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![]() Cooking Class Studying the not-so-fine points of meth manufacturing
"I guess it's my job to teach you how to cook meth," cracks John
Martyny of the National Jewish Medical Center. He's surrounded by
matchbooks, coffee strainers, packets of Sudafed and other domestic
commonalities used in do-it-yourself methamphetamine production. As his
onlookers jot notes, he ribs them repeatedly, although, as he is careful
to observe, this is nothing you can't get through a quick perusal of
the
Web.
In order to learn about meth manufacturing, Martyny and his
colleagues accompanied police on the job, but never found a "hot,
cooking lab." So they created one of their own. Martyny confesses to
producing meth "ten or fifteen times" with nothing that isn't
displayed here and available legally. The process is simple enough, if
messy and dangerous. "Any of you could do this," says Martyny. "The
problem is, not all of you are chemists. And the ones who aren't
chemists are going to make mistakes."
The American Industrial Hygiene Association constructed this
science-fair style "mock meth lab" for AIHce, its conference and
exposition, held this year at McCormick Place. This Tuesday morning
press conference draws reporters from the Los Angeles Times and a
number
of other big-name outlets. Several thumb through the copy of "Secrets
of Methamphetamine Manafacture" by "underground chemist" Steve
"Uncle Fester" Preisler that sits on one table.
As Phoenix police officer Heather McArthur says, the Midwest has
become America's "mecca of meth." With 1,058 labs discovered in 2004
(the last year for which stats are currently available), Illinois ranks
fourth in meth busts, behind Indiana, Kentucky, Iowa and the
ever-industrious Missouri. (At 2,788 labs, the show-me state eclipses
its top two competitors put together.) The meth industry has its roots
in California, says McArthur, but as the heat came down, the cooks
moved
their operations into sheltered rural areas.
On one table, a Slinky and other colorful toys symbolize the peril
that meth kitchens foist on kids living in their proximity. Kids
"explore by taste," says Martyny, and young children of meth cooks
will likely sample poison. McArthur tells of one cook who hid deadly
chemicals in baby bottles. Children come up a lot, which is hardly
surprising. But this isn't really about the children. It's about the
hassles of cleaning up abandoned meth labs, which is a big, weird
business.
One pound of meth generates six pounds of waste, says Thomas Koch of
Koch Environmental Health, Inc. This can go in the basement, in the
backyard, and elsewhere on or around the property, but it has to go
somewhere. Eventually, all that chemistry fosters health hazards and
potential lawsuits. "In my experience," says Koch, "most of this is
not covered by insurance."
"We'd like to contaminate a house," says Martyny, "and follow it
for a year. Problem is, if you wake up one morning and three homeless
people are living there, that's a big problem."
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