To this day, I have no idea why I was sent to witness that atomic
test. But back then, it didn’t matter. I was a first lieutenant in the United
States Air Force and that’s what I was ordered to do. Besides, I was certain
the government knew what it was doing, and would never put me in harm’s way. I
was wrong, of course; but that’s the way it was in 1957.
Twenty years after the test, I received a letter from the Center
of Disease Control in Atlanta. “Our records show that in 1957 you observed a
highly classified nuclear test code named, Smokey,” it began. “It seems in that
particular test, an exceptionally large amount of radiation had been released
into the air, and in later years, a significant number of deaths from leukemia
had occurred among the participants.” After medical tests proved that I did not
have leukemia, I put the letter away and went on with my life. I was one of the
lucky ones. Others were not so lucky.
Between 1946 and 1962, over 400,000 military personnel were put in
harm’s way, operating in some cases near ground zero, minutes after
detonation—without any special protective clothing. The government told them
the radiation would be relatively harmless. And while guinea pigs used in the
tests were carefully washed and observed for weeks, if not months, after the
tests; humans were brushed off with brooms and returned to duty with no
follow-up studies. There should be no problem, the government said. Twenty
years later, the first and only study of test participants revealed that they
were contracting leukemia at two to three times the normal rate. I have not updated
the above statistics for over five years.
Why? Because confronting our government’s careless and blatant betrayal
of its veterans, even in statistical terms, has just become too much for me to bear. All I can tell you is that in 2007 when I
last visited the National Association of Atomic Veterans website (www.naav.com)
the situation was as follows: approximately 280,000 “atomic veterans” had
applied for medical benefits based on exposure to nuclear radiation. Of that number,
just 50 claims were approved. Time was running out for them. Fewer than 20,000
of their ranks were left. Many had cancer. Most were older than 75.
The story of these “atomic veterans” and how they were denied
medical benefits is old news, and it has always been increasingly difficult to
attract public attention to their plight. “We covered that story years ago,” is
the typical response from the media. But we should keep trying, because I
believe any period in history is directly connected to the present. It’s all a
matter of identifying the relevant issues and connecting the dots. In the case
of the atomic vets, the government grossly understated the danger of radiation
during atomic tests; misled the participants into believing that they were adequately
protected from the effects of that radiation; and worst of all, broke the
sacred vow traditionally made to veterans, namely that they will receive
medical care for service connected disabilities for the rest of their lives.
These days, Iraq and Afghanistan still occupy center stage;
although one has all but departed, and the other is preparing to leave. Meanwhile,
even the strongest supporters of those conflicts now admit that we
underestimated the resolve of the insurgents who routinely took American and
Iraqi lives through car bombs and other terrorist activities, and that both wars
took/is taking far longer than anticipated. Meanwhile, during the Iraq conflict
shortages of critical safety equipment like bullet proof vests and vehicle
armor was a common problem. Underestimating the threat and inadequate
protection? Connect the dots!
And what about the returning veterans whose bodies and minds were
shattered by the trauma of combat? Will we keep our promise to provide them
timely and adequate health care for as long as it is needed? I’d like to think
so, but the past is not encouraging; and the future does not look promising. After all, it was not that many years ago that
revelations about poor living conditions and bureaucratic delays at Walter Reed
Army Medical Center forced the resignations of three high-level Army officials
and led to a review of the vast network of clinics and hospitals run by the
Veterans Affairs Department; and the Pentagon was investigating allegations of
inadequate medical treatment and unsanitary conditions at a veteran’s nursing
home in our nation’s capital.
As a retired military officer and loyal American, I fully support
our armed forces. They voluntarily put themselves in harm’s way every day and
do a remarkable job. Why? Because they love their country and believe they are
doing the right thing. All they ask in return is that we are always up front
with them and always keep our promises. It’s not very much to ask considering
what they do for us.
Ron Standerfer was born and raised in
Belleville, Illinois, a town across the Mississippi river from St. Louis, Missouri.
While attending the University of Illinois he took his first airplane ride in a
World War II- Vintage B-25 bomber assigned to the local ROTC detachment. It was
a defining moment in his life. Weeks later, he left college to enlist in the Air
Force’s aviation cadet program. He graduated from flight training at the age of
twenty and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant.
Another defining moment occurred early in his
career. In August 1957, he participated in an atomic test at Yucca Flat,
Nevada. Standing on an observation platform eight
miles from ground zero, he watched the detonation of an atomic bomb; code named
Smoky. The test yielded an unexpected 44 kilotons-more than twice the size of
the bomb dropped on Nagasaki. He never forgot Smoky, and the memory of that
experience weighed heavily on his mind when he wrote The Eagle’s Last Flight, a semi-autobiographical novel about his life
as an Air Force pilot during the Cold War.Ron’s twenty seven-year Air Force career
spanned the Cold War years between 1954 and 1981. During that time, he flew a
variety of high performance fighters including the F-100, F-102, F-105, F-4 and
A-7. He flew over 200 combat missions during the Vietnam conflict and was
awarded two Silver Stars, thirteen Air Medals and the Purple Heart. The latter
he received after he was shot down over Tchepone, Laos in 1969.He retired from
the Air Force just as the Cold War ended as a full Colonel after tours in the
Pentagon and Tactical Air Command Headquarters in Virginia.Ron is a prolific writer and journalist. He
is a member of the International Travel Writers and Photographers Association
and American Writers and Artists Inc. He appeared on WOR TV in New York City during
the first days of the Persian Gulf War, providing real time analysis of the air
war as it progressed. His book
reviews and syndicated news articles are published regularly in the online and
print news media, as well as in military journals. He currently publishes a magazine
blog. www.pelicanjournal.comUploaded on Oct 24, 2010
Japanese artist Isao Hashimoto has created a beautiful, undeniably scary time-lapse map of the 2053 nuclear explosions which have taken place between 1945 and 1998, beginning with the Manhattan Project's "Trinity" test near Los Alamos and concluding with Pakistan's nuclear tests in May of 1998. This leaves out North Korea's two alleged nuclear tests in this past decade (the legitimacy of both of which is not 100% clear).
