Robert Franklin: My name is Robert Franklin. I am conducting an oral history interview with Alice Didier on July 12th, 2016. The interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. I will be talking with Alice Didier about her experiences working at the Hanford site and homesteading outside of—Connell?
Alice Didier: Eltopia.
Franklin: Eltopa.
Didier: Eltopia, yeah.
Franklin: Eltopia, okay. So why don’t we start at the beginning. Where were you born?
Didier: I was born in Portland, Oregon.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Didier: I was a city girl. Met my husband, who was born in Condon, Oregon, and he came from wheat farming country. However, his dad was not a farmer; he ran a machine shop in Condon. However, Don worked on many of the farms up there in Condon. We were married in 1951, and Don was in the service. He was in the Air Force. So after he was discharged, we came home to Condon. Our dream was to have something of our own—a farm, or—you know—mainly a farm. But the ground in that area was way too expensive for us to ever dream of owning anything. So we had the—we decided to make a trip to Canada. We went all the way to Prince George looking for land to buy, because they were encouraging American citizens to come up there and settle. Well, after that trip—before that trip, Don got an inquiry, or got a letter from the—I don’t really—it was the Bureau of Reclamation? I don’t know. It was if you were a veteran, you were entitled to throw your name in the hat, and if your name was drawn, you might have an opportunity to draw some land up here in the Columbia Basin. On a whim, he filled that out and mailed it before we left. And we were very glad we did because Prince George was a pole thicket up there. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: It was a what?
Didier: A pole thicket.
Franklin: A pole thicket.
Didier: My goodness gracious, if you had to clear that land it’d take you forever and a day. Plus—what is—peat? It had a peat—you couldn’t burn it, because you’d burn off everything that was worth—of value to farm. So you had to clear everything by hand.
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Didier: So, anyway. Very glad that when we got back, he had sent this in, and he was informed to come for an interview in Connell by a board of people that would determine if we were qualified. You were supposed to have assets, I think, of $1,500. I don’t remember what the qualifications were. But we did not have—we did not meet the qualifications. But we decided that we’d bluff it through. [LAUGHTER] So we came up in the fall of 1953. To Connell. I was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with my daughter. First thing I did was look up the name of the doctor in the phone book in Connell, because I thought I might not make it back to Condon before she appeared on the scene. But anyway, didn’t work out that way. But they took Don out in a Jeep, and bounced over hill and dale, and showed him the land that they had laid out that was available for drawing at that time. Not everything was available at the same time. So he picked out our farm unit. I had never—I didn’t get to see the land. I didn’t have any part of that, because I didn’t want to chance taking a trip in the Jeep in my condition. February of ’54, his dad and Don loaded up—we bought this Army tent, and he loaded up everything we owned in the way of furniture and moved up to our unit. It was nothing but rock, sagebrush, rattlesnakes—[LAUGHTER]—and, yeah, sagebrush, I said sagebrush. A lot of sagebrush. All of that had to be cut and burnt—cleared, in other words, in order to farm anything in the area that we picked out. Some land around there had been farmed—wheat farmers had tried their hand at raising wheat in that area, small areas. But not enough rainfall. And there were sheep camps in there. They had been running sheep, some of them. When Don brought me up, he pulled up on this—we had to come in from Eltopia; there were no roads built. So we had to come over hill and dale to get out to our farm unit. And he pulled up, and he said, this is it. And I said, this is it? I mean—[LAUGHTER] there was nothing there, period. It was sort of a shock.
Franklin: And you hadn’t seen it before this?
Didier: I had not seen it before then.
Franklin: It had been purchased sight unseen by you?
Didier: Yes, yes. And he and his dad had preceded my coming up there to drop our stuff off and build a wooden floor and side—what would you call it? Sidewalls. Sidewalls for the tent. So they had it pretty well constructed. Anyway, that was the beginning. [LAUGHTER] Don had borrowed from a farmer in Condon a small little D4 Cat, I think it was. We hauled that up here. And he and his dad had built a scraper, a small scraper, to put behind it. So Don started developing a piece of land behind where we had pitched this tent. My daughter was three months old when we moved up here. Let’s see—October, November, December—four months old, I guess. And my son was about a year-and-a-half, or less than two. So we took up residence in our tent. [LAUGHTER] And when we finally got our power, we had a refrigerator. Like I said, I had a Sud Saver washing machine that you could dump the water. We had two tubs out front—laundry tubs, like there used—women used to have in their house. So I’d save the wash water, and I’d save the rinse water, because we were hauling every drop of water. It was pretty precious. You reuse it a couple of times. Maybe not the most sanitary, but that was the—[LAUGHTER] That’s what we had to do.
Franklin: How long did it take from when you moved in to when you got power?
Didier: I’d say two weeks at the most.
Franklin: Oh.
Didier: Big Bend came in and dropped power in. But we still had no roads. We had a little ’51 Oldsmobile and we had a water trailer, and we had to go into Eltopia to the railroad—there was a railroad well. And we’d fill there. It took a half a tank of gas to get down to the well and back with a tank of water. Yeah. And we had no neighbors. There were no neighbors. It was just Don and I out there. Over the hill was a couple. She was an English war bride. And they had settled in there before we did. And then we had another couple to the south of us. But we were the only people in that whole area. It was pretty dark at night, I’m going to tell you. There were no lights. There was nothing. It was black.
Franklin: Wow. So how fast did the land clearing go?
Didier: Not very fast.
Franklin: Not very fast?
Didier: Because we didn’t have any money. We used a big Noble blade and cut the sagebrush. Then we’d have to go out and pile it by hand in big stacks and burn it. Don managed to level off, I think—well, I don’t know, what was it? 14, 15 acres was the first—because in those days, there were no circles. It was all either you had hand line—irrigation hand line, or you had to level the ground to a grade that you could put in a ditch and use siphon tubes—rill irrigation, they called it. And Don didn’t want anything to do with the hand lines. So he was leveling it for rill irrigation.
Franklin: And so you used real irrigation?
Didier: We did.
Franklin: And how do you spell that?
Didier: R-I-L-L.
Franklin: R-I-L-L. We did a previous oral history where someone mentioned that and we didn’t—
Didier: Know how to spell—
Franklin: No one at the Project had heard of that and we weren’t sure how to spell it.
Didier: Really?
Franklin: So it’s R-I-L-L—
Didier: Mm-hmm.
Franklin: --irrigation. Thank you so much. Can go back and fix some transcripts.
Didier: [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: So it’s—just will you explain that again? That’s when you lay down—where you grade—
Didier; You have to grade the land so that the water will flow from the top to the bottom.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: You know, enough of a grade so that the water will flow down the—well, you put ditches from the head ditch up here that carries the main body of water. You would back up to that with ditch shovels and make ditches every so far through your crop. That’s where you would set the siphon tube and the water would go from the top to the bottom. When it reached the bottom, then you’d pick them up and move on down. You could only set so many at one time, depending on how much of a head of a water you had—or how many feet you had coming down the ditch.
Franklin: So that’s a much more labor-intensive type of irrigation. I imagine, probably an older type of irrigation, as well.
Didier: Right, but not maybe as labor-intensive as packing that hand line. That’s work. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: And what would the tubes be constructed out of usually?
Didier: Aluminum.
Franklin: Aluminum tubes, okay.
Didier: Yeah.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: And there’s a picture, I think, in that magazine I gave you from International Harvester, showing me priming one of those tubes.
Franklin: Oh, okay, great. Wow, that’s great.
Didier: You had to learn how to do that. You had to learn how to give it a deal like this and flip it over quick so you didn’t lose your prime. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: A lot of people didn’t know how to do it in the beginning and they’d suck on it, if you can believe that, to get the water running. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Kind of like siphoning gas?
Didier: Yeah, only—the water was much cleaner than later on. I mean, after more—we actually, on this end of the Basin, reuse the water that comes in up north. So a lot of it’s recovered—what is that lake up there that—there’s a lake—I can’t remember the name of it right now. So, that was our first—and our first venture was to plant some hay. There was nobody to buy what you raised. We had no markets then. So I remember the hay that we baled—we finally got it baled and it sat out there until the hay grew up over it, because there was no sense picking it up; we didn’t have anybody to sell it to. [LAUGHTER] So it wasn’t a very productive, I guess, in the beginning, as far as producing money. So I went to work at Camp Hanford.
Franklin: Do you remember what year that—
Didier: No. Well, it’d be—okay, ’54 we moved up here. It was probably during ’54. Because we had to eat.
Franklin: Right, you needed some cash coming in.
Didier: Yeah.
Franklin: Hay wasn’t going to cut it.
Didier: No.
Franklin: So what did you do at Hanford?
Didier: I was a secretary. I was interviewing people for jobs out there.
Franklin: All kinds of jobs, or--?
Didier: You know, that—I didn’t work there a whole long time. That was a long trip for me, clear from Eltopia.
Franklin: I imagine.
Didier: I had to drive that every day. I don’t remember. Not all kinds of jobs, I’m sure, because I’m not versed in scientific things, you know. I’m not sure it was Camp Hanford, so I don’t know what did Camp Hanford do? They were—it was long before all this Project stuff started out here in—I think it was—wasn’t that a military type of camp? Camp Hanford?
Franklin: There’s a few different things that are referred to as Camp Hanford. There’s the actual Camp Hanford, as it’s oftentimes noted as the camp where the construction crews lived. Then there was—there were a couple—there was a military camp--
Didier: I think that was it.
Franklin: --called Camp Hanford as well, where they—when they had the military stationed there for—
Didier: But I wasn’t interviewing for military; it had to be civilian people they were hiring or stuff. I wasn’t military. Because I was not in the military and whatever.
Franklin: Right. So you said you were a secretary, but then you said—didn’t you do something with the whole body counter?
Didier: That was for GE.
Franklin: For GE, okay. So in the beginning you worked at Camp Hanford, secretary/interviewer.
Didier: And then I went to Bureau of Reclamation in Eltopia. They had a construction office there.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: So I went down and applied for a job there, and I was so happy when I got a job, because I didn’t have to go very far to go to work. They were still completing canals and doing work. So I worked down there for a while. And then I decided, I guess, that I guess that I needed more money—or that we needed more money. So I went out—I applied to go to work at GE. And the first job I had was for Roy Lucas in tech shops. That was 300 Area. All my jobs that I held during that time that I worked out there were all for GE. It was just as GE was phasing out. And I forget who the next contractor was that came in, but GE—yeah. I left just as GE was—they were changing over.
Franklin: And you said you worked for Roy Lewis at—
Didier: No, Roy Lucas.
Franklin: Roy Lucas.
Didier: Lucas, L-U-C-A-S.
Franklin: At the tech shops?
Didier: Tech shops. He ran—it was like machining.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: They did machining. They had these tech shops—T-E-C-H—tech shops. And then I went to work for—well, there was a little incident between there. I got pregnant again. So I had to take a leave of absence, and my youngest son was born in 1960. So I think three months after he was born, I had taken a leave of absence, I came back, and I got a job at the Whole Body Counter—I think that was next—with Frank Swanberg, where they did all the testing on people that were working out there with their dosimeters or whatever they were wearing. They did a lot of testing on people that had worked out there for their levels of radiation exposure. Then I got a job—I got a promotion and went out to 300 Area again, and I went to work for Ward Spear. I don’t remember the name of that. They were all scientific people there. The papers I typed up were horrendous, with all their equations in them. [LAUGHTER] Then I worked for the boss of that whole group and he eventually became the CEO of Battelle, Ron Paul.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Didier: You know Ron Paul, or have you heard of him?
Franklin: I’ve heard the name, yeah.
Didier: Yeah, he was—I can understand why he was promoted to what he was. He was one of the best bosses I ever worked for, let’s put it that way.
Franklin: And why was that?
Didier: Very well organized. Never, ever last minute, I got to have this like ten minutes ago. No. He was always—I don’t know—just was a very personable man. Yeah, I really liked him. And then I got another promotion and I went to work for Art Keene in radiation monitoring.
Franklin: So kind of back to radiation monitoring.
Didier: Yeah. And he was head of the whole group that supervised the Whole Body Counter and whatever work—you know, all the people that were doing the monitoring out there. And that’s when I decided that I’d better call it a day. I had five children, and I was driving—I was spending ten to ten-and-a-half hours a day—well, ten hours, I guess it was—for eight hours of work out here. I mean, it took me—we still were not financially doing that well, so I hopped car pools. I had three car pools by the time I got to work at 300 Area. I had to switch and pass go. [LAUGHTER] And then had one more switch, I think. I can’t remember, but anyway.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: Yeah.
Franklin: So then you moved back to the farm.
Didier: I went back to the farm, and that’s when things started to pick up, and our markets were better, and you had more choices of what to raise.
Franklin: Do you know what year that would have been?
Didier: Well, Brett was born in 1960—oh, gosh. I think he was two, something? Probably 1962 or ’63.
Franklin: And so you said things had kind of improved, at least market-wise by that time?
Didier: Right, well there were more variety of crops to raise.
Franklin: So what were you—so you started with hay, so what were you expanding out into?
Didier: Well, we raised—in the beginning—well, we tried beans. We tried beans, we tried—I can just give you a repertoire of everything we raised. We didn’t do all that at one time. We raised sweet corn, we raised sugar beets, we raised potatoes. We were into potato growing—my husband loved to raise potatoes. Let’s see, sugar beets. Asparagus. We had 80 acres of asparagus once. So, we—can’t think of anything else. Wheat. We’ve had wheat off and on. I can’t think—and hay. Mainly, here in the last years, we’ve been mainly hay farmers.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: Because potatoes were always a big gamble. And we had a very bad year one year and almost had to go into bankruptcy.
Franklin: Is that because of weather or—
Didier: Because of circumstances. We had two circles of potatoes, and they had out this chemical that they claimed if you sprayed it at a certain time, that it would set your potatoes so they didn’t put on any more small ones—undersized, which paid you nothing. That you’d get bigger growth on the potatoes that were already set underneath the vine. It was MH-30, was what it was. So we tried that, and they sprayed it on on the hottest day of the year, I think. It was very hot that day. In two days, our potatoes were dead. Yeah.
Franklin: So you literally could watch them perish.
Didier: Yeah. Our field man came and he said, Don, the potato vines are dying.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: Because it was a salt solution, and they had no warning on their label that you should not spray over a certain temperature. And other people had used it and came out fine. But not us.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: But what was there we harvested. It was pretty sad. And then that was the year we got a rainstorm. We had wheat and we had a really hard rain. Then next day was like a pressure cooker. And all that wheat sprouted in the head. So it was feed wheat. It was not marketable.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: Just—you know, one of those years. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah. Where nature seems to be throwing everything at you.
Didier: Yup.
Franklin: Yeah. I grew up on a farm.
Didier: This year seems to be that way, too. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: I grew up on a farm as well. My mom still farms.
Didier: Really?
Franklin: Yeah.
Didier: Then you know what I’m talking about.
Franklin: Yeah, I’ve heard lots of stories.
Didier: When things start going wrong they just sort of escalate, you know? But potatoes, you had—at that time, you had $1,000 an acre into potatoes before you ever put a harvester in the field.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: Yeah. So—
Franklin: I guess that explains the switch to hay. So you said that you had done—the people—I’ve read that the people in that Bend area had tried wheat in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and kind of gave up. But you guys also tried wheat. Did you try that with irrigation or did you try to—
Didier: Oh yeah. We had nothing dryland. Everything was irrigated, everything we farmed.
Franklin: And how did the wheat do, besides that one awful year with the pressure cooker?
Didier: Well, you’d better expect over 100 bushel of wheat or—you know, I’m not as up on yields now as I was then, because my son farms our operation since my husband died. I always kid him I’m on a need-to-know basis. [LAUGHTER] I have to ask questions if I want to know—[LAUGHTER]—if I really want to know the nitty gritty about things, and then sometimes he gets sort of upset with me. So I’m saying 120 bushel—120 bushel is not unheard of, and over. Depending on the variety of wheat, you know. The year, the weather, everything.
Franklin: So you said that right now you’ve pretty much just reverted to planting hay now—growing hay.
Didier: Until this past two years. And the hay farmer’s in a world of hurt out there now after that port slowed down over in Tacoma. Sort of ruined the foreign markets. And then, too, our dollar’s been so strong, those people that depended on—I guess that were our markets, they went elsewhere when they weren’t getting their shipments. So you have to work to get those people back buying again. And there is hay stocked all over the basin. We’ve got hay from two years ago we haven’t sold.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: And this year we have had rain, rain, rain on about every cutting which makes it feeder hay. My son had an offer the other day of $60 a ton. You got $150 into it to break even.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: So you take your licks and walk on, hopefully, if you don’t get your financing cut off. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah. Did you spend a lot of time in nearby communities, in Eltopia? Were you involved in any organizations there, or social groups, or church groups or anything?
Didier: Oh, yeah. Yes. I belong to St. Paul Catholic church. We actually built that church, the people that moved in there.
Franklin: Oh.
Didier: Yeah. The people of that area, we built the St. Paul Catholic church at Eltopia.
Franklin: How large was Eltopia when you moved there?
Didier: Oh, the town of Eltopia?
Franklin: Yeah.
Didier: [LAUGHTER] Ooh, not very big. There had been a bank there once. There’d been—well, when we first moved in there and we had no refrigeration and I had a new baby, there was a Streadwick that opened a little store there. And he carried milk and bread, thank heavens, because I could buy milk from him. Because I couldn’t keep milk without it going sour for more than a day or so at a time.
Franklin: There was a who?
Didier: A Stredwick. His name was just Stredwick. There was a Stredwick family that owned a filling station on the old highway there. And Millie, she was a widow, but she had a pack of kids, and she was the switchboard operator in Eltopia. If you wanted to make a phone call in the beginning, you had to go to Millie’s house to make the telephone call. Because we had no phones.
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Didier: Or if you received a call, they’d have to come out and tell you that somebody was trying to get ahold of you.
Franklin: And how far away was that?
Didier: Well, about the same distance as getting the water. A little bit closer, but not much, because we had to go right into the town of Eltopia to get to her house. She lived in Eltopia.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: I would say there wasn’t more than 150 people, or less, in Eltopia per se.
Franklin: Where did the children go to school?
Didier: They started in Eltopia, my two oldest. But then we—they decided school districts. You either were going to go to Pasco or you were going to go Connell. We were—the dividing line was Fir Road, which was one more road to the south. Well, no, it’s more than one for me, but Eltopia West is the main road now that comes off of 395. It’s one road over from Eltopia West—Fir Road—was the dividing line. If you lived on the left side of Fir Road, you went to North Franklin School District, which was Connell. If you lived on the other side, you went to Pasco. So we went to Connell.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: Mesa—they built a grade school in Mesa, they built a grade school in Basin City. That’s all North Franklin. Then they had a grade school in Connell, then they built a junior high and a high school. So my kids all went through—finished. Some of them completely went through the North Franklin School District. The two oldest had a few years there in Eltopia. There actually was an old high school in Eltopia. But they closed it down, too. We used to have dances down there.
Franklin: Oh really?
Didier: The floors went up, and the floors went down, but we had an orchestra that did the playing. In the middle of the music they’d just stop. [LAUGHTER] We’ve laughed about that.
Franklin: Wait, why did they stop?
Didier: Just decided to stop! [LAUGHTER] And you’d be dancing away, all of the sudden the music just stopped. I don’t know. Probably had too much to drink. Everybody had to bring their own bottle, you know.
Franklin: Really?
Didier: Yeah, oh, yeah.
Franklin: And who put these dances on?
Didier: Well, we sort of had a—hmm, I don’t know. Don’t remember that. Just—I don’t know—we didn’t have an association, particularly. It was just our local group around there decided, you know, like New Year’s Eve or something, is about when—it wasn’t all the time.
Franklin: Was the high school being used at that time, or was it just kind of an empty—
Didier: No, no, it was going downhill. And that’s what I said—the floors were warped because the roof had leaked.
Franklin: Oh, my. Wow.
Didier: Yeah. And so you had to watch your step. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: I bet. So were these adults-only dances?
Didier: Yes, yes, yes. Yes, it was adults only.
Franklin: That’s great. That’s really interesting.
Didier: We were involved—I had a 4-H club. Don coached Little League—yeah, Little League, down in Eltopia. We had a team, because our boys played on that. We were big boosters of Connell High School, because all our boys—Clint played—my one son played in the NFL for nine years. The other boy was the one we thought was going to be the NFL player. But he wanted to farm more than play football. He’s the one that’s farming my place now. But our boys all participated in sports up there, so we were big sports boosters. Don helped build the bleachers. The old—we used to have our games down there in the—well, it was in the town of Connell. Since then it’s all moved up by the high school. But he helped build the bleachers into the side of the hill. He had a trophy case built for them. And then the boys went to CBC, both Clint and Curt. And we donated there, the foundation or whatever it is. Still do—Clint still supports that.
Franklin: Did you or your husband go to college?
Didier: Don did for a year. He was going to be an engineer. I went to college at night school for a while, but I never got a degree, no. I came out of a high school in Portland that you learned bookkeeping, shorthand, and so when you graduated, you also had a degree—you had English and a language and everything else—but you could go out and get a job.
Franklin: Oh, okay. Yeah.
Didier: And then they had Benson at that time for the boys where they learned how to—you know, like shop and things like that. And then they did away with that; we don’t have those kind of things anymore. Big mistake. I think we should still have those type of—because some kids are just not college material.
Franklin: Yeah.
Didier: To be able to go out and work and do something when you come out of high school. Because kids nowadays, they need work.
Franklin: Right. To have a trade or at least to have—maybe have post-high school schools that are geared for trade instead of—
Didier: Yeah, instead of—because when you come out of high school now, what do you have? You don’t have a trade of any kind, or a skill of any kind. Except supposedly your brain, and then you got to go on to another four-year school, and you’re still—if you want to really amount to anything, that isn’t adequate now either. And then we wonder why we have such high debt for these kids that are—[LAUGHTER]—you know, trying to get a college education or get a trade or whatever.
Franklin: Yeah. Oh! How did you meet your husband?
Didier: Uh-oh. [LAUGHTER] Do I have to tell you the true story? [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Well if it’s racy or saucy, then yes.
Didier: Well—
Franklin: For the good of history.
Didier: Okay, well--
Franklin: I’m just kidding. Whatever you’re comfortable with.
Didier: Well, every year in Portland at the beginning of the football season, they would have sort of a roundabout where each high school came and played a quarter or something against another one of the other teams. I had been a cheerleader at my high school. This is since I had graduated, and I’d started to work. I went to work at 16 for the Soil Conservation Service in Portland.
Franklin: Oh, really? Okay. Wow.
Didier: So, my girlfriend and I decided that we were going to go to this celebration—the football thing—that night. So I took a bus and I got off the bus where I was to meet her. And Don and a friend were standing there on the corner. He was enrolled at the—is it University of Portland is the Catholic school down there, or Portland U? No, it’s University of Portland, yeah. Anyway, he’d just started college there. So he tried to strike up a conversation, and I—my mother told me never—[LAUGHTER]—Don’t do those kind of things. I’m just kidding. But anyway, I wouldn’t talk to him. I walked across the street to meet my friend, and we had to walk back in front of him to get back on the bus to get to where we were going. He says, why don’t you let us give you a ride? And I said, no. I said, we’ll just take the bus. So we did. We got on the bus. So they ran around, got in their car, and they followed our bus over to the stadium. Later in the game, I went down and was sitting on the bench with my friends from my high school there. And around the corner walks Don. That was the beginning of the end. He said, well, as it turned out we had a mutual acquaintance—my girlfriend did. So we went to the dance at Portland University that night with them. And that was the end of me ever dating anybody else. Next day, he called me and—[LAUGHTER] So. And it was ironic because my son, Clint, you know, played for Mouse Davis down there, and years later he played in that stadium.
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Didier: [LAUGHTER] I call that sort of ironic coincidence, that years later we came back to the place where we actually engaged in a conversation that night. Anyway. So it was a pick-up, I guess you’d say.
Franklin: Yeah. Sounds like he was pretty persistent.
Didier: Well, he wasn’t very talkative. But I was impressed. He was pretty good-looking. [LAUGHTER] I liked what I saw. So anyway.
Franklin: That’s—aww. And was he drafted, then? You said he was in the Air Force.
Didier: Yeah, he was in the reserve.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: And he got—it was the Korean situation, and he got called up. So we were married just as he—right after he got called up, his commander was gracious enough to give him a couple of days off to have a honeymoon for—what did we have? Three days or something, when it was supposed to be boot camp. He happened to then be stationed at the Portland—there in Portland, for almost a year. And then he got orders to go to Nashville, Tennessee. So we up and moved. I went with him. Didn’t have any children then. We went to Tennessee for less than a year, I think, before we came back. And when we came home, we went to Condon, Oregon and Don went to work for a wheat farmer there.
Franklin: Oh, okay. So he was drafted in Korea, but didn’t—he never—
Didier: He never served overseas, no. He never had to serve overseas. He was a lineman—supposed to be his—whatever, what do they call it? His MO, or whatever? It was supposed to be—oh, I don’t know—what’s the second in command? I don’t know. Anyway, they found that he had been a telephone lineman at one time, so that’s what he ended up being, was a telephone lineman.
Franklin: Do you—when you were homesteading out there, did you have any run-ins or—well, not run-ins is the right word, but interactions with Native Americans who would have inhabited that area long before? Did you ever see, or were you ever aware of--
Didier: No, there was nothing. The only thing, we found a couple of arrowheads on our place once. No. Some old sheep camps, we found some things in that, but there was no—no, there was no indication of any—
Franklin: From earlier settlement days.
Didier: No.
Franklin: How has farming changed over the years for you?
Didier: Oh, my gosh. Well, what are we talking here? ’54 to—is that 60-what? ’62 years?
Franklin: 60 years, yeah.
Didier: Phenomenal, I guess, would be my word. Equipment-wise. Everything now if possible is circles, for irrigation. Tractors are—how many times bigger should I say than what we started out with? My son owns a quad-trac, which—I don’t know, what are they? $280,000 or $300,000-some-odd and it’s monstrous. You have GPS now; everything is—you plant by that. I guess—I don’t really have a word to—I guess express how much it’s advanced. Planters are all—well, just like we planted some beans this year, trying to find out something else besides hay to plant. This guy just pulls into field we had with timothy hay, and you don’t have to disc, you don’t have to do anything. He just sets down, and he’s got things that open it up to plant the seeds, so you don’t have to worry about the wind problem you used to. It used to be, we had horrendous winds and dirt. You’d plant a crop, and you’d pray that you didn’t get one of those winds or it’d be gone—the seed would be gone. A lot of replanting back in the old days. We could look towards block 15 and see this wall of dirt coming at us. Yeah. One of the windstorms hit 90 miles an hour here. It blew down the drive-in screen in Pasco. It blew the side out of a block building. And we were in that tent. My husband said, load the kids up, we’re going to town. We’re not going to be here when it goes down—if it goes down, is what he said. So we loaded up the kids, drove to town, spent the whole day in town. As the day—as the sun started to set, the wind went down and we headed back out there and didn’t know if there would be anything left of everything we owned in the world because it was all in that tent. And it was still standing.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: But he had a pretty hefty crossbeam—is that what you call it, the main deal at the top? But he said it put a permanent bow in it, though. That wind against that canvas. So he took that thing down and put up a four-by-six by himself. How he did that, I don’t know. But he says, not going to have that happen again.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: And then we had just a few incidences of some of the things that happened out there. We had a winter that first winter when we still in the tent. My husband was doing land-leveling. He got this D7 Cat and he was out working for other people, leveling their ground. That day, it was a beautiful day, that day. When he got off the Cat, he started home, and for some reason he turned around, and he drained that Cat. Because there was no antifreeze. We didn’t have antifreeze in it. That night, it dropped to 19 below. I don’t know—we’ve never, ever had that happen again. Don stayed up all night. We had a wood stove in that tent, and we had an oil stove. He had both of them cranked up as high as they would go. The next morning, he reached over, and we had packing cases for cupboards. He reached over for the coffee pot, and when he got it, it was all slushy, after he—and it wasn’t that far away from the stove. [LAUGHTER] And sagebrush—he was burning sagebrush in the wood stove. That puts out a hot fire. So decided it was time to move. And I was working at the Bureau then, so we were entitled to one of their Quonset huts down there.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Didier: So we picked up and moved that day. And it was wonderful not to have a roof flapping in the breeze, and it had running water, and I had wall—baseboard heaters, and they paid the bill. You could be as warm and toasty as you wanted. So I was in seventh heaven. [LAUGHTER] We lived there until—well, then I got—while I was working there, I got pregnant with Curt. And the Bureau wrote us a little letter, saying, you have not proved up on your land. You had to put in 12 months out of 18 to establish residency. And said, if you don’t move back on your unit, you’ll forfeit it. We didn’t have a house, didn’t have anything. So went to town, and started tearing down—we called them Navy homes. I don’t know. Somebody said they were Victory homes or something. They had a lot of them in Pasco, they had a lot in Kennewick. He and his dad went in there and they tore—we got enough money from the bank to tear down a section of that housing, and used all the materials out of that for our house. When we moved in, the eaves weren’t boxed in, the sub-floor was the roof, like, slats. So the dirt just settled between the slats. And we had no running water again, because we didn’t have a well. And I found a rattlesnake in my closet one day.
Franklin: Oh my.
Didier: [LAUGHTER] Came home from town, and I walked in to take off my blouse and hang it up in the closet. And I heard this noise, and I thought—out of the corner of my eye—I thought, there’s a snake. But it had curled up on top of a suitcase. We had no bathroom—we had an outhouse. Had no bathroom, and he found his way into our bedroom there, and the light—the sun was coming through the bedroom window, and he was sunning himself. He’d crawled up on this suitcase in an old army hat that Don had laying on top of the suitcase. And he was telling me, you’d better back off. I screamed, I said, there’s a rattlesnake in here! And Don says—he didn’t believe me, he thought I was having pipe dreams. He told everybody afterwards I made a new door out of the bedroom, which I did not. But anyway, he grabbed a weed fork and killed it. Believe me, we stepped out of bed gingerly for a while, thinking where you find one, you usually find two. But we could see where he’d come up through the—we had the sewer pipe laid for the bathroom that was not in. And the kids had been out there playing in the dirt with their trucks and stuff. He had a piece of tar paper thrown up against it and some dirt that he’d thrown up against it. Well, they’d knocked that down and that snake found that pipe, and he decided that was a nice cool place to be in. Yeah. We had quite a—in fact, we have a big rock bluff behind my farm unit there to the east. And the people at the Bureau called that Rattlesnake Mountain. In the spring, they’d go out there, and when they’d come out of their dens they’d kill a lot of snakes. So we encountered rattlesnakes off and on quite a bit.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: We were pretty worried with our kids that they might get bitten. We actually went to town and got a kit—not the normal kind—it had a hypodermic needle or whatever. Whether I could have used it [LAUGHTER] I don’t know. We had to keep it in the refrigerator. But just in case, because we were a long ways away from a doctor.
Franklin: Right.
Didier: But anyway, didn’t happen.
Franklin: That’s good.
Didier; Yeah.
Franklin: And now how—when, roughly, was your house built?
Didier: Well, it was built in stages. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: When did it—
Didier: Well, right as Curt was born, which was 1957. ’57.
Franklin: And is that still the same—is that house still out there?
Didier: It is. Only we’ve added on to it. You’d never know what part of it is built out of.
Franklin: [LAUGHTER]
Didier: It’s all bricked.
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Didier: Yeah. I have a fairly nice home. It’s nothing luxurious or anything, but it’s very comfortable.
Franklin: And you have roads out there now?
Didier: Oh, yeah. [LAUGHTER] Yeah, we’d better have. But that was something, when you didn’t have any roads, I’ll tell you. They were putting them in, but they were just the bases. I remember one day, our neighbors across—that turned out to be our neighbors across the road on Holly Drive—we saw this truck with all of their stuff loaded on it pull in over there. We thought, wow, are we getting a neighbor here? But they pulled in and dropped off a bunch of stuff and then took off again. So we jumped in our car and we followed them to find out who they were, and were they going to be our neighbors, and whatever. Because we were excited that we had another human being that was going to be that close to us. That was Johnsons. Were our neighbors for years and years. They both since have passed away. Don and I were probably eight to ten years younger than the majority of the people that settled out there, because they were World War II veterans, many of them. So we’re losing them one by one.
Franklin: Yeah.
Didier: Yeah, most of them are—well, just lost one down the road here. He was 93, I guess. Year before last. He was a bomber pilot in World War II. Flew 70-some-odd missions, and made it through.
Franklin: Wow.
Didier: Yeah.
Franklin: That’s really incredible odds.
Didier: Yeah. Yeah, it is. I did his eulogy at the church, and—those guys really—anyway, yeah.
Franklin: So working out at Hanford, you would have been privy to—you would have known what was produced there. Did you ever feel—how did you feel about making your living off the land so close to Hanford?
Didier: I never worried about it. Some people tried to prove, or think that they got thyroid cancer, whatever. But I—working in the monitoring, I knew they were monitoring the milk. They monitored milk, anybody that was dairying out there. Plus, they had instrumentation across the river. They were monitoring the river itself. However, you never knew what the figures were. I mean, I—yeah. But I really never worried about it. But maybe out of ignorance, in a sense. Not really, it’s not like, I guess, Chernobyl or something, where you had—although you had reactors out there. But a lot of them were not even active at that time, even. But there were a few, wasn’t there the—was it Fast Flux? I don’t know. I worked on that project, trying to save that Fast Flux Facility.
Franklin: Really? So in the ‘80s, then?
Didier: Yeah. Who was the commissioner? Yeah, I got involved in that. That was a travesty that they ever destroyed that, simply for the fact that medical isotopes—they had no idea what they could have engineered from that reactor that would have helped in the medical field. The dream was the guys that knew—he since has died, too. He moved to Portland. That if you had cancer, you’d go in, and you’d sit down, and they’d do, I guess, an injection. Sort of, probably, like chemo now, but in 15 minutes you’d be out of there. The possibility was there to make medical isotopes. If you know what medical isotopes are. I’m not a scientist, but because of the way the Fast Flux—it was one of a kind in the world, I think.
Franklin: Mm-hmm. How did you become involved in the committee to save it?
Didier: I don’t remember who got me into that. [LAUGHTER] I don’t remember. Claude Oliver, for one, was active in that. Wanda Munn, who is still alive, and she’s still—yeah.
Franklin: Yeah, I’ve—
Didier: I know Wanda and I talk to her quite often and she was very active in that.
Franklin: Yeah. She was very supportive.
Didier: I just went down to the office and did what I usually do, you know. Write thank-you letters for donations and filing and that kind of stuff. But I was very interested; I thought it was a very good project that our government—all the money that had been expended thrown down the toilet, to put it bluntly. I see in the paper they’re going to use one of the warehouses they built, though, to store the sludge or something. Did you see that?
Franklin: I didn’t. I do know that our collection that we manage—the Department of Energy’s Hanford Collection, which is a historic collection of artifacts and archives gathered onsite that document history, and that’s actually stored in one of the Fast Flux Facility warehouses.
Didier: Is it?
Franklin: Yeah. We’re moving everything out, but I go up there once or twice a week to do work on the collection, yes. It’s one of those warehouses that was built for Fast Flux.
Didier: Yeah.
Franklin: I hadn’t read about storage of waste.
Didier: Yeah, sludge or something. So they can—I don’t know—something about the tanks, they can put it in there? Something that had been built for the Fast Flux reactor. So at least maybe something’s being—[LAUGHTER]—what should I say? Salvaged. But anyway.
Franklin:Um, what do you recall about living in the Cold War—during the Cold War era? Especially—was there any sense of danger or even pride living so close at Hanford or working at Hanford, given its role in the US nuclear weapons arsenal during the Cold War?
Didier: Well, all that was sort of over with when I was out there. No, it was a job, and it was money. [LAUGHTER] Better money than I could make anywhere else. And the people were great to work with, and they were always interested in what we were doing out there. You know, you would have thought being of the scientific community and whatever—completely different ideas than being a farmer. But you know what? It’s interesting—there’s always a bit of farmer in everybody. Have you ever realized that? I mean, guys particularly.
Franklin: Well, I grew up on a farm.
Didier: I know that’s what you said, but it seems like no matter what they’re line of work is or whatever, there’s always this curiosity about farming and what to do and whatever. I used to have a lot of questions. They always treated me very well. I really hated to quit out there. Because I enjoyed the people. I enjoyed getting away from the farm, and the worries and the whatever. I could go to work and have a different scenario for the day, you know?
Franklin: Right, right. So when you were out there, you—all of the children were with your husband?
Didier: No, I hired a babysitter. She had to come to the house, because I couldn’t get five kids up—I had to leave at like seven in the morning, something, to be to work. We started earlier than 8:00. What was it? I don’t know what time I had to leave, but she had to come to the house and get the kids dressed and whatever.
Franklin: Was that a—
Didier: Don was not a babysitter. [LAUGHTER] He had better things to do, you know. No, I had to hire someone to come in. And sometimes you wondered if—that’s when I finally decided that I needed to quit and come home, because there’s a fine line there about whether you’re really—how much are you contributing here, when you have to pay someone to look after your children, cost of getting to work, better clothing—had to dress better—you know, all these things you got to factor in. It was better when I did come home, because my husband—he liked conversation and people. So he sometimes got sidetracked at the neighbors’ and stuff when I thought he should have been home doing some things. So when I finally came home for good, it was better. Things improved. [LAUGHTER] In my eyes, anyway.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: Well, it was lonely out there if you were—he just liked, as all farmers do, they like to talk a lot. They still get together. We’ve had some restaurants up there at the corner, and that was the gathering place every morning, the coffee shop and all the BSing that goes on. They’ve come and gone. So now we have a small Mr. Quick’s up there, and some of them still meet up there. Yeah. Got to compare notes, you know.
