In 1958, Edith Higgenbothum, a housewife in Richland, Washington, downwind of the massive Hanford nuclear weapons production site, discovers that the milk her young son Herbie drinks contains radioactive iodine from Hanford's secret fallout releases. Radioactive iodine can damage the thyroid, especially in children.
When Herbie is diagnosed with aggressive thyroid cancer, Edith allies with mothers of children with thyroid cancer and leukemia in communities blanketed by fallout from Nevada Test Site A-bomb tests on a true atomic age hero's journey to save the children.
Then Came the Summer Snow
On July 16, 1945, Manhattan Project scientists detonated Trinity, the world’s first test of an atomic bomb, near Alamogordo, New Mexico. The test produced a huge fireball followed by a mushroom cloud and deadly fallout that fell for several days onto communities downwind. Officials lied to the public, reporting the explosion as an accident involving ammunition and pyrotechnics.
Trinity was immortalized in the award-winning 2023 film Oppenheimer, written, co-produced and directed by Christopher Nolan. Regrettably, Oppenheimer left out the stories of radiogenic cancers and other diseases in people exposed to fallout downwind of the Trinity Test.
Trinity (aka “Gadget”) was an implosion-type plutonium bomb. The plutonium for the Gadget was produced at Hanford, a massive nuclear weapons production site in southcentral Washington State. Hanford also manufactured the plutonium for Fat Man, the A-bomb that decimated Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. Beginning from start-up of the site in late 1944, and throughout the ensuing Cold War, Hanford covertly released millions of curies of airborne radiation across a wide swath of the Pacific Northwest, blanketing eastern Washington, northern Oregon, the Idaho panhandle, and Western Montana. Site operators also dumped liquid and solid radioactive byproducts of plutonium production into the Columbia River, impacting communities downriver.
I was conceived, born and raised in Richland, the “Atomic City,” immediately downwind of Hanford. Fetuses, infants and children are far more susceptible to harm from radiation than adults, and many of us who were exposed when young to Hanford’s fallout now suffer from radiation-related cancers and other diseases as the result of those exposures.
In The Hanford Plaintiffs: Voices from the Fight for Atomic Justice (University Press of Kansas, 2020), I introduce the stories of twenty-four personal injury plaintiffs in mass toxic tort litigation filed by civilian downwinders against former Hanford contractors, interweaving accounts of radiogenic injury to civilians exposed to fallout from atomic tests that began in 1951 at the Nevada Test Site (NTS).
The Hanford Plaintiffs has garnered multiple awards since its release. The book has served to significantly increase public awareness of the devastating personal injuries suffered by civilians downwind of Hanford and the Nevada Test Site.
My new novel, Then Came the Summer Snow, set in 1958, is the fictional tale of Edith Higgenbothum, her husband Herbert, an atomic engineer at Hanford, and their 10-year-old son, Herbie. After Herbie is diagnosed with thyroid cancer from drinking radioactive milk, Edith, an ordinary 1950s Richland housewife, evolves into an atomic age feminist heroine, courageously challenging the assertions of the Atomic Energy Agency that the area around Hanford is safe for families.
I have worked for nearly forty years to secure at least a modicum of justice for suffering and loss relating to radiogenic cancers and other radiation-related diseases in many of those of us who grew up downwind and downriver of Hanford. Neither the US Atomic Energy Commission nor site operators made any attempt to protect members of the public downwind of atomic weapons production and testing sites like Hanford and the NTS. Formerly classified Hanford Engineer Works (HW) records describe inexpensive public health measures that could have easily been implemented to block uptake of I-131 released from Hanford. I-131 poses great risk to the thyroid, particularly in children. Uptake of I-131 into the thyroid can lead to thyroid cancer and parathyroid disorders.
HW records indicate that these public health measures were not implemented so as “to not alarm the public.” The AEC was concerned that, should members of atomic worker communities like Richland learn that their towns were being blanketed with invisible radioactive fallout, families would flee the area, resulting in the loss of Hanford’s workforce. While I can see that this might be a concern during wartime, many of us were exposed after the war in the 1950s, during the Cold War, when the US was no longer racing to produce the world’s first atomic bombs. After A-bombs were dropped on Japan in August of 1945, it was public knowledge that Hanford had produced the plutonium for the bomb dropped on Nagasaki.
Shouldn’t officials have been honest about the radioactive byproducts coming out of Hanford’s stacks, thereby giving families the chance to protect the health of their children?
Did anyone in Richland ever pull out a Geiger counter and switch it on? If so, what did they find? Was the milk, ice cream, or other food radioactive? Was there radiation in the air? Were there microscopic bits of tracked-home radioactive particles in the carpet? Did husbands tell wives not to worry, that Hanford officials had assured them that radiation levels were so low as to not be dangerous, even to infants, children, or pregnant women?
I wish I’d had an Edith Higgenbothum in my life. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my parents, but I just don’t understand how they could have conceived and raised me downwind of a federal facility that had been publicly revealed in 1945, five years before my birth, to be the site of atomic bomb production. Wasn’t anyone worried about what was wafting out of Hanford’s exhaust stacks? Did everyone, including the mothers, trust the official assurances that the levels of radiation in the area were safe?
It is my hope that Edith Higgenbothum’s courageous hero’s journey will inspire dialogue on the perils of nuclear weapons production, testing, and waste storage, and on the importance of protecting the public, particularly the children, from the dangers of fallout, the same dangers that resulted in disability and needless suffering in so many of us born and raised at the dawn of the atomic age.
Trisha Pritikin
Hanford Downwinder
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Trisha Pritikin