Al Gettier: The Atomic Veteran's Duty, Honor, and Sacrifice at Enewetak Atoll
Al Gettier: The Atomic Veteran's Duty, Honor, and Sacrifice at Enewetak Atoll
In the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean lies Enewetak Atoll, a serene collection of islands that once whispered tales of nature's beauty. However, from 1977 to 1980, this atoll echoed with a far different narrative—a story of duty, sacrifice, and a mission to erase the nuclear scars left behind by decades of atomic testing. This mission called upon men like Al Gettier, a 1st Lt 21B Combat Engineer in the U.S. Army, who answered the call to serve humanity in a place that few had heard of and even fewer understood.
Al Gettier epitomized the spirit of duty and sacrifice. While many of his peers pursued careers or personal ventures, Al took on a mission of monumental importance: the atomic cleanup of Enewetak Atoll. For him, this wasn’t just another military assignment. It was an act of service to safeguard future generations, to heal a world that had become tainted by the power of nuclear weapons.
Enewetak Atoll had been ground zero for 43 nuclear detonations between 1948 and 1958, including the catastrophic tests "Ivy Mike" and "Castle Bravo," the latter being 1,000 times more powerful than the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The atoll had transformed from a natural paradise into a radioactive wasteland, infamously referred to as the "Nuclear Trashcan of the Pacific." Cleaning it up was no small feat.
For Al, the call to Enewetak wasn’t immediate. The first time he had the opportunity, he was in graduate school. But destiny had other plans, and the next year he was deployed to one of the most challenging missions of his life. He became the executive officer on Runit Island, overseeing the operations that would culminate in the construction of the Cactus Dome, designed to contain radioactive debris.
Safety, however, was a secondary concern for those tasked with this mission. Al’s protective gear was basic at best—a painter’s mask and yellow boots. The full hazmat suits, or "banana suits," were reserved for those working in the most contaminated areas. Like many of his comrades, Al was exposed to the ever-present, invisible menace of radiation.
But the challenges weren’t just about radiation. Al’s engineering and computer science expertise proved critical in ensuring the Cactus Dome was built correctly. He devised a new survey technique to reconfigure the dome, ensuring it could withstand the test of time—a testament to human resilience and ingenuity.
More than the technical aspects of the mission, Al’s story is one of brotherhood and shared purpose. The men of the Enewetak cleanup believed they were fulfilling a higher calling. They trusted their government and believed in the promises of safety and recognition. Yet, decades later, many of these brave souls, including Al, face health complications from their exposure. Their calls for acknowledgment have too often been met with silence.
Al’s service wasn’t just about restoring an island; it was about addressing the consequences of a world that had played recklessly with nuclear power. He stood up when called, with unwavering honor and duty, even when the mission seemed insurmountable.
Reflecting on the mission, Al’s words are a sobering reminder of the cost of neglect: "I think it’s disgusting how our own government has treated all these men..." The men who trusted, believed, and gave everything for their country are still waiting for the recognition they deserve.
Al Gettier’s story is a powerful reminder of the sacrifices made by the men of the Enewetak Atoll Atomic Debris Cleanup Mission. It stands as a tribute to those who faced unimaginable challenges and rose above them in the service of humanity, ensuring that when the world called, they answered with courage, honor, and an unbreakable resolve.
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