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Tag: north hangar

  • Neighborhoods get little guidance about toxic risks after massive Tustin hangar fire

    Neighborhoods get little guidance about toxic risks after massive Tustin hangar fire

    Johnny Schillereff and his wife, Kori, never worried about their home’s proximity to the historic Tustin hangars. If anything, the cavernous wooden structures made the Columbus Square neighborhood where they settled after moving from Newport Beach three years ago even more attractive.

    They’d have family dinners on their front porch and watch the moon illuminate the north hangar, which is visible through the trees that line the neighborhood park across the street. In a slice of Orange County sometimes described as sanitized, the 80-year-old relic of military history lent an aura of nostalgia, evoking a past that predated the region’s orderly planned communities and convenient access to shopping.

    But on Nov. 7, the couple and their 18-year-old son woke to a smoke-filled neighborhood. The towering flames consuming the north hangar were visible from their front door. Ash and debris — later found to contain asbestos — rained down. Some neighbors, worried the fire would reach their homes, used garden hoses to soak their roofs. Others packed up their cars and left.

    Many assumed the fire’s impacts would be short-lived. But the 17-story hangar smoldered for more than a week, and residents have struggled to get information about the fallout on air quality and airborne contaminants, including when debris will be removed from their properties.

    “Our son is completely freaked out over it, so I have to stay calm so that he isn’t afraid,” Kori Schillereff said. “But it’s so difficult finding any information about what we should do. I’m getting most of my information from Nextdoor.”

    On Thursday afternoon, after burning for more than a week, the two massive concrete doors on either side of the north hangar and a sliver of one of the walls were all that remained. What’s left of the building will be demolished; officials have not set a timeline.

    “It’s almost like if you bought a house on a lakefront. You buy the house because you like the vibe of the lake — and the lake just dries up,” Johnny Schillereff said. “This thing is just gone.”

    Even as neighbors mourn the loss of the monumental structure, many are frustrated with how the fire was managed and a lack of clear communication about their exposure and risk level. While the property is owned by the Navy, a mix of government agencies have been involved in the firefight and aftermath, including the Orange County Fire Authority and the South Coast Air Quality Management District.

    “Our biggest frustration overall is that there’s just nobody in charge,” said Jeff Lawrence, who lives in the nearby Columbus Grove neighborhood. “Everything’s just a mess because there’s not coordination and every agency is just independently doing their own thing with no real communication with the community.”

    In the early hours of the fire, officials said there were no concerns about asbestos exposure. But the presence of asbestos and other metals in the World War II-era building has been documented in reports dating back years.

    On the day of the fire, the South Coast Air Quality Management District deployed a mobile monitor to measure for hazardous substances in the air, including lead and arsenic. That day, “for short periods of time” the monitor recorded elevated levels of lead and arsenic inside the smoke plume, according to information posted on the city of Tustin’s website.

    On the second day of the fire, the air quality district placed monitors at four locations near the hangars — Veterans Sports Park, the Orange County Sheriff’s Regional Training Academy, Legacy Magnet Academy and Amalfi Apartments — to test for asbestos. Samples collected Nov. 8-12 showed no asbestos, according to reports.

    In the days that followed, the Navy, city of Tustin, Environmental Protection Agency and air quality district deployed 51 air monitors across a roughly 3.5-mile radius around the hangar. They found particulate matter to be “well below any level of concern,” according to the city.

    But asbestos has been detected in samples of ash and debris collected at Veterans Sports Park and near the hangar. The air quality district wrote the materials “should be considered hazardous and avoided.” As the fire continued to burn, strong Santa Ana winds fueled concerns that contaminated materials could be carried across the county.

    “More systematic sampling is really needed to determine what’s going on at the community level,” said Michael Kleinman, a UC Irvine professor in the Department of Environmental and Occupational Health. This, he added, should include sampling upwind and downwind of the fire and analyzing how the wind may have affected debris movement.

    Asbestos is a mineral fiber that until the 1970s was widely used in building products and insulation materials because of its resistance to heat and corrosion. The material, which has been linked to mesothelioma and other lung cancers, is no longer widely used. However, it’s still found in older buildings, including the hangars, which were built in 1942.

    Asbestos becomes a health hazard when the dust becomes airborne and is inhaled. The fibers can embed in human lungs and cause issues years later. While there’s no safe level of exposure, Kleinman said, “the risk goes up the more you’re exposed with higher doses and with a longer exposure time.”

    On Friday, five members of Congress who represent Orange County sent a letter to the South Coast Air Quality Management District pushing for additional testing on air quality and debris.

    When the fire broke out, parents sent their children to school with the understanding they would be kept indoors because of poor air quality. But amid early confusion, not all schools complied, and at least one parent said his child came home bearing plastic bags of debris from the fire that had blown onto the elementary school campus.

