Echoes of Enewetak: The Unseen Sacrifice of Atomic Cleanup Veterans
Echoes of Enewetak: The Unseen Sacrifice of Atomic Cleanup Veterans
In the heart of the South Pacific, where the clear blue waters gently lap against the shores of Enewetak Atoll, a group of young American soldiers embarked on a mission that would forever change their lives. Among them was Patrick Reedy, a 17-year-old Army specialist from Clarks Summit. In June 1978, these soldiers arrived on this seemingly idyllic atoll, tasked with a monumental challenge that would test their endurance and define their legacy.
Enewetak Atoll, with its forty tiny islands, had once been a stage for the world's most destructive experiments. Hydrogen bomb tests had transformed this paradise into ground zero for atomic warfare, leaving behind a radioactive wasteland. The mission to clean up the remnants of these tests seemed, on the surface, like an ordinary assignment. But for the young soldiers like Patrick, it would become a lifelong battle.
When Patrick and his comrades first stepped off their boats, they were greeted not with the fanfare of heroes, but with the unforgiving heat of the tropical sun. Clad in "banana suits," flimsy plastic shells intended to protect them from radiation, they found the sweltering conditions unbearable. Yet, despite the discomfort, they pressed on. They had been reassured by their government that the task was safe. "It's as safe as going to Denver," they were told—a promise that would later prove tragically false.
Among the soldiers' duties was clearing radioactive waste from islands poisoned by decades of nuclear tests. One catastrophic test had scattered plutonium across Runit Island, making it uninhabitable for 24,000 years. Despite the dangers, Patrick and his fellow soldiers labored in the brutal heat, dressed in little more than shorts and combat boots, their trust in their government unshaken.
Enewetak was a paradox of beauty and devastation. Some islands, stripped of life, appeared lunar in their barrenness. Others were lush, teeming with coral reefs and vibrant vegetation. In the surreal tranquility of this landscape, the soldiers found moments of solace—fishing beneath the palm trees, their lines cast into the crystal-clear waters. It was a temporary reprieve from the harsh reality of their mission.
For Patrick, the journey took a darker turn upon his return home. A hand injury had led to his early return to the mainland in November 1978, where medical tests revealed he had been exposed to high levels of radiation. The Veterans Administration assigned him a 30 percent disability rating, but over the years, his health declined. Heart bypass surgery and a degenerative connective tissue disease ended his career in construction and masonry. Despite these hardships, Patrick considers himself fortunate compared to many of his comrades.
Others, like Gary Pulis, were not as lucky. Gary, who served on Enewetak in 1979, suffers from heart, lung, and skin ailments he believes are linked to his time on Runit Island. Despite his health struggles, the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) has refused to acknowledge the connection between his service and his illnesses. After filing for bankruptcy three times in 25 years due to mounting medical bills, Gary's battle for recognition continues.
For many of the atomic cleanup veterans, their service has gone largely unrecognized. U.S. law defines "atomic veterans" as those who served between 1945 and 1962 during the original hydrogen bomb tests, but the soldiers who cleaned up the radioactive debris decades later remain in a legal gray area. "It's not a conspiracy or a cover-up," Patrick explains. "It's just that the rules were written before we went out there."
The fight for justice found a champion in U.S. Rep. Mark Takai of Hawaii, who introduced House Bill 3870, which aimed to recognize the veterans of Enewetak Atoll as participants in "radiation-risk activities" and provide them with the medical care and compensation they deserve. While the bill remains stalled in committee, the hope for recognition continues to grow.
In their pursuit of justice, Patrick and Gary’s voices reached the halls of Congress. U.S. Reps. Lou Barletta and Tom Marino, along with Senators Pat Toomey and Bob Casey, were called upon to consider the implications of House Bill 3870. Though Mr. Marino's office remained silent, Mr. Barletta’s spokesman expressed support, stating, "We must take care of our men and women in uniform during and after their service."
Senator Toomey, a longtime advocate for Enewetak veterans, had already called for a study into their exposure to toxic radiation. The wheels of government may turn slowly, but the possibility of justice for these veterans inches ever closer. Senator Casey echoed this sentiment, affirming that "these veterans engaged in important service at incredible risk to themselves." He stressed the need for Congress to recognize their service both "in word and deed."
For Gary, this battle is not about money. "There are only 444 of us left," he said, highlighting the dwindling number of survivors. What they seek is recognition and access to the medical care they were promised.
These veterans’ stories remind us of their sacrifice and resilience. They served their country with unwavering dedication, enduring the invisible threat of radiation with little protection and even less information. Today, they continue to fight for justice—an acknowledgment of their service and the care they rightfully deserve. Their legacy is one of duty, honor, and perseverance in the Atomic Age.
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