-Caveat Lector-

Dave Hartley
http://www.Asheville-Computer.com/dave


The Los Angeles Times Sunday, January 2, 2000

Die Hard

THE PLUTONIUM FILES; America’s Secret Medical Experiments in the Cold War.
By Eileen Welsome. The Dial Press: 580 pp., $26.95

By Thomas Powers

Of all the lies uttered by mendacious public servants during a
century notorious for official deceit, perhaps none registers colder
or more deliberate than the claim by Gen. Leslie Groves in a Senate
hearing in November 1945 that radioactive poisoning can bring
death “rather soon, and as I understand it from the doctors, without
undue suffering. In fact, they say it is a very pleasant way to die.”
Which doctors, exactly, could have delivered this cheering news
to the general who ran the Manhattan Project, created the atomic
bomb and ended the war with Japan by destroying two cities and
killing plus or minus 150,000 Japanese, mostly civilians?
Not Dr. Stafford Warren and Dr. Shields Warren (unrelated),
who both went to Japan at Groves’ behest to study the effects of
radiation and recorded in Hiroshima and Nagasaki a devil’s
textbook of horrors--burns, bloody diarrhea, an inability of the bone
marrow to continue making blood cells, a stripping of the epithelial
layer of the gastrointestinal tract leading to dehydration and
runaway internal infection and other equally ghastly conditions.
Nor could the general have concluded that radiation afforded a
“pleasant” death had he listened to the doctors who attended Harry
Daghlian, a Los Alamos technician who stopped a runaway chain
reaction with his hand during a nuclear experiment a week after the
Japanese surrender. Soon afterward, he felt a “tingling sensation” in
his hand, “tingling” being an oddly benign word to describe the
terrible chain reaction set off within his body. Mercifully he lapsed
into a coma, and within three weeks he died. A government check
for $10,000 was given to Daghlian’s family in exchange for release
forms signed on the day he died that absolved the government of
any responsibility for his death.
Clearly it was disingenuous for anyone connected to the
Manhattan Project to pretend that radiation was not dangerous.
Even before the atomic bomb was developed, scientists had
considered using radiation as a weapon of war. J. Robert
Oppenheimer told his friend and colleague Enrico Fermi in May
1943 that he didn’t think it worth pursuing radiological warfare
“unless we can poison food sufficient to kill half a million men.”
Radiological weapons, as it turned out, were hard to deliver while
bombs were easy and just as lethal. Most of the deaths at Hiroshima
and Nagasaki were from the blast and its heat, but thousands more
died of radiation poisoning--a fact fully anticipated by bomb makers
at Los Alamos.
So why did the general lie when he testified before the Special
Senate Committee on Atomic Energy? The general lied because he
feared that an impressionable public would oppose the creation of
nuclear bombs once it grasped the horrors of the bomb’s
destructive effects and realized that we had crossed from the
permissible to the impermissible in war. Groves did not want
Americans to feel guilty about the manner of their victory over
Japan, and he did not want them to reject in disgust a weapon of
unprecedented power and utility.
At the same time it is only fair to say that neither Groves nor
Stafford Warren, who presided seriatim as chief doctor for the
Manhattan Project, and Shields Warren, who served on the Atomic
Energy Commission, really knew how dangerous various forms of
radiation could be. Furthermore, they did not know how much
radiation constituted a danger--the so-called “tolerance dose.” To
credit them, however, they did set out before the end of the war to
learn all they could about the effects of radiation on the human
body, through the usual method of scientific inquiry: conducting
experiments.
The dark history of the long research effort that followed is one
of the two great secrets tightly held by the powers that be in the
American bomb-making community; the other is how to ignite
hydrogen in a hydrogen bomb. Fifty years after the experiments
began, our knowledge of their fact and their extent has been greatly
expanded by Eileen Welsome, a reporter at the Albuquerque
Tribune in New Mexico.
In 1987, Welsome discovered a reference in an Air Force report
on the disposal of radioactive animal carcasses. A public
information officer at Kirtland Air Force Base near Albuquerque
gave her a stack of documents and, on one, Welsome’s “eye fell on
a footnote describing a human plutonium experiment.” But it took
her a decade to expand this footnote into “The Plutonium Files,”
Welsome’s effort to explain how these experiments were
conceived, justified, conducted, financed and concealed.
When scientists started studying the lethal effects of
radiation, they focused their attention on the element
plutonium. Glen Seaborg, who discovered plutonium, said, “It
is fiendishly toxic, even in small amounts.” What initially
surprised scientists at Los Alamos who were using plutonium
in the construction of the atomic bomb was how quickly,
despite discreet handling of the material, it showed up in the
laboratory’s waste water. In addition, early tests of lab
workers’ feces and urine revealed plutonium contamination in
levels that were “just frightfully high.” Obviously, it was
pernicious stuff. Laboratory experiments proved their worse
suspicions: Plutonium injected into rats migrated to their
bones; breathed in as an aerosol it lodged in the alveoli of the
rats’ lungs. But how did plutonium behave in humans? What
was the “tolerance dose” and how could it be reliably
measured?
To answer these questions, 18 human subjects--all of them
under medical care but none of them informed of what was being
done to them--were injected with plutonium. These experiments
were conducted between April 1945, a month before the end of the
war in Europe, and July 1947--at a time when no one believed that
plutonium promised medical benefit. In the files about these
experiments obtained by Welsome under the Freedom of
Information Act, all reference to the identity of subjects and doctors
