In the old horror film, "Poltergeist," a brand-new house is cursed because developers unwittingly built it over an old Indian burial ground. The people who lived there were plagued by angry spirits seeking revenge. Finally, in a blur of special-effects madness, the home was sucked underground in the movie's climax.
Apparently, in the real, nonfiction world, ancient garbage can have much the same effect. Just ask the folks in Spanish Fork Ranch in Utah County. They've been battling the wafting, swirling spirits of methane gas and have been living with daily discoveries of syringes, old newspapers and underwear, among other things, that have found their way to the surface in recent months. Every day brings new reminders that the things people throw away don't disappear. Instead, to quote the movie, they're he-e-e-r-e . . .
Spanish Fork Ranch was built on an old public landfill. Unlike with the ancient burial ground, however, the folks who built this neighborhood didn't do so unwittingly. People remember the dump. Some people, according to reports from residents, still throw garbage there out of habit. As near as anyone can remember, the place was used for garbage until about the early 1980s. "It had been the city's landfill forever," said Dale Barney, the mayor of Spanish Fork. "It was a landfill since I can remember, and I'm 71."
All of which, of course, would make any reasonable observer ask why someone would want to put homes there and why anyone would actually move there. Ultimately, they must ask why the city's master plan calls for the site to be zoned for residences.
But this is, above all, a cautionary tale. It could, in various forms, happen to any of us, especially as the state's population expands and land becomes more scarce.
Spanish Fork Ranch was built for manufactured homes. The people who lived there were to buy their homes but rent the land, which in retrospect is the one piece of good news in all of this. At least the garbage is not their garbage. But this is, at best, a mild dose of good news in a story that ought to grab the attention of anyone who has ever seen homeownership as a measure of security and peace of mind. No matter where we go, we are not the first to tread upon the land, and the people who have trod before us may have left deep footprints.
A lot of fingers will be pointed before this one is over. The residents have hired an attorney and allege the developer didn't follow through on promises to make the area safe. The developer's attorney was quoted last year saying the general contractor or engineer was responsible. Meanwhile, the city must struggle with the fact it decided a dump was an OK place to raise children.
Last week, the county health department ordered that the homes be moved someplace safe. Exactly where this safe haven is, they didn't say. Nor did they tackle the rather ticklish issue of who will pay for the move.
This is a mess — the kind that makes Hollywood versions seem tame by comparison. But the handful of folks who live out there should at least not feel alone. This story can be found again and again all over the country, with only slight variations.
Years ago, an attractive middle-class neighborhood in Las Vegas began crumbling only months after it was constructed. As a young reporter assigned to the story, I discovered that a test of the soil had found it to contain enough salt that in the spring time, when temperatures vary widely in the desert, the earth would expand and "heave" with regularity. The developer hadn't followed the soil engineer's recommendations for preparing the site. As a result, driveways were cracking, fireplaces were falling from walls and an angry and extremely nervous group of residents dubbed the neighborhood "crater village."
Last March, the Times Union of Albany reported on a 135-home project there that sits next to a dump filled with huge drums of lye. Water seeps into the drums, causing a chemical reaction that leads to eruptions of steam.
A year ago, Business Publishers Inc. published a report of how owners of $350,000 homes in Maryland were worried about an old landfill beneath them giving off methane gas.
It even happens in other countries. The Sunday Telegraph of London recently told of a man who had to destroy his home after finding it was atop a leaking tank from a gasworks plant that closed in 1913.
Each of these horror stories has a common theme. Some people were out to make money, while others trusted in promises that weren't quite true. And, always, there is a local government that allowed something it shouldn't have. As Utah's population expands, and as city planners prepare for the crush, these are themes well-worth remembering.
Deseret News editorial page editor Jay Evensen may be e-mailed at even@desnews.com