detected a violation) was a misdemeanor carrying a maximum fine of $2,500; if Toms River Chemical was convicted on all counts, the maximum fine of $515,000 would be the largest environmental penalty in New Jersey history up to that point.
The indictments were not what they seemed, however. The EPA and the U.S. Attorney’s Office could have gone to court to try to get an injunction forcing Toms River Chemical to clean up its discharges immediately. But even as early as 1972, the EPA was having second thoughts about its initial strategy of treating violations of laws like the Refuse Act as straightforward crimes. At the end of the year, Congressoverrode President Nixon’s veto and gave the EPA authority to regulate wastewater discharges via a new law that came to be known as the Clean Water Act. Like the Refuse Act, which it essentially superseded, the new law banned discharges into navigable waters without a permit, but the permitting process was much more complex and bureaucratic. So, instead of seeking an injunction, the EPA began years-long negotiations with Toms River Chemical over the terms of its Clean Water Act permit. All the while, the prosecution was held in abeyance, and the company continued to operate as it always had—only more so. In 1973, a year after the indictments, production and emissions were at record levels.
The obvious solution was for Toms River Chemical finally to replace its unlined lagoons with a real wastewater treatment system—specifically, an activated sludge plant of the design the company had been refusing to build ever since the late 1950s. Activated sludge plants, which used microbes and oxygen to reduce the organic content of sewage, had been in use for more than fifty years, but they were also expensive: Toms River Chemical’s would eventually cost more than $15 million. Properly designing and building such a plant and customizing it to the factory’s unique wastes would take three years, company executives insisted. They said essentially the same thing to state regulators, who were finally pushing for a new incinerator and a lined landfill.
When the EPA broke off its negotiations with the company in 1974 and issued a draft permit that would, for the first time, limit the company’s discharges into the river and the ocean, Toms River Chemical immediately appealed. The proposed limits were too strict and the two-year phase-in was too short, the company argued, eventually getting its way. 23 The indictments were moved to inactive status and finally dismissed without a fine or admission of guilt. On a rainy September morning in 1977, in the presence of Governor Brendan Byrne and a bevy of local politicians who heaped praise on the company, Toms River Chemical dedicated its new wastewater treatment plant. It began operating the following year, as did the initial section, Cell One, of the company’s first-ever lined landfill. It had only taken twenty-five years.
By and large, the people of Toms River reacted with a collective yawn. Most considered the ocean to be an acceptable place to deposit pollution, especially now that their own sewage was also going into the Atlantic via municipal wastewater pipes and sludge barges. Back in 1972, the news that the largest private employer in Ocean County had been indicted on criminal charges inspired just one article in the
Ocean County Observer
, the local daily newspaper. That article, which emphasized the “astounded” reaction of company officials, was quickly followed by an editorial defending Toms River Chemical as a “good neighbor” that “adds heavily to our locality’s economy.” 24 Many people in town were at least vaguely aware of the company’s lackadaisical approach to pollution control, but there was still no public evidence that anyone in the surrounding neighborhoods had been hurt as a result. (The contamination of the Holly Street wells in the mid-1960s was still a secret.)
The situation was very different a little
The indictments were not what they seemed, however. The EPA and the U.S. Attorney’s Office could have gone to court to try to get an injunction forcing Toms River Chemical to clean up its discharges immediately. But even as early as 1972, the EPA was having second thoughts about its initial strategy of treating violations of laws like the Refuse Act as straightforward crimes. At the end of the year, Congressoverrode President Nixon’s veto and gave the EPA authority to regulate wastewater discharges via a new law that came to be known as the Clean Water Act. Like the Refuse Act, which it essentially superseded, the new law banned discharges into navigable waters without a permit, but the permitting process was much more complex and bureaucratic. So, instead of seeking an injunction, the EPA began years-long negotiations with Toms River Chemical over the terms of its Clean Water Act permit. All the while, the prosecution was held in abeyance, and the company continued to operate as it always had—only more so. In 1973, a year after the indictments, production and emissions were at record levels.
The obvious solution was for Toms River Chemical finally to replace its unlined lagoons with a real wastewater treatment system—specifically, an activated sludge plant of the design the company had been refusing to build ever since the late 1950s. Activated sludge plants, which used microbes and oxygen to reduce the organic content of sewage, had been in use for more than fifty years, but they were also expensive: Toms River Chemical’s would eventually cost more than $15 million. Properly designing and building such a plant and customizing it to the factory’s unique wastes would take three years, company executives insisted. They said essentially the same thing to state regulators, who were finally pushing for a new incinerator and a lined landfill.
When the EPA broke off its negotiations with the company in 1974 and issued a draft permit that would, for the first time, limit the company’s discharges into the river and the ocean, Toms River Chemical immediately appealed. The proposed limits were too strict and the two-year phase-in was too short, the company argued, eventually getting its way. 23 The indictments were moved to inactive status and finally dismissed without a fine or admission of guilt. On a rainy September morning in 1977, in the presence of Governor Brendan Byrne and a bevy of local politicians who heaped praise on the company, Toms River Chemical dedicated its new wastewater treatment plant. It began operating the following year, as did the initial section, Cell One, of the company’s first-ever lined landfill. It had only taken twenty-five years.
By and large, the people of Toms River reacted with a collective yawn. Most considered the ocean to be an acceptable place to deposit pollution, especially now that their own sewage was also going into the Atlantic via municipal wastewater pipes and sludge barges. Back in 1972, the news that the largest private employer in Ocean County had been indicted on criminal charges inspired just one article in the
Ocean County Observer
, the local daily newspaper. That article, which emphasized the “astounded” reaction of company officials, was quickly followed by an editorial defending Toms River Chemical as a “good neighbor” that “adds heavily to our locality’s economy.” 24 Many people in town were at least vaguely aware of the company’s lackadaisical approach to pollution control, but there was still no public evidence that anyone in the surrounding neighborhoods had been hurt as a result. (The contamination of the Holly Street wells in the mid-1960s was still a secret.)
The situation was very different a little
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