posted 05-21-2002 04:53 PM
The Kokomo Hum
Reports of Mysterious Noise and Illness in IndianaBy Oliver Libaw
Feb. 13 — Some say it's like a diesel engine idling. Others describe it as a deep drone or fluorescent light-like buzz. And a great many people don't hear anything at all.
Complaints about the "Kokomo Hum" began in 1999, when a handful of local residents began to report a constant low-pitched rumbling noise. They say they developed a range of mysterious health problems soon after, including dizziness, diarrhea, extreme fatigue, joint and muscle pain, nosebleeds, and excruciating, unending headaches.
"I think we all know something was starting to go drastically wrong about two years ago," says LaQuita Zimmerman, a 55-year-old grandmother who has lived in Kokomo her entire life. "It went from a headache to a never-ending headache," she says. When she leaves Kokomo to visit relatives, the suffering abates, she says.
"It's been over two years now," says Maria McDaniels, who lives several miles away from Zimmerman. "We just noticed a low hum — a drone in the background. It seemed to increase in intensity in the wee hours of the night."
McDaniels says she, her two sons and her husband began to experience regular headaches, sleep problems, and diarrhea around the same time. She admits she doesn't know for certain how the sound she hears relates to the symptoms, but she wants the hum investigated.
Zimmerman and McDaniels are not alone; Sen. Richard Lugar's office says it has received more than 80 letters complaining about the sound.
But most people in this central Indiana town of 45,000 don't hear anything at all. Hum Complaints Met With SkepticismMany Kokomo residents have been skeptical about reports of mysterious illnesses caused by a mysterious vibration, and local officials have done little to investigate.
"I know it does sound pretty bizarre," Zimmerman says. "It did to me before I was affected."Attention to the problem began to increase last summer, however, when the Kokomo Tribune began an extensive investigation of the reports of the hum. The paper talked to 40 residents who reported hearing the noise, and found that nearly all had visited a doctor more than once about related health problems, and at least 15 had undergone a series of neurological tests. Doctors typically attributed the problems to stress or aging, the Tribune found.
In an editorial last Sunday, the Tribune called for local officials to lead an investigation into the hum reports. "The Kokomo Tribune editorial board wonders if city and state officials hope this issue won't just go away on its own," the paper said.
Hums Reported from New Mexico to Scotland
The Kokomo Hum is far from the first such complaint about strange low-frequency noise and related health problems. The so-called "Taos Hum" in northern New Mexico drew international attention in the early 1990s, as residents there complained of a persistent deep droning noise and accompanying headaches and illnesses.
Extensive investigations there failed to measure any low-frequency vibration that experts believed could cause either the noise or the infirmities reported by those who heard it. Even people who believe the Taos Hum is real admit that it has attracted a large number of outlandish theories and conspiracy buffs, which has hurt their credibility.
People in Taos continued to complain about the hum — some still do so today — but attention died down and many of those who reported serious problems moved away. A California rock band named itself "The Taos Hum," lending further infamy to the phenomenon.
Nevertheless, people in dozens — perhaps hundreds — of communities around the world have claimed they have been sickened by low-frequency noises. There is the "Larg Hum," in Scotland, the "Bristol Hum," in England, and others in Japan, Scandinavia and elsewhere.
Some have been supported by scientific data; others have not. The existence of low-frequency noises that cause nuisances is hardly controversial. Such sounds can be generated by turbines, industrial fans, compressors and other machinery. The vibrations can travel a half-mile or more through the ground, causing dishes to rattle and a small subsection of the population to hear an annoying low drone.
Adding insulation or adjusting equipment can often alleviate the problem. Vibration Detected, But More Tests NeededIn Kokomo, reputable experts say they have detected a low-frequency noise of some kind.
In 2000, one hum-afflicted Kokomo resident hired an acoustic engineer to test for low-frequency noise. The engineer, Angelo Campanella, who runs his own acoustic consultancy firm and holds a doctorate in physics and electrical engineering, found a low-frequency noise in the woman's home, but at a relatively low level. "The level that is there is right at the threshold of perception, around 60 decibels," Campanella says.
The vibration Campanella detected would be considered a borderline problem according to some scales, and on other scales would be below problematic levels, says another acoustic engineer, Paul Schomer, who reviewed the data. Both men stress that more testing is needed before drawing any conclusions about the hum. "We don't have really definitive data," says Schomer. "We need to have measurements at a bunch of these houses over a period of time."
Without speculating on the hum's possible effects on Kokomo residents, Schomer notes that scientists have associated a range of symptoms, such as general fatigue and malaise, with low-frequency noises. Caution Against Blaming Hums for Every ProblemOther acoustics experts caution against associating a range of serious health problems to a low-frequency noise, however.