    The Tustin Unified School District later closed all campuses and hired a contractor to clean schools before they reopened. As of Friday, about a dozen campuses remained closed. Still, some parents worry their kids were exposed to asbestos.

    “My daughter has her friend group chats, and the kids talk about cancer now,” Lawrence said. “You don’t really think about that as a topic 10- or 11-year-olds should be discussing on a daily basis.”

    Some residents have paid to get the interiors of their homes tested. One report provided to The Times by a Columbus Square homeowner said asbestos was detected on the kitchen and living room floors.

    On Thursday afternoon, crews dressed in white hazmat suits with respirators walked streets near the hangar collecting debris in trash bags.

    John Avalos, who lives roughly a mile from the hangars, was one of several people who stopped by the site to take photos of what remained. Rain from a day earlier seemed to have extinguished the last remnants of fire.

    “I’ve been taking photos just to see how it’s been progressing, because there have been so many flare-ups,” Avalos said. “It’s really sad.”

    Thursday was the first day since the fire erupted that the Schillereff family felt it was OK to take their long-haired dachshund, Mr. Rogers, out for a walk rather than ferrying him by car to the community dog park. Even so, strolling through the neighborhood park, they wondered just how safe it was.

    “We’re still getting mixed information,” Johnny Schillereff said. “And it’s not very comforting when you go out to walk your dog and there’s still people walking around in hazmat suits picking up debris.”

    Hannah Fry

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  • Column: O.C. let its history rot. And the Tustin hangar fire is still burning

    Column: O.C. let its history rot. And the Tustin hangar fire is still burning

    Soon after Jude Francis moved into his new three-story Tustin townhouse in 2012, he attended an open house at his famous neighbor across the street: the city’s twin blimp hangars.

    Seventeen stories tall, as wide as a football field and over 1,000 feet long, the wooden structures were built by the Navy in World War II to house dirigibles assigned to patrol the Pacific Coast. The Marines took over during the Korean War, storing military helicopters there until shutting down the facility in 1999.

    By then, the hangars had become a beloved part of the Orange County landscape. For decades, they were the tallest buildings in the area, towering over a county that went from agriculture to suburbia to today’s metropolis of nearly 3.2 million people. The elegantly curved behemoths were visible by plane when landing at John Wayne Airport, from the 55 Freeway and for miles around.

    They got the Hollywood treatment in films like “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me” and the 2009 reboot of “Star Trek.” As surrounding neighborhoods developed, people got a better view of the fenced-off hangars, inspiring a new generation to fall in love with them and reigniting a question that city, county and military officials had long avoided:

    What the hell would O.C. do with these white elephants?

    Francis got a glimpse of the future when he and other residents attended the open house.

    “They had a grand plan of how they were going to keep one and convert the other one into ice rinks and duck ponds,” said the tech consultant. “And I thought, ‘Oh, man, I’m going to live next to heaven.’”

    We stood near his residence on a recent morning, looking onto a small version of hell.

    Residents watch a stubborn fire burning the North Hangar at the former Marine Corps Air Station Tustin on Nov. 7. The structure was still smoldering a week later

    (Irfan Khan / Los Angeles Times)

    On Nov. 7, the North Hangar caught fire. Firefighters tried to put out the flames before deciding the sheer size of the structure made the task too dangerous. So they let it burn.

    The hangar’s roof had completely collapsed. The top edge of the wall that once held it up was jagged and blackened. Worse, the inferno had spewed toxic substances like asbestos and nickel. Tustin schools were planning for remote learning through the week; eight nearby city parks were closed indefinitely.

    A squadron of men wearing half-face respirators and covered in flimsy personal protective equipment from head to foot vacuumed every crack of the parking lot at nearby Veterans Sports Park. A plume of black smoke puffed up from the hangar’s ruins.

    “This is horrible,” Francis said, shaking his head. His roof and gutters had been clogged with ash and debris. “They should’ve done something to develop it. They did nothing.”

    Next to us, Tom Hammer (“like the tool”) narrated videos that he was recording for his brother-in-law in Michigan. The retired fourth-grade teacher had driven up from San Clemente that morning with his black Chihuahua, Lola. His late father had served at the air station, as had his brother-in-law, who “was crying his eyes out,” Hammer said. “I was too busted up to come earlier. That’s my childhood there, burning up in flames.”

    That was the first sentiment felt by many Orange County residents when news of the fire hit. The Tustin blimp hangars were our version of the Watts Towers: beloved architectural marvels of a bygone time that we drove past but rarely stopped to visit.

    A week later, sadness had turned to anger.

    Authorities still have no idea when the fire will die down, but demolition will be the next step. The hangar shouldn’t have suffered such an ignominious end.

    It, along with its sibling, had stood empty for nearly 25 years, as local, county and Navy authorities dallied on what to do with them. Ever-changing plans were proposed to demolish both, keep one, or keep both, but money always got in the way. A section of the North Hangar’s roof collapsed in 2013, but Navy officials did little more than make sure it didn’t break any further. A 2017 Orange County grand jury urged action before the hangars decayed even more.

