In the heartland of America, nestled in the gentle bend of the Meramec River just 17 miles southwest of St. Louis, lies the ghost of a town that once radiated with Midwestern charm. Today, there are no school bells ringing, no children chasing fireflies through tall grass, no barbecues or block parties. Instead, there’s Route 66 State Park — a stretch of greenery and calm, with no hint of the catastrophe that erased an entire community from the map.
This was Times Beach, Missouri. A town that no longer exists.
It’s a story of ambition and resilience. Of deception, betrayal, and corporate malfeasance. And it forces a question that most of us never want to face: what happens when your home becomes uninhabitable — not from war or natural disaster — but from human negligence?
Origins of a Newspaper Paradise
Times Beach didn’t begin like most American towns. It started as a promotional gimmick.
In 1925, The St. Louis Times newspaper ran a campaign: pay $67.50 for a six-month subscription and receive a plot of land in a dreamy riverside getaway called Times Beach. Buyers were promised a summer resort experience with fresh air, riverside views, and an escape from the industrial bustle of nearby St. Louis. Two parcels would get you enough space for a house. A down payment of just $10 could get you started.
Though initially marketed to city elites as a seasonal retreat, the area soon attracted those with fewer options — especially after the 1929 stock market crash.
Survival Through the Great Depression
When the Great Depression crippled America, Missouri — with its agricultural economy — was hit hard. Times Beach, with its cheap land and rural distance from the financial chaos of St. Louis, became a safe haven. People moved into their cabins full-time, turning vacation cottages into homes. By the 1930s, Times Beach became a permanent community.
The town grew modestly: four churches, four taverns, a town hall, and eventually, a 7-Eleven. Flood-prone homes on stilts became a signature. The residents forged a self-reliant spirit — helping each other, watching kids, and forming a community born from hardship. People didn’t lock their doors. Everyone knew everyone. It was the American ideal, in miniature.
But not forever.
The Dust That Settled — and Killed
While Times Beach thrived in its own humble way, something was happening hundreds of kilometers southwest that would change everything.
In Verona, Missouri, the Northeastern Pharmaceutical and Chemical Company (NEPACCO) operated a plant that had once manufactured a skin disinfectant called hexachlorophene. It was banned in 1972 after causing fatal toxic exposure in children. The plant, now under Syntex Agribusiness, had also produced a much more sinister compound — the infamous Agent Orange.
If you’ve heard of Agent Orange, you know what this means: dioxins. Highly toxic, long-lasting compounds capable of devastating human health with minimal exposure. Waste products from these manufacturing processes were supposed to be safely handled.
They weren’t.
Enter Russell Bliss — a man who would unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly) seal Times Beach’s fate.
A Toxic Deal With the Devil
Bliss was a waste hauler who turned waste into profit. He collected used oil — including chemical waste — and repurposed it as a dust suppressant. It was a common practice on unpaved rural roads at the time. The problem? The oil he sprayed around Times Beach was contaminated with dioxins.
He sprayed it on roads, farms, even a horse arena.
Soon, animals began dying. Birds dropped from trees. Horses grew sick. Children fell ill. One mother, Pat M., began investigating. She connected the dots between Bliss, the chemical plant, and the strange illnesses affecting her daughters.
Despite her warnings, little was done.
Until 1982, when a local reporter called Times Beach’s city hall with a terrifying question: “Are you aware your town is contaminated with dioxins?”
They were not.
The Flood That Wasn’t Just Water
In December 1982, as Times Beach reeled from the toxic revelation, nature delivered a cruel gut punch. The Meramec River burst its banks in a 500-year flood event, submerging homes in nearly two stories of water. Residents barely escaped. The water receded, but the real damage remained — dioxins, washed from the roads, now permeated the soil everywhere.
Then the EPA showed up.
Their soil tests confirmed the worst: dioxin levels over 100 parts per billion — 100 times the level considered dangerous. Times Beach had become uninhabitable.
Evacuation and Erasure
Residents faced an impossible choice. Stay and risk illness — or leave and lose everything.
The town’s penultimate mayor resigned, leaving the job to Marilyn Lner. She petitioned President Ronald Reagan for a federal buyout. In 1983, the government agreed. Slowly, reluctantly, heartbrokenly, families left. One by one, homes were boarded up, condemned, or bulldozed. Some owners resisted, only to have their properties forcibly taken at undervalued rates.
By 1985, only one couple remained. By 1986, Times Beach was legally dissolved.
Cleanup by Fire
The EPA’s solution was incineration. In the early ’90s, an incinerator was constructed on-site to burn not just Times Beach’s contaminated soil, but 265,000 tons of earth from 27 other Missouri locations.
Opposition was fierce. Many feared the incinerator would release toxins into the air. The EPA insisted it wouldn’t — but refused to test for anything other than dioxin. That left locals skeptical.
Despite protests, the soil was burned.
By 2001, the EPA removed the site from its Superfund cleanup list. Times Beach was “clean.” At least, on paper.
The Legacy That Refuses to Die
Today, the land where Times Beach once stood is Route 66 State Park. There’s a museum in an old roadhouse, a small display about the disaster, and a commemorative gathering held every September. Former residents still return, many still bitter, many still grieving.
Some blame the government. Others blame Bliss. Others blame the chemical industry, or God, or Marilyn Lner — the mayor forced to sign off on an impossible solution.
Even decades later, there’s no consensus.
Bliss himself, who sprayed the chemicals, claims ignorance. He even used the same oil on his own farm. But his credibility was destroyed in court, where he was eventually jailed for tax evasion.
The EPA, meanwhile, remains accused of lowballing residents, fast-tracking incineration, and avoiding public scrutiny. Some believe the government buried Times Beach’s story to avoid legal exposure for Agent Orange victims in Vietnam.
Times Beach Today
Walk the trails of Route 66 State Park and you’ll find birds singing, deer grazing, and families picnicking where children once fled in fear. But below the surface, buried beneath layers of ash and time, lie the bones of a town — and a warning.
Times Beach is more than a ghost town. It’s a symbol. A testament to the dangers of environmental neglect. A reminder that corporate greed and government bureaucracy can devastate lives. A story of people who lost their homes not to nature, but to invisible poisons unleashed in pursuit of profit.
And perhaps most haunting of all: it could happen again.
FAQ: Times Beach, Missouri
What was the cause of Times Beach’s evacuation?
Contamination by dioxin, a highly toxic chemical linked to Agent Orange, sprayed inadvertently by a waste hauler on the town’s roads and land.
Was anyone held accountable?
Russell Bliss was sued and eventually jailed for tax evasion. Chemical companies and the EPA faced lawsuits and public criticism, but no criminal convictions occurred related to the poisoning.
What is Times Beach now?
Route 66 State Park. The land has been cleaned to EPA standards and now hosts trails, a museum, and annual memorial events.
Could this happen again?
Yes. Without strong environmental oversight and accountability, towns today could still face similar risks.
Was incineration the safest cleanup method?
Controversial. While effective for dioxins, critics feared the incinerator released other pollutants. The EPA declined to test for many non-dioxin chemicals.
Did residents receive fair compensation?
Not by most accounts. Many described the offers as “lowball,” based only on square footage, not home value or community loss.
Are dioxins still dangerous?
Yes. Dioxins remain some of the most toxic compounds known to science, with long-lasting health effects at extremely low exposure levels.
