Photos of Ghost Town Treece, Kansas

2015-12-11T16:30:00Z

Treece, Kansas, doesn't exist anymore.

Founded in 1917 around a mining operation, the town was for decades a major supplier of lead, zinc, and iron ore. Then the reserves dried up and the local economy collapsed. Then people started getting sick, and eventually they realized just how toxic the land was after all that mining.

Residents abandoned Treece in 2012 as part of a government-funded relocation program after the US Environmental Protection Agency named it one of the most environmentally devastated places in the country. Where churches, a city hall, and small businesses formerly stood, torn-up roads and murky, orange waters remain.

Before the exodus, Brooklyn-based photographer Dina Kantor traveled to Treece on numerous occasions to document a community that would soon cease to exist. She kindly shared her journey with us.

A hundred years ago, a mining company truck broke down on its way to Oklahoma. The crew dug a hole to pass the time, so the story goes, and discovered a reserve of lead and zinc underground.

Source: New York Times

Treece, Kansas, was born. The town led zinc and lead production in the US by the 1920s, and supplied metal for most of the ammunition in World Wars I and II.

treece kansa map — Treece stretches just four by five blocks in the southeast corner of Kansas. Google Maps

Source: New York Times

Luck ran out by the 1960s. The reserves dried up, and the mining companies went bankrupt or left, taking their employees with them. The population fell to 138 by 2010.

DinaKantor Treece 02 — Trenton and Madison, Treece, KS, 2010. Dina Kantor

Source: US Census

Life went on in Treece. “It was a small town not unlike others in the middle of America,” Dina Kantor says. “Its residents [went] to church, gossiped with one another, and shopped at a local Wal-Mart."

DinaKantor Treece 06 — Vickie and Clyde, Treece, KS, 2011. Dina Kantor

“People lived in houses and mobile homes, and were always outside when I visited,” Kantor says. They owned small businesses, worked in factories, and drove for trucking companies.

Heaps of “chat," ground-up rock leftover from digging up precious minerals, created a striking backdrop. People rode ATVs in summer and sleds in winter over the piles.

But these manmade mountains served as a reminder that things were not good in Treece. Evidence mounted that the chat contained traces of lead.

DinaKantor Treece 04 — Ryan, Lane, and Lance, Treece, KS, 2011. Dina Kantor

Even the local Tar Creek flowed orange and smelled of vinegar. When it flooded the abandoned mine shafts years ago, it likely picked up toxins.

In 2009, an EPA report revealed 8.8% of children in Treece had elevated levels of lead in their blood, compared to 2.9% statewide. One child met the threshold for lead poisoning.

Source: Kansas Department of Health and Environment and The Wichita Eagle

Nearly everyone seemed to know a friend or family member suffering from lupus, multiple sclerosis, thyroid disease, cancer, eczema, or emphysema, though no scientific investigations were ever conducted to explain why.

Source: New York Times

Still, the evidence mounted. Some members of the community decided they would be better off leaving their homes. They petitioned the government for a buyout to help them evacuate.

DinaKantor Treece 11 — Dakota, Treece, KS, 2011. Dina Kantor

“I think it’s rare to see entire communities disappear,” Kantor says, "but even more rare to watch one push for its own dissolution."

Of course, not everyone wanted to go. Some people figured, "they had lived there so long that they would already be exposed to [the health issues]," Kantor says, "so there wasn’t much point in leaving."

In 2009, Congress passed a bill authorizing the EPA to spend roughly $3.5 million on the relocation. The buyout is now complete, with most residents settled in small towns in Kansas and Oklahoma, Kantor says.

Treece looks unrecognizable today, with homes demolished, the water tower broken down for scrap metal, and roads torn up. Even the land itself sold at an auction last year.

Last month, Kantor says, “I received a note from someone who lives on the outskirts of Treece, and she said the EPA is still out there working on various aspects of the cleanup."

Kantor describes the ordeal as a roller coaster of emotions. “Some were happy to go,” she says, "others still are nostalgic about the town they left behind."

DinaKantor Treece 13 — Gary, Treece, KS, 2011. Dina Kantor

THE TOWN THAT LASTED 96 YEARS: See how Treece, Kansas went from mining boom town to toxic wasteland

A hundred years ago, a mining company truck broke down on its way to Oklahoma. The crew dug a hole to pass the time, so the story goes, and discovered a reserve of lead and zinc underground.

Treece, Kansas, was born. The town led zinc and lead production in the US by the 1920s, and supplied metal for most of the ammunition in World Wars I and II.

Luck ran out by the 1960s. The reserves dried up, and the mining companies went bankrupt or left, taking their employees with them. The population fell to 138 by 2010.

Life went on in Treece. “It was a small town not unlike others in the middle of America,” Dina Kantor says. “Its residents [went] to church, gossiped with one another, and shopped at a local Wal-Mart."

