her private, quiet life in the sleepy little town slipping away. Some days she would try to escape, often to visit her grandmother, who had no telephone. She wouldn't be there long before a neighbor's car would pull up: Glad wants you to call him, the neighbor would say. It's important. Some days Clarice's caller-identification listed the maximum 74 calls, where it stopped counting.

I want to know how Clarice kept going, how she kept her family together. "Meetings were held at our house," she says. "On pickets, our kids were with us. Our kids lived this." Part of her determination came from the knowledge that she was fighting for others, too. One day on talk radio (the other guest was a representative of U.S. Liquids) Clarice was accused of acting singly. "I may be alone here today," she replied, "but I know I have the support of my family, my friends, my community."