Franklin: Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Didier: [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: A lot of things to talk about, I’m sure.
Didier: Yup.
Franklin: How—you mentioned, especially when you were growing some of the other crops, maybe not the hay, but like the corn and potatoes—how—did you rely on migrant labor at all? Or have you noticed--?
Didier: We did in asparagus, but they really—the families we had I don’t think were migrant. They came from California every year. We furnished housing for them. When amnesty was declared, that’s when we tore out the asparagus. The next year, it was—well, they got better jobs, they stayed in California, they didn’t come back. The people we were getting were not—well, that’s when they also made the deal that if—before, you paid by what they cut a day. I guess you’d call it piecework. They could make good money. But then they said, okay, if they don’t cut enough to equal so much an hour—and I forget what the minimum wage was or whatever it was—then you’ve got to pay them that. So you had to keep track of both things. Well, then you started getting people that would start at the top of the road, and they’d get to the bottom of the road, and then they’d sit down on their box or whatever they had down there and smoke a cigarette. They didn’t care if they made—yeah. They got paid so much no matter what. The caliber of people changed drastically. We got a crew leader or something out of Texas to bring us people, and that was not good. So we just decided to tear it out.
Franklin: That’s when you went to a more mechanized--?
Didier: Well, yeah. Just planted other crops. When we lost the sugar beet industry here, that was hard, because that was a very, very dependable cash crop. That hurt.
Franklin: What happened to the sugar beet industry?
Didier: Well, they decided to pull the factory at Moses Lake out of here. So we had no place to ship the sugar beets. I think, took acres and stuff back to Idaho. So we lost our sugar beet industry here.
Franklin: Is there anything that I haven’t talked about that you’d like to talk about?
Didier: Well, I don’t know. I don’t know what it would be, except that I think at the end of my composition in that book that I gave you there on the block, I just said I was so grateful for the opportunity that we had here. I think this probably was the last—what do I want to say—the last land that was opened up for development, like the Columbia Basin, the last project. We raised five great kids. They learned how to work. I’m proud of all of them. I just felt, being a city girl, my mother-in-law particularly didn’t think I’d ever make it, but I did. [LAUGHTER] It was a great opportunity. A lot of people didn’t stay. There were a lot of women that—it was hard.
Franklin: Yeah.
Didier: It was hard out there. We had a couple of suicides. You’d get—yeah. I don’t know what else to tell you.
Franklin: Did your parents stay in Portland?
Didier: My dad had died early in life. My mother, yes. I was an only child.
Franklin: Okay.
Didier: She lived in Portland, yes. And--
Franklin: What did she—oh, sorry.
Didier: That’s okay.
Franklin: What did she think about—
Didier: Oh. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: --your going out to homestead in—I’m sure she thought it was—
Didier: Not too much.
Franklin: --kind of the middle of nowhere.
Didier: Not too much.
Franklin: Did she ever come out?
Didier: Oh, yes. Oh, yeah. She came up. She always came up whenever I had a baby and helped me. In some of the rougher years, so she knew what was actually happening. Of course, you know how you feel about your kids. You don’t like to see them—think that they’re being—what should I say—deprived. [LAUGHTER] And Don’s folks were very helpful. They—his dad came up and helped us many a time work on the house. She’d come up and do the cooking, since I was working. I’d come home to a meal, which was great. She made the best cinnamon rolls. My kids have never forgotten that.
Franklin: [LAUGHTER]
Didier: [LAUGHTER] Yeah, she—anyway. Yeah, they—we also were in sheep. I guess I forgot to say that. We all had a—I used to do the lambing.
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Didier: Yeah, we bought a bunch of old ewes, which was not the best idea. But that’s all—his dad and Don went together and bought this bunch of old ewes. And so we lambed—I think we had lambs for—or we had sheep for—what? I don’t know, maybe five, six years. We never were much of a livestock people. My husband, when he was young, his dad went to some auction or something, came home with some milk cows, and Don got the job of milking the cows. He says, I’m never having a milk cow, and we never did. [LAUGHTER] We had a guy actually delivering milk out to the farm, come to think of it. And he left a big supply everyday with the boys I had.
Franklin: Wow, yeah, I bet.
Didier: I ended up with four boys and one daughter. My daughter’s a school teacher here in Kennewick. Has been for umpteen years. And Brett works at Battelle, my youngest. Curt and Clint and Chris—Chris is my oldest—they all are in the farming deal out there.
Franklin: And Clint’s a local politician, right?
Didier: Oh, yes. Yeah. He thinks he has to try to make a difference. But anyway, it’s a rough go. But he’s determined—stubborn. [LAUGHTER] No, I admire him for his, I guess, bravery, because it is—you do have to be brave. You take a lot of flak, I’m going to tell you, and a lot of—after he loses, which he has, takes him a while to recover. It’s a rejection, is what it is.
Franklin: Yeah. That’s understandable.
Didier: And then he takes a bit to regroup, and turns around and comes back for another go at it. And I tell him, I said, I don’t understand you, Clint. [LAUGHTER] Anyway.
Franklin: Well, great, well, thank you so much, Alice.
Didier: I probably talked your leg off.
Franklin: Nope, my legs are still here.
Didier: Well, I don’t know what else I could tell you.
Franklin: Did anyone else have any questions?
Didier: Oh, I could—I guess I should have told you, I did a lot of tractor work. I was not just a housewife. I ran almost every piece of equipment, except I never ran the stacker or—but I drove tractor. Did cultivating. Never rode a—I never ran a potato harvester, of course, but I worked on enough of them sorting potatoes. You know when you’re digging in the field? I’ve eaten a lot of dirt in my day. [LAUGHTER]
Tom Hungate: Did you ever notice a difference, was there a boys’ club that you kind of had to work through? Or was it just you were a good worker and so you were accepted as a worker on the farm? Or there weren’t enough people even to judge you as a woman out there working on a farm?
Didier: Yeah. Most all the women out there—not every woman worked in the field, but the only one that I worried about judging me was my husband. [LAUGHTER] Which, sometimes—[LAUGHTER]—I would pull something that wasn’t—I mean, do something that wasn’t too good. We had a big windstorm one night, and I thought I had to go down—we did have wheel lines at the far end of our place, down in—well, it sloped down pretty readily there. And those wheel lines, if you don’t block them, will take off in the wind and tear them all up. So the guys headed down there, and I thought I had to go down and help. Well, the first thing I did was run over the pipe that hooked into the main line. [LAUGHTER] I got told, why don’t you just go to the house? Because I hadn’t helped the situation any. [LAUGHTER]
Emma Rice: Another thing I was kind of thinking, did you have anything else to add about being kind of a working mom in the 1950s and ‘60s—
Didier: Yeah.
Rice: --to watch over your own [INAUDIBLE]
Didier: Well, funny you ask that question, because I have granddaughters now that are—well, I have two granddaughters that are CPAs. One just moved—she was working out here on the Project, and she just moved to South Carolina. And I look back on the days when I was working, and they never come again. You’ve lost some of the years of your kids’ life. As things happen, when they learn—when they walk, when they—first time they do something. And not being—and I remember I came home, and I was so tired. I gave my best at work, and there wasn’t a whole lot left over at the end of the day. And I know I was cranky. [LAUGHTER] And I just think sometimes—I’m sort of like my granddaughter, I kept wanting to—each time I got a promotion, it was—how do I want to put that? Not a feather in my cap, but made me feel worthy—more worthwhile, or whatever. I enjoyed working, I admit that. But I just look back on it now as—I’m going to be 85—August. I think, was it really that important? And I wish, maybe, some of our younger generation had the benefit, maybe, of my years later on the road. That’s just my—
Rice: Yeah.
Didier: But I have thought about that a lot. Whether I would have done it any differently at the time, because we needed the money. But sometimes we get—we forget what’s most important in our life.
Franklin: I agree.
Rice: Yeah, great.
Franklin: So what we might do now is—we’ll maybe have you kind of narrate some of these, some of the items you brought along.
Didier: Where you go across it, when I was—
Franklin: Right.
Didier: But with these—this is hay we’ve laid down, and I thought it was quite—yeah, there. I thought it was sort of a neat view of how things look now, compared to that other slide you’ve got there.
Franklin: Right. Yeah, no, that’s really—
Didier: So I don’t know if you want me to bring in that picture or not, so you—
Laura Arata: That’s the more comforting way to look at it. [LAUGHTER] Oh, are we ready?
Man One: Yup.
Arata: Oh, okay, so we're ready to get started. If we could just start by having you say your name and then spell it for us.
Vanis Daniels: Vanis Daniels, V-A-N-I-S, D-A-N-I-E-L-S. And that’s the second.
Arata: Thank you. My name's Laura Arata. It's November 14, 2013 and we are conducting this interview on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. So I wonder if we could just start by having you tell us a little bit about when you first arrived at Hanford, who you came with, where you came from, that initial experience.
Daniels: Oh, boy. I arrived, well, let's say I arrived in the Tri-Cities. My dad came here in '43 and worked here off and on until '51 when he moved the family here. Now, between the time he first came here in '43, he, my uncle, and cousin of ours helped pour the first mud that was poured to start the B Reactor. And then, after that, he worked here off and on until '51, when he brought the family out. And I was just a little—barely a teenager when I came here in '51. I was a sophomore in high school. I was supposed to graduate in 1954. At that time, you had to be 17-and-a-half years old in order to graduate from high school. Well, see, I was just turning 16. So then when I got ready to graduate, the vice principal came to me and he says, you can't graduate. I said, why can't I graduate? He says, you're not old enough. I said, oh? What's that got to do would graduation? He say, you're only 16. You have to be 17-and-a-half years old to graduate from high school. Well, it didn't make any sense to me, you know, if I got the grade point and all that and able to graduate. And he say, well, let me ask you a question. And I said, yes? He says, if you graduate, what are you going to do for the next year and a half? I said, I don't know. He say, you're not old enough to get a job. Nobody's going to hire you. He say, so you're just going to be whiling away your time. I said, well, I guess. He says, I'll tell you what, I'll make a deal with you. He say, you come back to school next year. He say, because you're not going to be doing anything. He say, you can come as many hours as you want to. If you can find you a little part time job or something like that, you're free to leave to go and work. And you don't have any restrictions on you, you know, as far as having to be there every day. I told him, okay. So that's what I did. But that's when I really started appreciating school. Because up until that point, I had been an A student, but where I came from--I came from Texas, by the way. I was born in a place called Terrell, Texas, but that's all I know about it. We moved to East Texas, which is a little place called Kildare, which is right out of Texarkana. I personally lived in Oklahoma during those eight or ten years that I was there, and then back to Texas and then to the Tri-Cities here.
But being from the south, I went to an all-black school, segregated. And I didn't know anything about interacting with other races. And when I came here, nobody gave you a—I wouldn't call it a crash course, but I'd say interaction—it has a name for it—But anyway, they just threw you into the school with everyone else. And you had to learn to adjust. Well, that can be kind of hard. And it can also be kind of devastating. So my grade point dropped, but not to the point where I didn't graduate. And I see some kids right now that I went to school with that--I see them every once in a while--and if they hadn't been there to sort of support me, hold me up, I might would have fallen all the way through the crack. I might would have dropped out of school altogether. But they were—let's see, one retired from Franklin County. I don't know what the other three girls did as far as work go. But for some reason, they sort of took me under their wing, and I guess boost my morale or whatever you want to call it. And I was able to transition in and go on and finish school. After I finished school, I tried for ten years, 12 years really, to get a job at Hanford. And for some reason, they didn't want to hire me. I went to Seattle, tried to get a job at Boeing. They didn't want to hire me. I have, later in life since I retired, I learned why I didn't get a job at Hanford or Boeing, as far as that go. The people that I thought would be my biggest asset became my biggest enemy as far as getting a job. Because when you're asked for references and you put people down, I asked them if I could put them down, I let them know that I was putting them down for references and all this stuff. But the things that they put down there hindered me from getting a job rather than helping me get a job. And I learned this since I retired. But needless to say, I worked construction. I finally got a job--an interview--for Battelle. Meissinger was his name that interviewed me. And I must've gone out there for an interview the better part of a dozen times. And every time I'd go, he'd tell me, well, we don't have anything right now. In June of '66, he called me for an interview and I went out. And I'm working every day, working construction, when you leave work on construction, that's when your pay stop. I had a wife and a kid by then. And I went out one evening because he told me, he said, I'll stay here until 7 o'clock. You get of work, you come out. I told him, okay. So I got off, went home, took a shower, when out, talked with him. And I think he was about to tell me that he didn't have a position, ‘til I told him, I said, let me tell you something. I said, now, if you're not going to hire me, tell me now because I can't keep making arrangements, taking off work and all that stuff, coming out here just to sit and talk with you. I need a job. He says, just a minute. I don't know who--he left the room. He went and talked with someone. When he came back, he say, when can you come to work? I don't know. Whenever you want me to. He said, can you come Thursday? I told him yes. So I went out on Thursday.
They interviewed me, gave me a permit, which was a red badge at the time, to go to work. I started as a janitor in the 3706 and 3707 building in the 300 Area. They transferred me from there to Two East and Two West. From Two East and Two West, they gave me a job in what was called Decon at the time. We did all of the glassware, all of the pigs--which is not a literal pig. It's a iron cast. You know, you can get the gallon, half gallon, or quarts. And it contains radioactive waste on the inside. The pig is just to shield the radiation. And we handled all of the hot water from the 300 Area. So I worked in there for two and a half years or so. And we took care of all the waste, did all the filter changing and everything in 300 Area. From there, I went to 100-F, to inhalation toxicology. And inhalation toxicology is just a matter of inhaling and exhaling is what it is. But I worked with the dogs, which at the time, Battelle was doing an experiment on the effect that cigarette smoke had on the human body. We worked with beagle dogs because at that time, they said that the closest thing to a human’s physique was the beagle. A grownup beagle weighs anywhere from 15 pounds to I think the heaviest one we had was probably 47 pounds--which is a wide range for a dog, but the human anatomy is also a wide range. 15-pound dog would be equivalent to 130-pound man. A 47-pound dog would be equivalent to 350-pound man. And every three months, we sacrificed a dog. And we did everything from blood, urine, feces, muscles, tissue, everything. We learned everything we could about cigarette smoke on what effect it would have on the dogs. The dogs smoked two packs of cigarettes a day. Now, we had dogs that got addicted to cigarettes. And they were just like humans, chain smoke if you allowed them to. Then you had dogs that could not stand smoke, period, and they would fight it all the way through. But you had to give them the equivalent of two packs of cigarettes a day. Okay, we had hamsters that we shammed with cigarette smoke. We also did plutonium on them to see what effect it would have on the organs, on the inside of the body. And I worked in there until I got kind of fed up with supervision at the time because we weren't getting the raises that we should as far as finances go. And when you got a family you got to take care of, $2 just don't get it. So meanwhile, I talked with supervision and they say they didn't have money for raises. But yet and still, they're turning back money every year to DOE, which was set aside for raises. They just weren't giving it out. Well, at that time, they had what they call merit raises. And I worked second shift. I very seldom saw my supervisor. And so I asked him, I say, if I very seldom see you, I must be doing a good job. Because otherwise, you should be here checking on me to see what I'm doing. I later learned that one of the guys that worked in my department had told him that he had to recheck all of my work every morning when he came in, to make sure that I was doing it right. Well, see, that wasn't his position. He's an employee like I am. The other thing is that if the supervisor had just used a little bit of common sense, he would have known the man was lying. Because when you pull samples, the minute you pull the sample, it starts to decay. Now you would have had some variation in my results and his results if he's going to run my sample the next morning to tell me that I'm not doing it right. And he's getting the same results I'm getting. Something's wrong with this picture. Well, anyway, as it turned out, I told him I couldn't work for them if that's the way there were going to do things. So I quit.
The day I left from out there, I went home and I was sitting at home. And thinking, boy, I just quit my job. I got to get me a job. I went up to my sister's house and my brother-in-law was home. And I said, what are you doing home? He say, today is Veteran's Day. And also, it used to be Election Day, the 11th of November. And he say, I'm off. And so we sat round and talked for a few minutes. He say, would you be interested in leaving Hanford and going to work someplace else? He didn't know I'd quit. [LAUGHTER] I say, why, sure. He say, I got a guy you need to go and see. He told me where it was and everything. And the next day, I went looking for it. I drove right by the office and didn't find it. I went back and when he came in from work, I said, I--he say, you passed right by it. He says, it's a little building. I says, okay. The next day I went, the guy that became my supervisor wasn't in. But the secretary knew who I was when I got there. So I didn't get to see him that day. But the next day, they told me what time to come back. I went back, I walked in the door. He say, so you're looking for a job. I say, yes, I am. He says, come on back here in my office. So we went back to his office and, meanwhile, he's talking and asking me some questions. He's saying, I know your brother-in-law real well. He say you’re a heck of a nice guy. I say, he did? You say, yeah. When we get in the door and he closed the door, he say, you got the job if you want it. But I got to go through the motion of interviewing you. I says, okay. So I worked there at the Tank Farm in Pasco, which we distributed petroleum products, fertilizers, and fire retardant for forest fires. And I worked there just two or three months shy of 16 years. I went back to Hanford after that and went to work for Westinghouse. From there, Bechtel took over. I became supervisor. I worked in every area out there, decommissioning all of the buildings, the outer buildings, the 105s, tore down the 103s, basins. You name it, we did it. Took care of all the asbestos, worked in the asbestos department of the Tank Farm. They're talking about, now, where the tanks are leaking and all that stuff. We took care of all the above ground asbestos and stuff there for them. And I worked there until I retired in '97.
Arata: What year was this that you quit your job, your first job with Battelle?
Daniels: In '71.
Arata: And so then, what year was it that you went back to work at Hanford for Westinghouse?
Daniels: '89.
Arata: Okay. Well, it sounds like you had quite an array of jobs between all those sites.
Daniels: I've done some more besides that. [LAUGHTER] I owned my own restaurant for a little while in Spokane out at Airway Heights. I went in the service. I was at my basic training in Fort Ord, California. When I finished my advanced basic, I had run into a captain. I didn't know him, but I knew his family from Pasco. And I was talking to him and I had been home on leave and I had seen his mother. And I was telling him that she was doing fine, I'd just seen her and all that stuff. And when I finished my advanced basic, he was there and he ask me, he says, I got several places you can go if you want to, he said. Which ones do you want? I could've gone to a special forces in Chicago. I didn't think I wanted to go there. It get too cold there for me. [LAUGHTER] I could've gone to Presidio in San Francisco. I don't like San Francisco. I could've gone to Germany. I didn't want to go at that time. I could've gone to Fort Lawton, or I could've gone to Fort Lewis. I chose Fort Lewis. So I went there. And I liked Fort Lewis for some reason, although we were in the field most of the time. But I'm an outdoor person anyway. We got transferred from Fort Lewis to Germany. At the same time, the Vietnam War was breaking out. They took all of our officers and sent them to Vietnam. They took all of the personnel that had six months or less left to do, they extended them a year and sent them to Vietnam. All of them that had a year or better to do went to Vietnam. I had eight months left to do, so I didn't have to go. But they sent me from Germany back to Fort Lewis. And I trained the Milwaukee National Guard because they had activated them to take the 4th Division's place when they sent them to Vietnam. And I was sent back to Fort Lewis to train the Milwaukee National Guard. Once I got them trained, I got discharged. Three weeks after I got discharged, I got drafted again. [LAUGHTER] But I didn't have to go. I didn't have to go. For some reason, they decided they didn't want me. And those were some of the jobs I've had and some of the things I've done.
Arata: Wow, there's about a million things I want to ask you about but we have to start somewhere.
Daniels: Well--
Arata: I wonder if we can talk a little bit about kind of some of your early memories when you first arrived in the Tri-Cities area. And particularly, I'm interested in what your housing situation was like that and where you lived and what the community was like at that time.
Daniels: Okay. When we first arrived in the Tri-Cities--coming from east Texas, where you got greenery all around you, you know, it's like the west side of the state of Washington--and coming here to the desert, you just sort of get a sickening feeling. [LAUGHTER] To tell you the truth. But if you were black, you lived on the east side in Pasco, where I still--well, I live northeast Pasco, now, but that's by choice. Anything west of Second and Lewis in Pasco, well, it wasn't off limits—it was off limits as far as houses go. The banks or anything would not loan blacks money to buy homes. The finance company—which, at the time, Fidelity Savings and Loans was the biggest one in the Tri-Cities--would loan you money to buy an old, raggedy car with interest rates so high. But that's beside the point. When we came, my dad tried to borrow money to buy a house. He couldn't get any. He found a house and the lady that owned the house sold it to him on a contract. And she let the bank, BV, whatever you call them, hmph. Anyway, he paid his payments to the bank. So, therefore, I guess they would be the proprietor or whatever you call them. And in the agreement was that if he was three days late with the payment, they could foreclose on it and take the house. And the house was less than $10,000 at the time. They never took it, of course. But then he would always make sure that it was paid on the date that it was supposed to, if he had to haul me out of school long enough for the bank to open to go pay it and then go on to school. But other than that, kids are kids. And kids aren't prejudiced. We all played together. We had baseball, we did
Basketball, we had BB gun wars, which I don't know why some of us didn't get our eyes shot out. But we didn't. [LAUGHTER] And, let's see, you couldn't live in Kennewick if you were black. You didn't live in Richland because that was government and you had to work for the government in order to live out there. Well, up until probably '49, I think Mr. Newborn went to work out there in '49, which was the first black as far as know that ever worked in processing at Hanford. They only thing, blacks could work construction out there and help build it, but they couldn't help operate it, which—it still baffles me to this day, but that's just the way it was. Signs of the times, I guess you would call it and ignorance on a lot of people's part, as far as that go.
Arata: So you graduated from high school, then, in Pasco.
Daniels: Mm-hmm.
Arata: Do you remember about how many students were in your high school and approximately how many of you were black versus the white students?
Daniels: Okay. There were—let’s see—three? The high school was built for 600 kids, I think, 500 or 600 kids. And the day that they opened the doors, it was already overcrowded as far as that go. And that's the Pasco High School they got there now. I was the first graduating class out of that school. There were 107 or 108 of us in the graduating class. And I think there's probably 25 or 30 of us that I know of. In fact, I just saw seven or eight of them a couple of weeks ago. One of our classmates passed away.
Arata: Do you recall any specific incidents, anything that stands out to you about your time. I'm curious, particularly about high school, because you've told us all these great stories about it--where race was an issue at Pasco High School when you were attending there.
Daniels: Yes. There were maybe, at the most, 13 black kids when I went to high school. Most of them were underclassmen. There was a couple or three upperclassmen. We had football players, basketball players and stuff like that that were starters, what you might want to say were the star of the team. When they would have homecoming, the football players got to escort the queen and her court and all that stuff. Black kids couldn't do it. They wouldn't allow it. Some of the kids have since told me and another friend of mine that passed away that whenever one of them--because I was small, so I didn't play basketball or football--but anyway, if one of them turned out for football, they tried to do everything they could to hurt them. They didn't want them on the field with them. They didn't want to play with them. If any of the black kids got any type of award or anything, it was never given to them during assemblies or anything like that. If it was white kids, they made a big to-do of it and he got it on stage, came up before the whole school and got it. Black kids, they gave it to him as he was leaving school one evening or something like that. But this is faculty doing this. This is not the kids doing stuff like this. My vice principal and my shop teacher I ran into one day, oh, years after I graduated from school. They were hunting agates. And I stopped and was talking to them. And they actually apologized to me for some of the things that went on. The vice principal told me, he says, I am so sorry. He said, there are things that went on that I dare not tell or divulge--two reasons. First of all, I had a wife and kids that I had to support. And if I told them anything that was going to advance you, then I'd be looking for a job. He say, and I am sorry, but the community as a whole, well, it's like the council now, you know. They tell you what to do and you more or less jump and do it. Or like the government, which I think we all ought to vote everybody up there out, but that's beside the point. [LAUGHTER] It's just the way it was. And then I could understand their positions, because if you've got a wife and kids that you've got to support, you got to look out for them and you in the process of whatever you're trying to do. Now there's another way that it could have been done. But at the same time, they probably did what they knew to do. And that's one thing I never fault anyone for. If you don't know how to do something or to do something, then I don't fault you for not doing it. Now my brother, which you will interview next week, is probably the first black to have a job in a department store in the Tri-Cities, or at least in Pasco, I know. Well, he'll tell you about it. I won’t try to tell you about him. [LAUGHTER]
But those are some of the things that we encountered. We walked every day from the east side of Pasco to Memorial Park, which was the only swimming pool in town within the last year. And at that time, there was probably 5,000 to 7,000 people in the whole of Pasco. They had one swimming pool. You got 80,000 to 100,000 people in Pasco now. You got one swimming pool. [LAUGHTER] Doesn't make any sense at all. But we walked over there every day to play baseball and go swimming if we wanted to go swimming. There weren't any park other than Sylvester Park and Memorial Park was the only two parks in town at the time. Later, they put the Boat Basin in down there at Pasco. But when we didn't have any place to play, other than going over there, then we started making our own baseball diamonds in vacant lots and things. And as the lots would be developed, they would—well, naturally, they'd run us out because there wasn't enough room for us to play. So one evening, we didn't have any place to play baseball and we wanted to play baseball. Two blocks from my house, where I grew up at was Kurtzman Park. Well, actually, it's a block and a half. But it was just a vacant field. And we took shovels, a bunch of my friends and me, and we went out there and we cleared all the tumbleweeds out, took the shovels and kind of levelled it off, and started playing baseball. A lady named Rebecca Heidelbar happened to come by there and see us. I don't know exactly what period of time, how long we'd been playing there. And she stopped and asked us if we had a park that we could play in. We told her no. We told her the only park was Memorial Park. She says, mm-hmm. And she talked to us for a minute. She left. Well, we later learned that she was an attorney, her husband was an attorney, her mom was an attorney, and her dad was an attorney. And that was Judge Horrigan and his wife, and then their daughter Rebecca. And then she had married an attorney. So she came back and asked us to get as many kids together as we could and she would meet with us. And she did. And she went to the courthouse, found out who the land belonged to where we were playing. She helped us to draft a letter to Mr. Kurtzman, which she found out lived in Seattle and ask him to donate enough land for us to have a baseball diamond. Well, it took him the better part of six months to answer us, but he get back to us because I suppose he had to look into the legal aspect of it. He got back to us and told us that he could not give any land to a special interest group or persons. He would donate six acres of land to the city if they named the park after him. That's how Kurtzman Park came into an existence. And there's a letter someplace that we wrote him with my name right on the top of it. But in the process of this, we got the land donated to us, the city of Pasco, as far as the city go. The only thing they did to get that park in there was they gave some used pipe that they had laying around out there at what we call the Navy Base, which is out by the airport. And the black parents went out there and broke all this pipe apart and everything, took it down to the park, actually took shovels--we took shovels--dug the trenches for the water system down there, put the pipe back together, put the water system in. The city did seed it. They did plant the trees. And they keep it up. But the Kurtzman building has a park right in the front of it that myself, my cousin, Mr. Louzel Johnson put up, free of charge, right where U-Haul is on Fourth Street and Pasco now, used to be a brick place where they made brick blocks, your cinder blocks. And they donated the blocks. We did the labor and put it up. At first, they named the park Candy Cane Park. And then we had to let them know that you can't do that. That park got to be named Kurtzman or else we don't have a place to play because that's the only way he would donate it, so that's the way we got that. Where Virgie Robinson's Elementary School is now, on Wehe and Lewis Street, used to be what we call the lizard hole because you get off and then had toad, frogs, and all that stuff down in there. And we'd we go down in there and get those frogs and stuff out of there and bust them because that's what we did. [LAUGHTER]
Arata: Just to clarify this, I just have this great mental image in my head of this group of kids running around playing baseball. Was that integrated at all? Were most of you African Americans? A little better sense of--
Daniels: Well, what we did was, like I say, we lived on what we called the East side. There was a bunch of white kids that lived over there. Right on the north side of Lewis Street was enough white kids that they had two baseball teams. We lived on the south side of Lewis Street. We had one baseball team. And we played each other every day. [LAUGHTER] Yeah. We had a lot of fun. We played each other every day. In fact, one of the kids--I haven't seen him in years--but I was catching. And he threw a ball. He threw that ball so hard it--because I was using a board for the plate--and it hit that board and hit me right there. And I later had to have a hernia operation. [LAUGHTER]
Arata: The scars of childhood.
Daniels: Oh, yeah. We had a lot of fun. We played, like I say, we did BB wars and all that stuff again. I don't know why we don't have eyes out or something, but none of us ever did. Used to dig holes, tunnels. And I know you've probably read here in later years here, where kids are digging tunnels on the beach and all that stuff and then they collapse on them and they suffocate and stuff. I don't know why that didn't happen to us either because we'd dig as far as we could underground. [LAUGHTER]
Arata: Wow, there's so many things I want to ask you about. If we could go back to your time at Hanford just a little bit. So you did have a bunch of different jobs over the broad course of time. Could you talk a little bit about sort of security, or secrecy, or safety, things like that? Did any of those things have a major impact?
Daniels: Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Now security was at a point where that certain buildings, certain areas, you couldn't go in if you didn't have the clearance to go in them. One of the things that they especially emphasized was paperwork—security or classified documents and things. And documents was classified, like secret, top secret, and they had another one. But anyway, the way you knew which one was which was the border that was around it. Like, I think secret had a blue border. Top secret had a red border around it. Now, if you went in any building, and you saw that document laying anywhere unattended, you were to report it, stay right with that document until somebody of authority came and picked that document up. It wasn't supposed to be laying around any place. Again, if you didn't have the clearance, you weren't allowed in the buildings. They didn't allow you, even if you had the clearance, unless you had business in the building, then you wasn't supposed to go and fraternize and all that stuff, like, well, like first instance, my brother. The only time I went to see him or he came to see me was if there was an emergency at home and he got the message, he came and told me or vice versa. See, you just weren't allowed to do it. You were allowed in your work area to do your work and that's it. I worked all over. So I had a Q clearance. And I had a clearance for everything but the arms room. Now in the arms room, you needed a Q, but you also needed a chip. I didn't have the chip. I worked in the arms room, but I had to be escorted to the building. And then once I got to the building, I could go all around in the building, but I couldn't come out until my escort came and got me to bring me back out of the building. So there were security, and I can remember, for instance, where that DOE--which is what we call them now--actually right where Jackson's is now, down here on George Washington Way, it was a tavern. And DOE actually put people in there to watch and talk with people that worked at Hanford, got off work, stopped in to have a beer and stuff like that, just to see if they would divulge anything that was going on out there. So it was pretty hush-hush. You couldn't go past the wire barricade unless you had business out there. Again, like I say, there's not an area or a building I don't think I haven't been in. But that was because I worked all over the place. ‘Til this day, there are still areas out there that still classified. You know, they're declassifying it and cleaning it up. And I don't know how many acres they got now, but—no, I'll take that back. The only place I never did go was up on top of Rattlesnake. And I didn't want to go up there, because I'm afraid of snakes. And my brother-in-law helped put the telescope up there. And he say when they were digging and getting ready and there was plenty rattlesnakes. I said, I'm not going up there. And so I never went. [LAUGHTER] But any area out there that you can name, if you didn't have any business in there, then it wasn't a good idea to go. I can remember working, and you would look up--and they had environmentalists--and you'd look up and you'd see one way out across the desert someplace. And what in the world are they doing? Who are they? You had to go and get your supervisor or someone, or if you was in a vehicle, you went and you challenged that person. If they didn't have a badge, then they had to go with you. You held them some kind of way until they was identified, in some way or form. You just didn't walk around out there. When the Army was out there, they would do drills and stuff. And they would come in and several times—they finally had to kind of curtail that because we had guards out there that carried weapons. And some of them almost got shot, scaling over walls and going over fences and things like this. It was an exercise, but you going the wrong direction and in the wrong place without proper identification, so they had to sort of curtail that because you don't want anybody to get hurt.
Arata: Right. I wonder, I know it's a little bit before your time working at Hanford, but JFK visited in 1963.
Daniels: Well, that was before I started out there. I helped put the railroad spur in that he was supposed to come in on because he was supposed to come in by train. We finished the spur the day before he dedicated the steam plant the next day. It was so hot until I decided I wasn't going. So I didn't go. My brother took my mom and dad out to the dedication.
Arata: Did you ever wish maybe you had gone, braved the heat?
Daniels: Yeah, now I do. But back then, I didn't. I was sick of the heat.
Arata: Sure. I guess when you think about overall and through all your different jobs, maybe you could talk a little bit about how Hanford was as a place to work overall and if there were sort of any aspects of your jobs that were more challenging or more rewarding than others? Anything that stands out?
Daniels: Probably the worst part of working out at Hanford was the fact that when you worked inside the buildings, they had what we called recirculated air. You didn't get any fresh air. So it was always just sort of ho hum. You know, I always felt kind of drowsy all the time when I worked inside. Other than that, I think everything I did out there I really enjoyed. And I enjoyed being a supervisor. Although, if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't have the job. But I had everything. All of the crafts worked for me. And that's electricians, crane operators, rigors, laborers, RCTs, the whole ball of wax. I was in charge of taking down all of the holding tanks, which, if you watch TV and you see this deal on there. This guy says he worked at Hanford for 21 years and now he's under this health care and they come out and visit him. If you watch it, you'll see three great big tanks in the back while that is on. In every area out there, they had those tanks. I took down all of those tanks in all of the areas out there and cleaned them enough that all of the metal was shipped to Japan. And that's the first time any metal, that I know of, was shipped of off the Hanford site to go anyplace except for the burial ground. But in the process of doing that, we started out doing it the way they that our RCT and everything said that we were supposed to do it. We cleared I don't know how many pounds and shipped them down here to Pasco. From Pasco, they went to Seattle and was put aboard ship. Well, before they left the Hanford area, they were surveyed to be cleaned. We shipped them down to the 1100 Area. When they left the 1100 Area, they were surveyed again. They shipped them down to Pasco. When they left Pasco to go to Seattle, they were surveyed again. When they got to Seattle, before they put them aboard ship, they were surveyed again. Got to Seattle, getting ready to put them on board ship, and they found I don't know, I'll say ten milligrams on one corner of one piece of metal. They stopped it right there. Everything that they hadn't loaded aboard ship they sent back to Kennewick. All of it. I was on my way home when it was on a Friday evening. And how they knew where I was, I have no idea, but they found me. I was in the Towne Crier down here in Richland. Guy came in. He say, I've been looking for you. I said, what do you want with me? He say, you got to go to work in the morning. I say, no, I don't. He say, yes, you do. He say, I got to have RCTs. You need to go and get ahold of Ray Jennings and get some riggers and O’Reilly, get some riggers, and crane operators, and all that stuff and we got to be out there are 8 o'clock in the morning. Says, oh. So anyway, we got it all done. I drove up out there probably at 7, 7:30 or so. We all gathered around and everything. Pretty soon, here come a guy that I've never seen before. He came in. He got out of the car, he came over, he spoke to everyone. He say, who's in charge of this project? I said, well, I guess I am. He said, well, I don't need you to guess. He say, either you or your aren't. I said, well, I'm in charge of this project. He said, come over here. He says, you haven't done anything wrong according to the RWP. He say, but we found some contamination and we can't have that. He say, so today, you are going to go step-by-step through everything that you did in order to release this metal. I told him, okay. So I call my RCTs, I get my riggers and everything. We get a panel out. And we lay it out for him. And you got to lay it out in feet, every square foot, you know, is a square. And then there's a certain amount of time that you should take to go over that square foot. And he watched us. He says, you're doing everything right if that's the way you did. I say, that's the way we did it. Well, I got the RCT head supervisor there. I got the rigger supervisor and everybody saying, well, this is the way we do it. He says, okay. He says, but how do I know—and I'll give you a for instance on what I'm talking about here—when you cut a piece of metal with a torch, you get something like the rim of this glass, where the metal actually rolls as it melts. He say, how do I know it's not contaminated underneath there? I say, well, I guess I really don't, except the instruments that we use is supposed to detect anything a quarter of an inch deep. He say, that's not good enough. He say, because some of that slag is better than a quarter of an inch. He said, have you ever heard of a Ludlum? Well, now, there's none of us out there that ever heard of a Ludlum, which is a radiation detector machine. We'd never heard of it. He says, well, that's what I want you to use. He was from Washington, DC, the Pentagon. [LAUGHTER] I said, uh-oh. But anyway, he says, I'm going back this afternoon. You will not survey or ship anymore metal off of here until I am satisfied that it's clean. I told him, okay. He went back to Washington, DC. This was like on a Wednesday. On a Monday morning, I had eight Ludlums. I'd never seen the things before. So I give them to my RCTs. And they had instruction with them. And the two kids live in Kennewick now, they read the instructions and everything, tried them out and everything. And then they became the instructors to teach other people how to use the Ludlum. Battelle has a program where that they have to certify all of the machines that are used on the Hanford site. Well, they didn't get their hands on these. So I'm working. I get a call from Battelle. And they tell me, say, Vanis, I understand you've got some machines out there that didn't come through us. I said, I don't know who they came through. But I said, they sent them to me. I said, so I got them. And I'm using them. You can't use them because they're not certified. I say, that's not what I was told. So I tell them exactly what I was told, who told me, where I got them from and everything. You got to bring them in here. I said, nope. I'm not bringing them in there. I say, I was told by the head from Washington, DC what to do. And that's what I'm going to do. Anyway, I had to go down and sit on their lap and talk with them, get them to understand that, hey, you can buck whoever you want to up there. I'm not going to do it. Well, anyway, they finally got it all squared away that they weren't going to get these machines and that I was going to use them because they had been overridden by Washington, DC. So then I got to get all that metal and everything cleared and it went to Japan. And one of things I can remember he told me before he left that evening, he say, you're doing a good job. But the thing I don't want is for one of my grandkids to get contaminated sitting up working on a computer where you have sent some contaminated metal and they made computers out of and sent it back over here. That was an interesting one. [LAUGHTER]
Arata: I can imagine. And what year would that have been?