had been deleted in order to protect the privacy of the participants.
Someone failed, however, to delete a reference to Italy, Texas, the
hometown of a subject known as CAL-3. When Welsome called the
City Hall, the woman who answered the phone recognized CAL-3
from the bare facts. “You’re looking for Elmer Allen,” she said.
“But he died a year ago. Do you want his wife’s number?”
Eventually, by patient detective work, Welsome identified all
but one of the 18 patients in the plutonium experiments and
uncovered numerous other efforts to study the effects of radiation
on human subjects. The research began just as the world was
learning about experiments conducted by Nazi doctors during
World War II, and although the so-called Nuremberg code
prohibited such abuses, it only made American authorities more
cautious and secretive. The phrase “informed consent” was coined
in 1947 by Carroll Wilson, general manager of the Atomic Energy
Commission, but no effort was made to put the concept into
practice. A 1953 set of guidelines for conducting human
experiments, prepared for the secretary of defense, was never
circulated among officials below the level of the secretaries of the
Army, Navy and Air Force.
Among the subjects whom Welsome cites, none of them
informed in any meaningful sense:
* 829 expectant mothers given “cocktails” of radioactive
isotopes of iron between 1945 and 1947 by a prenatal clinic at the
Vanderbilt University Hospital.
* 74 boys at the Fernald State School near Boston, a kind of
cross between a reformatory and a hospital for disabled youths,
who were fed radioactive iron and calcium mixed into milk and
oatmeal between 1946 and 1953. “You had to drink the milk. That
was the thing,” one of them remembered.
* 131 men in the Oregon and Washington state prison systems
whose testicles were exposed to as much as 600 rads of ionizing
radiation between 1963 and 1971. At the conclusion of the
experiments, each man was paid $100 to undergo a vasectomy.
* 90 cancer patients, most of them black, who were exposed in
the Cincinnati General Hospital to levels of total body irradiation so
high that the exposure alone may have killed 19 of them.
* Thousands of U.S. soldiers, sailors and airmen exposed to
radiation during above-ground atomic testing to assure Congress,
the public and the Pentagon that the bomb could “safely” be used in
war.
This long but incomplete list gives a sense of the magnitude of
the official effort but barely hints at the torment and injury suffered
by the victims, presented in rich human detail by Welsome in a
compelling narrative of what happens when science and morality
are “wrapped in the flag.” Her portraits of leading officials are vivid
and subtle, wonderfully capturing the deep moral ambivalence of
men like Shields Warren, who put the kibosh on plans to expose
prisoners serving life sentences to total body irradiation but in other
cases found ways to say yes or look the other way. There are few
heroes in this book; one who deserves special mention is Audrey
Holliday, a Washington state official who learned of the
experiments on prisoners in July 1969 and vigorously protested the
exploitation of “captive populations” as if “they are already
destroyed as human beings.”
Far more common were researchers who told Welsome or
official investigators that they had lost their files, couldn’t
remember who gave the orders, were out of the room when
injections were given, didn’t know if consent had been obtained,
believed subjects were “hopelessly” or “terminally” ill and insisted
that all those “premature deaths” would have happened anyway.
“I was appalled and shocked,” said President Clinton’s first
Energy secretary, Hazel O’Leary, when she learned of the
experiments in 1993. “It gave me an ache in my gut and heart.” But
the advisory committee appointed by Clinton to investigate
eventually suffered a failure of nerve, in Welsome’s view. Its
findings, which were released in 1995, she believes were watered
down, explained away, filled with excuses, muffled by evidentiary
doubts and uncertainties.
Clinton, however, rose to the occasion and personally extended
the nation’s apology with a moral clarity much admired by
Welsome, but the accounting stopped there. No official was
willing to call “premature death” a euphemism for homicide.
There were no prosecutions, nobody was fired, lawsuits were
mostly settled out of court, many questions were answered
ambiguously.
Did the doctors learn anything remotely worth the suffering
inflicted? Apparently not, because the doctors, apparently burdened
by their consciences, were reluctant to follow up their experiments
or publish their findings. The two main things the doctors most
wanted to learn--“the tolerance dose” for radiation and how to
measure the level of human exposure--remain mysteries.
Most troubling, perhaps more than the experiments, is the
arrogance of officials and scientists willing to lie about
important matters of public safety for reasons of official
convenience. In 1948, engineers at the Hanford reactor in
Washington refused to reveal dangerous levels of radiation
discovered in fish and ground water “until reasonable solutions
to these problems are available.” Keeping the reactors going
was the highest priority in this case, not the safety of the
public.
A few years later, the Atomic Energy Commission, hoping to
move atomic testing from the Pacific back to the American
Southwest for reasons of convenience, admitted “how shockingly
little” it knew about the dangers of fallout. In the end, Shields
Warren decided to issue no warnings to the downwind public--to
stay indoors, for example--because any recommendations at all
would have made plain the one thing the commission was at
greatest pains to conceal: that nuclear tests were dangerous.
If the government lied about the danger of nuclear testing, can
we trust it to tell us the truth about acid rain, global warming or the
safety of deep storage for nuclear waste? The answer, unmistakably
suggested by Welsome’s book, is no. We must answer such
questions on our own.

    - - -

Thomas Powers Is the Author Most Recently of “Heisenberg’s War: the Secret
History of the German Bomb.”

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