
Silly people. Someone should remind them they should only be looking forward, never back.
On the morning of July 14, 1959, Sodium Reactor Experiment trainee John Pace received the bad news from a group of supervisors who had, he recalled, "terribly worried expressions on their faces."
A reactor at the Atomics International field laboratory in the Santa Susana Mountains had experienced a power surge the night before and spewed radioactive gases into the atmosphere.
"They were terrified that some of the gas had blown over their own San Fernando Valley homes," recalled Pace, who was 20 at the time. "My job was to keep radiation out of the control room."
Pace set to work sealing doors and windows with clear packing tape and scrubbing the walls with sanitary napkins soaked with special chemicals because, he said, "soap and water wouldn't do the trick" . . .
In August 1959, about five weeks after the accident, the Atomic Energy Commission published a press release indicating that "a parted fuel element had been observed," a reference to damage. But it added that there was no evidence of radioactive releases or unsafe operating conditions.
"They wanted to keep it secret," Pace said.
Lab officials kept switching the reactor off and on until July 26, when it was shut down and dismantled. There was evidence of melting in a third of the reactor's fuel elements. For about two weeks, the facility, which employed several thousand people, had been venting colorless and odorless radioactive gas into the environment.
"Radioactivity levels during the accident went off-scale," said Dan Hirsch, a spokesman for the antinuclear group Committee to Bridge the Gap. "We thus do not know to this day how much radioactivity was released." Details of the incident were not disclosed until 1979, when a group of UCLA students discovered documents and photographs that referred to a problem at the site involving a "melted blob" . . .
Home to 10 nuclear reactors and plutonium- and uranium carbide-fabrication plants, it has also been the site of more than 30,000 rocket engine tests, the thunderous explosions serving as a Cold War-era hallmark for nearby residents. Old-timers still talk about being alarmed by experiments that lighted up the night sky, shook the ground and cracked windows.
I don't know if I qualify as an old-timer or not, but either way, I can definitely vouch for this, as a kid growing up the shadows of the Santa Susanas in the 1960s. Once every few weeks, usually in mid-morning, they’d fire up some booster rocket they were testing for a few minutes, and good God, you wouldn’t believe the racket. Its force was so strong, it would shake the asphalt playground at my elementary school---you could actually feel the soil vibrations through the soles of your feet---and this was several miles away from the test site.
Back then, of course, we actually viewed these tests with some degree of civic pride--since, after all, the folks out in Woolsey Canyon were testing rockets for “the space program.” At least that’s what we were all told at the time. Only later did we learn that the federal government's definition of the “space program”---which we assumed was limited to John Glenn and Neil Armstrong and all those brave young astronauts whose wholesome faces adorned our classroom walls---was expansive enough to include Titan II missiles which were to be outfitted with nuclear warheads aimed at the Evil Empire. Ah well, guess they didn’t want us worrying whether the Soviets actually had any real missiles aimed at us when we conducted those lame monthly “take cover” drills.
And, of course, nobody ever really explained to us about the chemicals used to formulate rocket fuel, and where any spilled substances went . . .
Later, in the 1970s, those hills were a popular destination for kids of my generation---high schoolers and college students like myself who would hike up the rocky old Santa Susana stage road, not more than a mile at most from the Rocketdyne test site, perhaps to get away from the ugliness of suburbia to enjoy some wild country---there were still plenty of critters in those hills back then----and drink cheap wine, smoke some reefer, or do naughty things with our girlfriends away from our parents’ prying eyes. (In that sense we were following in the footsteps of some famous bad hombres who used these same rocky redoubts for their own nefarious ends.) Mpore often as not, though, we'd simply hike up in the Susanas to simply enjoy an afternoon of strenuous exercise, with some spectacular views at the top of the pass being the payoff. None of us had any idea that we were essentially hiking over and around a giant toxic waste dump, or that the air that seared our lungs on those triple-digit summer days might’ve been rich in glow-in-the-dark isotopes.
But as has been reported before, this isn't exactly news to the locals. Or at least those who’ve been around long enough, or who, like me, have long memories, or read local dead-tree media besides the LA Times because the '59 meltdown only marked the beginning of the atrocities that took place in Woolsey Canyon for years, which have been litigated for decades, and which we have still not completely cleaned up.
The Rocketdyne facility sits upon 2,668 acres of land in the Santa Susana hills between the San Fernando and Simi valleys and, for decades, used vast amounts of the fuel oxidizer perchlorate in rocket tests. According to government records, nearly a ton of the poisonous substance was burned at the Santa Susana Field Laboratory (SSFL), nicknamed "the Hill." Now the site is polluted with all manner of chemical and radiological contaminants. One spot at SSFL registered 1,600 parts per billion (ppb) for perchlorate. California considers any water registering over 4ppb to be unsafe for human consumption.
Two class-action lawsuits were filed in 1997 against Boeing, which owns Rocketdyne, contending that claimants were made sick or put in harm's way by Rocketdyne's pollution problems. One lawsuit was filed by Erin Brockovich's boss, Edward L. Masry, whose firm helped garner a $333 million settlement against Pacific Gas & Electric over cancers in Hinkley, California, regarding toxic chromium-6 pollution.
However, the Rocketdyne class actions were quashed in October 2000 by Van Nuys-based U.S. District Court Judge Audrey Collins. She ruled that news reports in the Los Angeles Daily News about Rocketdyne's discharge of hazardous and radioactive toxins, published between 1989 and 1991, should have prompted the plaintiffs to file proceedings at that time, despite repeated statements from Rocketdyne that it wasn't responsible for offsite contamination. Under past California law, plaintiffs had only one year to file a lawsuit if they believed they'd been harmed. Since January 1, this period has been doubled to two years.
On November 27, 2002, the Ninth District Court of Appeals overturned a lower court's decision to throw out 18 individual toxic tort cases against Boeing. The Court ruled that the plaintiffs met the statute of limitations requirements since they filed their cases after UCLA released a 1997 toxic contamination study. That survey showed that 4,563 of Rocketdyne's past and present nuke workers had elevated rates of cancer, and that exposure to radiation causes health risks at levels lower than previously known.
Silly people. We need to be looking forward, never back. We know that bad things happened. Bad things that will never be allowed to happen again. Continued prying into matters like this will only damage America's reputation in the world. Or make the Eisenhower administration look bad. Or . . . something.
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