HICKS NEWS INVESTIGATES 

BY JAMIE HICKS 

Case: 2025LA000009 WASHKOWIAK BRAD vs CARUS, LLC, AN ILLINOI DATE: 2025-11-20

Type: TORT - MONEY DAMAGES (OVER Judge: HOLLAND TROY D Jury Trial

The Firefighter’s Story

When the explosion ripped through the Carus Chemical plant on the morning of January 11, 2023, residents across LaSalle watched a towering column of smoke climb into the winter sky. Within hours, city officials reassured the public that the plume posed no significant danger, that the situation was under control, and that any lingering alarm was misplaced. The message was consistent, repeated at council meetings, in interviews, and in official statements: the community had nothing to fear.

But inside the perimeter that morning, a very different reality unfolded.

According to a lawsuit quietly filed earlier this year in LaSalle County Circuit Court, one of the firefighters who responded to the scene suffered chemical burns during the effort to extinguish the blaze. The complaint, brought by veteran firefighter Brad Washkowiak, describes a fire far more intense and hazardous than the public was told — one fueled by more than a million pounds of chemical product stored inside the facility. Washkowiak alleges that the water used in the suppression effort became contaminated with potassium permanganate and other industrial chemicals, causing him direct injury as he worked to control the fire.

In the immediate aftermath, the city repeatedly maintained that the explosion had been largely contained, that no responders were seriously harmed, and that the drifting plume was non-toxic. Yet Washkowiak’s account, submitted under oath, contradicts core elements of the official narrative. His suit asserts that Carus had failed to properly store, label, or manage the hazardous material involved in the incident — including spilled permanganate that allegedly ignited when struck by a forklift. That version of events, if accurate, indicates systemic safety lapses inside a facility located just blocks from residential neighborhoods.

Washkowiak’s filing is not the first suggestion that the fire was more significant than publicly acknowledged, but it is the first to come from a city firefighter — a responder trained to evaluate risk, document hazards, and work within a command structure that depends on accurate information. His injuries, which include chemical burns attributed directly to exposure at the scene, stand in stark contrast to the city’s repeated assurances that no responders suffered toxic exposure.

For residents who were told the plume posed no threat, the firefighter’s lawsuit introduces a new layer of uncertainty. If a trained professional on the front lines was burned by chemicals that day, what does that suggest about the potential risks to others — including those who lived directly downwind?

The complaint also raises deeper questions about the city’s public messaging strategy after the explosion. Critics have long argued that officials downplayed the magnitude of the event and failed to disclose critical information about the chemicals involved. Washkowiak’s account, now part of the public record, suggests that even emergency responders were not given accurate or complete information as they entered the facility that morning. If true, the lack of transparency may have compromised not only public understanding but the safety of the first responders themselves.

Carus Chemical has denied wrongdoing, arguing in its defense filings that the so-called “fireman’s rule” — a legal doctrine that limits the ability of firefighters to sue property owners for injuries sustained during emergency responses — should bar Washkowiak’s claims. The company disputes key allegations about storage practices and chemical exposure. But the facts alleged by Washkowiak are difficult to reconcile with the city’s longstanding narrative of minimal hazard and low risk.

Nearly two years after the explosion, the firefighter’s lawsuit arrives at a moment when the official story no longer aligns neatly with the available evidence. Residents have begun questioning why, if the plume was harmless, a first responder now says he sustained chemical burns in the line of duty. And why, if the incident was under control, internal accounts from both workers and firefighters describe a chaotic and dangerous scene.

Washkowiak’s filing does not attempt to speak for the broader community, nor does it address the long-term environmental questions that continue to trouble residents. But his testimony — detailed, specific, and grounded in direct experience — forces a reconsideration of what happened that morning at Carus Chemical, and what the public was told in the days and months that followed.

And it marks the first time that someone inside the response effort has publicly contradicted the city’s narrative.

What comes next may depend on whether other voices, long silent, decide to step forward too.