Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I don't have any proof, but I'd stand up and say that in front of anybody. You have a com-
munity with a thirty-billion-a-year company on one side and a forty-billion-a-year com-
pany on the other side, and yet it's one of the most dilapidated communities in Texas. It
don't add up.”
Driving past the football field of the deserted former high school, Kelly pulled the truck
over. He was looking in the rearview mirror. He had done this more than once during the
tour, letting people pass us as we crept around the neighborhood.
“Come on, drive around me!” he said. Finally the car passed us. He watched it go.
“I'm real leery about people following me,” he said. “I wouldn't say
paranoid.
I'm cau-
tious. And of course, I've always got my little friend.”
He pointed at a small soft case resting between us on the floor of the cab.
“Oh,” I said. “You mean—”
“That's right,” and then he was holding it up, a heavy piece of metal that looked very
much like a handgun.
The afternoon had taken a turn. “I keep it loaded,” he said. “And one in the chamber.”
He said he carried the gun partly because of the crime rate in Port Arthur—but only partly.
“There are some people here who hate my guts,” he said. “They think I'm a trouble-
maker. That I'm going to make them lose their jobs. But I am not trying to shut the refiner-
ies down. I just think they need to abide by the regulations we already have. By the Clean
Air Act. And they're not.”
A phrase like “abide by the Clean Air Act,” I noticed, took on a nice urgency when you
waved a loaded .40 caliber around while saying it.
We passed by a storage yard full of components for the Motiva expansion. Kelley was
talking about the products that came from the refineries. He knew they were important. He
knew we all used them. He was, after all, driving a truck that probably got about fifteen
miles to the gallon.
“My campaign has always been, it could be cleaner,” he said. “It could be done safer.
Our health could be protected. The companies should open up. Let us know what's going
on. Let us make informed decisions.” We made a pair of right turns onto roads flanked by
pipelines.
“In fairness,” he said, “they're doing a little better.”
He stopped the truck. We had come to the Carver Terrace housing projects, a set of two-
story brick buildings facing the Motiva refinery. Kelley pointed down a pathway.
“I was born right in there,” he told me. “First floor.”