"They may be hitting on something that's a real phenomenon, but it could be their imagination," says Bennett Brooks, an engineer and investigator who heads the American Acoustical Society's Technical Committee on Noise. "The levels [of low-frequency noise] that will rattle dishes on a wall … haven't been shown to cause health problems, other than perhaps people waking up at night worrying." He, too, is supportive of more testing for the Kokomo Hum. It generally is not difficult to measure low-frequency noise and to determine its source or sources. But in Kokomo, there has been little investigation beyond Campanella's one-time measurements.
People complaining about the hum have approached myriad local, state, and federal agencies, but none has agreed to investigate. "We'd like to find the cause and correct the problem," says Scott Winger, a postal employee who hears the hum and believes he, his wife and children have suffered a range of health problems because of it. "It's not something that we just thought up." http://abcnews.go.com/sections/us/DailyNews/kokomohum020213.html
Constant hum rattles lives in Indiana town
05/12/02
Brian Albrecht
Plain Dealer Reporter
Kokomo, Ind.- Fear ripples in silent, invisible waves in this small factory town surrounded by green horizons of corn.
People say pulses of low-frequency sound are pounding neighborhoods with an unseen fist; making them hurt, making them sick. They say their houses crack and vibrate from the same mysterious force that drives spikes of pain through their eyes and ears, bones and joints; churns their guts in bouts of diarrhea and nausea; robs them of sleep and nearly their sanity; wakens their children in the middle of the night with bloody noses. Truck driver Billy Kellems says there are days when he can sit on his back patio and watch dead leaves dance on the ground, "cracking and popping like butter in a skillet."
Postal worker Scott Wenger wearily recites a long list of health problems that have sapped the life from his family, sighing, "Once, we actually used to smile and laugh, have fun and feel like doing things." They, and others in this city north of Indianapolis, blame a phenomenon called "the Kokomo Hum." It's a catchy title, though somewhat of a misnomer.
There is a nearly continuous noise that can be heard in some parts of town; a muted rumble that sounds like a train or truck engine idling in the distance, or the muffled roar of a far-off furnace. Yet what you can't hear accompanying this noise - a sound beyond the range of human hearing - is what really hurts, according to residents who say they have been sickened by this force during the last three years.
The number of complaints reached a point last month where the city authorized $100,000 for investigating the mystery, despite the small number of people who say they're affected (about 100 in a community of 47,000), and the skepticism of some residents about this expenditure and whether the hum exists. But for those who say they've endured the hum, that $100,000 offers a glimmer of hope. "At least the city is finally acknowledging that there may be something to it," says Scott Wenger's wife, Penny. "It's legit. It makes sense, and it's here." Investigation abroad Actually, it's almost everywhere.
Low-frequency, or infrasound, waves are those falling below 20 hertz (humans can hear sounds from 20-20,000 hertz) and can are capable of traveling thousands of miles. They can be generated naturally by earthquakes, avalanches, waterfalls, volcanic explosions, hurricanes and tornadoes. Whales and elephants use infrasound to communicate, and the low-frequency pitch accompanying a tiger's roar can temporarily paralyze its prey. Man-made infrasound is produced by explosions, or large machinery including power-generating plants.
Infrasound-detection technology is used to monitor violations of nuclear test ban treaties. The possible effect of infrasound on human health has been investigated abroad for many years, prompting creation of such groups as the Low-Frequency Noise Sufferers Association in England.
But Dr. Scott Masten, staff scientist at the National Institutes of Environmental Health Sciences, cautions that lab tests may not apply to a communitywide infrasound problem - of which few have been documented. Two of the more widely reported cases of unidentified low-frequency "hums" blamed for inflicting health problems have been in Scotland and Taos, N.M. In 1999, the hum came to Kokomo - named for a Miami Indian chief and the self-described "city of firsts," for the first commercially constructed automobile, pneumatic rubber tire, canned tomato juice, push-button car radio and "Old Ben," the world's largest steer (4,270 pounds), whose mounted carcass is displayed in a local park. Today, this factory/farm tradition continues in a city dominated by such industries as a huge DaimlerChrysler transmission plant, the world headquarters of the Delco division of Delphi Automotive, and Haynes International, maker of high-performance alloys for jet engines and power turbines.
Folks who work and live in the town are "pretty much level-headed, salt-of-the-earth people," says Lisa Hurt Kozarovich, who has written a series of stories about the hum for the Kokomo Tribune. "That's probably why they're having a difficult time with this [hum], because it is something strange and unusual," she says. "They can't see it, smell it or touch it, so it raises questions like, How can a noise make you sick?' " To those living with the hum, how it occurs doesn't matter as much as when it will end.
