He loved working in concrete. Now, he's dying from the chemical exposure

Maximilian Alvarez introduces James “NDN” Gardner, a Fort Worth concrete specialist facing terminal liver failure, severe chemical sensitivity, disability-claim delays, and the possible loss of his home. Gardner explains that his nickname began in high school in Oklahoma. After Native American students were bullied for being called “Indian,” one friend told the principal they were calling Gardner “N-D-N”—the letters associated with “Indian”—and the name stuck. Gardner says he has given permission for people to use it, and that friends distinguish him as “the NDN.” Gardner is third-generation in precast concrete and says he genuinely loved the work: transforming raw elements from the earth into structures meant to last and help people. He moved to Fort Worth to work on McKinney Stadium, his third stadium project. Before that, he worked with a powerful two-part epoxy resin used to seal concrete burial vaults. Gardner says only about 4% of people directly exposed to it develop an allergy, but argues that employers found it cheaper to pay affected workers than to change safety procedures. His symptoms worsened even after leaving the job; newly laid asphalt outside his home once triggered a week-long flare-up.

James Quigg recalls first seeing Gardner in high school as an older student with an unmistakable 1991 Chevy Cavalier. Gardner repeatedly resprayed the car, giving it animal-print designs, “Make love, not war,” and eventually quotations written across the body with paint pens. Quigg saw Gardner as the cool student surrounded by friends and girls, while Gardner initially viewed Quigg as a skinny new white student intruding on a group Gardner felt protective toward. Gardner jokes that Quigg had to “earn your keep,” and says it took a couple of years for them to become close. Gardner invited Quigg to his home, which was unusual because Gardner was living alone at 16. After his parents separated, he chose not to live with either parent, bought a trailer house through a state auction, and supported himself with income from full-time work. His first job was through the American Indian Education Training Association, which placed Native American workers in federal buildings; he did property-management and yard work and sometimes joined wildlife surveys. He then worked as a pro associate at Home Depot. Gardner and Quigg describe Bethany, Oklahoma, as a small-town edge of Oklahoma City, where they knew the police and regularly got into the kind of trouble common among young people in the late 1990s and early 2000s.

Gardner says only about five Native American students attended his high school, and they quickly formed a small community by asking which tribes one another came from. His father had been one of several Native children adopted off a reservation for very little money and raised by a white family in Oklahoma City, which Gardner says helps explain why his family was in the city rather than near reservation communities such as Carnegie and Anadarko. He describes the environment as openly hostile. At 14, police stopped him because he resembled a description of a long-haired Native American suspected of robbing a gas station. They took him to the station even though the suspect was in his late twenties and Gardner was a child. School teaching about Native culture was limited to an annual trip to the Cal Boyd Hall of Fame, where students saw statues and heard about trail rides rather than receiving a meaningful account of Native history or life. Gardner and Quigg say their friendship became a form of solidarity. Gardner calls Quigg “my white guy,” joking that having him nearby makes him feel safer. Quigg says Gardner has consistently had his back, while Gardner describes Quigg as a person who helps everyone: repairing cars and homes, mowing yards, providing places to stay, and showing up whenever someone needs practical assistance.

Gardner explains that the epoxy resin used to make burial vaults watertight for 50 to 100 years was prioritized over the health of the workers applying it. After the initial exposure, he tried to remain in concrete but had to restrict himself to open environments and employers that would accommodate his condition. He also worked as a journeyman ironworker on Oklahoma City’s Devon Tower, traveling roughly 1,000 feet upward each day and developing acute altitude sickness while working outside the building. Doctors tested him for silicosis, a disease associated with inhaling concrete dust, and found some dust buildup in his lungs. Gardner says older concrete workers were expected to work through clouds of dust with safety glasses and by holding their breath. He acknowledges that he, too, sometimes sent workers to jobs with inadequate protection, telling them to use a dust mask when the material required a respirator. The company’s Material Safety Data Sheets explained chemical hazards and protective requirements, but employers often left the information in a book on the wall and prioritized completing the day’s work. His sensitivity expanded from the original adhesive to ordinary medical tape and bandages. He now carries specialized medical supplies, must remove or avoid adhesive equipment, and can break out from EKG electrodes, monitor tape, breathing-related equipment, paint, construction debris, stores, fast-food restaurants, perfume, and even the scent released when a T-Mobile store door opens.

Gardner says multiple chemical sensitivity has made ordinary errands and medical care difficult. He once became largely housebound, though delivery and drive-through options help him limit exposure. When seeking disability at a Social Security office, he would develop symptoms while waiting in rooms where people wore fragranced products. Some doctors have worked to provide clean, perfume-free environments, but others disregard his needs. A required allergy test itself used an adhesive bonding agent, causing him to test positive across the board and requiring an emergency shot that ended the test. The Fort Worth Star-Telegram article initially described him as receiving disability, but Gardner and Quigg clarify that he has not been approved. He was denied twice. Gardner says multiple chemical sensitivity was not recognized as a disability when he first became ill about ten years ago, although it has received more recognition in the past five years. His body’s continual immune response and experimental treatments have now contributed to internal-organ failure and terminal liver failure. He says he is scheduled for his tenth surgery of the year and has had to refile his claim using the organ failure and terminal diagnosis as the basis, rather than relying primarily on chemical sensitivity. Gardner also says he has reacted badly to some medications and vaccines, including developing walking pneumonia after a flu shot. He argues that medical treatments are not necessarily developed with a 40-year-old Native American patient like him in mind, and that the disability system has forced him to prove an already debilitating condition while his health deteriorates.

Because Gardner cannot work and has received no disability payments, his mortgage and other bills have continued while his home faces foreclosure. Quigg says the immediate goal is to keep Gardner in the house, but simply delaying foreclosure would leave the problem for Gardner’s children after he is gone. Gardner and Quigg were still waiting for a decision from Social Security; after the newspaper coverage, officials began contacting Gardner rather than making him repeatedly initiate communication. Quigg describes how the fundraising effort began. About six weeks before the interview, he, Gardner’s cousin, and Gardner’s mother sat around a kitchen table on Gardner’s birthday trying to find a solution: a loan, refinancing, refinancing the mother’s house, or Quigg purchasing the home. None was financially possible. Quigg went home frustrated, cried, and decided to create a GoFundMe explaining Gardner’s story. He says the fundraiser has kept Gardner afloat through donations from strangers, since Gardner has spent his life helping others but many of those people cannot provide financial assistance. Alvarez directs listeners to the episode’s show notes for the GoFundMe and the Star-Telegram article. Quigg emphasizes that Gardner has always been the person who helps others, while Gardner asks listeners to help people without expecting anything in return. His family motto is that time is all people have for one another: help an older person cross the street, assist someone with a flat tire, or do whatever practical good is possible. He closes by saying everyone shares one world and one life.