Daniels: That would've been in '95 or '96.
Arata: Okay. Well, I wonder if we could just wrap up. Obviously, the Cold War in this time period, kind of a very conflicted legacy. Most of my students were not alive during that time. So they have sort of a limited window into it. So I wonder of you could just tell us a little bit about, in your experience, living through and working at Hanford during much of this time period of the Cold War, just maybe what changed over the course of time, if anything in terms of—like I know the NAACP eventually came to Hanford at did some good work later on. Sort of what that experience was of living through that change.
Daniels: Okay, one of the things that happened was in '68, I believe it was, about that time anyway, I was working in the 325 Building and Decon at the time. And I saw this gentleman, oh, for the better part of a week walking around. In the building, he'd always nod his head, you know, speak. I'd speak, go on about my work. Whatever he was doing, he'd go on about it too. My supervisor, one morning, told me, he stays, I need you to stay here, answer the phone. He say, take any work orders that come in. He say, and if you need to go and estimate a job, you know how to do it, go do it. I got to go to a meeting. I'll be back. I says, okay. So he went on to the meeting. And when he came back, he says, I told you something was going to happen. He say, heads are going to roll around here. I said, what are you talking about? He says, remember, they got all these blacks out here. I say, yeah. He say, 90% of them are janitors. I say, yes. He say, that guy that's been walking around in this building? I say, yes? He say, he's head of DoE. He's from Washington. And he's been observing all of the jobs, the people that are doing the jobs, the people that are in the jobs, the education that the people have, and the whole ball of wax. And he just told us that we got three weeks to start transferring some of these people into some of these jobs. He say, because you can't tell me you got that many black people out here and don't none of them have enough sense to do anything but janitorial work. He say, I know better. [LAUGHTER] So that's when they started diversifying and sending people to all different jobs and all that stuff. Because before then, most of them were janitors, I think. I got a cousin that worked in a lab, one supervisor, one operator—that was about it. Everybody else mostly were janitors. But, again, see, you're looking at an area when they start hiring blacks out there. Most of them had been here since the early '40s. They had worked construction out there and all that stuff. But none of them had ever been able to get a job in what I call production. They hired them all. They hired them as janitors. They were already elderly people. And when I say elderly, some of them may have been as young as in their 40s. But most of them only worked ten, 12 years, and they retired. They were that old. Some of them didn't want to do anything else except janitorial work.
A whole bunch of the younger people actually went on and became Teamsters and electricians and pipefitters and all that stuff. But that was the first time that a lot of the blacks had ever had a steady job in their life. And they, in the run of a year, they probably made is much or more money than they ever made in their life because they had a steady job. You got a paycheck 52 weeks to the year, with a vacation, which they had never had before. So they didn't want to branch out per se, a lot of them didn't, because I know some of the people that I worked with, many have gotten in 12 years out there and they retired. They just weren't interested in killing the world at their age. They just weren't interested in it. We first went to hot standby they call it. In other words, hot standby is when you redo everything, you rebuild everything. You get it ready to go if you need to go back into production. Then they go from what they call hot standby they downgraded it to just cold standby. When they did that, then after about six months we went in, we start draining everything. This is all the oils, all the antifreeze if you had antifreeze, whatever you had that was liquid, we start draining all this stuff out of all the equipment and everything. You started taking out all the electrical stuff. And they had spent millions and millions and millions of dollars upgrading all this stuff. You've got engines, diesel engines just in case you had a nuclear attack or something to that effect that once the electricity went off, the engines kicked off and kept the reactors running. One of those engines is longer than this building is this way, and they rebuilt them all. And the only time they started, they just started them up enough to make sure that they were working and they shut them off. We drained everything out of all those engines, and then they took them out, and when I left they were still in the buildings. I think they've since sold them to someone, but that means that you can't start it back up. If you want to, you've got to put all new stuff in.
Well, in 1943, when they built the B Reactor, when they started it, 13 months it was online. Try to build a reactor today. 40 years from now it won't be online. Because the government took and they put all of these entities into place. And it's a safety precaution as far as that go. But see they didn't put any restrictions on these people. And that's just the ecology, ERDA, all those people, they don't have any restrictions on them. And you get all of these in--if I hit you on the toe, don't holler ouch too hard--but young people are the worst in the bunch because the only thing they know is what they read in a book. And the book is just a guideline for you to use this up here, because there's no two things out there that's ever going to be the same. And DoE put young people in positions out here to tell people that have been working and doing this job for 30 and 40 years and they tell them what to do instead of coming out there asking some questions and trying to learn? Because the book don't tell you nothing. Do you cook?
Arata: I do.
Daniels: Okay. You go get a recipe, you fix the food exactly like the recipe says. It's not always good to you. But now if you are allowed to put your flair into it, then it's good, right? That's the same thing with a life. That's just the way life is. You've got to learn, and you do it by trial and error. And they don't have any business out there. I had a guy, 27 years old or roughly there, shut one of my jobs down. He did not ask the questions that he should ask. He just saw it and shut it down. You're not going to do this and you're not going to do that. Well, when you're talking to a rigger that's been rigging for 40 years, he know when he's in danger and when he's not. He didn't live that long by being stupid. Well anyway, it all comes down to not putting a barrier around where he was working. Well, he's got to be able to see the rigger down here, up here, and then he signals the crane operator. Well, if you can't see the rigger down in that hole, you can't signal the crane operator. And he shut my job down because this guy didn't have a barrier between him and the hole where he could look down in there and see the rigger. They shut it down. I had to go to a critique. And we talked about it and the rigger told him, he says, you don't have a clue what you're talking about. He said, you just shut a job down, he say, and you've got all these suits sitting up in here and making all this money and the job's still not done. But those are the things you have put up with, too.
Arata: Absolutely. Well, sir, is there anything else that I haven't asked you about, any final stories you'd like to share?
Daniels: I don't know. Maybe he got something he want to ask me. You got anything you want to ask me? I am just here. Just ask me whatever you want to ask me, and if I know, I'll tell you. If I don't, I'll say I don't know.
Arata: I guess my one sort of follow-up question, we've heard from a couple other interviewees about having some definite run-ins with the KKK. Did you ever have any experience with the KKK in the area?
Daniels: No, I never did. Now I do have a friend in Kennewick that tells me that they used to have meetings right up here on Jump-Off Joe. But no, I never ran into any. If I did, I didn't know who they were. Never had that experience, because we still might be fighting if I had. [LAUGHTER]
Arata: I think that covers all my questions. I want to thank you so much for coming and sharing your stories and experiences with us. I really appreciate it.
Daniels: My brother, he's got probably--let's see, I worked out there about 15 years all total and I think he's got 36 or 37 or 38, so he can probably tell you a lot more than me.
Arata: We'll get him next week. We're looking forward to it. Well, thank you so much, Vanis.
Daniels: Okay. You're welcome.
Douglas O’Reagan: Okay. My name is Douglas O’Reagan. I’m conducting an oral history interview with Maynard Plahuta on Thursday, I guess it’s—sorry, what is the date today?
Plahuta: 28th.
O’Reagan: Is it the 28th? Okay. April 28th, 2016. This interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. I’ll be speaking with Mr. Plahuta about his experiences working on the Hanford site and living in the Tri-Cities. To start us off, could you please pronounce and spell your name for us?
Plahuta: Yes. It’s Maynard Plahuta. Maynard is M-A-Y-N-A-R-D, and Plahuta is P-L-A-H-U-T-A.
O’Reagan: Thank you. Just to start off, could you tell us a little bit about your life before you came to the Tri-Cities?
Plahuta: Okay. Well, I was born in a little old farming community in Wisconsin—a little dairy farming community. Big population of 200 people. Then I grew up there on the farm most of the time and went on to college. Went to the University of Wisconsin, first got my undergrad work, and then later I went back and got my master’s in business administration. In between those two times, I worked for General Motors, the AC spark plug plant in Oak Ridge—not Oak Ridge, I’m sorry—Oak Park, Wisconsin, which was the Titan missile program for the Air Force, the guidance system—the gyro system. So then I went back to grad school and then joined up with the Atomic Energy Commission and was assigned out here at Richland.
O’Reagan: What attracted you to the AEC?
Plahuta: Well, I think part of it was the interest in kind of science and industry and all of that sort of thing. The people from Argonne Lab at the Chicago Operations office came to interview at the campus there. I and another fellow were invited to then go back to Argonne for a further interview, and I was one of the two that was selected to join. At the time, I didn’t know where I would be located. They asked, well, if you had a preference. We aren’t going to pick particular places, but if you had a preference, list the three sites that the Atomic Energy Commission was at that I would enjoy. So I said, well, of course, the first one was at the Argonne Lab, close by home there. And I don’t remember which I put second or third, but it was either Richland, Washington or Schenectady, New York. I ended up being in Schenectady for a while basically. But I was assigned out here at Richland, and it was interesting because he says, well, you know, this is not the western—this isn’t the Evergreen State. And I said, well, I learned that by looking up a little more information on Hanford out in the desert. So I came out here with the idea that probably these assignments would be for one year. Because we were on what they called the technical and administrative intern program. So, I was selected on that intern program, and said probably be there a year, and probably no longer, because we’ll probably assign you somewhere else. Well, I came, and I was here until ’71 and then I went back to Schenectady for four years, and came back and was here ever since.
O’Reagan: What sort of jobs were you working on then?
Plahuta: Well, initially—my graduate work was in labor relations and in personnel management and that sort of thing. At that time, they didn’t call it human resources, they called it personnel management. So I was, first year out here, probably in the personnel department for about a year. And then that’s when the whole diversification program started here in 1963 or ’64. And I was assigned to look at the unique use permit and work for a fellow by the name of Paul Holstead who had the responsibility for all the lab operations as far as the Atomic Energy Commission was concerned. That was very interesting. So that was all start of this whole arrangement with Battelle being selected to operate the Pacific Northwest Lab. Now, at that time it wasn’t called a national lab yet; it was just Pacific Northwest Lab. And they had that particular use permit, which is no longer in existence, but it was a real ideal situation. And then that led into what they called the Consolidated Lab where they could do private work as well as the government work and all of that. So I administered that contract, then, for a few years, or until I went back to Schenectady. Then I was back in personnel management in Schenectady, though—labor relations area, under Rickover’s program, and that was very interesting. Then I came back here again in ’65 and was in personnel for a while but then back at the laboratory for a while. And I worked on that for—oh, gosh, quite a few years, because I had a total of 35 years in. But most of the time was with the laboratory, but then later on, I was asked to take over the responsibilities for the DOE—at that time was already DOE—and the site infrastructure. You know, the roads, the utilities, the sewer plants, the warehouse buildings, the railroads, the—all the utilities, just like running a whole city. It was not the operations of those infrastructure; it was more the capital improvements and the projects that needed to be done. Either new roads or new utilities or whatever it might be. That was for—I don’t know—four, five, six years. That also included some of the relationship with the tribes in the cultural resource programs and that sort of activity. But then the other manager asked us, jeepers, you know, I would really like to set up something we never had here at Richland before. That was sort of a governmental relations program. So he asked if I would be willing to do that. So the last—oh, probably about the last six years of my career, I was in what they call governmental-congressional relations, dealing—almost daily basis with congressional staff. Primarily congressional staff, some within the state government as well, and the local government, particularly in those sorts of things. So I retired doing that job in ’98.
O’Reagan: Great. Let’s back up. Could you tell us about this diversification program?
Plahuta: Yeah, yeah. That was really interesting, because what the idea was—that is when General Electric decided not to continue with their contract. Up until that time, General Electric had one contract for whole site operations. So the idea was two-fold. GE was not particularly interested in continuing doing that particular work, and the community was going through—yes, they still are—the diversification and further economic development for the community. So, there was a big effort there to break up the whole big contract into—I think it was five or six different segments. It was all up for bid, and various people were bidding for it. The laboratory, though, was separated as one of those segments. That was the first one to be authorized, and Battelle came in then operations in July of ’65. But up until—during that whole year, I was kind of working on part of the bid package going out and working on that. But not extensively. But then after the bid was accepted from Battelle, and they put an operation in, it got into this matter of doing this. The diversification program itself was dependent much on what these bidders would propose to supplement the economy here in the Tri-Cities. In fact, that’s how this WSU campus—you may be aware—was part of one of the contractors’ business, that they’d build this facility. Up until that time, GE had a little building down where the bank is—the National Bank down there by the Federal Building—and that wasn’t built either yet—to service the program that they established, their educational program, which is very unique because there wasn’t really any nuclear engineering classes in universities—or very few. So they really brought tech people in and really gave them a good background and education in nuclear operations and so on. Now, I said the Federal Building wasn’t built then. It was built then. It was in the process of being built when I came out here in ’63. So that diversification was the spinoff of a lot of new types of business here in the Tri-Cities. I mean, Exxon Nuclear, which now later is now part of AREVA out here at the site, the fuel fabrication. That started out a spinoff from some of the activity there. There was just a great amount of enthusiasm at that time, because, I think, there was worries that the government will fold up and the city will kind of dry up and blow away so to speak. So that was a very interesting period. There was some very interesting discussions, very interesting foresights of what might happen. A number of those didn’t survive. There were some things—isotope development was one at that time that was a little bit ahead of its time, I think. But there was—the airport was improved by that. What’s now the Red Lion in town, but the Hanford House, it was called then, I think it was—no, Desert Inn. The Desert Inn at that time was a brand new building they put up at that time. So it was a different time, and rather unique type of activity that was going on in this community at that time.
O’Reagan: Were these discussions going on in the newspapers, or just sort of hand-shake meetings?
Plahuta: Well, they were pretty well open discussions about what they wanted. And there was quite a bit of publicity about the fact of what some of these contractors—potential contractors were offering. That was exciting for the people, because some of these were new developments. Like the whole campus here, an original building that was part of one of the contractors’ bids. And the hotels and the stockyards over in Wallula over there, that was another one. And, gee, I can’t remember all of them, but there were a number. I know the isotope development thing—the isotope separations, I could really say, was one that didn’t quite make it. But anyway, it was a period of time when people were looking forward into the future and what might come, and looking at different types of work, and not so dependent just on the government here. Now, of course, we’re still quite dependent on the government here, and that’s been—what, 30 years—oh, more than that. That was 1965, so that’s been a long, long time ago. But a lot has progressed, obviously, from that time. I remember coming here—I wasn’t married at the time. I met my wife here. But, gee, if people wanted to go shopping, they’d either go to Walla Walla or Yakima or something. You know, there was nothing here. The mall out there wasn’t developed. It was—very little here to—and about the restaurants, you’d go over to Prosser to the Red Barn or something if you wanted a good meal. You could always find a hamburger shop here or something like that, but it was quite different then. Of course, my wife grew up here. She was only five years old when her parents came from Schenectady, New York with GE. She can remember—gosh, when hardly anything was going on, and families would just get together because they were from—god, all over the country. So many of them didn’t have any family here, so they created their own families, so to speak. But, yeah, that diversification effort was a great effort. There was much success, much success. I think a lot of what was learned there has been helpful and useful for the community. And I do have to give a credit, though, to Battelle and some of the forward-thinking that they did on what their operations were, very successful. And this Consolidated Lab which most people even in this community don’t understand or recognize, but it was very unique. There was a fellow that was with GE, went over with Battelle, of course, when they took over, by the name of Wally Sale. He was their finance director. Tremendous guy. He and Sam Tomlinson and the DOE—or AEC—I call it DOE, but it was the AEC then—were both very, very instrumental in getting this unique idea established and working there, where it was a fair amount of discipline and very good audit-type processing and very excellent means of determining that everything was legitimate, so to speak. That the accounting was very precise. It was a unique situation.
O’Reagan: So you were still working with the AEC while you were working on that?
Plahuta: Yeah.
O’Reagan: Okay. So they were—even though they weren’t sort of a bidder, or in direct—
Plahuta: No, no.
O’Reagan: They were still involved—
Plahuta: Yeah, they were the organization or the entity that was accepting these bids and proposals going out and diversify the area. That was—I should also mention, that was a lot to do with some of the local community leaders here, though, too, was pushing this idea with the government that, no, we got to depend on more than just the US government to keep this economy going. So there were guys like Sam Volpentest and others—Bob Philips and other people—who were working closely with our two senators. They were actively involved. Magnusson and Jackson—Scoop Jackson and Maggie. Very, very obvious. And they both held very high level positions in the government at that time. I mean, they were—there was some thought for a while about Scoop Jackson even running for President. So they both were elevated in the structure of the politicians in the DC area. So, there was a great support there from our local state senators, particularly.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm. Right. So, while we’re still in this early period—you said you’d done some research before you got here. Did it match your expectations?
Plahuta: Well, yeah. I didn’t really have a whole lot of expectations, really. I mean, I knew that eastern Washington was quite dry, but I didn’t know quite a lot about it. I can remember, I was interested in geography when I was in elementary school, even, and knowing the Plains and the desert area, generally, and the wheat-growing area here, and that sort. But not too much—very extensive. Yeah, I think I surprised the AEC people out of Argonne when I says, well, yeah, I realized it was dry and a desert. They said, well, jeepers, most people think of Washington as just being green, you know, the Evergreen State, and don’t even think about it possibly being a desert out there. And when I would talk to some of my friends back in Wisconsin as I was going out, the common words were, oh, you’re gonna be out there in the mountains and you’re gonna be out there in the greenery and all the evergreens. I say, no, no, I’m gonna be out there where the wheat grows in eastern Washington. Really? So I think that’s a misconception a lot of people in the eastern US have of Washington—eastern Washington, you know. They’re correct on the western side, but not on the eastern side. Yeah.
O’Reagan: What sort of housing did you live in when you got here?
Plahuta: Well, I roomed with a fellow by the name of Holland St. John. He was a teacher at Chief Joe Junior High here, and the tennis coach there. So I did that until I met my wife and got married, and we then lived in a B house—you know, the government B house, the famous [UNKNOWN], with the landlord on the other side—very friendly people, people originally from Tennessee, I believe they were. Just great, great folks to be with. We rented that until—because we got married in ’67—until I went back to Schenectady. And then when we came back, I bought a home here in North Richland. Now, currently live in a house that my wife basically grew up with. It was an H house. We remodeled the whole thing so it doesn’t look anything—all that was remained the same was the four outside walls and one wall inside. And we added on. Anyway, it was one of the government homes that I was originally renting an H house with this roommate. And then when we got married, I rented a B house. And the original H house was—Holland St. John was one of the fellows, and the other guy was Sherman. We had the three of us, three single guys who were using that part where they—again, the landlord was on the other side. Wonderful people. That was kind of unique, because when I first came and went looking, I thought, this A house, B house, that are for rent. I was like, oh, what’s an A, B or an H house, C house? But it didn’t take long to figure out, okay, that’s just the nomenclature that was being used for these various types of homes.
O’Reagan: Right. How did you meet your wife?
Plahuta: It was actually through church. There was group in our church—it was the Christ the King Catholic church, and it was a singles group. That’s how I met her. So we got married and we’ve had four children. They’re all grown adults now, of course. And we have seven grandkids. Six of them are girls, and finally the one that came along is a boy—the last one. But my two daughters—two of my daughters live here in town with their family. And I got a son in Seattle and another one just south of Portland in Tualatin—suburb of Portland. They all—I’m very proud of—they all went on through college. One has got a PhD, the other two of them got a master’s degree. One—and probably the one that’s doing the best, financially, has got just a master’s degree. But the three girls and a boy, and my son has got his master’s out of Purdue in engineering. My one daughter, the youngest one, has got her degree out of Gonzaga in engineering. The other one’s got her PhD in gerontology and the other’s got her master’s in early childhood development. So they’re all doing well. So I’m quite proud of them—of course, as most parents are. You know how they are, parents. They always think their kids are the greatest in the world. So anyway, that’s kind of where I came from—Wisconsin, and all the way out to the west coast and had not been really in the northwest prior to coming out here. I had been in California and some of those areas, but not in the northwest. You know, it’s an enjoyable place to live. But as a lot of people, as you know, here, some of them came for just a short time and they remain here forever. I married here. So that’s probably the same for me. Yeah.
O’Reagan: Part of what we’re trying to document is sort of the social life around the area, too.
Plahuta: Oh, yeah.
O’Reagan: Were church activities sort of a large part of your social life at that point?
Plahuta: Yeah, quite a bit. And I was also involved, though—that was before I even met my wife, Yvonne. The little town I grew up in was quite a little interesting town as far as baseball. The area back there in these little towns would have their teams, and they’d play each other. So I was most familiar with baseball, and I had played baseball as a kid. So I helped one of the fellows who, just by coincidence, was also from Wisconsin, from the Milwaukie area. And he was coaching his kids in Little League baseball. So I helped out on that. Then later on, when my kids got going in the youth soccer program and that was when youth soccer first started, I was quite active in getting it into the high schools and so on, because that was not very popular, not really—like the case of much soccer in the area. So I’m on the Hanford High School support team—what do you call it? The—hmm, I can’t think of the title now. But anyway the supporters have their support efforts to keep them going. So the social life was pretty much tied in with the church, but not exclusively. Then we—there’d be these events we’d have. We’d go over to the coast or do things together, as a group—hiking. Not as much hiking, probably, as visiting various locations and sightseeing and that sort of thing. So that was kind of pretty much—but the housing was interesting, too, because you hear these stories of people going, and when they get home from work, the earlier days, before my time, going into the wrong house because they got the wrong place. But I can understand that. I mean, it was quite unique. My wife has some interesting stories about how she grew up and talking about what was family life. Their family was way back in New York. They went back once when she was about five or—no, I think seven, she said. And she had, at that time, four sisters—I mean four siblings, and another one with her mother on the way in her pregnancy. And took all the—tied into the car and drove all the way back. Spent more time going and coming than they did back there. But it was a case where she—in the case that they got to know your neighbors well, it was friendly, it was safe, everybody—kids all played out. Where we’re living now, we’ve got just that little funny park in front of our place over by the river there. Her father was an accomplished skater, so he decided when he had an opportunity to get the house along the river here, that’s the one he wanted to take it. Not realizing that not too many winters where there’s ice on the snow. But he was the state champion in New York City on ice racing. So he’s got quite a bit of medals and stuff. So she talks about the farm—I mean, the families that would get together on holidays and whatever. It was just a different type of lifestyle. I didn’t experience that myself, but it’s interesting just hearing her talk about those things.
O’Reagan: Yeah, we’ll have to bring her in at some point. We’re trying to get as many people who sort of grew up here for that as well.
Plahuta: Yeah.
O’Reagan: Okay.
Plahuta: Yeah, she was only five years old and she came in ’47.
O’Reagan: Okay. Yeah, we’d definitely like to interview her at some point. Okay, so let’s see. You were working on the diversification stuff and then you went back to Schenectackey—Ss-
Plahuta: Schenectady.
O’Reagan: Schenectady, yes. And then you came back in—I have it written down here.
Plahuta: ’71.
O’Reagan: ’75.
Plahuta: ’75, I mean. I left in ’71. April of ’71, back in ’75.
O’Reagan: And at that point you were working on the—let’s see here—the DOE site infrastructure stuff, or was that later?
Plahuta: Well, that was much later. I was on the laboratory stuff.
O’Reagan: Okay.
Plahuta: It was shortly after. About the first year or so was more in the personnel and that area. But then when this whole diversification effort came forward. I think my master’s degree in business and all this kind of led into—and I did have quite a bit of educational experience in contract management and contract administration, too. I have that—I don’t know if that played a role or not, but it helped me, I know, in terms of—and it was a whole new type of contract relationship that this Consolidated Lab and the use permit and all that had. So it was unique and interesting just from that standpoint alone. So yeah, at that time up until ’71, it was there, and then came back, worked in the personnel area, in the Rickover program. That’s an interesting story, too, because Rickover was a unique individual, very unique. But his staff was made up of military men, contractor people, and DOE or AEC at that time. And there was no distinction. I mean, you would have a contractor person right along with you and so on. He considered it all just one. It was very unique, in terms of the contractor and working relationships. But yet, what was so familiar—you could have these working—I shouldn’t say one by one, it would be even offices or something. But yet, he was very instrumental in saying, I don’t want any social activities between you. So as much as going to the cafeteria at noon, there was a section where the AEC people sat, and another whole section where the contractor people sat. And the military guys could be with either one, but they would—the military people were associated with AEC office—the civilian people. So in that office, there was no distinction whether you were military or a civilian. But in the contactor side, of course they were all civilians.
O’Reagan: Is that an anti-corruption effort, or--?
Plahuta: Well, yeah, and I guess avoiding any kind of potential conflict of interest and friendships, so that you got pretty soon with somebody, well, I’ll do you a favor, and vice versa. Very, very, very strong on that sort of thing. But yet, he himself seemed just one team. It was just like a football team—you’re the receiver and you’re the lineman. You’ve got different jobs. It was unique, and there’s some interesting stories about Rickover, too, but I won’t get into those. But those are very interesting times.
O’Reagan: Did you ever get to know any of the contractor people?
Plahuta: Oh, yeah. You would know them on the business side. Definitely. Oh, yeah. You’d work with them every day. Some more, because if it was in your area of responsibility, certainly, you’d be working with them. But, boy, not socially. There was no—I mean, that was a voodoo if you had any social-type activities with the contractors. That was not to his liking. That makes sense, I mean, it would just avoid any possible conflict of interest and that sort of thing. It was an interesting time. But it’s kind of like a lot of people say. I went into military, I’m glad, but I’m glad I’m out. It’s kind of that sort of same analogy. But it was a great experience.
O’Reagan: What was Rickover’s title?
Plahuta: Rickover? Admiral.
O’Reagan: Admiral, okay.
Plahuta: Admiral Rickover, yeah.
O’Reagan: So what was his exact sort of authority within the—
Plahuta: He headed up the whole nuclear navy.
O’Reagan: Oh, I see.
Plahuta: He was really up there. And in fact, when—I think—which President was it? Maybe it was Kennedy—no, it wasn’t Kennedy, it was after. Anyway, when he was giving some kind of address somewhere, he recognized—I know, I’m Rickover’s boss, but really we’re all—Rickover’s my boss. And that happened with Schlesinger, too, when he was appointed the head of the Atomic Energy Commission, when he was there. He says, oh, yeah. And he made the same kind of remark. I don’t know if it was those exact words. But Rickover was a very powerful individual in terms of his authority. He was kind of all by himself, because, again, the nuclear navy was unique, and so he was a brilliant man. There was no question about it. He would pick just the top-notch-quality technical people that he could to run his program. The safety was so important to him. The wellbeing of all the military people, and the people who were in the submarines and that sort of thing. So he was really great. But he had a unique way of operations, there was no question about that. He was a strong, strong individual.
O’Reagan: So this period you were working in personnel is also, I understand, the period where you started having more women and minorities being hired on at the Hanford area.
Plahuta: That is true. There was a big emphasis—the period—and following my part of the end there, but in that timeframe of particularly on the college campuses and recruiting minorities and women, which is good. But there was extreme interest in finding qualified minorities and women. There was certainly emphasized that it was—and that’s great. I mean, I go back and think in my thesis for my master’s degree in business administration, and I made some statement then, makes me sound almost like an anti-feminist now. But I was saying we really got to get more women into the technical side, but I wasn’t thinking far enough. We really think a lot—we don’t have many women technicians and stuff. So I was—at that time—thinking, oh, gosh, that they could be technicians. And not even thinking about being engineers, you know, getting their PhD in engineering. But at least, let’s—so I started out just—it wasn’t a matter of discrimination, where I said they should be technicians, because there were no—but I said, jeepers, let’s work on that. I had much of my emphasis—because my emphasis in my PhD was the shortage of technical people in the country. That was after Sputniks and some of those things going. We really needed development, work hard and see what we can do to get the people interested in getting into the math and sciences and that area. Some people kind of looked at me, you want women to be technicians or something? Yeah, but—you know. Now, I think, boy, I’d be discriminated—I mean, not discriminated, but considered, yeah, you’re very limited in your scope. You should be much broader than that. Yeah, that was a time when the Sputniks went off and these others, and we were quite behind and Kennedy wanted to get to the moon. And that, though, when I was in, was quite a bit later than that. Not quite a bit, but somewhat later, and the emphasis on trying to get minorities and women as much as we possibly could.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm. So it didn’t—how—did it shape your work on personnel at that point, I guess--?
Plahuta: Well, I don’t know if it shaped it so much, but back to my word of emphasis, to see if we really seek out qualified people. And not that they needed, necessarily, to have had extensive training, but look at their overall education experience and how well they were doing in school. In other words, that they were capable of picking up some of the technical. And whether they had that already knowledge was not quite as important as looking at what’s their basic—I don’t know, I guess I could say basic intellect—but their ability to really take on some of these things. It was not hard to find that. I mean, that doesn’t—I don’t want to imply that the women or minorities didn’t have that. They certainly did. But I think a lot of them, maybe themselves, didn’t realize that they really could do that, that there was no reason why they couldn’t.
O’Reagan: I was speaking with a reactor operator in a previous interview who had a degree, I think, in forestry or something non-sort-of-nuclear, but was still able to become a reactor operator. Was that sort of common that you saw, too, people moving into new fields to get on the Hanford site?
Plahuta: That was not unusual, no. And that was particularly true—and I noticed you talk I was being on—with Rickover’s submarine program—we would hire then people who—and that happened out here awful lot—who had gone through the nuclear navy and were nuclear operators. We had a number of those people that didn’t want to stay in the Navy, but we hired on his staff—on Rickover’s staff—in our local office there at Schenectady. Now, that was a small office. The office was not very big. It was relatively small. But we hired a number of those people, and they were good, because they—and many of them had not gone to college yet. They got out of the Navy, they went to college, and then came back. I mean, I remember recruiting two or three or four of those types. And we recruited basically around northeast area, because we were in Schenectady, in some of the schools around there. Plattsburg, up in northern—which is a civil engineering school up in norther New York, and a number of areas there where we would find students who—not a lot of them, but who had gone back after they got out of service and didn’t want to make it a career, and got their degrees. Some would be in the technical fields; some would not be, necessarily. But most that we hired had degrees in some form of engineering or science or whatever.
O’Reagan: Okay. So you were working with the nuclear navy program after you got back from Schenectady—pronouncing it again.
Plahuta: No, it was at Schenectady I did the nuclear program.
O’Reagan: Oh, I see, I see. Okay.
Plahuta: It’s at Schenectady. So I was here, then went to Schenectady for four years—not quite four years—three-and-three-quarters. And then back here again. And that’s when the diversification effort came about, when I came—no, no, no, I’ll take that back. That was back when I got back into some of the other Battelle work again, after I came back. The diversification was prior to going to Schenectady.
O’Reagan: Okay. So then were you working for Battelle or were you still working for AEC?
Plahuta: No, I always worked for the government, always. It was AEC, and then a short period of time, it was—what did we call it, even? There was a two-year period between AEC and Department of Energy. Research and Development Administration, I think. Yeah, that was what it was called—Research and Development Administration. And then it became—Congress passed it and developed the Department of Energy. And when they developed the Department of Energy, it expanded a little bit and took in, like Bonneville Power out here was part of that, and a number of activities like that. More than just atomic energy, and that’s when it got a little more involved in the laboratories and other forms of—quite a bit. Whether it be climate—today it’s climate change, or climate sciences, as it’s called, and other types of activity. More than just the nuclear itself. But there’s a misconception, when I say nuclear itself, this, as you’ve probably learned and know, that there’s all kinds of work that dealt with biology and the uptake of radioisotopes and all of that sort of thing. And we had the animal farm out here with the smoking dogs and the miniature pigs—miniature swine, and all of that activity. And then when I was administering the Battelle program and the Pacific Lab, I was also involved in a lot of interagency work. So I was—in fact, one of my responsibilities there was working with all the other agencies in the interagency agreements. And that meant that works like NASA and National Science—although they didn’t have a lot—the NRC, and EPA and others would have work done at the lab. And that would be not DOE work or AEC work, but it was their particular responsibility. But they had the capability and knowledge out here to do that. So there was a lot of that. In fact, I was involved in the whole setup of the LIGO facility out here, working with the National Science Foundation. And they had no knowledge of this—had to kind of guide them by hand as to what kind of arrangements they would have between the two agencies for them to use the Department of Energy land out here and their facility and all of that sort of thing. So from very early on, I spent somewhat—a fair amount of my time working with the National Science Foundation to getting the establishment of the LIGO facility out here. That was rather a long interesting experience, too, and all the unique things that went on doing that. So I just have this—even though I’m not a scientist or engineer by training, I have this kind of innate interest in science and engineering. That was what was so exciting about administering the lab contract, to see the whole variety of activity that goes on out there at the lab. And even, I think, the majority of the citizens of Richland and Tri-Cities do not understand, fully, the broad spectrum of knowledge and exposure to all elements of the nature of science and technology that’s available out here to the lab, and what all these experts they have in those all wide spectrum of activity.
O’Reagan: In your experience, how kid of secretive was any of this work? Was it all kind of out there? Was it kind of compartmentalized?
Plahuta: Well, there was a lot of secret-type stuff, but there wasn’t as much of that, I don’t think—now, I didn’t get involved too much in the production—in the plutonium production. Because the laboratory wasn’t so directly involved in that. That was the big load from the local office, was producing the plutonium, getting that back, and doing all of that sort of thing. The lab was supporting that, and doing that in the nuclear aspects of nuclear science, but there was a lot—an awful lot of work that was not secret. Now, they also were, though, heavily involved in many of the secret-type stuff. That relates primarily to their strong capability in detection—detecting things. I mean, you’re probably aware that the first moon rocks that came from the moon were here at the site, at the lab, to analyze those, to look at them, what was all made up of? The very first, first exposure to the moon rocks was right down here that Federal Building, anywhere in the United States that they were shown. That was quite a deal, too. So they have this tremendous capability. The labs were one of the first—this lab—the first to detect that Saddam Hussein had used chemical warfare for the Kurds back there, and that was way back time. Tremendous, and some interesting stories of how they collected some of this stuff and how they got these samples. I don’t know if we want to get into it. It was really, really interesting activities in that sort of stuff. Some of the things—it’s not classified anymore, but the people out at the lab or some of these guys would go over to Hong Kong, and they’d just brush against somebody to get a hair off of somebody that [UNKNOWN] just get a sample. Or a little dust and dirt came off their shoe, they might pick it up or something. Just the most minute quantities of things, and being able to analyze and determine. This laboratory out here was the first to decide how big the bombs are that China was dropping, to get the size of those through the air samples and all of that. There’s just this broad knowledge, or capability, I should say, in detection activities out here. It’s just amazing. And they’ve kept that up in the same way with their radioisotope program—the medical isotopes program. So much of that that many people don’t realize of all the spinoffs and benefits that have come from the knowledge that they gained. The first CD was developed out here at the lab. Much of that. I’m really interested in reading, now, Steve Ashby’s reports bimonthly in the Tri-City Herald about some of the activities going on at the lab. And I miss that. I used to get real knowledge about what they’re working on. Of course, it’s been 18 or 20 years since I’ve done that, but that was always fascinating, some of this advanced science and some of this stuff that was really—and a lot of it was development and a lot of it wasn’t. But they’d run into some dead-ends. They’d later on pick it up again, somebody would discover something else, and they’d finally go forth with it.
O’Reagan: When did it become a national lab? Do you remember?
Plahuta: God, I don’t remember the year that was. God, I should know that.
O’Reagan: I’m sure we can look it up.
Plahuta: Yeah, we can look it up.
O’Reagan: Was that while you were working?
Plahuta: Oh, yeah, yeah. It was—god, why should—because that was a big event. And we were pushing quite well at the time to try to get that done. Yeah. Golly, that just escapes me. I’ve got to—now that you mention it, I’ve got to go back and check that out and see when it was.
O’Reagan: What was involved in that?