    Tustin blimp hangar cleanup

    A disaster cleanup crew picks up potentially toxic debris from the still-burning WWII-era blimp hangar at the former Tustin Marine Corps Air Station in Tustin.

    (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

    Hammer brushed his foot on the lawn and kicked up white shards. “Light this with fire, and it burns like a lantern,” he said.

    “I hate to say it, but it had become an eyesore,” he continued. Near the bottom of the smoldering North Hangar were long-abandoned, boarded-up barracks surrounded by dead, overgrown grass. A flimsy fence was all that kept the public away.

    “I’m old and fat, and I could get over that fence,” he joked, before getting serious and gesturing at Francis.

    “From my father to me to this gentleman, we’ve been saying ‘Do something.’ Either fish or cut bait. Either do something, about it or knock it down. People wanted to do something. But …”

    He stopped to emphasize what he was about to say: “They never did anything with it.”

    It’s usually about a minute-long drive from Veterans Sport Park down Valencia Avenue to the intersection of Kensington Park Drive, which offers the best place to see the other side of North Hangar. Street closures forced me to go through residential streets instead. People walked their dogs wearing masks and sunglasses while 18-wheelers followed by trucks flashing hazard lights rumbled past.

    I parked in a nearby shopping plaza and made my way to the outdoor patio of a Sweetgreen, where Andirondack chairs sat empty. The downed hangar looked even worse from here.

    The eastern wall was completely gone, revealing timber arches that reminded me of an exposed rib cage. The hangar’s huge door, which weighed over 100 tons, leaned off its steel rails and seemed a Santa Ana wind away from collapsing.

    The obvious comparison would’ve been to a decomposed beached whale, or one of the destroyed alien spaceships from “Independence Day.” But my mind went to Percy Bysshe Shelly’s “Ozymandias,” the immortal poem about hubris told through the scene of a shattered statue.

    Soon after the air station’s closure, Tustin officials allowed luxury neighborhoods with gag-inducing names like Levity at Tustin Legacy and Amalfi Apartments to spring up near the hangars. Meanwhile, the U.S. Navy sent letters to local homeowners associations two years ago warning that the groundwater under their homes might hold toxic chemicals from the military past.

    The destroyed North Hangar represents the folly of Orange County, a place that romanticizes its past while letting it rot if there’s no profit to be made. Now, residents are suffering.

    Cleanup outside Tustin blimp hangar

    A disaster cleanup crew picks and vacuums up potentially toxic debris from the still-burning WWII-era blimp hangar at the former Tustin Marine Corps Air Station on Monday. Orange County Fire Authority personnel remained on the scene keeping watch on the blaze, with one firefighter telling KTLA-TV Channel 5’s Annie Rose Ramos that all they could do was let it burn out.

    (Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

    The air began to sting my eyes and throat as Irvine resident Rebecca Flores and her son, Christian, took photos of the scene.

    “This is a worst-case scenario,” she said. “No one knows what’s going to happen.”

    “They’re not holding press conferences. They’re not doing much of anything,” said Christian, who works at a nearby retailer and said his colleagues were afraid to show up. “They’re just letting it burn.”

    Before us, a row of workers with vacuums slowly walked down Valencia like crime scene investigators. Next to them was Legacy Magnet Academy, a middle and high school built in the style of the hangars. It was closed.

    Rebecca kept brushing debris from Christian’s shoulders. We all wore facemasks. Hers bore a Stars and Stripes-style logo of The Punisher, a Marvel superhero popular among law enforcement supporters.

    “I don’t like wearing masks,” Rebecca said, before offering a laugh. “But I’m wearing one for this.”

    Gustavo Arellano

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  • Massive Tustin hangar reignites just days after initial blaze spewed asbestos and lead

    Massive Tustin hangar reignites just days after initial blaze spewed asbestos and lead

    A massive former military hangar that burned in Tustin earlier this week, closing schools over asbestos worries, reignited Saturday night.

    The city of Tustin tweeted that there was “an active flare-up above the north doors of the north hangar” around 5 p.m. Saturday, adding that the Orange County Fire Authority and the Tustin Fire Department were on scene.

    The north hangar was one of two enormous structures on the property, 17 stories high and 1,000 feet long, that were used by the military during World War II and later served as sets for the TV show “Star Trek” and the film “Pearl Harbor.”

    One of those hangars burned last week, creating a spectacle for drivers passing by.

    After air quality experts discovered asbestos at the site, the Tustin Unified School District closed all campuses on Thursday and Friday.

    The city also closed several public parks and canceled a planned Veterans Day celebration over health concerns stemming from possible contamination.

    A note on the Tustin Unified School District’s website on Saturday said that Monday will be a “non-student day” on all campuses and that an environmental consulting firm has been retained to test all schools for contamination stemming from the fire.

    Jack Dolan

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