Since the hum started three years ago, Maria McDaniel said, she and her husband, Billy Kellems, 36, and two sons, ages 11 and 17, have suffered sleeplessness, headaches, diarrhea, nausea, aching joints and nerves rubbed raw. The noise and vibrations are stronger at night but diminish on weekends, leaving them irritable and disoriented, like a bad hangover, McDaniel, also 36, says.
Certain parts of the house are affected, with continuous cracking and nails vibrating from walls in some areas, feelings of dizziness and vertigo in others. "Don't sit in that chair," Kellems, warns a visitor. "Nobody sits in that chair anymore.
Anybody who does has to go to the bathroom five minutes later." And yet the worst part about the hum, Kellems says, is wondering, "What's it doing to you when you can't sense it?" About a mile east of their house, much the same sicknesses and aches have plagued Penny and Scott Wenger and their four children, ages 5 through 18. Scott Wenger, 43, describes the debilitating effect of the hum as "like standing under a fluorescent light that's flickering, about ready to go out. It just gets on your nerves."
Wenger and others who say they're affected by the hum tell of TVs and household appliances turning themselves on and off, light bulbs frequently burning out or exploding, and cell phones malfunctioning. Wenger says he's had the house checked for gas leaks, radon, sewer gas, carbon monoxide and black mold. All tests were negative. Medical tests also have become a way of life for some families.
Evelyn Floyd, 45, estimates that she has spent nearly $8,000 beyond insurance coverage on examinations and medications for pain and depression caused by the hum. She and her husband, Tom, 37, moved to a new house after she was gripped in her own, personal earthquake in 1999 - "a sudden vibration, shooting up my legs and spine, that shook me like a rag doll." She says it left her with lingering ailments including muscle cramps, headaches and loss of memory. The move didn't help. She says she still hears the sound, feels the invisible pressure, and her husband can't shake a constant ringing in his ears. "Some people look at you like you're nuts. It makes me mad," Floyd says. "I am not a fruitcake. I am not nuts."
It's a familiar reaction to Diane Anton, 51, who has waged an aggressive campaign for public awareness and government investigation of the hum. She even hired private engineering firms to test for infrasound at her house. Those tests indicated that a nearby factory could be the source of the sound. Initially, the response of residents and officials to her campaign was frustrating, Anton says. "Everyone was trying to say I wasn't normal, that I was just hearing or feeling things that weren't there, questioning my mental health," she says. In late 1999, her headaches, nosebleeds, aching joints and chronic diarrhea became too much to handle. After working for 30 years at Delco, Anton took early retirement and moved to South Bend, about 90 miles from Kokomo. "I feel better here than I did there," she says. She left behind the house she had built in 1996; her $200,000 "dream house." It now sits empty and abandoned. It isn't for sale. "I can't do that to anybody else. My conscience won't allow me," she says. "Would you like to be the one I sold it to?"
Government inaction The government intervention that Anton pushed so hard to get has been hindered by a lack of funds, expertise and equipment, officials say. "This is a phenomenon beyond our expertise," says Kris Conyers, the County Health Department administrator. "We don't have anything to put our hands on, no data that says this is a problem and what's causing it." An Indiana State Department of Health report in 2000 regarding Anton's complaints found a sound "not considered normal for residential neighborhoods," and said the factory identified by Anton's consultants could be a source. But the report also concluded that there was no evidence to link the sound with anyone's health problems. Subsequent state Health Department requests for federal investigation of the hum went nowhere.
Both the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and U.S. Environmental Protection Agency could offer no help. Kokomo's recent authorization of $100,000 to study the hum represents both a financial and philosophical commitment, according to Ken Ferries, city attorney. By authorizing the money, "the city accepts that there is something worth looking into," he says. "The outcome could be, yes, there is a problem, or it could turn out to be nothing," he says. "I think folks would like to know, once and for all." Some have already made up their minds.
A recent contributor to the Kokomo Tribune's "Sound Off" column wrote: "I can't believe the mayor is going to spend $100,000 to appoint a committee or someone to study the so-called mysterious hum that residents say is causing them health problems. . . . What a waste of money." That isn't an uncommon sentiment, says Kozarovich, local writer. "It's a problem because most people don't hear it at their homes and find it hard to believe," she says. "Some people say they [noise sufferers] are just looking to sue somebody." More tolerance Though not necessarily the same situation in terms of a health mystery, Kokomo is the community that in the mid-1980s made Ryan White - who contracted AIDS from his treatment for hemophilia - the national poster boy for AIDS prejudice and intolerance. The 15-year-old was banned from public school, someone fired a bullet through the Whites' front window, and when the family ate in restaurants, their plates and silverware were thrown out.
Nowadays, however, many residents are considerably more tolerant of those who say they have been afflicted by the hum. Residents who haven't heard it nevertheless empathize with those who say they have.