“People lived in houses and mobile homes, and were always outside when I visited,” Kantor says. They owned small businesses, worked in factories, and drove for trucking companies.

Heaps of “chat," ground-up rock leftover from digging up precious minerals, created a striking backdrop. People rode ATVs in summer and sleds in winter over the piles.

But these manmade mountains served as a reminder that things were not good in Treece. Evidence mounted that the chat contained traces of lead.

Even the local Tar Creek flowed orange and smelled of vinegar. When it flooded the abandoned mine shafts years ago, it likely picked up toxins.

In 2009, an EPA report revealed 8.8% of children in Treece had elevated levels of lead in their blood, compared to 2.9% statewide. One child met the threshold for lead poisoning.

Nearly everyone seemed to know a friend or family member suffering from lupus, multiple sclerosis, thyroid disease, cancer, eczema, or emphysema, though no scientific investigations were ever conducted to explain why.

Still, the evidence mounted. Some members of the community decided they would be better off leaving their homes. They petitioned the government for a buyout to help them evacuate.

“I think it’s rare to see entire communities disappear,” Kantor says, "but even more rare to watch one push for its own dissolution."

Of course, not everyone wanted to go. Some people figured, "they had lived there so long that they would already be exposed to [the health issues]," Kantor says, "so there wasn’t much point in leaving."

In 2009, Congress passed a bill authorizing the EPA to spend roughly $3.5 million on the relocation. The buyout is now complete, with most residents settled in small towns in Kansas and Oklahoma, Kantor says.

Treece looks unrecognizable today, with homes demolished, the water tower broken down for scrap metal, and roads torn up. Even the land itself sold at an auction last year.

Last month, Kantor says, “I received a note from someone who lives on the outskirts of Treece, and she said the EPA is still out there working on various aspects of the cleanup."

Kantor describes the ordeal as a roller coaster of emotions. “Some were happy to go,” she says, "others still are nostalgic about the town they left behind."

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THE TOWN THAT LASTED 96 YEARS: See how Treece, Kansas went from mining boom town to toxic wasteland

A hundred years ago, a mining company truck broke down on its way to Oklahoma. The crew dug a hole to pass the time, so the story goes, and discovered a reserve of lead and zinc underground.

Treece, Kansas, was born. The town led zinc and lead production in the US by the 1920s, and supplied metal for most of the ammunition in World Wars I and II.

Luck ran out by the 1960s. The reserves dried up, and the mining companies went bankrupt or left, taking their employees with them. The population fell to 138 by 2010.

Life went on in Treece. “It was a small town not unlike others in the middle of America,” Dina Kantor says. “Its residents [went] to church, gossiped with one another, and shopped at a local Wal-Mart."

“People lived in houses and mobile homes, and were always outside when I visited,” Kantor says. They owned small businesses, worked in factories, and drove for trucking companies.

Heaps of “chat," ground-up rock leftover from digging up precious minerals, created a striking backdrop. People rode ATVs in summer and sleds in winter over the piles.

But these manmade mountains served as a reminder that things were not good in Treece. Evidence mounted that the chat contained traces of lead.

Even the local Tar Creek flowed orange and smelled of vinegar. When it flooded the abandoned mine shafts years ago, it likely picked up toxins.

In 2009, an EPA report revealed 8.8% of children in Treece had elevated levels of lead in their blood, compared to 2.9% statewide. One child met the threshold for lead poisoning.

Nearly everyone seemed to know a friend or family member suffering from lupus, multiple sclerosis, thyroid disease, cancer, eczema, or emphysema, though no scientific investigations were ever conducted to explain why.

"I never had a single resident of Treece tell me they thought their personal health issues were related to mining,” Kantor says. “And only one couple told me they worried about their home collapsing into a sinkhole."

Still, the evidence mounted. Some members of the community decided they would be better off leaving their homes. They petitioned the government for a buyout to help them evacuate.

“I think it’s rare to see entire communities disappear,” Kantor says, "but even more rare to watch one push for its own dissolution."

Of course, not everyone wanted to go. Some people figured, "they had lived there so long that they would already be exposed to [the health issues]," Kantor says, "so there wasn’t much point in leaving."

In 2009, Congress passed a bill authorizing the EPA to spend roughly $3.5 million on the relocation. The buyout is now complete, with most residents settled in small towns in Kansas and Oklahoma, Kantor says.

Treece looks unrecognizable today, with homes demolished, the water tower broken down for scrap metal, and roads torn up. Even the land itself sold at an auction last year.

Last month, Kantor says, “I received a note from someone who lives on the outskirts of Treece, and she said the EPA is still out there working on various aspects of the cleanup."

Kantor describes the ordeal as a roller coaster of emotions. “Some were happy to go,” she says, "others still are nostalgic about the town they left behind."

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