Thousands of Nuclear Arms Workers See Cancer Claims Denied or Delayed

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Thousands of Nuclear Arms Workers See Cancer Claims Denied or Delayed

 

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By Michael Alison Chandler and Joby Warrick Washington Post Staff Writers

Saturday, May 12, 2007; A01

 

Walter McKenzie's assignment toward the end of the Cold War was to mop up

after mishaps at a nuclear weapons factory. With a crew of other laborers from

rural Georgia, he swabbed away leaks and spills inside the secret buildings,

until one day his body became so contaminated with radiation that alarms at

the factory went off as he passed.

 

" They couldn't scrub the radiation off my skin - even after four showers, "

McKenzie, 52, recalled of his most terrifying day at the Savannah River nuclear

weapons plant near Aiken, S.C. " They took my clothes, my watch and even my

ring, and sent me home in rubber slippers and a jumpsuit. "

 

Later, when doctors discovered the first of 19 malignant tumors on his

bladder, McKenzie followed the same torturous path as thousands of nuclear

weapons

workers with cancer: He filed a claim for federal compensation. It was

denied.

 

Unable to access secret government files, or even some of his own personnel

records, McKenzie could not sufficiently prove that he was exposed to

something that may have made him sick. Nor can most of the 104,000 other

workers,

retirees and family members who have sought help from a federal program

intended

to atone for decades of hazardous working conditions at scores of nuclear

weapons facilities around the country.

 

Since its inception in 2000, the compensation program has cut more than

20,000 checks and given long-delayed recognition to workers whose illnesses

were hidden costs of the Cold War's military buildup.

 

Yet, of the 72,000 cases processed, more than 60 percent have been denied.

Thousands of other applicants have been waiting for years for an answer.

Overall, only 21 percent of applicants have received checks. Even as the nation

continues to close and dismantle many nuclear weapons sites, a growing number of

those who helped build the bombs are turning to lawyers and legislators to

argue they are being treated unfairly.

 

Many complain that the compensation process is slow, frustrating, even

insulting. " You get exposed to something that's so bad you have to leave your

clothes behind, " McKenzie said, " then they try to tell you it's not their fault

that you got sick. "

 

Some evidence suggests the government has tried to limit payouts for budget

reasons. Internal memos obtained by congressional investigators show the Bush

administration chafing over the program's rising costs and fighting to block

measures that would increase workers' chances of compensation.

 

But Labor Department officials who oversee the program say it has been

successful, pointing to the large sums distributed: about $2.6 billion in

payments

in five years, far more than some early estimates. Missing or unreliable

records and the murkiness of cancer science, the officials say, make it

difficult to satisfy all the claimants.

 

" In a compensation program, you get benefits out to people who are eligible

and you inevitably have to deal with the fact that some people are not

eligible, " said Shelby Hallmark, director of Labor's Office of Workers'

Compensation Programs. " As for the assumption that the program is somehow trying

to

block people from getting compensation, nothing could be further from the

truth. "

 

David Michaels, a former Energy Department official who helped launch the

program in the late 1990s, said it is designed to " bend over backward " to award

compensation to deserving workers. " Most of the people who should be

compensated are being compensated, " said Michaels, now associate chairman of

George

Washington University's department of environmental and occupational health.

 

Still, Labor's management of the program has drawn bipartisan, and often

fierce, criticism from members of Congress.

 

Former congressman John N. Hostettler, an Indiana Republican who chaired a

House subcommittee overseeing the program, said at a hearing last December that

Labor Department memos reflect a " culture of disdain " toward workers and

raise questions about whether the department exceeded its authority by using

" legalistic interpretations " to limit eligible workers.

 

" To the bean counters, I would remind you that these aren't normal beans you

are counting, " Hostettler said. " These funds are a small acknowledgment of

the sacrifice by workers whose lives were put at risk to make this country

safe. "

 

Clear Line on a Murky Issue

 

The compensation plan was unveiled in September 1999 by then-Energy

Secretary Bill Richardson. " We're reversing the decades-old practice of opposing

worker claims and moving forward to do the right thing, " he said in 2000.

 

The shift was prompted in part by a drumbeat of reports about hazards at

nuclear weapons plants, including articles in The Washington Post that showed

how the government for years fought lawsuits from workers in Paducah, Ky., who

were exposed to plutonium 100,000 times as radioactive as they were trained to

handle.

 

Under the Energy Employees Occupational Illness Compensation Program, the

government agreed to provide $150,000 and medical benefits to claimants who

developed certain diseases and cancers. Another part of the program covers those

exposed to toxic chemicals.

 

For each claim, government investigators review the evidence and decide

whether a worker's illness was more likely than not caused by exposure to

radiation or toxic chemicals at work. Under the act, the claim is denied if the

probability is ruled to be less than 50 percent.

 

The complex task of coming up with such estimates through reconstructing the

conditions inside secret plants as much as 60 years ago was assigned to the

National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, or NIOSH.

 

The estimates are based largely on personnel files and historical radiation

measurements at the plants. But the records are often so incomplete and

unreliable that it can be impossible to determine a worker's true exposure. For

example, workers would sometimes remove the badges they were supposed to wear to

monitor their cumulative doses of radiation.