Teresa Hudson, 43, who helps run a convenience store in the same area of town where several of the noise complaints originate, says some of her customers talk about having similar health problems. "They're mirroring the same symptoms, and what they're experiencing is not just in their imagination," she says. Those who hear and feel the hum say their numbers would be greater if others like them weren't reluctant to come forward. They say there's a fear of being ridiculed or criticized; or of lawsuits that could be brought by sound-sufferers against local employers, costing jobs in this strong union town.
Billy Kellems denies seeking financial gain from his family's plight. "It's not about a lawsuit. Keep your damn money. Just give me back my happiness," he says. So why not just move? It's a common question, Kellems says. But he and his wife believe the problem isn't unique to Kokomo, and this is as good a place as any to make a stand. "Kokomo is known as the city of firsts, so why not be the first to figure out what's going on?" he says. "If that's our motto, let's live by it." Yet he and others wonder just what kind of community they will wind up with as a result of the hum.
"Is this going to keep our children from being able to have kids?" asks Scott Wenger. "Is this going to be a community so burned out from lack of sleep that it'll go nuts?" The future is as uncertain as the present. For the moment, they can only endure and hope that someday the hum will end. As Kellems says, "Right now, hope is all we got." http://www.cleveland.com/news/plaindealer/index.ssf?/xml/s tory.ssf/html_standard.xsl?/base/news/1021208101319650.xml
Today: May 21, 2002 at 14:10:26 PDT
Hum Haunts Residents of Ind. Town
KOKOMO, Ind.- It started as a low hum, barely noticeable. But within months, the endless throbbing was like a corkscrew twisting into Diane Anton's temple. The walls of her home vibrated. Her bed shook. Bouts of nausea, short-term memory loss and hand tremors followed. "The noise was so penetrating and invasive," she said. "It was just not getting better." So Anton quit her job, abandoned her $180,000 house and fled. She was the first person driven out of the city by what's come to be known as "the Kokomo hum."
But she may not be the last. As many as 90 people in this industrial, central Indiana city of about 47,000 have complained about a low-frequency hum over the past three years, City Attorney Ken Ferries said. While most residents don't hear a thing, beyond the typical sounds of the city's factories and busy roads, the City Council approved a $100,000 study of the mysterious noise, often described as the constant idle of tractor trailer's diesel engine.
"We decided, rather than sit on our duffs and talk about it, let's try to do something," Ferries said. The city intends to request proposals for the study by the end of the month. Those who suffer the hum, and have had years to educate themselves about low-frequency sound, say it's about time. They point to evidence, grounded in science, that exposure to consistent, low-frequency noise can cause vibroacoustic disease. It has symptoms that mirror the ailments those in Kokomo are complaining about - nausea, headaches and dizziness, to name a few. Unidentified sounds that bother a handful of people have popped up in communities around the world, but because so few are affected, the issue hasn't received much attention.
In Taos, N.M., a small town in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, some residents were bothered by a mysterious noise in the early 1990s. They, too, described the sound as a diesel truck idling in the distance, and said it caused sleeplessness, dizziness and a host of other symptoms.
On the Puerto Rican island of Vieques, people have long complained of health problems caused by low-frequency sound coming from a U.S. Navy bombing range. The Navy has discounted those claims, and continues bombing in the area.
Some in Kokomo claim city government knows the noise comes from an industrial source but believe officials are in cahoots with local industry and refuse to make companies fix the problem. Others view a wider conspiracy, that the federal government is well aware of low-frequency sound problems but ignores them to appease large corporations.
"It's just like every other major environmental issue. It all comes down to money," Anton said. Ferries, the city attorney, said such claims are ridiculous. Kokomo's investment in research shows officials are taking it seriously, he said.
Kathie Sickles, who lives near Kokomo, spends most of her free time trying to educate people about the hum. She packages research papers and other sound studies in bright-colored plastic folders and hands them out to City Council members. She makes fliers for the public, "SOUND POLLUTION CAN HURT YOU!," filled with Internet addresses and lists of symptoms associated with exposure to low-frequency sound. "People need to know this is going on," said Sickles, who formed a group called Our Environment. "People are getting sick and nothing's being done."
Angelo Campanella, an acoustical engineer hired by Anton, detected low frequency sound in her neighborhood, but said further research would be needed to clearly determine a source. Campanella said he was not able to hear the sound Anton described, but believed "others may be more sensitive to it." Most Kokomo residents aren't, however. Jeff Smith, owner of Jeff's Barber Shop, said aside from some coverage of the issue in the Kokomo Tribune, which urged an investigation in a front-page editorial, he doesn't hear much about the hum. "As far as I know, I don't think it exists," Smith said. "I can't say I've ever heard it." http://www.lasvegassun.com/sunbin/stories/nat-gen/2002/may/21/052101760.html
[Edited 2 times, lastly by Dan Rockwell on 05-21-2002]