On February 2, 2011, the lights in the operating rooms of Dallas' chief trauma center flickered briefly as diesel generators began to drone. Elective surgeries — even emergency transfers from other hospitals — were halted until further notice. All nonessential operations went dark. The walk-in clinics, even certain hallways, were cut off as Parkland Memorial Hospital braced for the worst. This was triage by electricity. Texas was in the teeth of a hard freeze as arctic winds swept down through the Rockies and dropped temperatures into the teens. Parkland was running a skeleton crew, its doctors and nurses fighting a losing battle against icy streets.
Peter Ryan
Peter Ryan
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Meanwhile, the grid operator whose job is to keep electricity flowing through three-quarters of the state was about to order the most sweeping rolling blackouts the state had ever seen and plunge Dallas into darkness. Despite assurances from power line company Oncor that Parkland wouldn't lose electricity, the hospital took no chances. "Our understanding was that it wouldn't affect any hospitals," Parkland trauma program and disaster management director Jorie Klein said. "We have been reassured by them that that will be taken into consideration."
Even so, the rolling blackouts found a way into Parkland's aging electrical systems. With the generators up and running, managers wouldn't realize until later that parts of the hospital had, in fact, lost power.
In the aftermath, as furious and bewildered lawmakers demanded answers — "It is unacceptable to have a system that is unprepared," scolded state Senator Kirk Watson — grid officials from the Electric Reliability Council of Texas (ERCOT) explained that the improbable had in fact occurred: One-third of the state's power plants were offline at the height of the crisis. Industry bigwigs such as the chief executive of Dallas-based Luminant, the biggest non-regulated generator of electricity in Texas, testified that frozen instrumentation had caused four of its huge coal-fired units to fail. To prevent the contagion of uncontrolled blackouts from spreading, its sister subsidiary, power transmission company Oncor, cut power to some 1.3 million North Texas customers.
It wouldn't be the last time the grid was severely tested in 2011.
Six months later, during one of the hottest summers on record, peak electricity demand shattered previous high marks almost daily. The Texas grid toed the brink of more rolling blackouts. But while lights across Dallas went out, AC units labored under the oppressive heat and white-knuckled ERCOT managers monitored the narrowing gap between supply and demand, the political class focused its attention elsewhere — primarily on its go-to villain, the Environmental Protection Agency. The agency had just announced a set of regulations that would reduce power plant emissions of sulfur dioxide — a byproduct of burning coal that contributes to the formation of acid rain and aggravates lung and heart disease, particularly among children, the elderly and asthmatics.
The rule would fall hard on Texas, which is second only to Ohio in sulfur dioxide emissions. It would fall even harder on Luminant, whose three northeast Texas coal-fired power plants — Big Brown, Martin Lake and Monticello — pump nearly half of the Texas total into that big, blue sky. Because the plants were old and, in some cases, lacked modern pollution controls, the company faced spending billions to comply with the new rules.
The price tag, Luminant warned, would be paid in blackouts, lost jobs and high prices. Luminant CEO David Campbell claimed the company had no choice but to idle two coal-fired generating units at the Monticello plant in Titus County, shut down a couple of lignite mines and lay off 500 workers. EPA's January 1 deadline simply left it no time to retrofit its plants with pollution control devices, Luminant asserted. "We have hundreds of employees who have spent their entire professional careers at Luminant and its predecessor companies," Campbell lamented in a statement. "At every step of this process, we have tried to minimize these impacts, and it truly saddens me that we are being compelled to take the actions we've announced today."
What Campbell neglected to mention was that his company didn't have to abide by the new rule until March 2013 — then a year and a half away.
But in an anti-regulatory state, where the governor ran a presidential campaign whose central plank was dismantling the EPA, when the largest power generator yells, it's not just a congressman or a state rep who answers. It's the members of key congressional committees. It's the chairman of the state Commission on Environmental Quality. It's the Texas attorney general. It is, of course, Governor Rick Perry.
The fact that Luminant's parent company made nearly $5 million in political contributions in 2011 probably didn't hurt its case any.
From the campaign trail, Perry blasted President Barack Obama and the "job-killing" EPA. "Yet again, this administration is ignoring Texas' proven track record of cleaning our air while creating jobs, opting instead for more stifling red tape," he said. (It should be noted that almost every major population center in the state violated EPA air quality standards in 2011.) "As expected, the only results of this rule will be putting Texans out of work and creating hardships for them and their families, while putting the reliability of Texas' grid in jeopardy."