 

" At every site, you hear stories about workers being told to put their

badges in their lockers, " said Mark Griffon, a radiation-safety expert who

advises

the government on worker exposure. " If workers wore their badges and ended

up exceeding their quarterly radiation limit, they could be laid off or put in

a different job. "

 

Another obstacle is that records are becoming harder to track as plants are

dismantled. Early this year, for example, more than 400 boxes of medical

records that had been contaminated by radiation at an Ohio weapons facility

turned

up in a landfill in Los Alamos, N.M. The government is deciding whether to

exhume them.

 

Long Wait in Colorado

 

The compensation program does provide a path for the government to help

workers if records are lost or questionable. But critics say officials are

reluctant to pursue it.

 

NIOSH and a White House-appointed panel on radiation exposure can recommend

groups of workers from a particular site for a " special exposure cohort, "

making them automatically eligible for compensation if they suffer from

leukemia,

thyroid cancer or one of 20 other cancers.

 

So far, groups of workers from 18 sites have been added to the special

exposure cohort, and petitions are pending for workers from a dozen other sites.

The process can be difficult, as people who worked at the Rocky Flats nuclear

weapons plant who applied for that status have learned.

 

On the rugged foothills outside Denver, there's little sign now of the

sprawling plutonium facility that once employed as many as 7,000 people. The

site

was dismantled in a $7 billion, 10-year effort that ended in 2005 and is

being turned into a wildlife refuge.

 

With the plant gone, many workers are struggling to re-create what happened

in the 800-building complex that manufactured plutonium triggers for nuclear

bombs. Thousands of fires were recorded in the plants' 40-year history,

including one on Mother's Day 1969 that burned for several hours and released

massive amounts of radioactive material.

 

Of the more than 5,100 Rocky Flats claims filed, about 1,400 have been

approved. Many applicants who were denied blame missing or inadequate records

and

petitioned two years ago for special cohort status.

 

NIOSH officials recommended against the special status for Rocky Flats,

reasoning that they could account for missing records by altering their models

and overestimating exposures. Then, earlier this month, the radiation advisory

board recommended the special cohort for a small number of workers - those

employed from 1952 to 1958, when gaps in the recordkeeping apparently were the

largest.

 

Advocates for the Rocky Flats workers point to multiple cases to illustrate

the difficulty of meeting the government's standard for compensation without

being part of the special cohort.

 

One worker, Donald Gabel, contracted a rare form of brain cancer at age 29,

after nearly 10 years at the plant, and died in 1980. Months before his death,

he testified that his job required him to climb several times a day to the

top of a furnace, his head inches from a pipe expelling radioactive exhaust.

Government contractors said they could not find his records and could not take

new measurements because the pipe had been removed.

 

After Gabel died, his wife requested tests of plutonium levels in his brain,

but she says government scientists told her they had lost most of the tissue

and could not take an accurate sample.

 

Despite the problems, Gabel's widow, Kae Williams, won a rare victory in a

traditional workers' compensation lawsuit, getting about $15,000 for her three

children. But when she applied for additional benefits under the new program

in

2001, the claim took four years to process and was ultimately denied. A

government computer program found only a 41.73 percent chance that her husband's

brain cancer was work-related.

 

" They make it sound like they are doing the right thing, " Williams said.

" For a glimpse, you think they are. And they are not. "

 

Ill and Unaided

 

At South Carolina's Savannah River plant, workers may face longer odds than

most. They lack the organization and lobbying advantages found at some larger

sites where workers tended to be white and represented by strong unions.

 

" Black workers in these plants were put in high-exposure areas without

proper protection or monitoring, " said Robert W. Warren, a lawyer who represents

dozens of Savannah River workers. " They worked in some of the most dangerous

places, but there are no records today to show that. "

 

When it opened in 1951, the Savannah River nuclear complex was one of the

first employers in South Carolina's rural midlands to offer African Americans a

shot at relatively good wages and benefits. But not all jobs at the plant

were created equal.

 

The jobs offered to black workers in those days were often menial ones:

cleaning spills, scraping paint, removing waste, sometimes in the most dangerous

parts of the plant, said Wayne Knox, a radiation-safety expert who was a

contractor at the Savannah River plant for nearly two decades. In the '50s and

'60s, he said, workers often were kept in the dark about risks.

 

" Not just blacks, but also [white] people from poorer neighborhoods were put

in a position where they had a lot of unnecessary exposures, " said Knox, who

now advises some families filing claims.

 

The sprawling, 300-square-mile site still contains one of the highest

concentrations of radioactive waste of any weapons plant in the country, most of

it

in swimming-pool-size tanks. Special exposure cohort status has not been

granted for the plant's workers; in a region that remains very poor, there are

few advocates available to argue the workers' case in Washington.

 

McKenzie, the Savannah River laborer, was angered when government officials

calculated the probability that his work caused his bladder cancer at only 28

percent. He became even angrier when he learned that the plant had been

unable to locate many of his files - including records for the day he became so

contaminated his clothes had to be destroyed. " There were whole months where

the data is missing, " he said.

 

McKenzie has asked a Labor Department appeals panel to reconsider the

decision, while he struggles to pay hefty medical expenses that include regular

visits to the urologist to see whether his cancer has returned. Having mostly

given up hope for a government check, he now works a second job, cleaning up

spills and leaks in private homes a few miles from the weapons plant.

 

" At first it looked like I had a good claim, but it didn't go anywhere, "

McKenzie said wearily. " A person doing it by himself has no wind. "

 

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