Disneylands Downwinders

For Pinkerton, the environmental technician, it's not Disneyland employees or visitors who are most vulnerable, but rather residents in the surrounding neighborhood. "They're getting more of the contaminants," he says.

SHOULD THEY STAY?

Activist Anderson bought his Anaheim tract house in 1969 for $19,000. Since that time, he says, his home has been his hobby; he has invested a lot of himself in building additional rooms over the years.

In 1969, Anderson couldn't have predicted that Disney's expansion would be so intrusive. "The things that I didn't think about are the ones that are most important now," he says. But the retiree finds leaving the city, with all of its faults, inconceivable. "Some people like venturing into a new place," he says. "I never did."

Anderson is grateful that he lives a few blocks beyond Citron Street. When he visits friends in that neighborhood and the fireworks show begins, "it's like their roof is coming off."

"It's terrible—like a war," he says.

Sue Schneider believes that the excessive noise and the construction of the Disneyland expansion have depressed the value of her home. She would love to buy a home in Tustin Hills but can't swing the cash for what she figures would be a comparable home. "I can't afford the house I would like to buy," she says simply. "A home worth $350,000 to $400,000 in another area would be worth less in my neighborhood."

For Alejandro Robles, living in the epicenter of the smoke and ash, it's just another day on Citron Street. Leaning on a metal security fence at 9:30 p.m., he is among the few who stay outside during the nightly shows. "When someone has lived here for a while, they have to adapt to what is normal," he says. "After living here for three years, the fireworks have become normal to us."

And without even a hint of sarcasm, he explains, "On one side, it's really cool because the kids like to see the show. But on the other side, day after day of this smoke has to be harmful to some people."