A tragic ending to a triumphant life, Skramstad's passing comes more than 45 years after he, like many of Libby's residents, received a death sentence in the dusty, asbestos-contaminated mill on Zonolite Mountain. At 3 a.m. Sunday, Skramstad died peacefully in his sleep, family members said.
“He went to sleep and died very peacefully,” said Bonnie Goldsbury, Les' niece, who lives in Washington. “They've been in preparation for this for so long, and it's good the disease didn't extend itself any more.”
In 1999, when news reports first linked asbestos from the Libby mine to the deaths and illnesses of residents, Skramstad became the gaunt public face of a human tragedy, and a reliable source for government officials trying to salve the asbestos problem. But in the small mountain town where Skramstad built a home, raised his family and underwent a slow, painful deterioration, he remained one face to thousands. Les Skramstad was the Roy Rogers of Libby, the embodiment of the all-American hero.
“He literally has spent the last, best and healthiest years he had left fighting for everyone else, because the fight was all over for him,” said Gayla Benefield, another important victims' advocate who suffers from asbestosis and has lost both of her parents and countless family members to the disease. “It's been over for all of us who were exposed, but Les believed we had to keep up the fight for everybody else.”
Earlier this month, Skramstad was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a rare and aggressive form of asbestos-related cancer that usually affects the lining of the lungs. In Skramstad's case, however, tumors invaded his stomach, and a weekly procedure to drain the cancerous fluid had become a necessary, and painful, rite of survival.
Soon after the diagnosis, Les needed more care than his wife, Norita, could provide on her own, and on a recent weekend it became clear that hospice care was critical to his survival. Because no nurses were available on such short notice during the weekend, a waitress from the Libby Cafe gave up her shifts and lent the Skramstads a hand for two days.
In 1959, Skramstad began working at Zonolite, a mining company purchased in 1963 by W.R. Grace and Co., which assumed responsibility for the mill's legal liabilities. Skramstad left the company before W.R. Grace bought it, but three years was long enough for him not only to develop the asbestos-related lung disease asbestosis, but also to spread it to his family.
Skramstad's wife and two oldest children, Laurel and Brent, continue to suffer from the disease, which causes thick layers of scar tissue to develop on the lungs, making it impossible to take an easy breath.
While Skramstad accepted his own diagnosis grudgingly, he could hardly bear the reality when Norita and his children were diagnosed with the same fatal disease.
“They were together forever,” Bonnie Goldsbury said. “Les and Norita were married for over 50 years. When you lose someone you've been with for three-quarters of your life, it's like losing half of yourself.”
Skramstad was among the first activists to bring the plight of Libby to the attention of local and state officials, many of whom refused to listen. County officials and town leaders resisted Skramstad's warnings and even tried to discredit him, fearing Libby would become a ghost town.
But when the Environmental Protection Agency arrived in 1999 and determined the entire town was blanketed in dangerous tremolite asbestos particles, which are far more hazardous than the common chrysotile variety, Skramstad was vindicated - though he said his family would have fared a lot better “if it'd turned out I was just plum crazy.”
He wasn't crazy. High levels of asbestos had coated Libby for years, not only at the mine site, but at elementary schools, playgrounds, gardens and homes.
As a result, approximately 250 people from the community of 8,000 have died of asbestos-related diseases, and nearly 2,000 have been diagnosed with associated lung ailments. Of that group, 70 percent never worked at the mine. Furthermore, W.R. Grace, a worldwide conglomerate, exported its asbestos-contaminated vermiculite to the world, selling it under a variety of trade names to insulate millions of buildings in the U.S.
A 2005 federal indictment accuses Grace and seven of its current and former managers with conspiring to conceal health risks posed by the mine, which shut down in 1990. However, the U.S. District Court trial in Missoula was sidelined pending a host of appeals on legal matters, a decision that was concerning to many Libby residents eager to see some form of justice.
Skramstad was principal among those who had hoped to stay alive long enough to witness the outcome of the Grace trial.
“That's the big ‘if,' ” he said in an interview last year. “This asbestosis is fatal, and it just gets worse on a daily basis. I'm gonna try my best to stay alive, because I'm really looking forward to hearing what the jury decides.”
Of the many public figures who, over the years, professed a great fondness and supreme respect for Skramstad, few spent more time and resources on Les and Libby than Montana's Sen. Max Baucus, whom Skramstad regarded with high esteem.
Eulogizing Skramstad on the floor of the U.S. Senate Monday afternoon, Baucus paid homage to his “personal friend,” Les Skramstad.
“Les Skramstad was not only an outspoken advocate for his town, which was horribly wronged at the hands of W.R. Grace, but he was also my friend.
“I first met Les in Libby in the year 2000. ... We sat down in Gayla Benefield's living room. There were about 25 people who were very ill. Over huckleberry pie and coffee, the group explained to me the horrific legacy that Grace had left behind. And although I had read the reports and briefing papers on the situation, that was the first time I had seen asbestos exposure up close. And, Mr. President, it was gut-wrenching. I'll never forget it - as long as I live.
“We will keep fighting for Les and for Libby. Les' passing only furthers my resolve to try harder. To do more. We won't let up. We will not stop,” Baucus said. “When I get tired, I think of Les. And I can't shake what he asked me to do. In all of my years as an elected official, helping Libby is among the most personally compelling things I've ever been called on to do.”
Skramstad's ability to touch people, said Benefield, was his most remarkable quality. Benefield realized the quality long ago, before their lives were consumed by fighting disease and injustice. Benefield and Les were childhood friends, and the Skramstads even named one of their daughters Gayla.
But the impact Skramstad made became most poignant Monday, while Benefield pored over dozens of e-mails written by victims, advocates and scientists from around the world.
“When you have nothing to lie about and nothing to exaggerate you speak the truth. And that was Les,” she said. “He was just a man. Just a common man. But the impression he's made all over the world is stupendous.”
Click here to hear Les Skramstad's final interview.
Click here to listen to Sen. Max Baucus' tribute to Les Skramstad on the floor of the U.S. Senate Monday.
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