Plahuta: Well, it was basically—I don’t want to call it a political decision, but it was basically, I think, recognizing the scope of activity that the labs were involved with. There wasn’t a great urge by the Washington, DC people or any to readily accept that title. I mean, it means a lot. So it was really a lot of background in what their involvement, and what type of work were they involved with, and what depth were they involved with and what types—and really focusing a lot on the basic science and that sort. And that’s where I think this lab was a little later than others, because this lab, up until the later times, was more of a support lab on production activities and not quite so much in basic. Now there was some basic on the real basic physics and something to deal with reactor operations. But they evolved and grew into this more basic science in a broad spectrum. I think that was one of the criteria. Now, I wasn’t involved in that decision at all. But my understanding is one of the criteria of establishing is that they got a well-established basic science capability. It’s not just specialized in one area or something. That’s where I think this lab was one of the later ones to be recognized as a national lab, because they built that up. And one of the things, too, that there wasn’t much knowledge of, because the production was such a secret thing, that that didn’t get much publicity or get papers written about it, and so on. So unfortunately the people that were working on that didn’t get the opportunity to have their findings and whatever presented to the whole world at national conferences and things like that. And that was also true, by the way, in Rickover’s program. Rickover was very cognizant—he was so afraid that the communists had this and that. So that was one of the real issue—there was basically almost the technical people at the capital laboratory, the Knolls Atomic Power Lab in Schenectady, almost unionized because they really felt that they were being shortchanged. They couldn’t give papers at technical conferences and stuff because Rickover was always afraid that you might reveal something that was highly secret about how to run a reactor and all that kind of stuff. So I think some of that same sort of information or background was kind of holding this lab back, because they just didn’t get the publicity in the scientific world, that their discoveries and their knowledge and their experiments and so on were well-known. And I think that helped, because the people in DC who were more knowledgeable of that found that to be a quality that was great for being recognized as a national lab. But a national lab, again, was the idea with broad spectrum of research. So that’s my take of it. You may talk to somebody else and they probably have a whole different presentation in terms of why or how and what was all involved. But just being on sort of the sidelines when that happened, that seemed to me to be what was the key point in helping determine. But there was some political push, no question. I mean, Maggie again, and Scoop—I think that was when they were on, and some of those. Why are you shortchanging us out there in the northwest? And we don’t have—that was the other thing, there was no national lab in the northwest. There was Livermore down in California, Los Alamos, Oak Ridge and Brookhaven. But why are you guys leaving us out in the north? And that was more form—not the science or technology, but, well, don’t treat us as second class citizens. Our lab up there is as good as yours. So there was some of that out there, too.
O’Reagan: Did it impact your work, when it changed?
Plahuta: No, I don’t think so. Well, I shouldn’t say that. One of the things that did happen in that regard—and I mentioned earlier about these interagency agreements and the capabilities of the lab—that stimulated more of that. Because I think being—once you’re recognized as a national lab, it just goes along with the credibility that might be associated with the work they’re doing. So I think that resulted in more of this interagency work with the various other government agencies. What it also did—and that was probably the most key element—is bringing in the tie with universities and so on. That was really—and locally, here, that was one of the interests of the people with the lab. They would really have liked to get more—and by the fact being recognized national lab, allowed the universities, and particularly some of the ones heavily involved in the science and engineering, would tend to favor going to a national laboratory. And the research that they were doing in cooperation with the lab itself was more significant, more meaningful to them. So I think that was probably one of the biggest benefits of becoming a national lab. Yet Battelle as an organization back in Columbus and others, they had a good reputation already of working closely with universities and so on. I mean, they were a research organization. And I think that also helped, too, because Battelle was operating this, and so the people who made these decisions realized that you have a topnotch research company—foundation there, that that’s their whole world. So I think that also helped in getting it. And certainly the lab pushed for that. There was no question about it. They wanted to be recognized as a national lab. So there was a combination of these things, I think they all kind of helped and worked together and made it happen.
O’Reagan: So when was it that your work with PNNL shifted over to the next role?
Plahuta: Oh, yeah. Well, let’s see. That was probably in more the early ‘90s. Where—yeah—because—yeah—early ‘90s is when I start going in there. So most of my career was with PNL and some of the labor relations. But early ‘90s, when I got into the infrastructure deal and doing all of that, and then later the last five years in the congressional and governmental relations activity, yeah.
O’Reagan: Could you tell us about the infrastructure work?
Plahuta: Yeah, that was quite interesting. That was frustrating. And by frustrating I mean, there was always—well, let’s not fix it until it’s broke. Oh, gosh, we used to have some—because it was still working. And particularly that was more emphasis as the role of the site here of not producing plutonium anymore—well, then do we need to keep it? Let’s see if it can limp along. Well, what it ended up, in my opinion, a lot of times, we paid a lot more by trying to fix things afterward. We didn’t really have a good preventative maintenance program. Finally got sort of a preventative maintenance, but—it was tough. Because there was always this thing—there was always a great need of doing this thing, and jeepers, we can’t use the dollars there; it’ll still work for a while. I didn’t have the responsibility for the day-to-day operations of it. That wasn’t mine. Mine was the upgrades and the capital equipment and all that. Whether we need a new fire station or whatever it may be. And jeepers, the thing was just limping along on a thread, and something would break. But then we ended up spending a whole lot more. That was somewhat frustrating. And the guys that I worked with on the contractor side had the same experience. But some managers were a little more cognizant of the need to do that than others. And safety—the way we could get things done—[PHONE CHIMES]—was safety more. Because if we could show that there was safety-related issues that went along with it, it was easier to get it appropriated or funded, rather than say, well, it’ll still go along. And that’s the way we often would get something funded, was, could show that we really don’t want to jeopardize the safety of the employees or the workers and that sort of thing. But it was not simple. It was pretty difficult. It was always kind of bucking the tide for funding.
O’Reagan: Right. That reminds me—so, you were still working at PNNL when the—
Plahuta: Well, I wasn’t at PNNL; it was DOE.
O’Reagan: Right, yeah, okay. But back during the time when sort of the reactors were shutting down and the transition to sort of amelioration and cleanup got started. Is that correct?
Plahuta: Yeah, but that most of the time was with PNNL, still. But it was in ’89, is when the real decision was made. So it was shortly after that that I got into the infrastructure and that’s where it became hard then. Because we weren’t operating with the mission anymore. Yet you knew darn well that cleanup is going to be here for a long, long time, and why not get these things going so you don’t spend twice as much starting all over new, with something when you could just really do some work at that time to keep this thing alive? This thing, being—whether it be a sewer plant or whether it be a steam plant or fire station or electro distribution system or a railroad or whatever it might be. Because, at least I could see, it was cheaper because cleanup’s gonna last for a while and you need this infrastructure whether your mission is producing the plutonium or whether it’s cleanup. Soon we got some of the people saying, yeah, you’re right. But the guys who were doing the cleanup then, too, saying, oh, god, we’ve got so much work to do, we can’t afford to do this. It’ll last another year or two. Let’s fix it next year or upgrade it next year. The evaporator out there is a good example. They finally did it. But there was things earlier they probably could have done to increase its capability and do a better job. And finally they say, yeah, I guess that’s right, we should do it now because we’ll need that thing for god knows how long yet.
O’Reagan: What was it like living in this area around ’89 when the shift happened?
Plahuta: Well, it was a surprise, I think, to a lot of people. Kind of like, oh, gosh, here we go again. That’s when this whole activity—and I wasn’t involved in, but with the B Reactor Museum Association really got its birth when they were saying, we’re shutting down the reactors and going there. But the attitude was, or the feelings was that, jeepers, it was just doomsday basically. And not fully understanding the scope of work that needed to be done in the cleanup area. It was very little attention being paid to the depth of that need at the time. I don’t think there was much knowledge—excuse me—or basically understanding of how important and significant that’s going to be. So it was a change in times, it certainly was.
O’Reagan: Do you think a lot of—or were people sort of in your area worried about their jobs? Or was that, you felt, sort of separate from the plutonium production?
Plahuta: Well, I–yeah, I wasn’t too involved in that sort of aspect. But, yes, the community had a concern. And that kind of coincides with the big problem out there that’s now Energy Northwest, but the shutdown of those new power reactors. So that kind of came together at the same time, and that was really a shock for the community. It was—you know, a lot of people would leave and say, jeepers, I got to go find something else before I don’t have a job at all.
O’Reagan: Right. So in the last couple of years before retirement, you were working on the congressional relations?
Plahuta: Yeah, yeah, about five years.
O’Reagan: Can you tell us about that work?
Plahuta: Yeah, about five years prior to retirement. Five, six—something like that. I don’t remember exactly when. That was very interesting, too, and you got another scope of how things got done. I got to a point where I was having daily discussions with particularly Patty Murray’s staff and prior to that, Doc Hasting’s staff—staff members. Not that much with the senators or the congressmen themselves, but primarily their staff, and working with them. And somewhat with the state offices, but not extensively. And then more with the local communities—the mayors—the Hanford communities group there. That was quite regularly—and the emphasis that we placed then, I’m not sure still exists, but really wanted to tie in closely to having the local government—the mayors and commissioners and so on—knowledgeable of what’s going on out here at the site. So there wouldn’t be these sudden surprises. That was the role that John Wagner at the time was interested in, and that’s when he asked me if I would be willing to—it was a new position he was establishing. He just wanted to maintain a close relationship with what’s going on at the site, and I don’t know if that’s—I shouldn’t say—I don’t know if it’s the case now, but I don’t think it’s quite the same as what John had in mind and what I did for those five, six years. So when I left, then, they kind of—when I retired, it kind of was sitting in just ebbs there—ups and downs—and it’s probably back more to that way. I really don’t know.
O’Reagan: Sure.
Plahuta: But shortly after that, too, then, I got on the Hanford Advisory Board. So I had kind of a knowledge about what was going on at the site. So I was very active in the Hanford Advisory Board for quite a few years—for like 15 years or so. But I got so much involved in the B Reactor thing that I said, gee—I didn’t feel like to just go to the meetings and not really contribute a whole lot. So I thought I’d just give up and retire at that point in time, and I found someone who I know real well who’s capable to take my place. I was representing the county most of the time—sort of an alternate representative for the City of Richland first, but then later for the county most all the time. I wanted to be sure that—and I did find someone who was very, very, well-involved and informative to take my spot there for the county commission now.
O’Reagan: So Okay. So before we move on, can you tell me—what was the Hanford Advisory Board?
Plahuta: Oh, that was established—gosh, I can’t remember exactly when, but it’s made up of about 30 different entities—representatives of those entities. It’s statewide and it includes some of the Oregon people, the tribes are on it, most of the government—city governments and county governments are represented. There’s total—like I say, about 31. They’re a formal advisory group to the Atomic Energy—Atomic Energy? I’m really going back now—to the DOE to uncover and discuss various elements of ongoing work. And you probably see quite a bit in the paper that the Hanford Advisory Board meets on a monthly basis—no, I shouldn’t say that—about every other month. But then they’ve got committees underneath of it like the Tanks Waste Committee and the River Plateau Committee—there’s five different committees. I chaired a couple of those committees a couple times, and vice chair and so on. And they provide some advice—written advice to the—and it’s—oh, I shouldn’t say it’s just DOE. There’s three parties to this. It’s the State Ecology Department, the EPA, Environmental Protection Agency, and DOE. So the three agencies are involved in this. They provide—can be anything regarding to the Vit Plant out here now, the tank vapor things—so many different activities. They write formal advice and discussion. It represents all sides, basically. Those that are pro/con, what are the proper words, or whatever you want to say. But it’s a wide representation of the general—not local community necessarily, but the state concerns. And there’s people from Seattle on that, from down in Salem, Oregon, and around the area. That’s been in existence—gosh, I don’t remember when—it was probably around ’90 or something like that, ’91. It’s been—maybe not that long—but it’s been quite active for quite some time.
O’Reagan: That reminds me—I meant to ask, when you were working on the site infrastructure, you mentioned some work with the tribes and cultural resources. Can you tell us about that?
Plahuta: Yeah. I personally didn’t get too directly involved. I had a person working for me by the name of Charles Pasternak—he has since died. He was very, very knowledgeable. He was an archaeology-type thing, too, but he was a forensic expert-type thing, and was very, very closely working with the tribes. Well-respected by the tribes. He was invited into some of those longhouse ceremonies and that sort of thing. So he worked on that. He was the one that was the primary person for me. I got into a lot of the discussions and so on, but for the day-to-day activities, he was really tops. And would work with the SHPO office—the State Historical office in Olympia on stuff—on these writings and stuff. So it was interesting. But I didn’t get daily involvement there. I had enough in my other hands to take care of. But he was just ace number one on doing that. So I got familiar with the process and the operations and what the issues were and that sort of thing. But that was informative for me. He was sort of a mentor to me, to be honest, though, in that respect. Yeah.
O’Reagan: Do you know sort of how—one of the things I’m also curious about is the development of cultural resources and local efforts to preserve culture, preserve memory. On the DOE side, I know, today that’s done through a contract with the Mission Support Alliance. Do you happen to know when that sort of contracting began, or was DOE sort of also contracting while also working on it?
Plahuta: No, DOE was working primarily at the laboratory out here at Battelle. That’s where—and that’s partly how I got into it, I think, although I wasn’t administering to Battelle Lab at that time. But that all function was under the laboratory. It was after I left that Mission Support Alliance came into existence here. And then they took over a lot of that support type activity. But, no, the laboratory, and Jim Shatters was involved, Mona Wright was involved out there for the lab. Paul Harvey was—not Paul Harvey—Dave Harvey was involved in some of that out there, along with the history. And Michele Gerber on the historic—the Hanford history type stuff. So that was all with Battelle. And then that moved it, I think, when Mission Support Alliance—and that was after, basically, after I left. So that was there. But, no, there was quite an interest—not as much as there is today—again, that’s a fault, I can say, of us who were in the department at that time. We really weren’t on board extensively on the history protection stuff. Although the contractor, Battelle out there, and others were doing that. But I don’t think DOE was following. And then that’s when I discovered that, gosh, we really have a responsibility here. And that’s when I hired this Charles Pasternak who came over from GSA and had been doing that sort of thing down in Phoenix, Arizona. So I said, we really need—so I hired him. And as I say, he was—that was his livelihood so to speak. And that’s when I think we began then to pick up on that sort of thing. I had an extreme interest in doing it and I got to know Mona Wright real well at Battelle. Tom Marceau was involved in that out there. And Tom can give you the whole history there with the laboratory at that time.
O’Reagan: What sort of day-to-day work—was it Charles Pasternak?
Plahuta: Pasternak, yeah.
O’Reagan: What sort of work was he doing? Do you know?
Plahuta: Well, it was this whole cultural resources area. He was, as I say, an archaeology type and that was his training. So he did all of the work a lot with SHPO up there when we got into some of these areas where they needed—we needed to know the 106 process, and all of that sort of thing. So Charles was our main person to follow that. But I had the interest, also, of John Wagner, the manager, even though I wasn’t playing that congressional role at that time. Because he, too, I think, recognized that we needed to do a little bit more there. And in fact—I don’t know if you’re familiar—but he’s one of Cindy Kelly, who’s with the Atomic Heritage Foundation---he’s one of the board members there. He had really an extreme interest in preserving the history. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get headquarters people—they always told him, John, you go back and tell them we’re not in the museum business. And that’s what the people here would be hearing all the time. But John himself was really interested in doing all that. I sat in meetings with him at headquarters where he’d really push hard. And they’d push back, that’s not our—it was their responsibility, but they’d just, yeah, okay, but we don’t want to spend a lot of time on that. So that was—but locally, I think we did well. I think we did very well at pushing that along and I got to give contract—credit to people like Tom and Mona and others out here on the contractor site who even pushed us a little bit sometimes. Which was good. That’s necessary.
O’Reagan: Could you sort of sketch out for us your idea of sort of the history of efforts to commemorate the site or the work that was done on Hanford? In terms of, up through the B Reactor Museum Association--?
Plahuta: Yeah. Well, my interest was, again, as I learned more about it, was let’s preserve this history of this site, because it’s very unique. It’s really unique. And I had to avoid sort of a conflict of interest of joining BRMA while I was an employee of the department. So I was interested, though, in knowing what they were doing and I was in agreement with them and was very supportive when I could be in some of their activities. But shortly after I retired, then—not immediately, but not too long after, I did join as a member of the B Reactor Museum. That was in—well, quite a while later, because it in 2005, so it was quite a while later that I actually joined them. That was—the more I learned and found out about the uniqueness of the B Reactor and its history and its knowledge and its importance, I really, really got heavily involved. And that’s eventually, here, like a year and a half ago—I finally got off the Hanford Advisory Board because I was spending so much time—more time on that—and not feeling I was really contributing a whole lot. I mean, I’d make my comments and so on at the general meetings, but with regard to drafting formal advice and all that, which I was quite active in earlier, then jeepers, get somebody else who has the time and so on, and I’d devote more time to the B Reactor Museum Association. But, again, I’m, as well as my interest in science and technology, although not being trained in that area, I’m sort of a history buff. As a kid on, I could list the order of the Presidents of the United States, I remember. Zing, zing, zing. I can’t do it any longer. I’d have to stop and think about it, get it mixed up a little bit. But history was another area that I was kind of interested in. I like to read a lot of history books and that sort of thing. I think that was stimulated by my second year in college in a class I took from a history professor who was just interesting. And what I found so interesting about him is he said you can read the book, but let me give you some stuff, some of the trivia-type stuff that he knew about some of the personalities and some of the things that he had learned through his research and understanding about the true natures of some of these people and what unique features or attributes they had. That, I think, stimulated my interests even more. But it was in existence prior to that as well, but it just enhanced it a bit. Yeah.
O’Reagan: What sort of stuff has BRMA worked on in the time you’ve been with them?
Plahuta: Oh, gosh. We have done extensive amount of work on some of the modeling to bring up some of the models that we have out there that can describe and portray better the actual activities in the instruments and the equipment in the area there itself. We did that. And of course our big effort was to make it a national park. That’s where most of our time, and that’s where I really got involved with and again working with the other two sites, Oak Ridge and Los Alamos with Cindy Kelly back in American—I mean the Atomic Heritage Foundation. We’d have monthly phone calls on proposing various kind of language that we’d like to see in the act and working with the Congress. My experience working with congressional staffers helped a little bit there, I think, but so did Cindy, who—and I first knew Cindy, basically when she was in DOE—worked for DOE in the headquarters in the cultural resource area and all of that area. So that’s how I got to know Cindy. And then later on, we kind of met again, then, when we were working on the B Reactor. So the biggest contribution, I think, was the effort from the very beginning. B Reactor was—not B Reactor, but the BRMA association—B Reactor Museum Association—was established formally in ’91, but was actually in ’90 or so when it began to formally—and how that all happened was that there was in existence here at the time—we called it the Tri-Cities or maybe they were Richland—I don’t know—Technical Society. And that was made up of all the various tech—whether it be electrical engineers, or civil engineers, the chemical engineers, nuclear engineers, the health physicists and so on. They had this net group where there was things in common and commonality. When the announcement was made that they were going to get out of the production business and was going to start cocooning the reactors, the guy says, god, we got to preserve B. The history that goes with it. And I wasn’t part of that, then. But they organized a committee then to discuss further. And that’s when they decided to establish this organization, the B Reactor Museum Association, with the sole purpose to preserve for future generations the history and preserve the facility itself for public access and—for preservation and public access. Well, our mission is basically accomplished by getting it into the National Park. That was really keen. And we still have interests; we want to go along and develop the park and do all of those additional types of things and perhaps even taking on efforts to preserve a bit of the history of T Plant as well. Because that is identified in the park, and of course the pre-Manhattan Project history there with the farms and that sort of thing. But that’s been the key emphasis all along, was to preserve and make it public access to B Reactor. So there was a lot of work and working with the Department of Energy and others to clean it up and get it in shape where you could have these tours. I think it was 2009 or something when they started the tours—the more public tours. But I was involved earlier in that. There was still tours, but the tours were maybe for special groups or activities or maybe a college chemistry class or physics class or something would be coming to see it. Or some of the elected officials or could be any special tours, I think. And then it got gradually working into recognizing that there would be—in fact, when I left in ’98, there was just a memorandum of agreement type between the BRMA organization and Westinghouse the contractor and DOE, what the roles and responsibilities would be. At that time, BRMA would be willing to provide docents—volunteer docents at the time, and do that sort of thing for these various tours. So I was sort of a tour coordinator then, to find out what audiences—there would be a difference between someone who was real knowledgeable about the reactor, and others who knew nothing about it—want to know what the audience would be so we’d pick the right type of tour guide and a person who was more familiar with it, who were comfortable with those kind of tours. So there got to be a fair number of those. But then it formally established, then, when the DOE started saying we will offer these public tours. In 2009 is when it really blossomed into much more greater things, when they announced the public tours and so on. These others were more tours where people would request and ask for them, we’d try to fit them in. And there were fair number—it got to be a fair number of those, and I think that’s what convinced DOE that we need to do something, maybe more publicly. And more recognition of its responsibility in Historic Preservation Act—you know, the Department’s responsibility there. So that’s what we did. But our efforts were then to, as I say, get the thing cleaned up, get it presented well, and have some of these displays and some of the models and someone that works close with Cindy Kelly at the Atomic Heritage Foundation who had this interest and this whole establishment she has, that foundation to preserve many of the history aspects of the Atomic Energy Commission and Department of Energy and its role in the Manhattan Project. So that was kind of where our focus was, was the preservation and public access and the models that help educate. And also, and we’re pushing more on that now, is educating students and so on. And we’re holding more and more tours for students, all the way down to the fourth grade, but particularly interested in high school and college students that want to learn more about that. That’s where we’re focusing more now, on interpretation and education and emphasis more on the T Plant. BRMA does the B Reactor Museum, doesn’t necessarily relate to the T Plant, but still, that all was part of the Manhattan Project. So our focus is more on the Manhattan Project itself and all of its elements. Which, T Plant is included—the first separations plant. Again, amazing plant and amazing work that’s been done there to get it initiated and started and working properly right off the bat, working. So that’s kind of the background there on my involvement. It’s been—the last three, four, five years has been heavily involved in primarily the effort on the Manhattan historic—the Manhattan Project Historical Park, to get it established, along with the other two sites. Some of the others in DOE, as well, the Dayton Project had decided not to really join pushing on that, but they—and we had meetings yesterday again with some of the Parks people to have things—a commonality—basic common understanding of the whole project and kind of presented the same way at all three sites. But then each site taking on its own specific role, ours being the specific—the development of the plutonium and B Reactor. Los Alamos, more like the weapons development and that sort of thing. Oak Ridge is supplying the enriched uranium and those aspects. They all have a more defined role in the broader picture of the Manhattan Project.
O’Reagan: Right. Did you ever get any sort of security—when you were making these models, I know there was a lot of sensitivity about export control and classification and all that, especially with models. Did you ever get any sort of push back on that?
Plahuta: Not on the models. But what we did do, and that was a surprise, even to the local DOE, I guess they knew about it, but they should have—the reactor graphite that was left over, we claimed that. And thanks for thinking of Gene Woodruff, one of our members who’s a graphite expert, and I mean Gene can go and say, oh, that was made at Union Carbide. Scratch this one—that was made somewhere else. That guy. And I remember working with DOE in the laboratory—Gene was one of the top experts in the world. Again, we’ve got experts here—people don’t recognize—of the world. When there would be these international meetings or [UNKNOWN] Gene Woodruff was a guy to go all over the world talking about the qualities and the purities of graphite and how it’s made and all of that sort of stuff. He’s just top-notch. So anyway, Gene and a guy out at the lab—gosh, I forget his name right now, right off the bat—worked with our people in DOE headquarters’ national security to get us the—or to give us the excess graphite was there with the restrictions that it should be used for souvenirs and that we’re not to resell it. Of course, now there’s not quite the problem, but we didn’t want the Iranians or others to see how this graphite was made and all the purity and all that kind of stuff. Although I don’t understand, because you could still probably decide that if you had a souvenir made out of a piece of that graphite, anyway. But anyway that was—they just didn’t want a big block of this stuff given—sold or anything to someone. So we said, ah, well, we won’t—chop it up or use it in pieces or whatever. So we made that graphite model and that was done going through the whole national security system that said it was okay for us to have that, rather than dump it out here at ERDF—out in the disposal facility. So we got all of the remaining what we call old reactor—that’s the B, D and F—that’s the same type of graphite that was in those original three reactors. We got that as well as some processing tubes and we’re in the process of determining how we make souvenirs for the tours that come through in the park. And reminder, we already have what we call—we have these boron balls, too, that are used in the process to help scram a reactor if you need to. We’ve got those, and we’ve got the process tubes. So we also sell a little vial of these boron balls, and we collected the dust that we did when we made our graphite model and putting that into little vials. So it’s rather unique to this site. We’re looking at other ways to use some of these and what kind of doodads or gadgets can we make for souvenirs. Because we find that working with the Parks people is—oh, yeah, people, there’s something unique about the site, they’d like to take a souvenir back. So that may be some of our support, maybe, to keep continuing and give us our source of income there that—we’re not a great achiever of gathering a whole lot of money, but it does—and we work more on these models and stuff, working with Cindy Kelly and others on grants and that sort of thing to get our money to build these—make these various videos that we’ve made and these vignettes that goes along with when you’re visiting out there and that sort of thing. So that’s gonna be kind of emphasizing with the Parks people how we can best do this and how we can get that accomplished.
O’Reagan: Can you tell me about coordinating with the other sites?
Plahuta: Yeah. That’s—we’ve had several meetings with the other sites. There’s, again, another entity. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the ECA, the Energy Communities Alliance? That was established by the former city manager here, Joe King, who established that. And that—I’ll just talk a minute what that is. That’s made up of the sites where DOE has locations: Savannah River, Oak Ridge, Brookhaven—you know, all nine sites or so, that would go forth in more of a lobbying effort to DOE headquarters on funding and what the needs and the issues and problems are there, as far as the local communities. And many of these were in common. I mean, there were particular areas might be unique to one site or the other, but the others would all support that. But then also there’s things in common that they really wanted to get DOE to recognize that they got to pay attention to. So that was established quite some time ago. The other communities, then, kind of had a basis on which to start on this national park. And particularly Oak Ridge and Los Alamos. So we would get—the three of us would often have—and Cindy Kelly with Atomic Heritage Foundation would kind of coordinate these—it was almost on a monthly basis—telephone conferences. We’d be talking where we are and how we’re going and what we need to do. And so that was very helpful and it was a cooperative effort. It wasn’t a, well, we want that and you can’t have that. It was a system that we all want to work together. And we met last July again down in Los Alamos for a meeting on those three sites plus one or two of the other Energy Community Alliance sat in on some of that. We’re meeting again in August in Denver. This time at Denver because that’s kind of a convenient among the three sites, and it’s also where the interim superintendent of the National Park’s located, so that she can be here. That’s Tracey Adkins and she was here in fact yesterday. One of our local what we call our parks committee that’s not—made up basically the elected officials of the community here, the four mayors, the county commissioners of Benton, Grant and Franklin County, and then there’s, besides elected officials, there’s the Visit Tri-Cities, TRIDEC and BRMA is on that. We’re more of an advisory group than we are to the mayors. But the committee is an administrative committee and that’s where I and John Fox and BRMA and Visit Tri-Cities and others sit on for short-term. I guess I call that the working group who gets the work done and so on. And then we get with the mayors and so on. It’s kind of either up or down, you know, that sort of thing. But anyway, the working with the other communities has been a very cooperative effort, and we meet now on phone calls once in a while—not quite so frequently, though, not once the legislation has passed. But we meet like once a year or so, just—and now with the Parks, too. It was formerly just with DOE, but with the Parks people actually present and with the interim superintendent of the Manhattan Project National Historical Park. So it’s a good relationship and I think it helps in the overall park and the Parks people are interested in working with the communities, too. They’re very—I find working with the Parks service very, very interesting and informative and they’re people who are very willing to listen and learn and likewise we try to exchange information and we learn what they’re process is and I think it’s been a very, very good relationship. And I want to give credit to Colleen French here at the local office has been extremely supportive of BRMA and all of the activities and go out of her way to have—like when we had the November 12th event out here raising the National Parks flag at the site and working with them. She’s been just tremendously helpful in getting that accomplished.
O’Reagan: What’s my question here? Could you give me an idea, if you know, of the sort of size of BRMA over time?
Plahuta: It’s small. That’s our real problem. It’s like most organizations, I find, you don’t find a lot of younger people joining. And that’s a—I think that’s kind of typical of our whole society now. Today, most of the mothers and fathers are both working, they’ve got the kids in school, they’re in soccer, they’re in baseball, they’re in football. Their time is very limited. And I find that in a number of organizations I’m in. So our group is very small. It’s—we only have about a total of about 70-some members. But our active members are probably 20 or something like that. And we have a fair number of people who are not in this community. They’re people who lived here or worked here before. One of the assistant general managers for DOE is still a member, living down the—not Los Alamos—but Los Alamos area and also a couple of them down in the WIPP site down in New Mexico. We find ourselves, I think—and we’re looking right now—what should the mission of BRMA be? And we’ve kind of—a couple of us got together the other day on—had a bottle of beer and sat in Hank Kosmata’s backyard on his patio and just kind of brainstormed a bit. I think we’ll say, for the next three, four, five years, however long, until the park is fully established, we’ll be working extensively with them on assisting in the interpretation activities. We want to emphasize more the education and working with particularly the high school, college kids but also the younger ages. We want to do more emphasis on the T Plant, which is a very key element in this whole process of plutonium and getting the plutonium that was needed for the weapons program. So those—kind of those three are the main activities we want to focus in and decide whether we morph into some other organization. Because the Parks are really interested in developing at each of these sites what they call Friends of the Park, and that’s a common thing among all national parks. It’s sort of a group that supports that local park and assists the Parks Department. And the Parks Department is not a wealthy department. They are very limited funding to all parks. They’ve got extreme backlog on the maintenance of all their activities. So they rely heavily on volunteer work, they rely heavily on these funding process of Friends of the Park, and they have a formal structure in developing it and authorizing and so on, because they, again, want to be sure that there’s precise accountability and all of that sort of thing on that if they’re gonna be associated with them. So we’re working this local community on this parks committee and so on of hoping we can establish that soon. Now, there’s a lot of competition so to speak there, because we’ve got a lot of other things in the community we really want to support. We want to support the REACH organization—they’re looking for funding. We’ve got the aquatic center, you’ve got the performing arts center, you’ve got all of these things. But nevertheless, there’s some people that don’t have to be members of this community that are interested in the Project history of the Manhattan Project and all of that, that you can get various grants and forms and that sort of thing from others. That’s something that we will probably eventually just go out of existence, because we don’t have a lot—I mean, I’m kind of the young kid on the block, actually in our organization, and I’m nearly 78 years old. We got a guy that’s the youngest kid—he’s 65! We call him the little kid brother. We’re losing people. The last two years, we’ve lost the remaining people who were there at startup of the reactor. So the history is kind of disappearing with them in some respects. That’s why I was interested, particularly these interviews that you’re doing here with some of these old-timers and some of the guys that were here, so we get that recorded, and we know what’s there and it’s so important. Of course, as you know, working with you on some of our early recordings that we had with some of our original people that are very, very informative and useful in terms of researchers or anybody that wants to use that information.
O’Reagan: So there’s also ways been a lot of interest among the public in the sort of more negative side of Hanford’s history. Has the down-winders and those sorts of groups influenced the telling of the history in your opinion?
Plahuta: Well, you know, we want to be accurate with our history. And we want to tell all sides of the history. That’s been sometimes a little bit of a problem internally, because, well, gosh, those guys, they just dump. But I say, that’s history. We’ve got to learn what the issues were and what the problems were. And the same—we get some people when the Parks people decided to have a few of the Japanese people sit in on the scholars’ group. I’m not at all opposed to that. I think we got to tell history. History’s got to be told accurately. And it’s important—we may not agree with some of that stuff, and we may not agree with their opinions or thoughts, but it’s only precisely true that we need to reflect what that history and what those events were. So I personally am not opposed. But there’s the real strong advocates in nuclear and there’s the anti-nuclear. We’ve got to show that as existing. We’ve got to recognize that. But I don’t think it’s given us any problem—the answer to your question—I don’t think it’s been an issue that creates difficulties or that we found is interfering with whatever we want to do. We’ve got to recognize it, we address it, and we think we try to address it in a very educational basis, in a very precise basis, and not in an argumentative or conscientious-objector-type—well, that’s not the right word either. But we just don’t want to be contrary to them necessarily. Just understanding that they’ve got a different point of view.
O’Reagan: Have you sort of followed that controversy in your time living in the Tri-Cities?
Plahuta: Yeah, to some extent. I can see both sides. I think we need—particularly, I can see the need to reflect on what effect it had upon the Japanese. I really think that’s essential. Some of our people don’t agree with me. They say, well—they’ll say, yeah, that’s true, but, boy, if we hadn’t done what we needed to do maybe a lot more would be dead. That’s true, too, there probably would have. We’ll never know for certain, but—we hear of people and know of people that had probably saved their lives by the fact that they didn’t have to go and invade Japan. We’ve got some of our own members who kind of fit in that category. But I’ll never forget Terry Andre tells the story when she was at the CREHST museum when it still existed and an elderly Japanese person came in one day and asked her: Are you an American? She said, yes, I’m an American. Oh, thank goodness. He put a big hug around her. She kind of says, well, what’s that? She says, I would not be alive today if you had invaded Japan, he said. Because I was trained in our—I think it was equivalent to the boy scouts—which we were to be suicide-type defenders. And we were supposed to be carrying these bombs, burying us in the sand, along when the Japanese invaded, and blow ourselves up and try to get as many American soldiers as we could—or Allied soldiers as we could. So that’s one side of the story. The others you hear, but people have really suffered when they dropped the bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So those stories need to be told, and that understanding has to be there so that there’s the pros and cons. And another interesting thing is, when we had the docent training by the Parks people, they were saying, try to not reflect your own opinions. Give them the facts—that yes. And they did some role playing talk about when someone says, well, should we have dropped the bomb? And they were playing with all the different ways you might address that particular question. And try to say, if they took one position kind of say, well, that’s true, but did you think about this or something. Let them decide themselves, but bring it more forth. And I thought that was excellent type comments that the Parks’ interpretation people and their docents, particularly did the training, bring forth those sorts of thoughts. I’m in agreement with that.
O’Reagan: You mentioned this sort of pro- and anti-nuclear folks. Has that sort of politics gotten involved in the interpretation of Hanford’s history, do you think?
Plahuta: I don’t think it’s got involved in the interpretation. Now, there’s people who will be critical of the fact that either one side or the other hasn’t been displayed enough. And that’s an emphasis that I really respect the Parks to—I think they mentioned, they got issues in the North and South War—the Civil War. The things down in Andersonville, Gettysburg—these—and the Arizona, and they really understand how best to portray that. They’re the nation’s storytellers, and they really want to hone in on the fact that we aren’t going to try to change anybody’s mind; we don’t want to argue with them; we just want to presents the fact more and let them decide. But maybe if they’ve got one position, just kind of let them know what some of the other people are thinking, too, and vice versa. So I don’t really see it as an issue or a problem. It’s something we’ve got to address and it’s something that got to be recognized, but we’ve got to do it thoughtfully and doing it with some knowledge of where we’re coming from and how we present that.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm. And you said that’s equally true for sort of the local health impact as well as the Nagasaki and Hiroshima?
Plahuta: I think so. But again, that’s my opinion. I think there’s a lot of advantages and there’s a lot of disadvantages. I mean, I keep coming back to some counterpoints and that is the whole medical isotopes, and the medical radiation program and so on. I mean, there’s over 20 million radioactive diagnostic procedures in the United States every year. And there’s a likewise amount throughout the rest of the world. There’s not as many therapeutic, but almost. That’s the positive side. Now, there’s the negative side—that, gee, if you get exposed to it, that’s not good either. So, like most issues, nothing is clearly right or wrong. There’s pros and cons and I think we got to stop and think about those, and each person make up their own mind to where they may fit in that spectrum.
O’Reagan: How have the Tri-Cities changed in your time living here?
Plahuta: [LAUGHTER] It’s been significant. I see the major growth in housing. Gosh, when I came here south of the Yakima River, there was nothing—none of that whole area. West Richland was small and didn’t go out. The shopping, as I said earlier—there was hardly anything here to do in that sense. The amenities of living in the community, the education of WSU here and various arts performing type groups—just—it’s almost like day and night in that sense. I just—just amazing me, and I’ve been here a little over 50 years. It was kind of like a sleepy town almost when you first come—when I first came, I should say. Pasco was the biggest, I think, town at that time. Of course, it’s got its history with the railroad and all of that sort of thing. The growth of the housing and you wonder, how could more people keep coming in? Where are they coming from, and where’s all this activity—what’s this base? It’s amazing. But I think the biggest thing I noticed is the shopping and the industry broadened quite a bit. I think most people don’t realize how many small businesses we really have in this community—various outgrowths, spinoffs of some of the lab work and some of the other activities. I think we had one golf course here at the time when I came over in Pasco. We’ve got a lot of that. The water sports. I mean, it’s—and the surrounding areas, the wineries and all the vineyards. Yet the one other thing I remember when I first came and we first married, we used to go out and pick cherries or whatever where all houses are now. We still go out to some of the places to pick some peaches and stuff, but a lot of that stuff—and pears—you hardly see around. I can think back in those early days that we did all that. We go now in French’s out there where they have you-pick for peaches I think is one of the most popular places in town in the summertime when it’s peach time that they’re just so busy out there. But it’s changed. It’s just—but you know, a lot of the cities and so on—we’re getting people moving from the rural areas into more the urban areas, and we’re no different, I think, than some of the other major cities much bigger than we. But we’re staying—following kind of that same pattern.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm. Okay. So as we sort of wrap up here, there are probably—I don’t know—particular stories that leap to your mind from your time working at Hanford or living in the area, or any other sort of stuff I haven’t asked about that’s worth sharing?
