In March of 1979, I stood talking on the phone in the kitchen of my best friend Karen's house, saying what I feared were the last words to my parents. They lived a few miles from the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant outside Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. One reactor was malfunctiong and hundreds of thousands of us within a few hours drive to Harrisburg thought we might die.
I was 21 years old, I think. I worked for a local 7-11 convenience store while putting myself through college, trying to earn a degree in Journalism. I rented a room in a large, spacious home owned by my friend's mother, in Bucks County, 2 hours east of the nuclear power plant. Today, I remain in the same area, only now I live 25 minutes from the Limerick Nuclear Power plant, from where US President Bush spoke yesterday about investing in building more nuclear power plants. I see the steam rising from Limerick's towers every day that I get into the car and drive somewhere.
My young step-son knows that north of the towers is where his daddy's house is and east of the towers is where his mommy's house is. When he can't see the huge steam clouds above the towers, he grows worried about his Dad.
The day I thought I was saying goodbye to my mom on the phone was the result of a news story that came over a Central Pennsylvania rock music station that my sister was listening to. The radio disc jockey, sounding alarmed, announced they'd just heard that Three Mile Island was "in meltdown" and everyone should evacuate. I've long since forgotten the whole story about where he got this bit of incorrect news, but similar to the radio announcement that Martians had landed, people, like my family who heard this, thought it was the end.
My parents packed up the pets and my sister and what valuables they could fit into the car and they fled, heading West towards relatives living out of state. At one point they called me to let me know they were evacuating and to say what we weren't sure we were supposed to say. Was the plant going to explode? Could they get far enough away in time? Would I ever see them again?
Many people were heading east, to my side of the state. We all came to know neighbors and friends who sheltered evacuees. I remember being distraught after hearing from my mom, and asking my best friend if we should also leave and head south, as my mother had suggested.
Eventually the worst of the scares came to pass and there was no catastrophe. Everybody went back home. Later that summer I and 3 car loads of my friends attended one of the largest protests ever held in Washington, DC. We went to shout "No More Nukes". That chant has dwindled to a mere whisper in the years that followed.
As the Editor of my college newspaper, I was invited to tour the Limerick Nuclear power plant as it was being built. I wrote a story on it, which I still have somewhere. I remember our tour guide telling us how it could withstand any earthquake and how something like what happened at Three Mile Island would never be able to happen there. I saw the control room. I wore a hard hat. I hated the place.
In the 1980's, Bucks County was asked to asked to pump water from the Delaware River all the way to neighboring Montgomery County, to feed the Limerick power plant. This so incensed the community that (the late) famous political activist, Abby Hoffman, came and led the protests here. The people lost of course, and the river has managed to handle this challenge, to her great credit.
I went to live in Harrisburg during the early 1980's, when meetings were held at a small comfortable pub in the city to discuss the continuous protests against nuclear power. I went because of the echo of my mother's voice in my head, saying goodbye to me. I went because I experienced the terrifying fear of not knowing if I'd ever see my family again.
It is a fear that our President has apparently never known, or has forgotten.
I won't.
:: posted by Kim Krause Berg on 5/25/2006 12:23:00 PM
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