Wikipedia Wednesday: Centralia, Pennsylvania

You long-time (relatively speaking) readers are probably going to assume I'm obsessed with ghost towns after reading this, and I won't tell you you're wrong.  You can't deny that there is something exciting and curiousity-piquing about a place that has been abandoned by mankind.  In today's article, we learn about a place in America that, for all intents and purposes, became hell on Earth.

Article

Centralia is a borough and ghost town in Columbia County, Pennsylvania, United States. Its population has dwindled from over 1,000 residents in 1981 to 12 in 2005 and 9 in 2007, as a result of a mine fire burning beneath the borough since 1962. … All properties in the borough were claimed under eminent domain by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in 1992 (and all buildings therein were condemned), and Centralia's ZIP code was revoked by the Post Office in 2002.

Read that again until it sinks in: a mine fire burning since 1962.  Remember: we're talking about a coal mine.  Coal burns relatively slowly, so it's reasonable to imagine a few veins of coal smouldering away for a long time.  Since oil and natural gas began replacing coal as the world's primary source of energy, coal mines have closed all over the planet, so it's reasonable to imagine an abandoned coal mine that still contains huge deposits of coal.  There's no need to imagine anything though; this fire is still observably burning today.

What started the fire?  Why, none other than our good friend Human Error:

It is not known for certain how the fire that made Centralia essentially uninhabitable was ignited. One theory asserts that in May 1962, the Centralia Borough Council hired five members of the volunteer fire company to clean up the town landfill, located in an abandoned strip-mine pit next to the Odd Fellows Cemetery. This had been done prior to Memorial Day in previous years, when the landfill was in a different location. The firefighters, as they had in the past, set the dump on fire and let it burn for a time. Unlike in previous years, however, the fire was not extinguished correctly.

Other evidence supports this theory, as stated in Joan Quigley's 2007 missive, such as the fact that one of two trash haulers (Curly Stasulevich or Sam Devine) dumped hot ash and/or coal discarded from coal burners into the open trash pit. The borough, by law, was responsible for installing a fire-resistant clay barrier between each layer, but fell behind schedule, leaving the barrier partly incomplete. This allowed the hot coals to penetrate the vein of coal underneath the pit and light the subsequent subterranean fire.

Admittedly, I am no trash hauling expert, but something about putting hot coals directly into a coal mine strikes me as a bit risky.

The resulting fire burned all through the 60's and 70's while townspeople went about their daily routine.  Attempts to put out the fire failed, but no one was even talking about evacuation at that point.  The fire was considered a simple fact of life even though some of the townsfolk began to fall ill due to atmospheric problems.  Once again, the human capacity to put up with hazardous living conditions caused by some moron never fails to amaze me.   There wasn't any political or media attention to the issue until a couple of extreme incidents at the end of the 70's:

In 1979, locals became aware of the scale of the problem when a gas-station owner and then mayor, John Coddington, inserted a stick into one of his underground tanks to check the fuel level. When he withdrew it, it seemed hot, so he lowered a thermometer down on a string and was shocked to discover that the temperature of the gasoline in the tank was 172 °F (77.8 °C). Statewide attention to the fire began to increase, culminating in 1981 when 12-year-old resident Todd Domboski fell into a sinkhole four feet wide by 150 feet (46 m) deep that suddenly opened beneath his feet in a backyard. Only the quick work of his cousin Eric Wolfgang in pulling Todd out of the hole to saved Todd's life, as the plume of hot steam billowing from the hole was measured as containing a lethal level of carbon monoxide.

When people start falling into sinkholes filled with toxic fumes, it's time to think about getting the hell out of Dodge, and that's pretty much what happened.  In 1984, US Congress approved a program to relocate everyone in the town.  Most took the buy-out offer and moved to nearby towns, but a few people decided to stay behind.  The state declared eminent domain over the entire town and condemned every single building, and yet people still stayed behind.  Personally I can't comprehend the mindset that would make a person want to keep living in a town that was trying its best to kill them.  I suspect 20 years of inhaling carbon monoxide had something to do with their decision making process.

Today, Centralia is almost entirely depleted of signs of human settlement.  Most of the abandoned buildings were torn down, the rest have been overrun by plants.  PA Route 61, which formerly ran through the town, has been diverted around it due to massive damage caused by vapor breaking through the blacktop.  The article has an amazing photo of this.

The most obvious final question about this beleaguered town: is the fire still burning?  According to the article, yes, but don't expect to see flames and destruction if you head up there:

The only indications of the fire, which underlies some 400 acres (1.6 km²) spreading along four fronts, are low round metal steam vents in the south of the borough and several signs warning of underground fire, unstable ground, and carbon monoxide. Additional smoke and steam can be seen coming from an abandoned portion of Pennsylvania Route 61, the area just behind the hilltop cemetery, and other cracks in the ground scattered about the area. Route 61 was repaired several times until its final closing. The current route was a detour around the damaged portion during the repairs and became a permanent route in the mid-1990s; mounds of dirt were placed at both ends of the former route, effectively blocking the road. Pedestrian traffic is still possible due to a small opening about two feet wide at the north side of the road, but this is muddy and not accessible to the disabled.

It's one thing to set a building on fire, another thing to burn down an entire city (as has happened to such places as London, Chicago, and Vancouver), and a completely different thing to start a fire that renders your city uninhabitable for 250 years.  I wonder if those trash haulers lived to know the magnitude of what they did.  Either way, I am almost curious enough about Centralia to visit it someday.  I will make sure to bring an extra Ventolin.