Plahuta: Yeah, I don’t know. I think one of the things that comes to mind is my involvement early with the kids in the community in the sports area and then of course, when my own son got into some of that with working with them. The other thing that kind of comes to mind, I said, I remember Christ the King Church, but like everything a growing—I’m involved in the building committee and making that church bigger, tearing down the old government-built building, all on volunteer-type work tearing down, basically. And things of that that you tend to think of not necessarily unique to me, but for a lot of the members of this community, where you saw so much volunteer-type effort, community effort, where family didn’t have their own personal family right nearby. And I saw that. My wife can speak a lot more to that, but I saw that early in ’63 still existed, where you saw this sort of social-type gathering of—and I don’t think we see that quite the same anymore here in this community. If it is, it’s more like kind of an organized structure, or organized stuff. It’s not just like somebody drops by or you get a bunch of families together and oh, let’s have a Christmas party, or let’s have this, that or the other thing. That’s kind of what I witnessed early, and not to the extent—as I say again—as my wife did in her family. But I saw that, and I see that kind of disappearing here. Some of the interesting things at work is like—I mentioned briefly earlier about the moonrocks coming back, the smoking swine—I was heavily involved in when they decided not to have the—I should say the smoking beagles and the swine. The swine is one of the closest animals that’s similar to a human. Their skin and all that. So there’s so much testing on radiation effects. A lot of these swine that was just evolutionary and helped the whole medical field. Well, we excessed those, I remember, in the process of excessing, where should we give it to? And it ended up—I was quite heavily involved in that—we gave it to the University of Minnesota, because they had quite an extensive program on heart development and heart surgery and stuff like that. They could utilize these swine and they had made a good proposal how they would care for them and continue in breeding them. Leo Bustad was the guy that developed those, like a full-grown was 150 pounds, was close to a human being, and all those sorts of things. And I think back about those sorts of things, about uniqueness, again, of science, of technology, developing these animals so that they—and there, again, you’ve got the other side of those people that are—oh, gosh, you shouldn’t be sacrificing animals. There’s validity to that. And then you look on the other hand—but look at all the benefits you get on that, and you can do it in a humane way, and all of that. So those things. Some of the stuff, I can’t describe now. I was not heavily involved in classified stuff, but there was some of the work out at Battelle that once it’s unclassified, it’s just unbelievable some of this stuff that you learn through that sort of thing. Those things often come to my mind, but I still—taken the oath that I’ll keep those to myself. That’s about all I can say about—but I wasn’t heavily involved in that. I didn’t have a super—I had a Q clearance. That’s another interesting story. When I was hired by DOE, they said, well—at that time you had to have a Q clearance before you could ever come on work and it took about three months to get this Q clearance processed. So I was home back in Wisconsin for about a month, just waiting for the clearance, because I wasn’t going to drive all the way out here and for some reason to find out that, well, we can’t take you. I mean, I had no reason to believe that, but I just had to wait out the process. So that was, again—and that was difficult in hiring early on when we were recruiting college kids and stuff. That was when we still needed that—that everybody needed—well, not everybody, but 95% probably of the DOE and AEC—it was AEC then. People needed a Q clearance before they could get on board. Well, people are anxious, they don’t want to wait around three months. They’re looking for a job. So that was one of the difficulties that comes to mind when I talk about out those sorts of things. But there’s a lot of fond memories and associations with people that you’ll always have. And some unique activities that occurred. And, again, I keep thinking about working with Wally Sale at the Consolidated Laboratory and how unique and different that was and how innovative his approach—and he’s the one that really is the creator of that concept. So anyway, it’s been—it was an enjoyable career.
O’Reagan: All right, well thanks so much for being here.
Plahuta: Yeah, you bet. Thank you. And I appreciate--
Robert Franklin: Okay. My name is Robert Franklin, and I am conducting an interview with Linda Davis on May 26th 2016. The interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. I will be talking to Linda Davis about her experiences growing up in Richland, and her father’s experiences coming to work on the Hanford site. So, Linda, let’s start at the beginning. Why don’t you—you were mentioning earlier, with some of those items you brought which we’ll view later—you were showing us pictures of growing up and your father’s photo when he came here. So I guess why don’t we start with your father coming here.
Linda Davis: My dad had been working in Kansas on I think it was a CCC project. And it came to an end. And they were told very little. Go to Washington. They’re like, right. [LAUGHTER] But my parents had always wanted to get the heck out of Kansas, so they found that this was their escape. And it was during the Depression, so jobs were tough. My dad came out. He was supposed to be coming out with a bunch of friends, and my brother got sick, so he ended up coming out later. He had to—he hopped box cars to get here! [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow!
Davis: He rode the rails and hitchhiked. And he got here a few weeks after his friends—a couple weeks after his friends did. They all got the management positions, and he got to be Joe Blow. [LAUGHTER] But he came out in February, March of ’43. He had been working cement. They sent him out with some other guys. They drove all over the whole reservation looking for the right rocks and gravel and sand to make the cement to start pouring B Reactor footings. After he did that, he was there when they poured the footings and that was always one of his—he was always very proud that he was there when they did the footings. Briefly, he was sent over to the extrusion and he was one of the first ones to actually run the machine to extrude the plutonium. Then after a short term there, he went back to B Reactor and became a nuclear operator until he retired.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: And he was first here in a tent.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: They supplied these big tents with a stove in the corner. And he says those really weren’t that bad. Then they, quote, moved him to barracks. And he says, those were the pits. They had gaps in the wood. There was just one layer of wood and gaps. So you learned really early on—you woke up in the morning, you shook your head, you wiped your eyes off, because you’re either removing snow or sand. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: And he says when he got here off the train, he says, there was as many people getting on the train to leave. And he says, the sands would come in and people were missing their families, and they were leaving in droves. My mom and the kids did not come until fall of ’43. There was no housing at that point in time. They went and lived in Yakima and my mom got a job and dad would commute on his long changes to Yakima to go visit the family. The rest of the time, he’d go stay in the barracks. And when he first got here with some of his friends, they had long lines for the showers. They were like, oh, we don’t want to wait in these stupid shower lines, we’re in a hurry. So him and his friends went—they’re from Kansas, streams there are shallow and warm. They went, there’s this great big river, so they ran down and jumped in the river. And jumped right back out! [LAUGHTER] He said it was so cold! They went and stood in line after that.
Franklin: That’s a great story.
Davis: And my dad played poker and he was well known for his poker playing here. We thought he used to—was just bragging, until when he died and people were coming in and they were going, wow, was he one wicked poker player. They used to be able to play poker on the buses.
Franklin: Really?
Davis: Yeah, you know, an hour ride, they had these little tables they’d set up towards the back and they played poker.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: He could earn almost as much money playing poker as he could working. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow, that’s great. So how long was it before your mother and—so you weren’t born yet at the time.
Davis: No! [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: So how long was it before your mother and the rest of your family were able to move to the Tri-Cities?
Davis: They stayed in Yakima for about a year and a half. And then they moved—their first house was a A house on MacPherson, which was just finished and they ended up having to go to a hotel the first night, because it was freshly painted, and it made them all sick because it was still wet. [LAUGHTER] They were kind of unusual because they had their own furniture that they had brought from Kansas. Most people came and they had—everybody had the same bed, dresser, everything was supplied. But they had a lot of their own furniture that they brought from Kansas. So they would have been here—let’s see, he came out in ’43, ’44—early ’45 is when they got their first house--
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: --in the Tri-Cities. During that time, Dad had commuted back and forth.
Franklin: Wow. And you said that your mom was working in Yakima. What kind of work was she doing?
Davis: She was a receptionist in a doctor’s office.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: She was telling me—oh, just a few years ago, she was telling me that she was working, and people had been displaced and all the, quote, riffraff was coming in, and people looked really down on the people like them who were coming in. She was working in a doctor’s office, so nobody really thought about it, so they were a lot of times just talking, and some ladies got real snippy about, well, you got all this riffraff coming in and these lowlifes and stuff. And she just looked up and said, oh, well I’m one of those. [LAUGHTER] But they were really looked down on, because people didn’t know why they had been displaced. And they didn’t know why all these people were coming from all over the country.
Franklin: Right, because they hadn’t—
Davis: Nobody was allowed to know anything. So there was a lot of anger, and a lot of looking down their noses at people that had come into the Hanford Project.
Franklin: Do you think maybe some class conflict? Or maybe people they had perceived as Dust Bowl type people--?
Davis: Dust Bowl type people, because a lot of them came—Kansas, Oklahoma supplied a lot of the workers out here, because the word had gotten around, go to Washington, go to Washington. They didn’t know why, just go to Washington, you’ll find a job. You’ve got crummy farming, a lot of them just packed up and left. And they showed up. Then the, quote, natives of the area who had felt that they had been here for a significant amount of time really did look down on all these strangers coming in. It was—they would look like refugees to them. Because a lot of them came with homemade trailers and, literally their own tents if they couldn’t find a place to live.
Franklin: And they hopped boxcars.
Davis: And they hopped boxcars to get here! [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow, that’s really interesting. So, earlier you mentioned that your family had lived in a lot of different houses early on or kind of gone all over. So can you talk about that? Those early years of being in Richland.
Davis: You were assigned houses by what kind of job you had and how many children you had. You could apply to get a different house. And for all sorts of different reasons—my mother liked to move, I think, because a lot of it—she always liked to move. And Dad went along with it. They lived in ranch houses, F houses, A houses—they sneakily got into an H house, which they didn’t qualify for. You couldn’t—weren’t supposed to get into any housing unless it’s written out by the government that you could. They traded with somebody who wanted something—they wanted like the A house. They were in an H house and Mom and Dad said, oh, we’d like the H. So they traded without telling the government.
Franklin: Ooh.
Davis: That lasted six months. [LAUGHTER] Then they had to move again. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: So the H houses were bigger then? I’m not quite up on all of the—
Davis: They have a basement; they have one floor. They were probably better made. They were nicer houses than like the A. But the one people were having more kids or something. I can’t remember why they wanted to change. But Mom and Dad sneakily did it, then they sneakily had to slink out [LAUGHTER] when they were told they had to leave.
Franklin: Wow. Yeah, one thing I’ve heard around here is that basements in those early years were pretty rare.
Davis: What basements you had, like in the A houses, B houses, F houses, they were dirt. I’ve been in them when they hadn’t been changed yet. It’s basically a dirt floor, you walk down the stairs and then you’re there. Then there’s like this raised cement block area. Well, that’s where they’d dump the coal into. They would come with these trucks and dump the coal in. You just had enough room to go down there and shovel coal. They were pretty gross. [LAUGHTER] But I remember Mom and Dad, though, said everything was supplied. You had no utilities, they brought your coal—you had to call and ask for a lightbulb to be changed. You were not allowed to do it yourself. [LAUGHTER] Totally government.
Franklin: Yeah, that’s a lot like here. You have to put in a facilities request to do that.
Davis: Yeah, well, they had to—she goes, a lightbulb? Like, we can’t change your own? Oh, no. But she says they were really Johnny-on-the-spot.
Franklin: Really?
Davis: Yeah. They’d call and say, you know, lightbulb in the bathroom burned out. Oh! We’ll be right there!
Franklin: Wow, so it would have been a whole department of people.
Davis: There was a whole department of people who were doing that. If you were not working at Hanford or what they called support, like supplying the oil and changing the lightbulbs, a grocery store, pharmacist or something, you were not allowed to live here.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: And if you were, like, married and your husband—one of their friends that happened—dropped dead of a heart attack, she was given 48 hours to leave with her kids. They were kind of severe at times. But it was super safe. Kids could run and play. If your kid got in trouble, you could lose your job. That was—I remember my dad always holding that over my brothers. [LAUGHTER] If you get in trouble, I can lose my job and we’ll have to leave.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: So kids were good; they didn’t have a choice. If you had a kid who became a juvenile delinquent, then you could lose your job and given 24 hours to leave town.
Franklin: Did you know of any incidences of that happening?
Davis: My parents talked about it, but I didn’t have names or—you know. Just somebody that they knew, their kids had been a real pain—and he ended up I think keeping his job, but he had to move to Kennewick. He couldn’t stay in government. He managed to beg and plead and keep his job, but he had to leave town.
Franklin: So they were not only kind of controlled the work site, but they also really controlled the fabric of the community as well.
Davis: To the point where they had—after leaving Richland, and living elsewhere and now in Kennewick, you realize the layers are like military layers. And it’s taken a long time for that to kind of break down. You had your echelons, just like in the military. They even went so far as to tell people, you are in this job and you’re in this job, and you’re not supposed to communicate. They may have grown up together in some Podunk place in the Midwest, known each other since childhood, but, all of the sudden, oh, you’re not supposed to talk to each other? [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Right, so kind of like that difference between commissioned officers—
Davis: And a non-com.
Franklin: Non-com.
Davis: Yeah. Oh, you’re more of a commissioned, you’re too high up and you can’t talk to the lower echelon.
Franklin: Right, scientists don’t talk to janitors and so forth.
Davis: Yeah.
Franklin: That’s really interesting. Did your mom work after—
Davis: Yes, she worked at Dr. Ellner’s office, urologist here in town. She worked there for—I don’t know—from the time I was about nine, eight—I guess I was about eight when she started working there. So that would have been ’62.
Franklin: Okay. And so then you would be born in ’54.
Davis: Mm-hmm.
Franklin: ’54. Okay.
Davis: Part of that big baby boom.
Franklin: Yeah. And how many siblings do you have?
Davis: Three.
Franklin: Okay. And were any of them—did any of them move to Richland from—so your parents came, your father came out in ’43, and then your family came out in the fall. When were your siblings born?
Davis: They were born all in Kansas.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: And so they were born in ’37, ’40, and ’41.
Franklin: So you’re the real baby of the bunch.
Davis: Oh, yeah. I was the surprise. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Ah. I think we all are in some way.
Davis: Oh, I was—my mom was 41, so yeah, I was a shock.
Franklin: Wow, yeah, that is quite a surprise. So tell me—then you would have been born then when Richland was still a government town.
Davis: Right.
Franklin: So tell me about growing up, like maybe from your earliest memories on. What was it like to—do you have any early memories of before—while Richland was still a government town?
Davis: Yeah, I have a lot of memories from really early. My brother and I seem to both have the brains from early, early. The other two go, I don’t remember anything then. [LAUGHTER] They don’t really remember anything until after they’re five! One of the things that always struck me was, as a kid, driving through town and they had that asbestos siding that you had a green house or this dark reddish house. They all kind of looked the same. I know my sister one time accidentally ended up in the wrong house after school. And one of Mom’s best friends came in and found some guy sleeping in her bed. He was on leave from the Army and he had gotten in the wrong house. But they all looked the same. And people had the same furniture.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: So my sister went in and says, like, the living room furniture, I think, was all the same. And she says, she came home, put her papers down and then went out and played. Then came back later and went, Mom keeps moving the furniture! [LAUGHTER] She says she has no idea which house she went into.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Yeah, they had basically—I remember the green and the red. There might have been—and then there was some blue. And then they had like a cream color with them. So like the A houses would have been light colored on the top and then the red on the bottom. Or cream and—there was like three choices. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Right. It’s like the Model T. You can get it in black or black.
Davis: Right. Yeah, this was—and you didn’t have a choice what color it was. And I guess when they first moved in, besides the paint being wet, they literally handed them a ten-pound bag of grass seed and said, plant your yard! Have fun! [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow. That’s great. So, how about any memories that stand out from your early childhood or early life in Richland? I remember, earlier you mentioned that before we started taping, that your family had bought one of the first commercially available houses.
Davis: Spec home.
Franklin: Spec home. What year was that?
Davis: 1960.
Franklin: Okay, so you would have been about six years old then.
Davis: Right. That was just before I was six, yeah.
Franklin: And what was that like, to be in one of these?
Davis: You—
Franklin: New, new, new homes.
Davis: Because of the class thing going on, I was not considered—and then shortly after they started building this North Richland area—I always felt like I didn’t fit in. I didn’t fit in with the kids in the, quote, government houses.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: My house was basically a ranch house. We had hardwood floors instead of tiles. And we had a one-car garage, ooh, ahh. [LAUGHTER] But it really wasn’t—it was just a three-bedroom ranch. One bathroom and a one-car garage. And then all the scientists and the people making more money and the doctors started building into North Richland. And I didn’t fit in with them, either, because they went, oh, you’re in that little house. It was kind of like feeling like you didn’t fit in anywhere. Because I wasn’t in a government house, and a lot of the government houses were way bigger than the house we were in.
Franklin: Huh.
Davis: But I remember saying—one of the first memories in that house was—they’d moved us in—oh, they’d never allow it nowadays. Moved us in, we had no water. So the firemen came and hooked up to a fire hydrant about a block and a half away. [LAUGHTER] And then it ran into a garden hose, and it was February, and like below zero. So you always had to have water running in the bathtub to keep the little garden house. And if froze up, all the neighbors would come out and jump up and down on it, breaking the ice up. But nowadays you wouldn’t be able to move into a house without full running water.
Franklin: Right, right. Wow. That’s fabulous.
Davis: And then when we were first there—we were the very first ones sold. The others were having open houses. And we’d be sitting there having like a family get-together, and people start walking in our house. Oh, this one’s not open! No. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: And then that of course touched off a boom, though, right, in house construction in Richland.
Davis: Right. North Richland, I remember we used to sit at our kitchen table and look out and watch all the houses going up, and here are all the—for years, you could see new houses and hear hammering every morning. North Richland just really took off because everybody started building their own.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: A lot of people went ahead and bought their original house from the government, but my parents—I don’t know, they fell—my dad fell in love with this house. My mother hated it. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: How long did they live at that house?
Davis: We lived there 13 years.
Franklin: Okay. So they really do like to move around a lot.
Davis: That’s like mom’s record, yeah. Her last move was with us and she had to live with us ten years without moving before she died. [LAUGHTER] But generally, about—when my siblings were growing up, they got used to moving every six months to a year and a half. And they went to every single school in Richland.
Franklin: Wow. Well, I guess they know a pretty big cross-section of the community, then.
Davis: They were always—when you talk to different people, they’re like, oh yeah, so-and-so, and I go, oh yeah, my parents were their neighbors. And somebody else would say, oh yeah, they were their neighbors, too. Like Garmo who owned one of the grocery stores. All these different people, they were their neighbors at some point in time. Probably Johnson, who was the photographer for the area. He was a good friend and I’m still in recent contact with his daughter.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: But pretty much, if you lived in Richland for any length of time, my parents were your neighbor at some point. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: That’s great. So when did your father retire from Hanford?
Davis: I was married, so—when did he retire? I got married in ’74, so I’m trying to remember exactly. ’75 or ’76, something like that.
Franklin: Oh, wow, so he was on—did he have any gaps in employment, or did he work onsite since 1943?
Davis: He worked onsite that whole time.
Franklin: Wow, and so what did—
Davis: Except for the six-week strike they had. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Oh, well tell me about that.
Davis: I don’t even remember what it was about. I was in junior high. They had a strike which my dad was not in favor of, but he wouldn’t break union line. So he was on strike. During that time, he says, oh well, I’ll make the best of it, so he built a family room onto our house. [LAUGHTER] And got hooked on soap operas.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: He used to make fun of Mom wanting to watch her soap opera, and then when he went back to work, he’d come home from work and go, what happened with—[LAUGHTER] But they were only on strike for like six weeks.
Franklin: And do you remember what the strike was about at all?
Davis: I don’t remember what it was about. Like I say, it was in junior high. It was—
Franklin: Do you think you can give me kind of a date range so we could try to find something about that?
Davis: That would have been in the late ‘60s? Somewhere in—yeah. It wasn’t a very long strike, but it was the first one that I know of that they had. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Was that site wide, do you remember?
Davis: Yeah, it was site wide. I wish I remembered what it was, but in junior high you don’t pay attention to stuff like that. Yeah, Dad’s on strike, well, so is everybody else’s dad, so—
Franklin: All you know is that he’s camped out on the couch watching soap operas.
Davis: No, he was busy building the family room.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Davis: He literally put a whole addition on the back of the house. So that’s what he was doing during his six weeks.
Franklin: Still worked. So you mentioned that he had been kind of a construction guy and then had worked at the separation plant, right, and then worked in the B Reactor. So what other jobs did he have?
Davis: He went from B Reactor, when they closed it down, then he went to K. And then he kept saying, oh, I sure hope they don’t ever send me to N. That’s where he ended up. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah?
Davis: He was always—he liked his B Reactor. Just the way the others were set up and they were different, he liked his B Reactor.
Franklin: He got comfortable—
Davis: But he ended up at N Reactor anyway. That’s where he retired from.
Franklin: Oh, wow. And what did he do at—
Davis: He was a reactor operator. He was—yeah, from after construction, he was a reactor operator.
Franklin: So it seems like a really big career jump, from construction to—
Davis: Yeah, but they didn’t—nobody knew what they were doing exactly.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: So it’s learn-as-you-go. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah, I bet.
Davis: My dad—I remember him—it was really neat to go on the B Reactor tour, because it was probably the 70s before he ever even talked about what it looked like or anything. I never knew what it looked like. But he started—in the 70s was able to start feeling comfortable—I mean, it wasn’t classified or anything then. But the guys had just been used to not talking about it.
Franklin: Well, yeah, I mean secrecy.
Davis: But he started describing the panels and stuff. And there was this office behind him, and he says—during World War II—he says, the crazy Italian in the silk suits sat back there. And then he’d go get crapped up, is when they’d get contaminated and they’d have to take his silk suits away and burn them. I didn’t realize it until after Dad was gone, when he was talking about the crazy Italian in the silk suits, that was Fermi.
Franklin: Yeah.
Davis: Sitting behind my dad! [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow, that’s amazing.
Davis: But he never said his name. He never said his name. Just the crazy Italian in the silk suits.
Franklin: But, of course he probably would have known his name.
Davis: Oh, during World War II, they didn’t.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Davis: So that’s how—I think they just referred to him as the crazy Italians with the silk suits. Because they literally did not know their names. He was the guy who sat back there, and he’d go into places they weren’t allowed to go to. And he wasn’t really supposed to, but he’d go in and tinker. Then they’d check him for radiation and go, eh, those clothes—I remember, one of my early memories is being in grade school and my dad getting off the bus, because everybody rode the buses to work. They were just like clockwork and super on—I mean super on time. And I remember coming out of the house, and my dad’s getting off the bus in the afternoon and—I guess I was heading to school. He’s coming down—my dad was only five-foot-six. And he’s got a pair of pants that he’s holding up around his armpits, and a shirt that’s probably was past his knees rolled up to his—and clomping along in these shoes that don’t fit. He had gotten crapped up at work.
Franklin: Oh.
Davis: And he ended up—one of his friends who was like six-foot-six had some extra clothes. [LAUGHTER] Yeah, he’s like, you know, when you get your clothes crapped up, you lose your clothes.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: Even your underwear. [LAUGHTER] So he’s coming home with—[LAUGHTER] I still remember—luckily we only lived like a half block from where the bus dropped him off. But I thought, that had to be a little uncomfortable at work, walking around like that.
Franklin: Yeah, no kidding.
Davis: Trying to hold these. Yeah, Trawler, he was six-five, six-six. He was a tall guy, skinny. But Dad was only five-foot-six. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow, that’s a great story. So there’s some—a couple of the big events that we always ask people about and one of them is Kennedy’s visit to the N Reactor in 1963. Did you—were you—
Davis: Both my parents were working.
Franklin: They were both working, so—
Davis: [LAUGHTER] I didn’t have any way to get there. I wanted to go, but my parents, oh, it’s going to be a big crowd. They didn’t like crowds.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: So, yeah, I didn’t get to go. They were both working. So I heard about it from my friends. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Your friends who went?
Davis: Yeah, I had friends who went.
Franklin: Awesome.
Davis: And they still remember it, and I’m going, oh, I didn’t get to go.
Franklin: Ah, you were busy. So any other major—any other big events that kind of stick out at you in Richland, growing up in Richland or maybe even a little later?
Davis: Ah, let’s see, what were the events? They always had their fire parade, their fire prevention parades. That was when you were a kid and you got to decorate your bike and ride down the road.
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Davis: G Way, and they had—when I was really little, there was like Frontier Days or some other parade that we had. And then one of the big thrills was in the spring, they would bring in, quote, well, we’d call them travel trailers now, but they were the early mobile homes that were like eight-foot-wide and 12 feet long. And they’d set them up in the Uptown Richland parking lot. You’d go look through them and go, oh, aren’t these cool. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: They brought them up for sale?
Davis: Yeah, you know how they do car shows now in parking lots? Well, they’d bring these little mobile—[LAUGHTER] little dinky mobile homes. Which nowadays, I says, my fifth wheel’s bigger [LAUGHTER] than these, quote, homes that you’re supposed to live in.
Franklin: I could imagine for some of the people who had been here in the early days that those might have given them some flashbacks to the trailer camps or—
Davis: Yeah, my parents didn’t live in the trailer camps, but they had a lot of friends who did. And one of my best friends, her parents had built—they had no place to live, so they built their own trailer and lived down at the Y. It was a homemade, and it was really little with three kids. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow. That’s amazing. So did you end up staying in Richland, then—did you ever move out of the Tri-Cities?
Davis: We went to the Chicago area, and we were gone—I didn’t leave until I got married.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: My husband went to Pullman for a year and then we went to Chicago. We were gone about nine years and then came back and raised our kids here.
Franklin: Oh, okay. And so what brought you back to the—
Davis: Family. My parents were here, my dad’s health was failing, and I had just lost my father-in-law. So we kind of wanted the kids to get the chance to know their grandparents, because my husband’s parents were both gone. So, family. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Oh, wow.
Davis: And good memories of being growing up here.
Franklin: Sure, sure.
Davis: Versus Chicago. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: So, what would you—is there anything you would like future generations to know about growing up—like kind of the experience growing up in Richland, or what it would have been like to be so close to Hanford? To help them understand what that would be like.
Davis: Growing up with my dad, the guys and women who worked out there, they were proud of what they did. Yes, bombs, they all agreed, the bomb is nasty. But in the long run it probably saved millions of lives on both sides. Because Japan was willing to fight ‘til the last man, which would have been millions of more lives lost. And if they would have gotten the bomb first, we’d be speaking Japanese. [LAUGHTER] I think there’s an overall pride—and my husband and I were just talking about this last year, that what was accomplished at Hanford would never be able to be done today. Back then, the old—they had all the signs, loose lips sink ships. My husband says, well, it’d been sunk long—they couldn’t have even gotten the first thing done before it would have been out in the open. Nowadays I don’t think they could pull it off. And people knew they weren’t supposed to talk about it. My dad—my mom said when they were living in Yakima, my dad, he had read about the reactor—splitting the atom in the Collier’s magazine before the war. They were going to go get the magazine and look it up. They never got around to it. Found out if you asked about that magazine, you were fired.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: So they learned not to say anything. They handed some uranium around and my dad by the weight, he said, it wasn’t very big but he knew by the weight what it was. And he started to say something, and his boss says, don’t. And later he says if you would’ve said it, I would’ve had to have fired you on the spot. I mean, you just knew that if you said anything—so he whispered it to my mom one night, under—they were sure that there were microphones everywhere. So even though they were living in Yakima, he would put a pillow over them. And he says, I think we’re making the bomb.
Franklin: Really?
Davis: And my mom kind of went, pfft. Sure you are. [LAUGHTER] And then my mom didn’t know—said they didn’t really know what it was until my brother came home from school and all the kids and everybody was going, we dropped the bomb, we dropped the bomb.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: But I think there’s a pride in what they did. It was very secretive and when you realize that everybody was doing their little part, and they didn’t know what the other parts were. I mean, it’d be like trying to tell somebody to put a car together. Here, you have this screw, put it somewhere—and only that one. And you don’t really know what’s going on. It was really amazing what they pulled off.
Franklin: Yeah.
Davis: And I think they—all the men and women who worked out there were really proud of what they did. And I think it went on to their families to feel proud of what they did. Yeah, the bomb’s not a nice thing, but where we would have been without it?
Franklin: Right. What about later in the Cold War, after, and all the other things that were produced—all the other bombs that were produced? Do you think that added or ever shifted and change, or—especially in the late 60s with the protests?
Davis: Yeah, in the ‘60s, my dad used to get to work with Dixy Lee Ray periodically and they’d sit and talk. And he always kept saying, you know, we’ve kept it so quiet and we keep it so hush-hush. He says, we’re past that point now, we need to educate people on nuclear power and get away from the—people, and I still talk to people, especially not from around here, when you’re in other states, they cannot separate power from bomb. To them, it’s all one thing. There is no power, it’s just a bomb. And it’s like, no, you can have nuclear power and not have a bomb. And he kept saying, we need to educate—and I remember learning stuff about it in school here. Cousins and stuff back east, they never learned anything about it. They knew nothing about nuclear power, nuclear fission—nothing. [LAUGHTER] I think the sad part is that they didn’t do more educating, they just—they lived too long in that shroud of secrecy, and didn’t spread the knowledge.
Franklin: Right. So you think, maybe it was—even though everybody knew after ’45 what was—and that they were continuing to produced, there was maybe a missed opportunity there.
Davis: And throughout the ‘50s it was still—you didn’t talk about it.
Franklin: Right, the fear, the specter of international communism.
Davis: Right, even though war was over with the bombs, everybody knows about it, it still was a hush-hush. Yeah, I think they missed an opportunity on education. And people just grew up fearing it and not understanding anything about—hey, this could be a decent power source.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: Taking Chernobyl out as a factor. [LAGUHTER] That was a poorly designed—
Franklin: There’s also Three Mile and other—certainly when a lot of people on the East Coast found about nuclear power first—
Davis: Yeah, they learned about it when it wasn’t—sometimes it was a poor design to start with. Well, when we lived in Chicago, there’s the Indiana Dunes. They were trying to build one on the Dunes. They didn’t even have any bedrock to sink it into. And we’re going, you know, they’re dunes? They kind of like, don’t stay put? [LAUGHTER] When we left there, they were still trying to do it. And we’re like, that doesn’t even make sense. So then there was a lot of stupid mistakes, too, that—yeah, you got to think about all the safety part.
Franklin: Right. But it seems kind of hard sometimes to separate the secrecy even from the—there’s so much [INAUDIBLE].
Davis: Do you know, through even the mid ‘60s there was still tremendous secrecy. Mid and late ‘60s. You still, living here, felt like, you know, it was hush-hush.
Franklin: But I imagine with the government owning the town until the late ‘50s that certainly you would keep that element of—that kind of vibe alive.
Davis: Yeah, and pretty much the same people who were here when the government released the town—when I graduated from high school, what, were there 9,000 people in Richland? That was in ’72. So a good chunk of those people were ones who were still here from World War II.
Franklin: Right, and you lived in Richland the whole time, from when you were growing up, when you were born.
Davis: Mm-hm.
Franklin: So did you ever go to the other two cities much?
Davis: Oh, yeah! Downtown Pasco was one of the best places to shop!
Franklin: Oh really?
Davis: Oh, it had the classy stores!
Franklin: Really?
Davis: Oh, yeah. It was a major trek, but you’d go to downtown Pasco to go shopping. Well, that was a big day shopping, because they had the fancier ladies’ stores, they had shoe stores, they had the pet shop!
Franklin: Oh, okay.
Davis: And they had a big drug store, and furniture stores and you could spend a whole day in, quote, Downtown Pasco! [LAUGHTER] That was a classy place to go. And then the old downtown Kennewick was—that was more functional. It had Penney’s and Sears and stuff, you know. Not Sears—what was it? I can’t remember the name of the store. But when you needed fireplace stuff or a stove or something.
Franklin: So like a Woolworth’s or something like that.
Davis: Yeah, but there were several stores. And there was the hardware store that’s still there.
Franklin: Yeah, the—
Davis: Kennewick Hardware is still there. It was there when I was little. I think one of the big things you remember is like going there in three feet of snow because our stove had caught fire. We had to buy a new stove. Back then you could leave your kid in the car, and I was tired of going in and out of stores, and sitting there in the car. I was probably about four. Mom was just inside, you know, ordering a stove and we got a chinook. Within like the time that they took them to order their stove and come out, I watched the snow leave. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Totally fascinating. It was gurgling and stuff, but wow. That’s one thing about this area, you get chinooks. When you talk about it in Chicago, they go, huh? [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah. Wow, that’s really interesting. Did you have any friends from the other cities, or did you mostly—
Davis: My parents’ best friends moved to Kennewick, which was my sister’s best friend—it started out with my sister’s best friend who they lived kitty-corner from us when I was born, and then our parents met and became best friends, and then her younger sister and I are best friends, and we’re each other’s kids’ godparents. But they—when I was about three or four, they moved to Kennewick to a new house. [LAUGHTER] And then he commuted. He had to drive out to work because he couldn’t—the buses didn’t go to Kennewick; they were only in Richland.
Franklin: So there was still a lot of inducement, then, to stay in Richland.
Davis: Yeah, you didn’t have to get that second car, because you’d just walk—most of the guys didn’t walk more than a block or two to get to the bus.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: I mean, these buses were everywhere.
Franklin: Yeah, at the project offices, we have a map—I think it’s from the very early ‘80s but even then they were still running buses, and yeah, they’d go all—
Davis: They go everywhere and nobody walked more than two blocks from their house to a bus.
Franklin: That’s [INAUDIBLE].
Davis: So you only had to have one car. Even when my mom was working, she got the car to go to work and Dad rode the bus. Wasn’t any problem.
Franklin: Right. I bet that would help instill a certain sense of camaraderie, because you’d ride the bus with these guys, and it’s not like today when you get in a car and you’re kind of in this bubble—you have a radio, but you’re kind of in a bubble. Whereas in a bus, everyday, you--
Davis: Well, we lived there, where—the change between the government town and the newer part of town. So you had people like Dad—you’ve got nuclear operators, you had janitors and you had the scientists, all on the same bus. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: I mean, everybody rode the bus. When the bus would come, there’d always be five or six guys standing out down there. And a bunch would get off and a bunch would get on.
Franklin: So after the changeover, it was still the site that operated all the buses.
Davis: Mm-hm.
Franklin: Did they have to pay for that, or was that just a perk?
Davis: That was just—yeah, they just paid for it. I mean, the government paid for it—nobody else could ride the buses, only the workers and they only went to and from work. They weren’t for like the families to go shopping or anything. It was just for the workers. And, yeah, they just got on the buses and they knew they were going to be there.
Franklin: When did bus service start in the area for other people living in Richland?
Davis: It had to have been after—as soon as they started building houses.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: Because these guys had to get to work—
Franklin: Right. Oh, no, sorry—
Davis: And most people back then, you had tire vouchers and stuff—you couldn’t like get tires overnight. You couldn’t even get bananas without a doctor’s prescription. [LAUGHTER] My siblings were skinny, so Mom always ended up with a prescription for bananas.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Yeah, they had to write doctor’s prescriptions. So getting a second car wasn’t even really an option. So they started the bus service really early, just getting these guys out to work as they started building the home.
Franklin: Wow. So you brought in some documents and things. Would you like to—
Davis: Where’d we put them? [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: I think it’d be really interesting to get those on video and to have you talk about some of those.
Davis: All right. They’re not super exciting. This is my dad’s birth certificate. The City of Miller which never was officially a city, in Lyon, Kansas. My father’s records were in the courthouse along with three generations of family records, and it burned down when he was about seven. So he had no birth certificate. And not too long after he started working here, they asked for his birth certificate—that he needed to get it. And he says, I don’t have one. So this is his newer birth certificate that they issued in May of ’42. He came in February so to May he had to get it. They sent an FBI agent out who interviewed his father, his uncle who raised him—his mother died when he was born so his uncle raised him—and his aunt. And they also used an insurance policy that was issued when he was 20 to verify that he was him.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: So not everybody has all these affidavits and stuff at the bottom of their birth certificate, but this was from the FBI being able to verify. My great aunt was like, that was the weirdest thing. [LAUGHTER] Because back there, you just don’t have government people.
Franklin: Right. So they would have been out to the small town in Kansas, then.
Davis: Out in the middle of nowhere.
Franklin: To ask questions about her nephew.
Davis: That was one thing growing up in Richland. You were so used to the FBI coming to your door at least once a month, because everybody had different cycles for their clearances. They would always come to your door and ask, are they part of your—do they drink, do they do that? We talked to them all the time. It was never any big deal, because always somebody in your neighborhood was renewing their certification—their clearance. When I lived in Chicago, they came about somebody who was going to work for the Tennessee Valley Authority. It was my neighbor. My neighbors all slammed the door in their face. I talked to the guy, I opened the door, and I go, oh, yeah! It was security clearance. He goes, you’re the first one who’d talk to me. [LAUGHTER] I says, did it all the time when I was growing up.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: But it scares a lot of people.
Franklin: Yeah.
Davis: But I think they thought it was a little—because the war’s going on, they don’t know what’s going on and here’s these FBI people wanting to know about my dad. I think they’re going, what’s he doing?
Franklin: Yeah, is he a spy?
Davis: Yeah, did he get in trouble? And they’re not allowed to tell them anything. So they thought it was very, very strange when these suited men showed up.
Franklin: That’s great, that’s a great story. And it’s great to have the documentation here to—
Davis: You’ve already seen a million flood pictures.
Franklin: Well, that’s still a pretty—very scarring event for a lot of people, I bet.
Davis: Yeah, this was the flood of ’48. It came within a few blocks of where my parents were living at the time. Don’t ask which street that was back then, because they moved so much. But this was just a family picture of the Flood of ’48 that was so devastating. And then they put the dyke in.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: Here is—well, this one’s tiny. This is just a picture of any summer day in Richland. Everybody had kids. Most the families were young, so there was lots of kids. It was just—even when I was growing up was the same way in the ‘60s. There was kids everywhere. Riding bikes and running between houses, and you came in when the street lights came on.
Franklin: And I imagine not a lot of elderly people in Richland, right? And so that must have—because you would have had grandparents, but they would have been far away, or they wouldn’t be living in town. Whereas in Kennewick and Pasco people might have more extended families living near them.
Davis: Right. My grandmother came here to live with Mom and Dad not too long before she died. But, yeah, grandparents—if you were retired you couldn’t live in Richland.
Franklin: Right, right.
Davis: If you were not working for Hanford, you didn’t live there. So, yeah, there weren’t old people and most of the construction workers who came were young and all had young families.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: So there were kids pouring out of every house.
Franklin: Yeah.
Davis: So this is—how many kids are in just—this is Mom and Dad’s front yard. And the kids played ball together, they ran and played tag. There were no fences, so all the backs of the yards were like one big yard.
Franklin: Wow. And probably still not a lot of trees at that time.
Davis: Not really.
Franklin: And when—can we look at this photo on the back?
Davis: This was 1948. So that’s only three years after the war. So, yeah, the trees are still—if you look around, you don’t see any trees.
Franklin: Right. Wow.
Davis: And here’s another one. This one would be—let’s see. This’d be ’46. No trees. There’s a bush. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: And this is one of your sisters?
Davis: This is my sister. Yeah. First day of kindergarten. But what I brought it for was the A house. See, they had the dark color on top—this one, I’m guessing, is probably the red one. And then the cream. They were all like that, they were all bicolored. We had cream and then one of the other three choices. You had green, red, and blue. That was it.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: The government supplied the paint. This is the house that I grew up in on Newcomer. It was the first spec house sold. We’re still getting our water lines.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: And my dog, Tippy. This isn’t the garage anymore; somebody’s changed it out. But we had—it was really fresh and new.
Franklin: And this was 1960?
Davis: ’60. Yeah, February of ’60 is when we moved in.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Mom says January of ‘60. I always think it was February but oh well. Halfway through kindergarten, I had to change schools. My siblings went, so? Because they had to change schools all the time.
Franklin: Yeah, not a lot of sympathy for you, I bet.
Davis: And this is my dad getting an award for what they called the Christmas Tree, which was the front of the reactor that had lights—indicator lights on it. I don’t know if it says exactly what he—just came up, yeah.
Franklin: He’s D. D. Smith?
Davis: Most people called him D. D. or Smitty. His named was Derald.
Franklin: Derald.
Davis: Derald. Like Gerald but with a D. Let’s see. Yeah, he was considered a pile operator. $185 was his award, which—like I said, that was a lot of money.
Franklin: A couple weeks’ wages, probably.
Davis: At least two or three weeks’ worth of wages. So that was a really big thing. Yeah, something about modifying the lights or something so they were easier to read. Apparently they thought it was a good idea. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Wow. Do you know when that was? Was that during the war? Was this—
Davis: Since my dad never looked any different over a 40- or 50-year period, I’m not sure what date is on this. What was funny is on the back, I found my friend’s dad’s name on it. [LAUGHTER] And I went, oh! I’m kind of guessing this might be the ‘50s?
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: Early ‘60s? I’m looking at the ties.
Franklin: No, that’s good.
Davis: They had a paper that came out of the Areas. That was in that paper—the Area paper was a little fold-up.
Franklin: Yeah, we have a bound collection of a lot of the Hanford GE News and a lot of that. Let’s see this here.
Davis: 1944. This is my dad’s card for the International Union of Operating Engineers.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: And that was December of ’44.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: So this is still during the war.
Franklin: Yeah!
Davis: And this is the other part of the same thing, the International Union of Operating Engineers. Came out of Spokane. Got stamped; I guess for going to meetings. No, his dues, his dues and going to meetings.
Franklin: Makes sense.
Davis: Whoops. This isn’t for my dad; this is for my grandmother. I need to go show Kadlec this. [LAUGHTER] My grandmother got cancer and was in Kadlec Hospital for six weeks before she died.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: Here’s the total of her bill. $386.15.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: The operating room cost $8.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Anesthesia was $10. It cost more.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Lab, dressings—yeah, and she was there for six weeks before she died.
Franklin: Six weeks.
Davis: And that’s her bill. This bill was—yeah, written on the day she died.
Franklin: Okay. And what date was that?
Davis: 1946.
Franklin: Oh, okay. So she moved in, then, pretty soon after the war ended?
Davis: Yeah, and she moved to—
Hungate: And it’s billed through DuPont.
Davis: Yup. Oh, even I—I didn’t even notice that. DuPont.
Franklin: DuPont.
Davis: I don’t know of many people still have a bill from 1946.
Franklin: No. That’s a very interesting bill, though.
Davis: What is this one? Oh, this is just really bad pictures that they took—every year they had to have their pictures renewed. [LAUGHTER] That was—that had to have been a windy day, because his hair’s sticking up all over.
Franklin: Right, well, like you said earlier, they had thousands upon thousands of men to process.
Davis: Yeah, it’s like while you’re at work, and it’s just like get your picture taken, click, and you’re done.
Franklin: And this, on the front it says GE so—
Davis: Yeah, that would have been from after GE took over. I’d say from that picture from the ‘60s.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: What’s this one? Just a few little odd things I found in Mom’s—oh, just—from February of 1942, The University of Kansas School of Engineering and Architecture, Engineering Defense Training Program from—his certificate.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Yeah, this is—I’m not sure exactly what they taught him, or—he never talked about this. I knew nothing about this until I found this just this last week.
Franklin: Wow, interesting.
Davis: So I have no story to go with this, other than the date and it’s my dad.
Franklin: Right. So then he would have came out here very shortly after getting this, right?
Davis: Mm-hm.
Franklin: Interesting.
Davis: Like I say, when they told him to come out, they didn’t tell him why or anything. Just go to this place in Washington that you’ve never heard of.
Franklin: Yeah, we have a job for you.
Davis: And you’re going to have trouble finding it on a map, even. [LAUGHTER] This is just a—it’s got—it says N Reactor Plant Dates—Data. Just about—I think it was a reference for them when they were working.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: It’s pocket size.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: So I think it was just a—yeah, decontaminating, water treatment—I think it was just a little reference thing that they kept in their—on their person.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: And then my dad was trying to get my uncle to move out here from Kansas. [LAUGHTER] And he wrote a letter describing wages, jobs. So, trying to get down to there. Let’s see. “They want patrolmen pretty badly. The pay isn’t as much as I make by about $18 a week.” But my uncle was single, never married, so it probably wasn’t any problem to him. And he says, “However it isn’t bad. You start at $58 a week.” [LAUGHTER] It says, a week. And after 30 days, after you’ve passed that, you move up to $60 a week. And then after six months you get $62.50 a week. Yeah, they were looking for patrolmen and firemen and a lot of the other stuff. And he asked—my uncle was in World War Two, and he asked if he had any training in anything specific that might be used out here. But my uncle stayed back in Kansas and eventually became a—because of being ex-military, he became a postman. Not a postman, a postmaster.
Franklin: Okay.
Davis: A postmaster in a little town. But he never did come out. I just thought the pricing—just thought it was interesting, because 58 bucks a week.
Franklin: That would have been—that’s a good chunk of money back then.
Davis: For my uncle, for what he was making in Kansas it would have been a whole lot of money. [INAUDIBLE] Oh, meals at the cafeteria average $0.75. It’s just littered with little stuff like that. He was trying to convince my uncle to move back out here.
Franklin: Right, wow.
Davis: What’s this? Oh. This was in a Kansas City Times in 1947. “Growing Town of Atom Plant Workers Is a Distinctive Sort of Community.”
Franklin: Mm.
Davis: So, that was kind of—you know. This is what, when people released—after the war’s over, people are starting to hear, now, what the heck was—[LAUGHTER] going on, and how different our towns were from towns that had been around for 100 years.
Franklin: Right. And that it’s completely government controlled and—
Davis: Yeah, and plants were far from town. You know, Dad would usually spend an hour on the bus going out to work, and we were in North Richland.
Franklin: Wow.
Davis: Yeah, but I think this is what my uncle had cut out and sent to him.
Franklin: Cool.
Davis: From Kansas. And the highest birthrates in the nation. [LAUGHTER] Because everybody was young. I was part of that major boom. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah. Wow, that’s neat. That’s neat that he saved that.
Davis: And my sister says—we were talking and she said, yeah, when you went to school, you stood up on the first day of school and said where you were from. Kansas, Oklahoma, Arkansas. When I went to school, we had all been born here. There weren’t any outsiders, I guess, because we were all born here.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: But during the war, everybody stood up and said where they were from. Because everybody was from somewhere.
Franklin: Right.
Davis: She says, there was a few—once in a while you’d run into somebody who says, oh, I was born here. And they’re like, oh. [LAUGHTER]
Franklin: Yeah, oh, you’re an original!
Davis: Oh, you’re really strange! You didn’t come from the Midwest? Because that seems to be the biggest proportion came from the Midwest. Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma, Arkansas.
Franklin: And Texas, too, there was a huge—but that’s definitely where they were pulling lots of people from.
Davis: And it was mostly by word of mouth as their job tended to—go to Washington. What are we going to do? Can’t tell you. Because I don’t know.
Franklin: Take this train to a place you’ve never heard of.
Davis: Yup. Any other questions?
Franklin: No, I think that was great. Thank you so much for sharing. I learned a lot of things that I didn’t know about, growing up here.
Davis: Oh, I probably—going to think of a million things driving home, I’m sure. Oh, I should have said—[LAUGHTER]
Douglas O’Reagan: My name is Douglas O’Reagan. I’m conducting an oral history interview with Everett A. Weakley on January 13th, 2016. Interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. And I will be talking with Everett, or Ev—would you prefer Everett, or--?
Weakley: Just—yeah, Ev or Everett. Either one.
Douglas O’Reagan: Okay. About his experiences working on the Hanford site. Okay, well thanks for being here. So—you were just telling me while we were having some camera issues—I’d love to hear about sort of how you got involved with the Hanford site, what you were working on that brought you here, and then your sort of early years, what you were working on here.
Weakley: Well, they came up to University of Idaho and recruited people. And I was one of the ones they recruited. So I came down here, and they put me on work at the tritium program extraction process. So I was a process control engineer at that time.
O’Reagan: Do you know why they recruited you? Were you working in physics?
Weakley: They were after engineers, especially chemical engineers at that time.
O’Reagan: I see. Did you know anything about nuclear science specifically?
Weakley: Oh, no. We didn’t know squat. [LAUGHTER] Of course. Because we were up at University of Idaho. But it was a lot better than being drafted and sent to Korea.
O’Reagan: How much were they able to tell you about the job before they hired you?
Weakley: Very little. Very little. They didn’t tell us what was going on. They came down here and they put some people—engineers in this job, some in this job. I was selected for tritium extraction.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm. Could you tell me about your first experiences on that job? What sort of the first month or two like? Do you remember?
Weakley: Well, they put us on shift work. I think it was called XYZ shift. And it was only five days a week, but it was—changed. So they were going 24 hours a day, but only for five days. It was a glass line at that time. Tritium was extracted and then you had to send it—you had to pump it out through palladium windows—that’s the way they got the hydrogen out, and the tritium and the deuterium. And then we had to collect those in glass containers. It was all hooked up to the system. And then we were designing one for a metal one. So I went in on the metal designs also. And most of that work was done in the shops down in—oh, what do they call it—the old Hanford site. They had a lab—or a place down there, and they did most of the work—construction work. And then they assembled it all. It was interesting work, actually. Because they kept me out of the Korean War, also, so I was happy about that. I didn’t want to go over there.
O’Reagan: Part of what we’re trying to get an idea about is sort of—what was it like working on the Hanford site? Is there anything that sticks out to you about the way things worked? Or the structure, or anything like that?
Weakley: Well, since I was a single guy, they put us in the dorms. They ran out of dorms, so they put us—there was two dorms that were down in the women’s dorm area. So they put us in one of those dorms down there. I remember there was a—what the heck street was that? Anyway, those women’s dorms were right close there, too. And then we’d go up and eat at the Mart, which is still here, but it isn’t called the Mart now. And we’d walk through this field of—I think they were prunes or plums or something like that. And you’d go through there and you’d get attacked by the birds. [LAUGHTER] They would actually attack you during the daytime. So it was a lot of things going on. For dorm club, we’d go down to—oh, the Blue Mountains, and we’d go up to Mount Hood, and hunting and fishing was always what I did. It was a good place. Lot of people. It was interesting, because everybody was new, had come in. It was quite the exciting time to see all these people from all over the United States.
O’Reagan: Did you live in the dormitories long?
Weakley: Oh, let’s see. I lived in there until I got married in ’53. Then we got a B house on Van Giesen Street—one end of it. And I wasn’t the oldest tenant, so I could not buy that anyway. I wouldn’t want it anyway. And then they started selling houses; I got a H house, south end of town and had to remodel that. Had to dig out the basement and all that. By that time, I had several children, so I kind of had to make room for all these kids. Took out the chimney. My wife did not like the coal-burning stove down there to heat the place. So we put in electric baseboard heat. Swamp coolers on the windows. Re-put new—took the chimney out. Had to put new roofing on. All that sort of thing. And later on, we moved to where we are on Pike Avenue now. Then we had more kids. [LAUGHTER]
O’Reagan: Keep you busy.
Weakley: That’s right.
O’Reagan: What was life like in Richland in the ‘50s?
Weakley: Well, it was kind of—there was always something to do. Mainly, down along the river in the park. We’d go down there for entertainment in the evenings. There’d be dances. And then I took up square dancing, my wife and I. So that was in different places, but mainly at the end, it was down in the—what do they call it, down there now? At the park. Oh, community house. It’s still going. I think this is their last year. We used to be on what’s now a hole in the ground, on the south end of that building, was where they used to have a structure. That’s where we danced, it was in that. And they had a kitchen in there; everybody’d bring food. It was a nice time. Had a lot of fun.
O’Reagan: So you said—do you feel it was easy to get integrated into the community, to be a part of the community at that time?
Weakley: What do you mean?
O’Reagan: Well, I’m just thinking in terms of your—you’ve been describing a very interesting social scene that people can get into. I’m just thinking, there were a lot of new people coming into town. How—you yourself, of course, experienced this—what it was like to be a new resident in Richland.
Weakley: Well, mainly you were in dorms. So, you were all right out of college. Here you are, a bunch of college kids, here—men, and then college women right next door to them. So there was a lot of dating going on. Then we’d go over to Pasco, to the Elks Club at that time. And on Friday nights, they always had a fish dinner. We’d go over there and dance and eat. That was a good time. That was ballroom dancing, it wasn’t square dancing. That was later.
O’Reagan: So returning to your work for a minute, I guess to some degree you’ve done this, but could you sort of describe a typical work day, and did that change over the long course of time that you were working there?
Weakley: Well, when I went out there, I had to work shift work. XYZ shifts. You’d work daytimes, evenings, and nighttime. I didn’t like that too well. Then when I went to 300 Area, I was all daytime, which I liked.
O’Reagan: How much did the work you were doing change as you got these successive promotions, as you got the new jobs?
Weakley: Here?
O’Reagan: Yeah. I mean, when you were an engineering assistant, was your—I’d assume—if only because it’s decades earlier—how different was your work than when you were principal engineer or senior principal engineer?
Weakley: Well, the added responsibility, of course. And I spent a lot of time in the old reactor fuel and then I wrote a lot of documents on how to—the canning process. And that’s probably in here—I’m pretty sure it is.
O’Reagan: I noticed here, it says that you are an expert on fuel manufacturing environmental issues. I wonder what—when did that become a priority? The environmental issues, was that something that was always part of your work, or did that develop over time?
Weakley: Environmental issues—you worried about what was going out the stacks, especially in 313. We had slug recovery—we’d take the aluminum—the ones that were reject—and they would dissolve the aluminum cans off in caustic, and they always had this exhaust going out. If you didn’t watch it, it would suck out quite a bit of moisture with it, and that would have caustic in it. We had trouble with the women walking by—their nylon hose would disintegrate. And they didn’t like that. I don’t blame them. And you could feel it—you could feel it on your face. They had to fix that up, of course.
O’Reagan: Were safety issues or the environment ever something you were concerned about working there?
Weakley: Oh, yeah, I was always worrying about—And then at the 306 Building, making fuel elements for the N Reactor, I was involved in that—a lot of things. I had to make trips to the aluminum companies that made aluminum products for us. Bought them back east, and some of them in California. So I did a lot of traveling, going to these different places, trying to get improvements made in aluminum ore, and later on, Zircaloy-2. That was Wah Chang made that down in Oregon—made Zircaloy-2 for us. That was interesting. So you’d take a drive down there and visit their plant. And then you’d go to these other places and visit those plants.
O’Reagan: These were to get components for the fuel manufacturing?
Weakley: What’s that?
O’Reagan: Were these trips to get components for the fuel manufacturing?
Weakley: They were making components for—
O’Reagan: I see. How much—let’s go with this. Could you describe the ways in which security and/or secrecy impacted your work?
Weakley: Well, you couldn’t talk about what you were doing, and we knew that. I made a lot of trips—I went to National Lead Company in Ohio at Fernald. That’s the ones that we would get our uranium cores from, for the old reactors. Then I’d go down to Mallinckrodt in Weldon Spring, Missouri, and that’s where they started making the billets that they’d send up to—on Lake Erie. There was a place that’d take the big billets and make smaller billets for the N Reactor. So I was always traveling around. Then at the same time, I was going down to the Savannah River plant and checking on what they were doing, because they had the same people. Like me, engineers that were busy and they’d get together and compare notes, and try to get the lower prices on some things. Especially aluminum components for the old reactors. Nothing much you could do about the Zircaloy: it was pretty well fixed. The only plant I never go to was the one that made the braze rings for the N Reactor fuel. That was back in—and it had beryllium in it. And I never had gone to there. I don’t know—I just plain missed it for some reason. I don’t know why.
O’Reagan: Was it easy to communicate with all the engineers and workers at these plants, or did the secrecy ever sort of inhibit that?
Weakley: Oh, no. If you’re buying, say, Zircaloy stuff, you go right down here in Oregon and talk to them. And that’s what we did.
O’Reagan: Okay.
Weakley: Same way back east on the aluminum plants. Did a lot of traveling. My wife didn’t like that, I don’t think, but we had to travel a lot. And it was old airlines at that time. [INAUDIBLE] had an airline to go to Spokane. You could catch a plane from there, it takes six hours to get into—now takes just a few hours.
O’Reagan: Was it unusual that you were traveling that much? Did other people also travel that much from the Hanford site?
Weakley: Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah, a lot of people were traveling. It’s hectic now. I won’t get on an airplane anymore, so heck with them. [LAUGHTER] I’m retired; I don’t do that.
O’Reagan: Do you feel the security or secrecy of the place changed much over the decades?
Weakley: Oh, yeah. When I started here it was really secret. They didn’t want the Russians to know anything about making tritium. But the secret got out, because somebody in Savannah River—or down at Oak Ridge probably told them. So nothing we could do about it.
O’Reagan: Right.
Weakley: But oh, yeah, they tried to keep it secret.
O’Reagan: What were the most challenging and/or rewarding aspects of your work at Hanford?
Weakley: Ooph! That’s a tough one.
O’Reagan: It’s a big question. Any particular times that you were working on a project that was really stumping everybody? Any real challenges there that stick out?
Weakley: Well, there’s always challenges to make things safer and better, and don’t dump stuff out into the atmosphere, or down the drain out to the ponds. Because at that time, they ponds along the river. And it discharges—a lot of stuff went into that pond. They tried to clean that stuff up, but—oh, yeah. When you have time to go through this, you will find a lot of things in here that I worked on.
O’Reagan: Is there anything in there that you’re particularly proud of having accomplished? Or that sticks out?
Weakley: Well, I lasted the whole—until I got laid off. [LAUGHTER] That’s an accomplishment—I didn’t get crapped up with anything.
O’Reagan: Did you like your job?
Weakley: Oh, yeah, I liked it. Oh, sure. It was a challenging job. I wrote a lot of manuals. That’s one of the things I did, a lot of manual writing when I was out there. There are still some of those around on the processes of lead-dip canning process, and co-extrusion process. I did a lot of writing.
O’Reagan: Have the Tri-Cities changed much in your time living here?
Weakley: Oh, yeah.
O’Reagan: And how?
Weakley: Oh, yeah, since I came in ’50? Oh, yeah. There’s a lot of changes. They couldn’t even allow the blacks to live in Kennewick. They had to go over in Pasco, for instance.
O’Reagan: Right.
Weakley: So we didn’t see too many blacks, actually. Now towards the end, they started hiring some people in that were blacks. I had no problem with them.
O’Reagan: Yeah, we’re trying to get a sense for how the community has changed over time. I know that’s a vague question. That’s certainly an interesting point about the demographics of it. Anything else about sort of the social life, the number of things going, anything else like that that sticks out to you on how the community’s changed over the decades?
Weakley: Well, I always had been hunting and fishing. So when I came here, I took up hunting and fishing again. Some of the people that I—I belong to the Rod and Gun Club—joined that many years ago, and I still belong, even though I got rid of my guns last year. I don’t go out and dig goose pits in the middle of the winter anymore. That’s too cold. I didn’t like to eat geese, anyway. [LAUGHTER] But I had a lot of good trips hunting down the Blues and up north of Spokane, up in that area.
O’Reagan: One of the things—well, okay. Let me go to this one next. What would you like future generations to know about working at Hanford and/or living in Richland during the Cold War?
Weakley: Hmm. That’s an odd one. Well, for one thing, we couldn’t announce what we were doing anywhere. If you could, you made sure you didn’t. If they said, hey, you’re from Hanford. But it didn’t bother me on traveling too much. Because I’d usually go on to aluminum vendors or Zircaloy-2 vendors. Or I’d go to Savannah River plant, which has got the same restrictions as we have. And it was a free exchange then when you went there or you went to National Lead at Fernald. It was free exchange with the people there. So that was just like being at work. So I had no really problem with it. I didn’t really like traveling that much. But there was nothing I could do about it.
O’Reagan: You were mentioning your collaboration people at Savannah River. Can you tell me more about that?
Weakley: What’s that?
O’Reagan: You were mentioning your training people at Savannah River, is that right? Or just trained people who eventually were at Savannah River?
Weakley: No, they were—I met one of them. But they sent people up in tritium extraction. Because they built that plant for tritium. The guy that was running the tritium extraction plant was one of them that I trained. And the last trip I made down there, I met him and went into the tritium extraction plant with him and talked to him. He gave me a tour of what it was like. It was a lot different than what we had out here, of course. Then they shipped their stuff again to Oak Ridge.
O’Reagan: Okay. So, I’m also interested in how people commemorate their community, how people celebrate the history, or try to remember the history. I understand that you’ve been involved in some of the historical groups around here. Can you tell me something about that? Why you thought that was important, why you got involved with those groups?
Weakley: Are you talking about the Richland Rod and Gun Club, for instance?
O’Reagan: Well, them and also the B Reactor Museum Association and so on.
Weakley: Well the B Reactor Association, I was one of the earlier ones, before they got the Indians out there. It was interesting, because I was on the ground floor with them. In fact, I was in a meeting this week with them. I still belong to them. Just like the Rod and Gun Club, I still belong to them, even though I don’t—got rid of all my guns because I don’t go out and dig goose pits in the wintertime anymore. So it was interesting.
O’Reagan: I always find that there’s an awful lot of things that I don’t know that I should be asking. What could you—what would seem important or interesting that you might want to talk about, or think might be worth discussing that I might have not thought to ask? Anything that comes to mind?
Weakley: Hmm. Not right off the top of my head, it isn’t.
O’Reagan: Sure, that’s fine.
Weakley: [LAUGHTER]
O’Reagan: Yeah. We’re just trying, as I said—we’re most interested in getting a feel for life in the Tri-Cities throughout the Cold War, up to the near present. And just how things have changed over time. What it was like to be a worker on the Hanford plants, how work on the Hanford plant changed over time, what it was like living in the community and getting to know people. So really, a broad set of things, but there’s always questions I don’t think to ask.
Weakley: Okay. Well, you might have some ideas when you go through this later on. They gave me this, had my payroll number on it and all that. My service dates, 6/19/50 is when I came here. And payroll number 51500 was pretty easy to remember, thank goodness.
O’Reagan: As you went through this, did anything—
Weakley: Huh?
O’Reagan: As you started reading through this again, did any memories leap to mind? Did anything about it sort of jog any fond memories or any surprises?
Weakley: Well, we always had surprises. We never knew what was going to happen. Item—let’s see, what is that? Item four.
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm.
Weakley: I would ship pyrophoric uranium Zircaloy chips and fines back to National Lead. And we had surprises there, because they were supposed to use metal pallets. Somebody brought in wooden ones. And they put all these things that we had full of concrete and chips and fines in it, and they had to take them over across the street into a building. And when they did that, they heated it up and it broke one of the containers, and it caught fire on the shipping containers. They weren’t supposed to use shipping containers. That was a hell of a mess to clean up. Because we had a fire, had to clean all that up then. But we actually shipped the stuff back there and they recovered the uranium and reused it.
O’Reagan: Well, I think that’s the written questions I have here. There are certainly a lot more interesting stuff here. Again, if anything comes to mind you would like to speak about, we would love to hear a bit more. Also, it mentions here that your historical knowledge of site activities, particularly in 300 Area, has been extremely valuable in the preparation of the RCRA and CERCLA documents and planning. Could you tell me anything about that initiative?
Weakley: Whereabouts are you?
O’Reagan: It’s number five, sub-point A.
Weakley: Oh, okay. I did a lot of document writing and preparations of these RCRA and CERCLAs documents and planning. And I worked with—what’s her name? Michelle Gerber?
O’Reagan: Mm-hmm.
Weakley: I worked a lot of work with her, as she was a kind of historian. You’ve probably met her, of course.
O’Reagan: I know the name, but I haven’t actually met her, I don’t think.
Weakley: You haven’t met her?
O’Reagan: I don’t think so.
Weakley: Amazing. I’m surprised you haven’t met her yet. Anyway. She needed a lot of work. I would find things in 300 Area when we were cleaning out for the old reactors, getting 313 cleaned out. We would find movies. I’d ship that out to her, and then she made a CD out of it, I think. It showed the canning process, which had never been done before. It was—
O’Reagan: Do you think the history of your job is going to be well-preserved? Do you think the records are still there that can reflect on your times, your work? That is again, sort of an open-ended question here. I’m just trying to think through how people will remember this time in history, and sort of the work that you were involved in. You’re mentioning you found this film and were able to get it out there. But probably some materials didn’t make it out, for security reasons or whatever else, or just weren’t preserved. Do you feel that people have an accurate memory of the time as you look through?
Weakley: Well, most of them, I think, do. I always rode a bicycle around, between the buildings out in 300 Area. I would collect lead parts that I’d see laying around and get rid of them—or pick up anything else. So that I would ride those into the building. [LAUGHTER]
O’Reagan: I saw—I was out at the DoE’s artifact collection—historical artifact collection. They have some bicycles out there that I guess were what you were describing, people traveling around the site. Was that common?
Weakley: What do you mean?
O’Reagan: You were using bicycles to get around the site?
Weakley: Well, it was in our area. Oh, I used it all the time. And it had a basket in the back wheels. I’d put something in there—I would collect lead brick or something like that, and put it where the lead’s supposed to be and kind of clean things up. Well, it was a pretty good-sized area, 300 Area, so if you had to go down to the south end for some reason, you wanted to get there and get back.
O’Reagan: Right. Okay. So as I said, I think these are the questions that we had prepared, sort of the general ones here.
Weakley: You might have some questions when you—well, you can use anything you want out of this write-up.
O’Reagan: Yeah, I think this will be a great help. This has been very interesting from my perspective here. We certainly thank you for your time. Yeah, I think that’s at least our first set of questions. But maybe if anything occurs to us, or to you, maybe we could send follow-up questions? Would that be okay, if any questions—
Weakley: Oh, yeah, you can always get ahold of me if I’m around. I don’t go travel too far since I’m 88.
O’Reagan: All right. Well, thanks very much. We appreciate your time.
Weakley: Oh, she’s still back there.
O’Reagan. Yeah.
Weakley: [LAUGHTER]
Northwest Public Television | Rhoades_Jack
Robert Bauman: Okay. We'll go ahead and start. And if we could start by having you say your name and then spell it for us.
Rhoades: Sure, my name is Jack L., middle initial for Lewis, Rhoades, R-H-O-A-D-E-S.
Bauman: Great. Thank you very much. And my name is Bob Bauman and this is October 16th of 2013. And we're conducting this interview on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. So let's start with, if you could talk about your family's background. What brought them here? What brought you and your family here to the Tri-Cities, and when, and that sort of thing?
Rhoades: Sure, well my dad worked for DuPont in the early '40s--like '40, '41, '42--in a TNT plant for the war effort, and he had a college degree in chemistry. So when the Manhattan Project kicked off in late '43, he was one of the people selected out of DuPont's Joliette Plant to go down and train on the chemistry of plutonium at Clinton Works, which later became Oak Ridge, Tennessee. It was located in Oak Ridge, probably an Army Depot at the time. And when he was transferred to the Clinton Works, why, my mom and my younger sister and I—I would have been about four then—went back to the ranch in Colorado and lived with her parents until my father got transferred up here to Hanford in like April of '44. And we finally got a house, or were on line to get a house, by August '44. And so what I can remember--I mean I was a young kid, but this was pretty traumatic, all the excitement of the war effort--but my mom got a telegram, which was hand-carried out to the farm by the postman. And it just simply said, go to Denver, get on train such and such. There'll be a one-way ticket for you waiting, get off at Hinkle, Oregon and the government will take care of you from there. So it was amazing because the train had some servicemen on it, but the preponderance of people on this train were women, just like my mother, headed to Hanford with two or three screaming kids. Everybody was trying to carry a couple suitcases, trying to carry a kid or drag a kid. We got off the train in Hinkle, Oregon—which is out like the armpit of America—and it was dark. It was probably midnight. And the Green Hornets, or the old Army buses, were there with a bunch of MPs. And the soldiers were really great. They helped all the women get their luggage off and loaded us all up into buses and drove over-- course we had to go the long way around Wallula Gap to Hanford. And the parking north of the Federal Building was all administrative and dormitories. So my dad had actually been in a dormitory there with a roommate for six months. And so he was out front waiting when the bus got there, along with tens of other guys. And so his roommate had gotten moved to another room, so there was like two cots in there. And my mom and dad had one cot, and my sister and I had another cot. And we lived there for several weeks until his name came up and we moved into an F house on—it's Jadwin now, but it used to be Goethals—down in the 300 block. There used to be Campbell's Grocery Store across the street. That's the way life started for us. I was five at the time, but my birthday was in late October, so I started the first grade in Lewis and Clark, which was one of the first schools that was occupied by students because they were still building the houses toward the north. I think maybe Marcus Whitman was in place, and later on Jefferson was built. But there were so many kids that when my mother took me to school, I was assigned to go to school from 6:00 AM to noon. And then other kids came in and went from 1:00 to like 5:00 or 6:00 at night. And so nobody had a car. You just were on foot. And then of course, the government had the Green Hornet buses for transporting people around town to a limited extent, but mostly for transporting workers out to the 200 Area. My dad was actually was the first plant manager of T Canyon, which was one of the two bismuth phosphate plants for producing uranium from the fuel from B Reactor. He later became the manager of 231-Z. When they first started processing plutonium, the end result at Hanford was plutonium nitrate, and they had to reduce it. It would come out of T and B Canyons as a fluid liquid. And so 231-Z then condensed it down to like a green Jell-O, and that's what they flew to Los Alamos. And then Los Alamos actually converted the green Jell-O to the metal which went into the first Trinity explosion. And even though everybody knows about Nagasaki because of the plutonium there, there was actually a third pit that was available. And after Hiroshima, Tibbets flew back to the United States to get the third pit in case it was needed. But, fortunately, the Japanese surrendered. So after the war was over, my dad got promoted up to what was called an area supervisor. He managed all of the plutonium activities because they'd started a new building that was called 234-5, or Z Plant. And Z Plant was the plant that produced the pits during the Cold War, and that's the nuclear core. So what they made down at Los Alamos for Trinity and Nagasaki, they transferred the production and the production line up to the building in 234-5 and he was a manager of that. I remember, in later years, my dad talking about the building was divided into two parts. There was the top secret half and the secret half, and the workers didn't know who was on the other side. They had entrances from different directions and they never communicated. And the whole building had—the doors were like a bank vaults, not three foot thick, but they were steel bank vault doors. And he said he had to memorize over 100 combination locks in the building. And to him, that was one of the more challenging tasks that he had to do.
Bauman: And how long did he work at Hanford?
Rhoades: We left in '50, and it ultimately caused his demise. But he had, according to the health physics people, he ended up dying of stomach cancer. And so there was a 50-50 chance that it was caused by working at Hanford. But he had developed really severe ulcers. And they eventually had to cut out half of his stomach because it just perforated and he kept almost bleeding to death. And so we moved to Texas and he went into business with one of his brothers in Odessa, Texas selling real estate and insurance. And later moved back in about 1960 and he then worked for United Nuclear, and he was a manager of extrusion press for N Reactor fuel. And then later on was hired by DOE and was a director of safety for DOE.
Bauman: And what was your father's name?
Rhoades: Paul Gordon Rhoades.
Bauman: And so during the war period when you were in first grade, did you have any idea of what your father was doing? What he was working on? What his job was?
Rhoades: No, absolutely nothing. And he was absolutely paranoid about the secrecy aspect. I can remember that vividly. And I can remember when news of the bomb was released on the radio, and my mother called him on the phone out at the plant. When she said, did you know that the bomb they dropped on Japan was made in Hanford? And he slammed the phone down, wouldn't even talk to her. He viewed working at Hanford as the same way a marine would view going ashore in Iwo Jima. It was his duty. In fact, he was not really for going after the compensation stuff that I think was voted in in 2000.
Bauman: Did he at some point then talk about what he was doing out there? What he--
Rhoades: Not much really. I mean, he did have anecdotes, like talking about the Green Run, when they released iodine-139. And one of the things I remember him talking about was arriving at work in a bus. And ruthenium is something that can't be filtered out in the sand filters on the plutonium processing plants, and so it would condense on the side of the towers because the chimney was so tall that it would cool off and then it'd condense on the inside of the--Well, every once in a while there'd be a change of conditions and this stuff would flake off, and go out the top of the stack, and be like snowflakes falling on the ground, and they have a short lived half-life. So the guys would get off the bus. They'd have to put on gauze mask and booties and everything, and walk into the building, and then get decontaminated before they entered the building. And then that was the start of their eight-hour shift. But there was no question that production was paramount. And there's no question in my mind that what DuPont did with the knowledge that was available in those days for designing the canyons and the reactors, was nothing short of brilliant. And even though people are upset with the environmental contamination--because we basically have got five square miles--or five by five, 25 square miles that's contaminated from the soil to the groundwater out there in the 200 Areas. But compared to what they did in Russia, which was dump it straight into the lake that fed out under the Arctic Circle, DuPont took advantage and was farsighted beyond belief in my professional estimation. I just marvel at how DuPont did on designing the reactor, and designing the canyons, and having them work safely.
Bauman: You say your father didn't really talk about it a whole lot--his work—did he ever express any concerns about safety at all or was he--
Rhoades: Never. In fact, DuPont was--as I grew up, and then as I worked later and they were down at Savannah River, and when I was working at Hanford--DuPont probably had the highest reputation for safety of any large organization in the nuclear industry. At Savannah River, if a guy climbed up a ladder, and did something stupid, and fell off and broke his arm at home, and he came to work and they found out that he had been unsafe at home, then he had time off. I mean, he was punished for what he did on the weekend because he was not thoughtful in his safety process. But DuPont, I held them in extremely high regard, high reputation. And they were, when you think about it, they did this for a dollar. They definitely were part of the war effort that sacrificed for the good of America. They weren't in it to make money or anything like that. They just were doing what they were paid to do. And they got out as soon as they could. And then they came back and did a second stint when they were asked. They were the only company that the government trusted. So they built Savannah River.
Bauman: I want to go back to talking about when you first arrived and you were five years old, do you remember any sort of first impressions that you had, or early memories of first arriving in Richland?
Rhoades: Oh, it was, of course, for a kid in the first grade, it was exciting because everybody was the same. They were all on foot, and they were all new. In fact, that kind of curiosity anecdote was on the first day as I was walking to school with my mother, and we got about half way to the school. And another woman who's coming in on a side street, and she had a little boy. And my mother just about passed out. It turned out it was her college roommate, who they hadn't seen since she graduated from college. And they both had gone their separate ways and it ended up that they are actually living in the house behind us. And they renewed their friendship from college and it went on until they both passed away.
Bauman: Wow.
Rhoades: Yeah.
Bauman: You mentioned that in first grade, you started at 6:00 AM. There was so many children that was a way they could serve the needs of all the families with children. How long did that last? Did that last through first grade or--
Rhoades: Yeah, it probably did last the first year. But by the time the year had gone by and as a year progressed, they were building hutments out alongside the school. So basically, the first grade was about the only time I went to school inside of a building. And maybe the sixth grade up in Jefferson, I went inside a building, but the rest of time I was always in a hutment. There were just more kids than there was space. But yeah, that was sparse. I mean, you didn't have a car. The only entertainment was playing bridge and softball. They had a very organized adult softball league, so that was the entertainment. There was no stores to buy Christmas gifts or anything. You ordered whatever you wanted out of Sears and Roebuck in July, and it got back-ordered, and you got it in the following July. But when Griggs opened over in Pasco that was a big thing because when I wanted a bike. And when my dad bought me a bike, basically, he had to borrow somebody's car. And we drove up to Yakima, and then he came home and assembled it, and turned us loose. For kids, the basic entertainment was skating. And they had concrete tennis courts up by Lewis and Clark--on the south end of Lewis and Clark--and so that was the only surface that you could roller skate on, because you had those old clamp on roller skates that you tightened with a key that just hooked on to your heel and the sole of your shoe. And so we were just constantly roller skating. There wasn't other entertainment. There was just recess at school.
Bauman: Were there any movie theaters, anything like that?
Rhoades: Yeah, there were. There were two movie theaters. And every weekend your dad gave you a dime. And you could get in for a nickel, I think, and get popcorn for a nickel or something like that. Probably everything you stood in line for—I mean everything—there was just a line beyond human belief. Like when it was haircut time, the only barbers in town at that time were down at the Allied Arts, down below Jackson's bar. And so, I don't know, they had two or three barbers in there. So Saturday morning, the boys and their fathers would show up to get their haircuts. And so there'd be a line of 100 kids. There wouldn't be no adults. They were all up at the bar playing pool and having a beer while the kids stood in line waiting to get a haircut. But when Ganzel’s came in was like night and day. Even shopping at the grocery store, you had to become friends with the butcher. If you didn't know somebody in the grocery store, and they befriended you and gave you a heads up that, hey, there's some marshmallows coming into town, why, you just did without. You ate a lot of canned fruit and vegetables and stuff like that. And people were always doing their own chickens and putting them up. But it was just pretty spartan. They gave you a house. I don't know if my dad even paid any rent. Basically, they gave him grass seed. They gave him coal. We just had a real nice house. And my parents had borrowed somebody's pickup, and they'd driven up Yakima and bought some furniture, and brought it home one piece at a time. But we lived down there on Goethals for, probably, from '44 to '49, or something like that. And then we moved up on McMurray, and then we left in '50 and went down to Odessa, Texas.
Bauman: What about institutions like churches? Were there churches for people to go to on Sundays in those early years?
Rhoades: We didn't. It wasn't because my parents didn't believe in God, it's just like we didn't go to church. I mean, we'd have had to walk. I'm not even sure where--I honestly do not remember where the closest church would have been. I'm sure there were churches, though, because the government set off areas for parks, they set off areas for schools, they set off areas for churches, very thorough.
Bauman: What about any community events that--
Rhoades: Not much. They had Richland Days. They had like the polio March of Dimes drives. Actually it was probably after—between, let's say, '45 and '50—when Camp Hanford really had gotten established and they had moved in missile people. This was just a sizable number of soldiers up there in North Richland, but they had much better facilities for entertainment--movies and all--it was just built newer. And so even though my dad didn't serve in the service, he had a lot of friends that had been in the service, and so we could go to movies up there. And they had outside entertainment that came in that you could go to. We never did live out at Hanford or anything like that. My ex-father-in-law actually came here and he lived out at Hanford for a while.
Bauman: So you said your family then moved away in 1950, and then came back in 1960? Your father came back?
Rhoades: Yeah, about ten years later he came back. I'm not too--
Bauman: Did you come back at that point also?
Rhoades: Well, I was in college, so I came up here after I graduated in '61 and went into the—they still had the draft at that time—so I volunteered for the Navy, and ended up flunking a hearing test and flight school. So I got washed out of flight training. And Vietnam hadn't started to build up yet so they weren't desperate for pilots. So after I got out of the Navy, I came back up here and stayed for a short while and got a job. I had a mining, engineering and geology degree, so I got a job in Colorado in a molybdenum mine, and worked there for a couple of years, and decided to go back to college and get a degree in metallurgy. And so I went to WSU and graduated from there in '65, went down to Kaiser Steel in California. By then, my dad had moved from working for the contractor into working for the AEC. Now, I'm not too sure—I'm sure he just probably just wanted me and my wife and their grandkids closer to them—but anyway, he told the people in personnel that I had a metallurgy degree. And one day I got a call from Wanda Cotner, that was the branch chief over the personnel hiring, and she asked me if I'd come up for an interview. And she said that she could give me a nice raise if I'd think about joining the AEC. So I ended up accepting the offer. And when I got my Q Clearance, I moved up here in July of '67, and worked for DOE as an individual contributor over PNLs. It was a Hanford lab. PNL, I guess, had taken over by then. They had a number of very important metallurgical programs on understanding how plutonium reacted, especially in the reactor with neutrons hitting it all the time. So I advanced very nicely. And by the early '80s, I was assistant manager for--it was then ERDA or AEC--for all the compliance programs at Hanford--that'd be safety, and QA, and environmental, and security--so all the compliance structure at Hanford. Then, probably, in about '84, I guess, I moved me over and I was assistant manager for all the nuclear operations at Hanford. So I had the 300 Area for the fuel fab for N Reactor. And we still had N Reactor running. And FFTF was starting up, we had PUREX running and T Canyon. I probably had a billion dollar budget back in the '80s just for all the nuclear operations here at the site. So we did the first comprehensive EIS that was ever done in the Department of Energy for the tank farms, built the last double shell tanks that were ever built.
Bauman: And how long did you work at--?
Rhoades: I worked for about 20 years for DOE, and the AEC, and then I took an early retirement in, must've been like 1988. So it must have been about 21 years I worked here. So I left Hanford and went over to Idaho Falls and was as a manager over their capital construction projects. And then I got transferred to Rocky Flats. After the FBI and EPA had shut down Rocky Flats, the Department of Energy terminated the contract with the contractor. And actually they didn't even compete the contract. They just, literally, gave it to EG&G, which is almost unheard of, to not compete a major contract. So I was in charge of—they had shut down Rocky Flats operations. And so when EG&G came in, our charter was to restart the plant. And so I was the project manager over restarting the plutonium operations at Rocky Flats. I got promoted up to being assistant general manager over environmental remediation. And then I got a call from Lockheed down in Houston and they were trying to break into the DOE business. And so they hired about 20 experienced people that had worked in and outside of DOE to put together proposals to run these big contracts, whether it be Oak Ridge, or Rocky Flats, or Idaho, or Nevada Test Site. And so then I worked for Lockheed and it then became Lockheed Martin. But I worked for Lockheed from like '93 to '96, and I was a general manager of one of their environmental remediation divisions. And I transferred back up here, which was probably about the sixth or seventh time I've been through this town. But when Lockheed Martin and Fluor won the Westinghouse contract in '96, I got transferred back to Richland. So I'd made a circuitous loop that had gone from Richland to Idaho Falls to Rocky Flats outside of Denver, down to Houston, the Nevada Test Site, and the back up to Hanford. But I ended up, after I retired from Lockheed Martin, I went to work for a small business here at ATL International. They currently run the 222-S Laboratory. I was a vice president for them over all their Hanford work. Eventually, I just decided to go out on my own. So I consulted from about 2004 to the end of 2011. And by then, I looked around and all my contacts had either died or moved to Arizona or Florida. Even today, I probably don't know two human beings that are still working for a living. But this place has been--and DOE has been—absolutely a blessing to me.
Bauman: I want to go back. So your family left in 1950. Then you came back in '67, roughly?
Rhoades: No, I came back in '61.
Bauman: Right.
Rhoades: Just for a short period of time. Just long enough to enlist in the Navy. And then when I got ready to start flight school, I took a hearing test. And believe it or not, the physical requirements for all branches of service are the same. It's just that they check people that are going to be in the Air Force or in the Navy, they just check certain things closer than they do if you want to be a marine. And so I was just borderline acceptable in the hearing. And since they had an abundance of pilots and the Vietnam War hadn't escalated or not, they ended up giving me an honorable discharge and reclassifying me as 1-Y, which is, it has to be a national emergency to call you back up. I came home and then went to Colorado and went to work in the mine.
Bauman: When you came back here for the job working at Hanford, I was wondering, what ways had the community changed since you were here as a child going to school?
Rhoades: You know what, to me, at a macroscopic view of the Tri-Cities, the biggest thing that's changed is the number of people. Richland is still uptown and downtown. Kennewick is striving to open up that area between the two bridges along the river. But the biggest thing is now there are probably three times as many people. There was probably 90,000 people between the three towns early in the '50s. And now there's probably a quarter of a million people. And so the biggest changes is that the roads and streets haven't been modernized--or the stoplights--to handle triple the traffic. But the wine industry obviously is a major thing, because when I was a kid growing up here—When they talk about termination dust storms, they were not kidding, because I lived in eastern Colorado and my parents had lived through the Dust Bowl, and I knew what dust storms looked like. And when they hit Richland, your house—I remember my mother, she—when they vacuum--you've just got sweep broom and a wood floor, and your sweeping it up, and throwing it in the yard with a dust pan. But the irrigation changed all that. There's just so much more moisture going up in the air that the dust storms are few and far between. And the humidity has gone from like 10% or 15% probably to 35%. And the summers have gotten less extreme. When I was a kid, it was not unusual at all for July--from the first of July to the end of July--to be 110 to 115 degrees. I've seen it 117 degrees here. And now, just look at this last summer, we had a few days of 101 or 103. But the climate has mellowed out with the extremes. Like in '48, the Columbia River froze clear across from side to side. You could drive a truck across it. The same year as the big flood. So the extremes have gone away. And instead of the real dips and curves a sinusoidal curve, it's more shallow extremes. But the fact that they now have Meadow Springs, and they have Clipper Ridge, and West Richland, of course, has expanded from a nothing. When I was a kid there was just basically a few people that liked to have farmland lived out there. There was probably as many people living in Yakima as there was in Richland, because they couldn't build houses fast enough. And those that worked in the 100 Areas or the 200 Areas, it was just as close to come in from Yakima as it was to drive from Richland.
Bauman: You talk about a number memories from your childhood, are there any other things, events, or particular memories that really stand out from those early years in Richland?
Rhoades: You had to make your entertainment. And you had to wait in line for everything, including getting a car. Jeez, it must have been '48 before we got a car. And in the Sunday paper there was an ad that said, call a number in Seattle, and get on a list for a Buick. And so my mother did that. And about six months later we got a call and said come pick up your car. We got on a train over in Pasco that just had wood benches in it, and we went over Snoqualmie to Seattle, and got this new '48 Buick, and drove it home over Snoqualmie Pass. People from all over the neighborhood were kind of ogling this car because anybody else that had a car basically were driving some pre-1940 model, because during the '40s they didn't make cars. But that was a vast improvement for us to have our own wheels. But self-made entertainment. When we lived up on McMurray—of course, all these guys that came here from the '30s and '40s, all the entertainment they had as they grew up as kids was self-made also. So playing pool was a big activity. And so my dad bought a pool table over in Pasco, and we had it in the basement. And on the weekend, he and all of his buddies iced down beer and played kelly pool all afternoon, that was the entertainment. And probably that night those same guys, with their wives, had a little potluck at somebody's house and played Bridge. My parents played bridge all the time.
Bauman: I wanted to ask you, then, also about your working at Hanford. Hanford for so long focused on production. You mentioned that production, production. At some point, of course, it shifted to cleanup. I wondered if that shift impacted your work at all?
Rhoades: Well, by the time I left Hanford it was still in a reduced production mode. The writing was on the wall that environmental restoration was the future of Hanford, not production. We fought to keep N Reactor going because it was dual purpose. But especially when they passed the RCRA, or Resource Conservation Recovery Act, that was the first major commitment by the US Government for an environmental cleanup. And they sent that law, or bill, out to all the field offices and asked for the field offices to comment on what effect it would have on their operations. And Dixy Lee Ray was the commissioner at the time. And I must've been a director of safety at the time. So we got together with the contractors and we labored over this. And fortunately, I have a knack of being able to synthesize complicated things into a very concise statement. And when we got through reviewing this, I wrote a letter for the manager of the field office. And it was about this long, and it simply said, this will shut down nuclear pit production for the United States of America. And from that point on it was one lawsuit after another as Congress tried to extend its will on the defense industry. But at the time, like when I was a Rocky Flats, the reason they were so anxious to restart that plant that was the only plant in all of DOE complex that didn't have two--like there was Hanford and Savannah River, there was Los Alamos and Livermore Design Lab. So there was a duality in everything. But when they removed the pit production from Hanford, instead having pit production at Savannah River and Hanford both, they built a new plant at Rocky Flats. And it was the only plant that made pits. And so it was a choke point. And when the FBI and EPA shut that plant down, basically, we had nuclear subs that were out in the ocean with 20 missiles and there was no spear point on the end of the spear. They were not loaded because we were not making pits. So that was why the defense industry was fighting with Congress on the environmental cleanup was because we were not in a good defensible position nuclear-wise during that Cold War years if we had the boomers out in the ocean that didn't have a number of warheads on top of them. And that's why EG&G got the contract because DOE believed that they could restart the plant and start making these pits. So even though the environmental law was saying you should be shifting quickly to environmental restoration at Rocky Flats, the headquarters people over defense programs were telling you under the table, get this plant running. We need these pits for the defense of America. So it was real catch-22 for the management of the Rocky Flats plant. But eventually, it became obvious that they were never going to restart the plant and so everybody shifted into a full environmental restoration mode.
Bauman: During your years working here at Hanford, what would you consider some of the more challenging aspects of your job, the work you were doing here, and maybe some of the most rewarding aspects of your work?
Rhoades: Well, you know--[SIGH] I mean, rewarding is a hard thing to define because that was one of the primary reasons I took early retirement. Let me just use Yucca Mountain as an example. When I hired into the AEC in '67, the United States Government was looking for a repository for nuclear fuel in Lyons, Kansas. So that was '67, and here we are, 2013, and we're no closer to solving that national problem today than we were 40 years ago. So the satisfaction that comes with mission accomplished was always very difficult to achieve. It was more of a case of frustration on my part that the grass looks greener on the other side of the fence. If I was going to go any higher in DOE, I would have to go to Washington, DC. Because I was already an SES and that's as high as you could go without a congressional appointment. But the most challenging thing was that when Alex Fremling came in to be the manager of DOE, he brought a complete new, fresh environmental sensitive outlook to the plant. And so trying to deal with the public interface over leaking tanks—106-T was a big bump in my career. I went from a nobody to a branch chief just with one tank leak. [LAUGHTER] But he was very environmental conscious and he was very safety conscious. And so he ratcheted the whole system up, not just one notch, but numerous notches. Because when they built the nuclear industry, they did not have safety standards for the nuclear industry, because it was a brand new industry. So if you looked at the operation of the uranium side, then they used the safety standards of a steel mill and a blast furnace to do the safety standards for Fernald and these other uranium enrichment places. And if you look at the chemical processing in the canyons, they looked to the petroleum cracking industry for safety standards. And if you look to the waste disposal, which was the operation of the tank farms and the burial grounds, it had the same basic safety standards and the interest as a commercial landfill. And so it wasn't until the nuclear Navy was born and Rickover installed a completely different safety philosophy because he was going to have 200, or 300, or 400 sailor—lives were dependent on everything functioning perfectly. And Alex Fremling was bright enough and young enough to recognize that. And he brought that standard into Hanford. So there was just a real crash program on upgrading the operational procedures for tank farms and other waste disposals. Skin contaminations were accepted as—like a guy working on your car, he accepts the fact that his hands are going to get greasy. But Alex didn't accept that. He said, you know, we're going to have zero accidents. And we're going to have zero skin contaminations. We're going to be open with the public on any of these tank leaks. And the problem was we didn't have, really, the skill to measure how these tanks were doing—whether we're losing material or not losing material. And even though you could measure the depth, the interest of whether it was unacceptable to leak was not there. And the reason for that was that when the first tanks were built, they were built in 12. So there's four rows of three, and the separation process was simply a settling process. So the waste would come into the first tank and fill up, and the solids would drift to the bottom. And then it'd overflow into the second tank, another lighter batch of solids. And then it would flow into the third tank, and more solids would fall out. Then it would flow into the ground. And so if you're putting stuff in the ground for ten or 15 years, and using nine exchange properties of the soil to capture the radionuclides, then what's the big deal about a tank leaking a little extra waste? You've already put a billion gallons of stuff into the soil, what's another 100,000 gallons? So that was the mentality that Alex faced with the contractors when he came to Hanford. I give him credit. He single-handedly changed that. And he took on the challenge to do the very first environmental impact statement on tank waste for the whole agency. He was the guinea pig. He was the front runner, or the blazer, for the DOE on environmental issues. And so I honestly think that Hanford, even though, because of the design of the plants, there was no way to retrofit these plants to not discharge stuff to the soil, but there was a way to monitor it better and be more acutely aware of occurrences that you didn't want to occur. Whether it was stuff leaking on the ground on top of the tank, or whether it was stuff leaking into the ground through the bottom of the tank.
Bauman: So what time period are you talking about here?
Rhoades: This would have been in late '70s up to, probably, '87. And Mike Lawrence came in '87.
Bauman: And it's Alex Fremling?
Rhoades: Yes, Fremling.
Bauman: How do you spell the last name?
Rhoades: F-R-E-M-L-I-N-G.
Bauman: So that's when you noticed a shift definitely taking place?
Rhoades: No question. I was a student of, that instead of resisting these changes, I embraced these changes and I was rewarded for that. But the mentality of the DOE—or it was ERDA at that time, but the mentality of the workers in ERDA were no different than the mentality in the contractors. I mean, we'd been doing it this way for 30 years, why are we changing? He conducted the first operational readiness review probably in the nation for startup nuclear facilities.
Bauman: How were you able to change that mentality I guess into the--
Rhoades: You know what, I'd say, probably, through the award-fee process. It's through the money. When I first got here, contractors had contracts, but there was never any real evaluation of whether they deserved their fee or didn't deserve their fee. So once we instituted an award-fee process in which we itemized the areas for improvement, then quantified A, B, C or D or F, you could then quantify. If they had $10 million fee that's up for grabs for this quarter or this six month period, you could quantify how well they did to meet those goals. So it was very intense and it was a steep learning curve, but it produced results. And we changed contractors, too.
Bauman: Mm-hmm, right. So this was when you would have been in charge of compliance programs?
Rhoades: First, yeah. After I was a branch chief, I was an assistant division director. Basically all of my career was in nuclear operations, especially with the tank farms. And even though I moved over to be the director of safety, and then on to be the system manager for compliance, you were just viewing operations from an independent standpoint. You didn't direct nuclear operations, but you did appraisals, and you did audits, and you did oversight, and you graded a contractor on his performance independent from operations.
Bauman: Was it during your time there, I mean, at some point of course there were a lot of questions raised about the tanks. And in terms of the public, questions about tanks leaking and that sort of thing. Did you have to deal with any of that sort of thing?
Rhoades: Listen, I spent—if I wasn't making presentations to the public or defending our actions to the public, I was doing so in front of Congress. There was constant barrage and it was difficult to communicate because by this time the environmental support groups were springing up to put pressure on DOE to perform and to clean up and to accelerate. And, of course, you control certain things, but you don't control your budget. Congress controls your budget. And so it was difficult at best, and it was contentious. It's constantly contentious because it was like I was speaking in English and they were listening in Greek. We couldn't communicate, because they were just totally upset with what the government had done to end the war. They forgot that what was the end result was stop the war and save millions of lives in the invasion of Japan. And they had forgotten that. And it was just on the bad things that have been done to the environment. And I'd be the first to agree to that--I don't think that in hindsight, if you went back and re-ran it ten times in hindsight, I don't think anything would have changed. Because the same pressure to beat the Germans to the nuclear bomb and the same pressure to end the war in the Pacific would not change. And so you'd only have the capability to do what your technology was advanced enough to do at that time and place.
Bauman: I wonder if there's anything that you haven't talked about, or I haven't asked about yet, either in terms of your years growing up here as a young child, or your father's work, or your work at Hanford, that you'd like to talk about, or think it would be important to talk about.
Rhoades: I would just simply say that I think that the people and the contractors in the government, as well as contractors, have always given 100% to do the right thing. And they don't get much praise. And they are constantly vilified because they're missing milestones and stuff like that. But there is just some extremely technically challenging work to be done out there. It's been a flywheel for this site since 1943, and it's going to continue out probably to 2075. But they'll never clean the site up, and they'll never walk away from it. They'll have some 25-square-mile pad out there that has all kinds of markings on it, don't drill here. But they're making tremendous strides in cleaning up the groundwater and removing the stuff along the river. I never dreamed in my wildest dreams that they could clean up all the burial grounds and trenches along the river and the buildings. Each one of those reactors had the facilities enough to run a small city, and now all that's left is a cube. You could paint dots on it or something like rolling dice across the prairie. But I just think it's been remarkable how much they've cleaned up and how safely they've done it. You don't ever read of anybody getting killed out there, or maimed out there, and they're still using a lot of heavy equipment. The safety standards are extremely high and it’s part of the reward, the carrot in front of the donkey. If you're safe and have a good safety record and you make progress, you get your fee.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you very much—
Rhoades: Sure.
Bauman: --for coming and talking to us today and sharing your memories and experiences. I appreciate it.
Rhoades: Great, thank you very much.
Northwest Public Television | Peters_Leonard
Leonard Peters: Leonard Peters. L-E-O-N-A-R-D P-E-T-E-R-S.
Arata: Thank you. My name's Laura Arata. It's November 19th--already--2013, and we're conducting this interview on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. So I wonder if we could start, if you could tell us a little bit about how your family came to Hanford and where you were from.
Peters: I was born in Denver in August of '43. My father came out in June or July of '43 from Denver. And so my mom, myself, and my brother were there in Denver, and when I was two months old we came out with another family, the Carl Eckert family. And it was my mom, Mrs. Eckert, their daughter--who was about my age--and my brothers. So five of us came out in a car in October of '43. And my dad was working out here. And so that's how we came out, was in an old car.
Arata: And what was your father doing at Hanford?
Peters: He was a truck driver. He drove for Remington Arms in Denver, who was DuPont, and he also worked for Bechtel up in Alaska. And he came down and went back to Denver and was driving, heard about this place. And if you'd like a very interesting story--
Arata: Always.
Peters: He was driving for an Army officer. A colonel or something, I'm not sure. Kind of a--I'll say chauffeur, but it wasn't really a chauffeur. But my dad had heard about this place. And he asked his--I'll say colonel--about it. And very few people knew about it. But this colonel says, well, I can't tell you anything about it, but if you've heard of heavy water, it has something to do with heavy water. Of course my dad, heavy water didn't mean anything to him. But you know, hindsight. It's kind of interesting to me this colonel knew a little bit about what was going on here. As big a secret as it was, not that many people knew. But he had some idea of what was going on. I found that very interesting.
Arata: Yeah. And how long did your father work at the Hanford site?
Peters: From '43 until he retired in '73.
Arata: Okay, well, we'll come back to that. I want to ask you just a few questions about the area. Obviously you were very, very young—
Peters: I'm sorry. He passed away in '73. He retired in '67.
Arata: Okay. I'll have more questions for you. [LAUGHTER] Do you remember, growing up, what sort of housing you lived in, what the situation was like?
Peters: My first memory was an A house, 1520 Thayer. We moved in there about 1945. So that's my first memory, though we lived many places before that, as my dad's Q clearance bears out. But my memory goes back to the A house in 1945.
Arata: Did you live there for quite a while?
Peters: Lived there until around '56, '57.
Arata: And could you describe that house a little bit, for anyone who doesn't know what an A house is?
Peters: An A house is a duplex, two-story. You have neighbors literally right next door to you. It was a three-bedroom, all upstairs. And of course back then there was no air conditioning, and it would get hot in the summertime. I can literally remember summers, 109 to 110, 112 degrees. And the only air conditioning was a swamp cooler. So it was pretty miserable, but yet you didn't think about it because that's just the way it was. The government literally furnished everything, from throw rugs to table, chairs. I mean literally everything. Coal. We had a coal-burning furnace, and like once a month or so on, they would deliver coal. And you had to make sure there was a coal bin that had slats in it, and you had to make sure that the slats were in, because if you forgot to put the slats in you'd have coal all over the basement floor. And so that was kind of interesting. My dad, every morning, would have to get up and stoke the fire and get it going in wintertime, because we used to have some pretty bad winters compared to today. And so that was, again, just part of living in this area. Dust storms. You've heard of the termination winds. The wind would blow and the curtains would go back and forth and just wave in the breeze, with all the windows closed. And you'd have a quarter of an inch of dust on the windowsills and everything. But there again, that's just the way it was. I can remember one story--my wife tells that when her mother came out with her and her brother, met at the train station, and the father was there to pick them up. There was a windstorm right then. And her first words were "Sherman, get me a ticket back home." And they ended up dying here, and buried here. And I know my dad, he swore he would never—he wanted to go back to Colorado, but again, he was buried here and lived here all the rest of his life. But what else can I say on the government? Everything—you know, I've heard of people—we never did do it, but people get tired of a chair or something, they'd break it, call housing. They would need another chair, and they'd come out and replace the chair. And if you had—back then they had fuses, as opposed to breakers. Blow a fuse, call housing, they'd send an electrician out to change the fuse for you. I mean, it was pretty amazing, really. And it was good quality furniture.
Arata: Cool. So I'm wondering if you could talk a little bit about growing up in Richland in the '40s and '50s, sort of what the community was like at that time?
Peters: It was a fairly small town, of course. I think--and this is just my memory--it was about probably maybe 23,000 people, was all. Something like that. And it was truly a Leave It to Beaver era. People laugh at that, but that's exactly what it was, because if you stop and think about it--in order to live in Richland, you had to work out in the area. In order to work out in the area, you needed clearance. And it was not unusual to have someone knock at the door and be an FBI agent investigating someone or something. I mean, it was very controlled. And so there was no crime to speak of. Nickel and dime stuff. But there was one murder, in all those years. They never did find the killer. But no, we'd play out all night and folks wouldn't think a thing about it. That’s just the way it was. And in the summertime, like I said, as hot as it was, all the windows and doors would be wide open and wouldn't think a thing about it. And people kind of knew one another. Not that you knew everybody, but that small a town and everyone working out there. Everyone rode the bus, so there was a camaraderie with not only where you worked but also on the buses. And people I think really did try and watch out for one another. But no, growing up, it was great. One kind of fun story. We used to hooky-bob. You know what that is?
Arata: I don't.
Peters: Okay, what we'd do in the wintertime when the roads were snowy and icy. You'd hide behind a bush, and as a car went by, you ran out and grabbed the bumper and had them drag you around. And that was a lot of fun. That was one of the winter sports. But it was kind of interesting. I can remember, newspaper front page showed a bus with a glove on it. The story was, it was a hooky-bobber and his hand was wet and it froze to the bumper, and--make a long story short, it was on the dangers of hooky-bobbing. But it just happens that the guy that that glove belonged to graduated a couple years ahead of me. Name was Jim Crum, who is now an attorney for the US government. But no, it was a fun time. I mean, Friday night shows was wall-to-wall kids. Very seldom was there a fight or anything. We'd hang out at the Spudnut Shop, or there was another place called Tim's. Someone that had a car would drive around the Uptown area about 30 times, just looking for gals or whatever. I mean, it was an American Graffiti time. Have you seen American Graffiti?
Arata: Yes, sir.
Peters: You see that, and every person in there--Hey, that was so-and-so; that was so-and-so. I mean, it was so accurate to our high school days. It was a good time to grow up. Wintertime, of course, we had Christmas tree forts, and if there was snow on the ground we'd have snow forts and choose up sides and have snowball fights hiding behind our snow forts. We would, if there was no snow--or even if there was snow after Christmas--build Christmas tree forts. Stack them up and have a roof on it, even sleep out in it. But if a neighbor down the street--you know, if they had a Christmas tree fort, about one or two in the morning we'd sneak down and steal all their trees. And we'd have a bigger fort then. We would sleep out a lot in the summertime, because it was hot. I can remember we would sleep out maybe 10 o'clock at night or so. There were still orchards, cherry orchards in town. Up on Van Giesen. We lived just around the corner on Thayer. We'd get up, go down there and steal cherries. We'd steal quite a few cherries. Then the next day we'd sell them house to house. What else was there? The buses were a big part. The buses were fun, because there was two groups. They were both run by the government, but there was what they called the city local, which took people from point A to point B as far as downtown and uptown, different places. Then there was the outer area buses that took workers to work and brought them home. But there was two different--not bus companies, but groups of drivers that drove for each group. But not only hooky-bobbing, but it was always fun to--as buses passed--snowball them, and throw snowballs at them. Just fun things.
Arata: Some good winter sports.
Peters: Yeah.
Arata: Could you talk a little bit more about these--you mentioned Friday night shows, and also the Spudnut Shop. Could you describe those a little bit?
Peters: I mean, everyone went to them. All the kids went to them. And you know, you're talking the '50s, where rock and roll was just coming in. I wrote a piece one time on--I really think that we were born at a nice time, because we can remember big bands, we can remember that type of music and how rock and roll came in. And of course parents didn't like rock and roll at all. It was evil, and all this. But a lot of the movies, some of the movies, had rock and roll stars. I can remember people dancing in the aisles while the movie was on. Things like that. I can remember one gal was dancing what they used to call a dirty bop. They ended up kicking her out. [LAUGHTER] But no, there was dancing and hooting and hollering. Before the Uptown Theater opened was the Village Theater. And that was when we were younger, but that's when they showed the serials, whether it be Superman or Whip Wilson or whomever. But every Saturday we'd go to the show. There'd be a cartoon as well as one or two double feature. That's back--we were young, but a fun thing then, I guess, was to have your popcorn boxes. They were boxes at the time. You'd flatten them and throw them and make a shadow on the screen. That was the big deal. But the Village Theater was so strange because it was all kids, basically. Because the Richland Theater, which is now The Players, was more the adults. The Village Theater was for little kids. But you would walk down the aisles, and was a kind of carpeting, and you'd stick, stick, stick, stick. I don't think they ever cleaned it. Pop spilled on it, candy bars, and everything else. That was fun. Then they did build the Uptown Theater, and that was more adult movies. But on Friday night, it was lot of science fiction. That's where you saw Frankenstein, Dracula, The Wolfman, and all that. Then the midnight shows had really neat--they'd have a midnight show, and we wouldn't get home until three in the morning, but no big deal. You'd walk home. No big deal. I don't know if you can do it today, but there'd be half a dozen of your friends walking home with you, just having a good time. But the Friday night shows--I started smoking quite early. I don't smoke now. But I can remember, for mowing the lawn and peeling the taters and things that, I’d get $1 a week allowance. And with that dollar I could buy a pack of cigarettes, which would last me a week, get into the show, and have like a dime left over. So I mean, a dollar, I was in fat city.
Arata: Do you remember how much a movie cost, about that time?
Peters: First ones I can remember was $0.11 or $0.12, and then it went to $0.20. And I think during my high school days, if I remember right, it was probably $0.35, something like that. I'm not sure.
Arata: All right. I'm fascinated by the Spudnut Shop and Tim's. Can you describe those a little?
Peters: Well, Tim's was where Dr. Chavla placed his--it's kind of caddy-cornered from the graveyard, the old graveyard. And it was a nice place. A fireplace in it and everything. That's where the kids hung out. And it wasn't really a pizza parlor, but it was kind of a pizza parlor sandwich place. It was our high school days, and it closed, I'm not sure exactly when, but became Einan's Funeral Home. It went from the restaurant to Einan's Funeral Home. And then Einan's, of course, moved out on the bypass. But the Spudnut shop, it's bigger now than it was. It used to just be just a few booths. But I can remember Spudnuts were, let's say, $0.10. And for a Spudnut ala mode--that was a Spudnut with soft ice cream on it--that was $0.15. And if you had $0.15 for that, you was in pretty good shape, because we didn't have money like that. And there was another place just two doors down from that that was the Fission Chips. But it was interesting the way they spelled fission. It was fission, like nuclear. It was Fission Chips. You can see some old pictures of the Spudnut shop, and just a couple doors down, you'll see the Fission Chips. But we'd hang out in the Spudnut Shop before the movie, and then maybe go there after the movie. And that's just where everyone hung out. When we had a car later, more in our high school years, we hung out at a place called Skip's. It was where Les Schwab is now. That was kind of the hangout there. I don't know if you want this on there. It's not very nice. But Skip's, there was a young girl worked there with a cleft palate. One the guys that we kind of ran with, he had a cleft palate also. He was about three years older than me. But he pulled in there, him and friends, and she said in her cleft palate way, ,ay I help you? He said yeah, give me a such and such. And she got mad, you don't have to make fun of me! Because she though he was just making fun of her. Kind of a sad story, but kind of humorous also. The movies was a big part of life. Of course, swimming. We used to swim in the Yakima a lot. And the old pool, what we used to call the big pool, down in what's now Howard Amon Park—it used to be Riverside Park--there was a swimming pool there. And the flood of '48, '47-'48, it flooded the park. And so they done away with that pool and built the present one. That flood was quite a deal. I can remember going--the bridge was out--going out of Richland, and they had a pontoon bridge. And that causeway wasn't there then. It was just flat. But I thought that was so neat. We was going across the bridge, and you see pontoons all the way across it with lumber to drive on. And that always impressed me. Down around Gowen and things, I can remember the basements flooded from that flood. And it was quite a flood. That's when they built the dam or dike around Richland and Kennewick and so on. The—I was thinking of something else, and lost it. But no, the flood was quite an event. I worked with a guy named Ralph Schafer, who had a private pilot's license, and they hired him as a bus driver. But they let him go from bus driving long enough, because the only way to the airport at the time was to fly from Richland to Pasco. So they hired him to ferry people to the Pasco airport in his private plane, because basically there was no way out of Richland, until they put that pontoon bridge in.
Arata: I wonder if you could talk about--obviously you went through school here. Do you have any memories--there were also some residents that were here prior to 1943, that were still in school here, that were moved off of their family lands. Did you go to school with anybody who had memories of that, that you recall?
Peters: Not to my knowledge. You hear all kinds of stories and things that I don't know. I know I've heard that one family--or some people, I'll say--when they were, quote, kicked out of White Bluffs Hanford area, they moved to Prosser, Sunnyside, somewhere up there, and swore they'd never set foot in Richland. And whether that's true or not, I don't know. But I know there's hard feelings over it, rightfully so. But no, I don't know of anyone. I know we had a lot of construction workers in trailer parks in north Richland. There was a big trailer park, and they had an elementary school out there, John Ball. And once they got all the houses built that they were going to build, I guess, they closed the trailer park and closed John Ball and had them all into town. But I can remember living on Thayer, going to school at Old Sacky—Sacajawea, the Old Sacky--that for some reason, for two-three days they sent me to Spalding. I had to walk to school, which was maybe three, four blocks, five blocks. I can remember big piles of dirt, having to climb over them to get to school. And the reason for that was they were building the ranch houses at that time. So I was probably first grade, I'm guessing. So they were still building in the late '40s, early '50s. In fact, Bauer Days and the Richland Village came later, after the letter houses. But school--no, I honestly can't remember any kids there.
Arata: No problem. We're here to get your memories, so. A bunch of other things I want to ask you. One thing, you said your father worked in Hanford until '67.
Peters: He retired.
Arata: He retired in '67. So he was working in the area when President Kennedy came, in 1963. Do you have any memories of that event?
Peters: No. I was in the Navy then, so no. I know my wife said that she went out to see him. And there were so many people you could hardly see him, but she went out to it. But no, I got out of the Navy in October, '63. I was on a train back to Denver to visit relatives. It's kind of sad. I was sitting in the club car playing cards with strangers, and the porter came in--a black fella--says, [EMOTIONAL] the President's been shot. And we all--aww, go on, he's pulling our leg, he's joking. Then I says, you don't joke about something like that. We were somewhere around Wyoming on the train, and then they was able to get a radio station over the PA or whatever it was. Sure enough, a little bit later--that he had died. And that's how I learned of it. I'll never forget that train ride. Got to Denver, and it was just strange.
Arata: Of course. And we're right on the anniversary of it now.
Peters: Yeah. Yeah. But my dad, I don't know if he went to see him or not. I mean, he was a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. He came out of the Depression. He was born in '03, so he'd been through a lot. I can remember him saying that he'd vote for a yellow dog before he'd vote for a Republican. He was the old Democrat. But he did vote for one Republican. That was John Dam, who was running for county commissioner. They were personal friends. He said that's the only Republican he'd ever voted for.
Arata: One exception.
Peters: Yeah.
Arata: So did you work at Hanford at all?
Peters: Yeah.
Arata: You did. So could you start filling us in on that a little?
Peters: I worked 40 years out there. Hired on '65. And luckily my dad was still working, so we overlapped. We were both drivers. And I started out as a laborer, though they called them servicemen--basically a laborer. And I got set up to bus driver. And in '61, had a layoff. And I could have stayed, but I thought, man, let's see what else is out there. And I went and worked for Battelle. I was with Battelle for about 13 years in inhalation toxicology. Long-term study. Plutonium, curium, americium studies on dogs. And in about '84 I quit Battelle and went back to transportation, because money. You know that all your college folks know that biology is not real high-paying, unless you're a PhD or something. But a BS in biology's not much. But no, I really enjoyed that. In fact, when McCluskey's glove box blew up, about 200 Areas were exposed to--I forget if it was curium or americium, but there hadn't been a lot of studies on those. And like I said, I was working in inhalation toxicology, and we got two or three big contracts right after that to study the health effects of curium and americium through inhalation. He was an amazing man, because I worked with PhDs. Immunologists, veterinaries, hematologists. You name it, we had the discipline there. Pathologists. And they didn't give him six months to live, with what he got. And he ended up living probably 20 years or better. It is quite an amazing story. You can go on the internet and look up Atomic Man, and his story's in there.
Arata: We actually interviewed the gentleman who was in charge of the cleanup, cleaning up his hospital room.
Peters: Yeah. I don't know if it was this guy I worked with, what we called a radiation monitor. Now they're HPTs or something. But he was with him, scrubbing him and things. His name was Larry Belt. He'd be a good interview for you. I worked with Larry for a number of years. He was our radiation monitor when we exposed dogs and so on. But he said, you can't believe the pain this man was in. He said, we had to literally scrub him with brushes, because he had stuff embedded in his face and so on. Terrible. He says, submerge him and scrub him. No, Larry Belt could tell some stories about it. But back to my job. I quit Battelle for financial reasons and went back to driving. Drove a bus for a lot of years. They shut the bus system down, and I went and worked driving a truck, and drove ERDF trucks hauling the solid waste from out around the river and so on. Did that for a number of years and retired. I taught HAZMAT classes for the last about ten years. But buses were the fun job. A lot of stories there. One of our drivers named Carl Adcock was driving down Delafield, taking the day shift home--so it was about four or five in the afternoon—and a little girl was standing out in the middle of the street playing. About five, six years old. Stopped his bus, pulled the brake, got out and spanked her butt, get out of here! Got back in the bus, and the passengers were just--what are you doing? You could get in trouble for that. And it was his daughter. But no, we've had people have epileptic seizures on the bus. And there's all sorts of things like that. A lot of stories.
Arata: You must see a little bit of everything.
Peters: Oh, yeah. We had poker games, bridge games, on the buses. They had cardboard tables. Four people would sit down, put their table between the aisles and play cards. They had a bridge game going from 100F, which was where the animals were before they built 300—the animal life sciences 300 Area--but they had a bridge game that was going steady for at least 30, 35 years. I mean, it was different people. You know, someone would retire, someone else would take their place. But it started out at 100F at lunch break and then on the bus, and it continued. When we were at 300 they were still playing. Again, it was different players, but it was the same game.
Arata: Wow. There's something I wanted to ask you about. Returning back to when you worked in inhalation toxicology at Battelle, did you work with the smoking beagles?
Peters: Yes. That was my first job, was smoking.
Arata: We just interviewed Vanis Daniels--
Peters: Oh, yeah. I know Vanis.
Arata: --last week, who worked with the smoking beagles. Can you describe for us the process of getting the beagles to smoke two packs a day?
Peters: Well, the hard part's lighting 'em. No, the reason for the study, as I understood it, was uranium miners were dying early, and they wanted to know why. Because it could be cigarette smoke--because most of them were smokers--uranium ore dust or it could be radon daughters. And so we had a group of--I forget now. 70 dogs, 60. Something like that. And 10 of would receive smoke only, cigarette smoke only. They had a table, kind of a horseshoe. The mask fit over their muzzle with a cigarette in there, and like every seventh or tenth breath, a little gadget would open and their breath would suck in the smoke. But then ten of them would receive uranium ore dust and radon daughters. There was a large chamber that held ten dogs around it, and up in the top there was a grinder thing that would grind the ore dust and sprinkle it down in. I mean, it wasn't noticeable, it wasn't thick, but it was in there. And then we had radon. I think it was water bubbled through it that would give the radon gas, and it would get into the chamber. And then we had another ten that would receive cigarette and the radon. And then a control group that didn't receive anything. They were called sham. You'd bring them in, go through all the same routine, but they wouldn't receive anything. And just see what the effects were. And it was a lifespan study, so you'd look at the dosage and how long they lived and what affected them the most. So that's basically what it was. One story I heard--probably true--was that the Russians said that our limits were too high, should be lower. So that maybe prompted it, I don't know. Then after that when we got to 300 Area, 100-F moved into 300 Area, and they closed 100-F down. And then they had a group of just smoking dogs. And it was more difficult in the sense that we had a mask that fit over their muzzle, and they could trick it. They could breathe out of the side of their mouth. When they did it at one area they trached them, and there was no cheating that. It was direct. There was no getting around that. I learned a lot. I mean, that was one of the most exciting jobs. And the learning curve was just like that. I really learned a lot about physiology and biology and chemistry. You work there that long, and you learn a lot. Because part of my job was necropsy--or what they call autopsy, but necropsing the dogs. And we always said we took everything but the bark. I mean we literally disarticulated them and took every piece that they had. Every organ, every bone, separated it. The reason for that—we wanted to know where the plutonium or curium or whatever went to in the body. Where was the body burden? Was it in the lungs, was it in the bones? And interestingly enough, we exposed Pu-238 and 239, and the 238 would be a bone-seeker. The bones would have high doses. But in 239, the bones hardly got anything. It was all soft tissue. So they learned a lot from that, as far as where these elements--what they seek. The target organs, if you will. I don't know if all that should go in this.
Arata: Fascinating. I really love hearing about it. Could you talk a little bit about--obviously, during those times, security and secrecy was still very much a part of working at Hanford. Did that impact your work at all?
Peters: Oh, a lot. You know, being raised--from my oldest memories, it was secure. And I can remember when I was probably about 10, 11, 12 years old I went in for a library card here in Richland. They asked who my dad worked for, and I was scared to tell them. Because the security--my dad never told me what was going on out there. And I knew security was a big deal. And I says, I don't know. I kind of knew, but I--And she says, well, what does he do? And I says, well, he drives. So then she wrote down General Electric. But no, I mean, it was paramount even as a kid. I can remember—and this is kind of funny hindsight--but kind of put yourself in that timeframe--I can remember calling my brother who was seven, eight, nine years old--would have been in the early '50s, McCarthy era--I can remember calling my brother a dirty communist. And my dad just came unglued. He would rather have me call him S.O.B. than that, because that wasn't something you messed with in the early '50s, with the FBI and everything else. But I mean, security was bred into you, I guess. And when I hired on, it was still, but not like it was. But many of us still had that same mentality. I can remember when they started releasing things to the public. That always bothered me, because this is secure, and people don't have the need to know a lot of this stuff. Security was a big deal. I mean, you didn't go anyplace without a security badge. They could stop you, search your car, and everything else. So it was a high priority. There was seclusion areas within the area. You might get out in the area, but you might not be able to get into a certain area. When you got in that area, you couldn't get into another area, like dash-5 or Z-Plant or REDOX or PUREX. You needed extra security on your badge to get in these places. So security was very tough.
Arata: Could you talk a little bit about how Hanford was overall as a place to work? Anything you found particularly challenging or very rewarding about your time in the area?
Peters: I think it was great. You know, let's face it, it was great for a lot of people that worked here. I mean, good pay—relatively good pay, and a lot of people raised their families and sent them to school on this pay out here. And as far as working out there, we really had fun in the early days. And by the early days, I mean when I hired on. Because I felt very lucky that when I hired on, most of the old-timers were still working. And by old-timers I mean them that hired in the '40s. So a lot of the stories, a lot of things that they knew and interesting things that they talked about, I was privy to. And that was great. And it was, to me, really a fun place to work. I really enjoyed it. Later I can remember saying more than once in the '80s or '90s, this isn't fun like it used to be. And it wasn't. But you know, I was younger then, and that made a difference. I was about 21, 22 when I hired on. And so times changed. I think in the early days--by that, my early days--there was what we call maybe some dead wood. And they might have five people to do a job for two people. But I mean, it was good, it was job security. Well, then came the cuts and so on. I think that made it a little different, because one thing that's bothered me over the years, there's been layoffs. But you can check the records. Many times after these layoffs, within six months they're calling them back, because work has to be done. We might cut 500 people, but that job is still there, so they called a portion of them back. Which, to me, doesn't make sense. But I don't think there's the fat out there that there was at one time.
Arata: Is there anything I haven't asked you about that you'd like to talk about? Any other stories that stand out?
Peters: I think the racial thing was a big story in the early days because there wasn't that many black people working out there. And I can remember us--I mentioned earlier that Richland didn't have hardly any blacks. We had one black I'm aware of. He was a shoeshine guy at the Ganzel's barbershop. His picture is still in there. But I can remember--I must have been six, seven years old--I saw my first black person. I was in a car downtown with my mom. And I saw him, and I just saw his hands and face. And I can remember wondering, I wonder if his whole body is that way—we just didn't see them. We had two black guys in high school. C.W. and Norris Brown, who was terrific basketball players. And the main reason their family moved was because of those two boys. It was a different time then. I don't know it should go on record, because I don't know if it's true or not, but talking about the early people that worked there, one of the stories that I heard--and like I say, whether it's true, I have no idea. But they were out working, and they had a burn barrel. It was very cold. A barrel full of wood and so on, a burn barrel. The construction workers were huddled around it, and this one colored individual this kind of bulled his way in. He wanted to get up to the front. And the story goes--whether, again, true or not, I don't know--a carpenter took his hammer and ended it. And that wouldn't surprise me, though I don't know if it's true or not. Because there was prejudice. A lot of the people that came here were from the South, and it was a different lifestyle. I know that they had separate camps for the blacks and the whites. And it was segregated. So I can remember when I was driving the bus here, we only had--to my recollection—one black in all of transportation. There may have been more, but I think only one. And it wasn't until probably '63 or '64 that they really started recruiting blacks.
Arata: I understand there were labor organizers and people who came in with the NAACP and that sort of thing to sort of assess conditions, which would have been about the time you were working in the 100 and 300 Areas. Do you have any recollections of that?
Peters: Well, the one black that I told you about was a serviceman—labor. Same group I was in. And he was the head of the local NAACP. His name was McGee. And the way you became a driver was seniority. In other words, if this driver retired and you were next in seniority, you'd get that job. Well, he was the next one up, as a laborer, for a driving job. They wouldn't give it to him, for obvious reasons. Well, he fought it through the NAACP and he ended up becoming a driver. But they was not going to give him that job because of his race. Battelle, to their credit, was the first ones to make an overt effort to hire black people. And that's where--gentleman you mentioned earlier. And Battelle had--not overwhelming, but a number of blacks working for them. And in inhalation toxicology we had a number in animal care as well as in the crafts. So I would say from '63 on, it started changing.
Arata: So this is kind of my last question--we'll have students accessing these interviews. Most of my students now are too young to have remembered the Cold War. It's sort of an older--
Peters: Yeah.
Arata: So maybe if you could just talk a little bit about what it was like being part of this Cold War effort, and what you'd like students or future generations to know about contributions to that process.
Peters: Yeah. I know there's different views on this, but I feel very strongly about--because I knew a lot of GIs from that time frame—had two uncles that were in the war. And you know, the atomic bombs, and we made the plutonium here for the bomb, literally ended the war. I am a firm believer--had we had to invade, there'd been hundreds of thousands on both sides killed. And they talk about the badness, rightfully so, of the atomic bomb. But you look at the conventional bombing of Germany, and it was as bad or worse as the atomic bombs. The firebombing of Tokyo. Things like that. So as bad as the atomic bomb was, it did end the war. You'd had to live through it. Now, as far as the Cold War goes, you know, the place wasn't supposed to last much more than ten years. And that's what everyone thought. Well, then the Russians got the bomb. That changed things a little bit. And it was scary. I mean, like I said earlier, me calling my brother communist. I wasn't old enough to really realize what was going on, but I can remember--would've been during the Korean War--my dad came to my brother and I and said, I want to know where you guys are all the time, because we might have to leave town in a hurry. That was the mentality of that time. We had air-raid sirens throughout the town. I can remember every--I believe it was Monday at ten o'clock, they would go off to test. But there was one right behind Jason Lee, where I was going at the time, and it was loud. Every--I think it was Monday or Tuesday, at ten o'clock they'd go off. Because we literally were on standby. We didn't know what was going to happen. And the Korean War and then the McCarthy era, it was a scary time for adults. You know, as a kid, you didn't notice it, other than watching others. But I think Hanford had a lot to do with ending the war. Which ushered in the Cold War, because of the proliferation of the weapons. And you have to give credit to whomever for tearing down the wall, for bringing somewhat of a peace in the world—I say somewhat. I think it was our spending billions of dollars building up our—you know the old saying, peace through strength. That's what Reagan did. He was a big spender, but he got the job done. But Hanford was unique, because I can still remember there was anti-aircraft placements out there. When I hired on, all the old track houses were still there. I worked on a fuel truck, and we would fuel here and there and then we'd go out into the desert area, if you will, and look at these old houses that were still standing. And the old icehouse was still there. And a lot of these buildings were still there in the '60s. And why they had the need to tear them all down, I don't know. I think it was a shame. But they tore them all down other than the bank and the school. I believe about all that's left. No, it was a different time. Like I say, I can still remember my dad telling us both, I want to know where you are in case we have to leave town. I mentioned earlier, the FBI--it was not unusual to have an FBI agent knock at the door and talk to my folks about so-and-so. We had neighbors that lived in the same house—in our A house, our neighbors there was there one day and gone the next. It wasn't unusual to--you're out of here.
Arata: Certainly a different time. I want to thank you so much for coming in and sharing your memories with us. I really appreciate it. We'll film all these goodies you brought us, if that's okay--
Peters: Yep.
Arata: --before we have to go.
Northwest Public Television | Gladden_Elizabeth
Gladden: Elizabeth Gladden. Capital E-L-I-Z-A-B-E-T-H. Gladden. G-L-A-D-D-E-N.
Bauman: Great. Thank you.
Gladden: The first year I was there, I was a Feemster. I was unmarried. And then we got married this second year. So my maiden name was Feemster. So the Social Security people told me to keep the F. Originally my middle initial was an E. But to keep the F of the maiden name to keep their records straight.
Bauman: Sure. Right. And how did you spell your maiden name?
Gladden: F-E-E-M-S-T-E-R.
Bauman: Okay. Great. Thank you. All right. And my name is Robert Bauman. And we're conducting this oral history interview on July 7, 2014, on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. So I guess let's start with maybe how you found out about—what were you doing before the war, maybe? And how you found out about an opportunity to teach at Heart Mountain.
Gladden: Okay. As I said, Pearl Harbor is the one that started it all. And from there, the Army thought that the Japanese on the west coast would be a danger. And they wanted them moved. And we found out later that that wasn't true, that they really weren't a danger, that California just wanted the Japanese out, and this was a good opportunity to get them out. And I was teaching in Nebraska when Pearl Harbor came along. And then I finished that year, and the next year I moved to a town called Osceola in Nebraska, which was a little better opportunity. And I taught one week when I got a call from the Davis teachers' agency, telling me that they had a good job for me in Wyoming. And it sounded very good because I was getting $1,000 there, and out in Wyoming, I would be getting $2,000. So I just doubled the pay for a couple months' more work. My father thought I was going to the end of the world. But I resigned then at Osceola. I don't think the school board was very happy with me. And I packed up and came out to Heart Mountain. And it was, I think, the second week in September when I got out there. Some of the teachers had gotten there already. The principal and school superintendent had been on the job for several months. And they had tried to get everything organized so that we could be an accredited high school. And then we started school I think the first week in October. Several weeks I was there beforehand, we sorted books and got assigned to our classrooms and got things set out.
Bauman: Do you remember what your first impressions were when you arrived in Heart Mountain?
Gladden: What? What?
Bauman: Your first impressions of the place.
Gladden. Oh. [LAUGHTER] I remember writing the folks and saying that it was all right if you looked up. The sky was pretty and blue, but not if you looked around. No, it was very, very bleak. It was hot. And all you saw were these black tar paper barracks. And you just saw the trainloads of evacuees coming in, and you felt sorry for them.
Bauman: What sort of housing did you have there?
Gladden: Well, the first year we lived in Cody, Wyoming. There was no gas, so people weren't traveling. So we lived in a—what do you call it? It was a motel. A little motel. And a lot of the faculty lived there. There wasn't enough room at Heart Mountain yet. They had built dorms out there, and some of the single people were out there in dorms. But there were no apartments for the married people at all. And then in the next year, we had a fairly nice apartment, except ours also was not dust-proof. We had lots and lots of dust. But we did have electricity and water and a refrigerator. And all the evacuees had when they arrived was a big room. The rooms varied in size, depending on the size of the family. Some of the rooms were 20 feet long, and some were much smaller. Families varied from six on down to single. They had one lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling, no running water. The latrines and the showers were all outside. There was one for each block. And there were 20 blocks. So it was pretty cold. They said some of the mothers didn't get anything done but bundling up their children and taking them out to the bathroom and back in again. It was pretty, pretty sad.
Bauman: And for the single people, were there separate dorms for the single people?
Gladden: No, the evacuees were in the same ones, but they had a smaller apartment.
Bauman: Oh, okay, I see.
Gladden: They say the women went to work immediately, getting sheets and so forth, dividing up the space so they'd have a little privacy. And I guess the latrines at first were just wide open. There was no privacy in them at all. But the Japanese were quite ingenious. They began to do things. They said Montgomery Ward and Sears Roebuck got a lot of money from tools that the internees had ordered. Some of them were trying to patch up the leaky holes in the barracks and so forth. They had one pot-bellied stove in each room. They didn't do adequate heating jobs, of course. Of course, that's what we had too, up on the hill. We had a pot-bellied stove.
Bauman: And so what did you teach then?
Gladden: I taught English, and I also had a math class. I taught freshman and sophomore English and Algebra.
Bauman: And about how many students did you have in a class?
Gladden: Well, several of the classes were quite small. But they never got over 25 or so. They were pretty good. And I would say that the discipline was heaven. We had none of the discipline problems that I had when I got back to Pasco. [LAUGHTER] I think they were all kind of beaten down at that point. They seemed cheerful, but I don't know. They must have thought they couldn't get by with anything, because they very good. And of course the original schools were in the barracks. And there were no desks. They had the long benches that the kids sat in, and they had to do their writing on their lap. And I had an assistant to help me grade papers, which was nice, because I'd never had that before.
Bauman: So the whole time you were there, there were no desks?
Gladden: Well, just in the barracks. In '43, then, the high school was built. And it was heaven compared to what we had. It went up within a year. But it had a big administrative building--section in the middle. And then it had two big wings on it. And they had a Home Ec department in one section. They had a shop. They had a science department. They had a big gymnasium and auditorium combined. And we had enough textbooks finally. So it was very, very much improved over the first year.
Bauman: What about eating facilities? Were there cafeterias, mess halls?
Gladden: No, the kids always ate in the mess hall. You see, each block had its own mess hall where they would go, along with their bath facilities. And they would go to the mess hall to eat. I might say that at first there was a little unrest. They claimed they weren't getting the proper food and so forth. But they kind of worked with the administration. And later they didn't seem to complain so much about the food. Then we had a separate cafeteria up on the hill where we ate at noon. And we complained, because the meat was always lamb. I was so tired of lamb when we got through.
Bauman: I guess that's what was available in Wyoming.
Gladden: Right. Yeah. Well, another thing that's of interest when we're talking about food is that they had their own chicken ranch down at the bottom they put in. And they also had a bunch of pigs down there. And the second year, the late summer, 1945, they took over the land across the street--across the highway—and they put in a huge garden. And they had every kind of vegetable imaginable down there. And the people around Cody said that it wouldn't grow. It wouldn't grow there at all. But we had an abundance of fresh things then. And it was in the fall of 1945—1944, rather—when it got really cold, and they were afraid the potatoes were all going to freeze. So they dismissed school. And they plowed up all the potatoes. And the kids went out and picked up potatoes. The faculty, too. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: So about how many internees were there?
Gladden: We had 10,000 in the camp. And there were times when we had about 10,700. There were 120,000 Japanese that were evacuated. If you had a sixth of a Japanese blood in you, you were evacuated.
Bauman: And obviously all the internees were from the west coast. Were they mostly from California?
Gladden: All along the coast. They were sent from Washington, along the coast. It went down that were also taken. There is this movie—maybe you've seen it--that is very, very good, number of years ago. And I can't remember the name of it. It's based on a family that was evacuated from over on the coast.
Bauman: And so there were some residents there from the Tri-Cities area, right?
Gladden: Well, yes. My understanding is that the Columbia River was the dividing line. Everybody west of the Columbia River went. But some people east—and I know there were a couple families in Pasco went, because they were afraid. Sentiment against the Japanese was very, very bad, and they were afraid to stay. And they came back.
Bauman: Now did you know these people at all when you were there? Or were these people that you heard about later?
Gladden: No, once the war was over, it was over, yeah.
Bauman: So for students who were in the high school when they first came to Heart Mountain, but finished high school during the war, were they able go to college somewhere?
Gladden: Well, while they were in camp those three years, if they had the resources and they found a school that would accept them, college students could go out, as long as they went east. And we had a number who went out. And also there were a few of the laborers who went out to get better jobs that were allowed to go.
Bauman: So you went there in the fall of--
Gladden: In the fall of '42, and left in the late summer of '45. Was there five years--or three years.
Bauman: Overall, how would you describe your experience teaching there?
Gladden: Well, I would say it's very good. We had a nice social background with other Caucasians. And we knew a few of the Japanese. But somehow we didn't get very—there wasn't an opportunity, really, to get very close to them. I might say that the administration did a great job in trying to get things organized, along with the help of the outstanding leaders in the Japanese community. And they had Boy Scout groups and Camp Fire Girls and Girl Scout groups. And they had dance clubs and everything that would keep the kids busy. And when it got really hot, they dug a great big swimming pool. And the kids went swimming. And then in the winter, they skated there. Some of them had never seen an ice skate before. And they had great fun ice skating. They couldn't get out on the hills, though, to go sledding. They had to stay in camp. Oh, I might say there were about 19, I think, guard stations around the camp. And they were up high, with very powerful searchlights. And nobody could get out without being caught. And as we went in and out the gate, we had to have badges on. And the Army was stationed down at the base.
Bauman: You mentioned, when I talking to you earlier, that you had teaching assistants or assistants that helped you, grading?
Gladden: Yes, I had two students. They were kids who were already through high school. And they would help grade English papers and math papers. Sakiko Yoshimura and Metsu--Metsuku--Mets--suku—what's her name now? I've forgotten. I saw it in the book. Yeah. Yeah. And we kept track of--one of them went back to Japan the minute the camp closed down. And the other one was a seamstress. And she went to California. And when my daughter and I were traveling one day, we stopped to see her. But we lost track of her later. We don't know what happened.
Bauman: Did you ever get a sense, or any of the internees ever say anything? They expressed any sort of disappointment or anger or anything about being in the camp? Or did they not really talk about it?
Gladden: No, we were told when we went that you'll never get a job in a private school again. If you go teach those Japs. You're through. And they were crying for teachers when we got out. There's no problem.
Bauman: So once the camp closed, then, what happened to you? What did you do?
Gladden: Well, when the camp closed--well, school was over in 1945 in the last of May. And all teachers were through. But if you wanted to stay on, and they needed you in some other department, you could go. And I was always interested in hospital work. In fact, that's what I thought I wanted to be when I was growing up, was a nurse. So I went to the hospital. And my husband went to the housing area where they were boxing up the household goods that the Japanese acquired and put them on the train. Incidentally, each one was given $25 a ticket to where they wanted to go, and that was it. But I had a lot of experiences in the high school—in the hospital. And I was so grateful for the opportunity. Being a Caucasian, I got to do things--administer medicine and do things—that otherwise the Japanese didn't get to do. And I remember so well. One of the doctors came in and grabbed me one day. And he said, come here, I need you quickly. Lady's going to have a baby. So I was there and he put out his gloves for me to hold to put them on. I was only woman in the room besides the doctor. And I got to see a baby born. And that was before I had any children. And it was really, really interesting. And another experience, there was a time, there was one of the fellows dying, an older man. And she got me and said, I think you need to see this. So she took me in, and we watched his last breaths. And when he was gone, she says, now we have to take out his false teeth and take him to the morgue. They had a morgue in the hospital. So she says, I want you to go down with me. And so I did. And shoved him in the freezer there. Then we came back to the room to clean it up. And she says, oh, I forgot to put his false teeth in. But she says, you don't have to go with me this time. I'll go down and do it. She was a graduate nurse, of course. And the salary scale, I don't think we've talked about, was very interesting. There were three scales. I was making over $200 a month. And the highest any Japanese internee could get was $19 a month. And some of the nurses got a little upset at one time. But they wouldn't do anything about it. They had set the scale for $19 for professional. And then I think it was $16 for in between. And the laborers got only $12 an hour. They said they couldn't pay the laborers more than the Army--an Army private got. And that was $20 a day, not an hour. $20 a day. So they didn't make much money. That was one reason they liked the work outside, if they could. Get a job on the outside. Because the administration demanded that they be paid the same way as a Caucasian on the outside. The governor of Wyoming wasn't very helpful. He wanted them to be slave laborers, practically, and work for $12 an hour. And the WRA--that's the War Relocation Authority--said no. You have to pay them same as you pay Caucasians. So some of them got some extra money that way, if they could be cleared. I mentioned to you the newspaper. We had a fellow who was trained in journalism. And he immediately started a newspaper. It started within a week I think from the time he got there. He got his staff together. It was an eight page newsletter--or newspaper, rather--that came out once every Saturday. And that kind of kept the evacuees in touch with what's going on in the outside world, as long as rules and so forth in the camp. And he had some pretty good editorials, where he was questioning things. And I do have some copies of those that I'll give you, if you want them.
Bauman: Now did those newspapers have to go through--
Gladden: I don't know how much censoring they did. I wouldn't be surprised, but what they had some though.
Bauman: Were there radios allowed in the camp to listen to?
Gladden: Yeah.
Bauman: Get updates on was happening in the world?
Gladden: There were always rumors, always rumors. [LAUGHTER] We had a fellow up in the dorm area that got the greatest delight out of starting a rumor and seeing how long it took to get around. Oh, there were rumors about how there were Japanese on the coast, and they were going to invade. There was balloons that were going to be coming over, and so forth and so on. But nothing ever happened. There was never any incident at all.
Bauman: Do you have any idea how large the staff was that worked at the camp?
Gladden: Oh, dear. I think there were 200 in the administrative area. And teachers--I don't know for a school that size—it was a big high school. We had the eighth grade in the high school, too. So it was a pretty big school. And our classes weren't big. I remember one summer, I taught solid geometry, and I only had about eight students in there.
Bauman: And was there a graduation ceremony?
Gladden: Oh, yes, yes. When they graduated, there was a big ceremony. We had a big auditorium, as I said, which was also a gym. And it was well used here.
Bauman: Was there a church or churches in the camp?
Gladden: Oh, yes. The WRA started out with two churches, a Catholic and a Protestant. And the Buddhists wanted their church. And two-thirds of the group were Buddhists. And the WRA refused, but eventually gave in. So eventually there was a Buddhist church, and the Catholic and the Protestant. We went to the Protestant church and got very well acquainted with the minister and his wife and had them over for dinner. Nice couple.
Bauman: Do you remember when you heard about the war ending? Or any of that?
Gladden: Oh, yes. We were eating lunch in--oh, no, no. When we were eating lunch, it was when Roosevelt was pronounced dead.
Bauman: Oh.
Gladden: And my husband was down in the lab, because he was always fooling with radios. He was building his own radio. And he came rushing up and said that Roosevelt had died. And this was during the lunch hour. I forget the date. But the war--well, it's an interesting story about how we heard about the war. We were married in '43. My sister was married in '45. And her husband was working at the University of Chicago. And the department--what do they call it? The one where they were--
Bauman: The Manhattan Project, or-?
Gladden: Yeah. Well, it's part of the Manhattan Project. And he knew what we were doing out at Hanford, but we didn't know what was going on out here. And so the fellas were in the living room--I remember--and we were out in the breakfast nook at York, Nebraska, at my parents' home. And Stanley--my brother-in-law--came running out to the kitchen and grabbed my sister by the arm and said, come in and listen to this. He said, I want you to hear it. And you tell me what you heard. And she did. And then he said, well, that's what I've been doing. So that was how we know the war had ended. They'd dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. They always said Hiroshima, not "Hiro-SHEE-ma."
Bauman: So now did you and your husband meet at Heart Mountain? Or, how did you meet?
Gladden: I met my husband at the University of Chicago. I was there one summer. And we got acquainted. And we corresponded. And he'd come to Nebraska and so forth. Then he ran out of money. He was working on his Ph.D. So he took a job at Whitehall, Montana. And he was there the year that I was at Heart Mountain, the first year. And then he wanted to come down. And of course they gave him a job. And we were married then.
Bauman: And so after the war ended, how did you end up in Pasco then? How did that happen?
Gladden: Oh, that was when--we stayed in Heart Mountain until almost the end of the summer. And then my husband was interested in getting a teaching job in Washington. So he started applying for jobs along the Columbia River, any big town. And Pasco was the first one that answered his letter and said, we have a science job.
Bauman: What were your first impressions of Pasco?
Gladden: Terrible. [LAUGHTER] Terrible. It was the last day in August. Very, very hot. We were in what they call the Riverside homes, down the river. Big room. We must have had a refrigerator. I don't remember it. But the cupboards were open. No doors on the cupboards or anything. And of course there was no electricity. I mean, you couldn't buy any electric gadgets. You did your cooking on a range. And if you can imagine that, on the last day of August--then it was then that C.L. Booth, the superintendent, asked me if--or I said, do I have to stay here? And he asked me what I did. And I said, oh, I've been teaching school. And he said, come on up and we'll you a job. So then I taught a year. And then we quit to have our family. And then I went back later.
Bauman: And so you already knew about Hanford before you came here, though.
Gladden: Yeah, we found out. The end of August, I guess, or in August, whenever that was, when my sister and her husband were there, because they'd just gotten married.
Bauman: So what was Pasco like as a community in the 1940s, 1950s?
Gladden: Well, we stayed the first night at the new Pasco hotel on Lewis Street. And before we got our Riverside apartment. And it was pretty hot. I wasn't much impressed. My husband always wanted to go to Hawai’i. And he thought, well, we would be on our way to Hawai’i, then. He thought it would be nice to teach over there.
Bauman: And so you stayed.
Gladden: So we stayed.
Bauman: So that would be 70--almost 70 years?
Gladden: Yeah, well, it was 70--I figured it was 72 years since I'd been at Heart Mountain. We came to Pasco in '45.
Bauman: '45? 69 years, I guess.
Gladden: About 20 years.
Bauman: ‘45 to now.
Gladden: Yeah.
Bauman: So if there anything I haven't asked you about--
Gladden: Well I think we’ve-
Bauman: --Heart Mountain?
Gladden: Well, there was one thing that--the Nisei were subject to draft. And they had to fill out a big form. And they had a couple questions on there that a few of them wouldn't sign. One of them, are willing to withdraw all allegiance to the Japanese emperor? And the other one, are you loyal to the United States? Would you be serving the Army? And there was a committee that formed. And some of them thought their constitutional rights had definitely been tramped on. And that they wouldn't sign, they said, until they were given their freedom back. But the 442nd contingent that you know about, that was so very, very famous, they were all made up of Japanese. And a lot of Japanese took part there. But because of the questionnaire and so forth, and some of them got a little belligerent, they were arrested. And there was one fellow who really wouldn't give in. And he was put in jail for three years I know of.
Bauman: So you knew about that, about the questionnaire.
Gladden: Uh-huh, yeah. That happened while we were there.
Bauman: Were there a number of young men from Heart Mountain who did end up going to the military, joining the Army?
Gladden: Oh, yes, yes, a lot of them. Which I think was pretty wonderful. The way they've been treated, that they would actually go. But they were showing their loyalty to the US. They claimed they were still US citizens.
Bauman: Well, this has been very interesting for me.
Gladden: Well, it's fun to review it. I hadn't thought about it for so long. But it's interesting.
Bauman: At some point, when you were here in Pasco, did you ever get to know any of the Japanese-Americans who lived here who had been in Heart Mountain?
Gladden: Well, my husband had Jerry Minatoya I think, in class in Heart Mountain. And when he got here, he had him in class in high school.
Bauman: Wow.
Gladden: There were a number of Japanese families living in Pasco, though.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you for coming in and sharing your experiences and your photos.
Gladden: Well it’s been—I'm sorry my voice is so cracky.
Bauman: No, it’s wonderful. Thank you very much. Really appreciate it.
Gladden: You're welcome.
Northwest Public Television | Fletcher_Robert
Fletcher: I'm Robert Fletcher. R-O-B-E-R-T F-L-E-T-C-H-E-R.
Bauman: Thank you. And my name is Robert Bauman, and today is August 20th of 2013. And this interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. So let's start, if we could, by maybe having you talk about your family and how they came to this area, what brought them here, when they came-- that sort of thing.
Fletcher: My folks--my mother and father--grew up in Wisconsin. They knew each other in high school, and my father came out west, because my mother had relatives in Idaho, and after she graduated she came out here to stay with them and go to business college in Spokane. So my dad was fond of her and he followed her by working his way west. He was an expert milker, and he could always get a job in a dairy. Because when you worked in a dairy milking cows you had to get up at 3:00 in the morning. And so when he'd work his way from Wisconsin to maybe South Dakota, and he would see--in the depot, in the train depot--he would look on the bulletin board for openings for milkers and he always found work. And he could stay there for several weeks till he got enough money to move on. So he wound up in Lewiston, Idaho, I believe it was. And eventually he and my mother got together and they got married in Coeur d'Alene, 1912. And I had a sister born in 1915 in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, Francille. And another sister was born in 1918. In the meantime, during World War I, my dad had been working in a, what's called electrical substation in Coeur d'Alene. And during the war then he went over to Bremerton and worked in the shipyards at Bremerton, wiring electrical wiring on the ships. And my mother eventually followed. My mother became a secretary and could do the office work. But after kids were born, she didn't do much of that. And then after the war was over, Bremerton jobs closed up and he went to the back to work at another electric substation down by Walla Walla, Milton-Freewater. And he had been raised on a farm and he had a desire to be independent. So at that time there were developments in Kennewick and then whole Tri-City area. They were developed because irrigation water was being made available from the rivers. And in Richland, there were private developers and they would get bonds that were backed by just state. The state government wanted to support the development to get started, and that was in late 1918s, '20s. And I'm sure my dad--well, my dad told me that there were brochures that these companies would advertise that, come to Kennewick or Richland, that water was available, the climate was ideal, and there soil was great, and you could make a living on just a few acres if you knew how to farm. So my dad travelled out here. His name was Francis, and C. F. Fletcher was his-- And he bought 20 acres of sagebrush. It was what is now on--what did I say?
Bauman: Spangler?
Fletcher: Spangler Road. He bought 20 acres there out there at the top of the hill. It was all sagebrush. And then later he bought 10 acres down below the hill where there now is a trailer park or mobile homes. He had to arrange to get the teams of horses to pull out the sagebrush and level the ground. My mother and—I believe that she had two children then, Francille, and Medo is my other sister's name, born in 1918. They came out by train from Walla Walla to Kennewick. And Morton Hess met them at-- Morton Hess had a improvised old pickup that dad said that they met them at the depot in Kennewick, and he brought them out to the farmhouse he'd rented. Before that, my dad had a team of horses, and he brought all his possessions in a wagon from Milton-Freewater to Richland that took him three days, he said, to make that trip with the team of horses. And so after he got the house rented, then he sent for my mother, had my mother come out with the children. And they lived in this rented farmhouse about a quarter of a mile away. And there were a few other houses, a few other farms being developed at the same time. So that took a lot of effort. It was 1920, and he told me that he had to put in the irrigation. The company brought water to the edge of your property and then you had to put in the pipe yourself. They were cement pipes, about three feet long, 40 pounds, eight inches in diameter. And he said he put in several hundred feet of this pipe and he thought he'd done a pretty good job. He worked hard. Turned the water on and it just leaked all over, so he had to do it all over again. He was pretty persistent. And then they had a hard time the first few years because he was small, a small person, and a greenhorn. About the only income work you could get then was to work for the irrigation company if you wanted to earn some money. And usually that was when the water was shut off and they had to clean and repair the ditches, open ditches. And he said they wouldn't hire him for a year or two because they thought well, he was a greenhorn. He wouldn't last anyway, and he was kind of small. But he stuck it out. And what happened was they had to put in some new pumps for the irrigation system, and these were larger pumps. They were three-phase motors, and there wasn't anybody immediately around that knew how to fix them, how to hook them up. Excuse me, I get very emotional. So he told them he thought he thought he could do it. He wasn't too sure. He said he could do it. He told them he could do it. He said he, personally, he said he wasn't too sure. But anyway, he went ahead with it and they worked fine. And after that, he said he didn't have any trouble getting a job for the irrigation district. And later on, several years after he got the farm started and everything, he did become manager of the irrigation district. When I talk about the irrigation district, it wasn't a huge one, but there was about 5,000 acres under water. And most of the farms were like ours, 20, 30 acres. And because you had to have a team of horses. You couldn't farm like you can nowadays with everything mechanized like it is. Lots of hand labor. So I was born in 1922, and I believe that they were still in this rented house. But in the meantime, they'd begun work on a basement, which was about half underground and half above ground with concrete side walls. And so it was above the ground enough, it had had fairly good sized windows. And there were just two rooms. The total probably wasn't more than 40 feet long and 20 feet wide. And above that they put a temporary sort of a shelter that was more of a tent house with a wooden roof and canvas with a wooden frame with canvas around it. And that was our bedroom. That was where we had our bedrooms. And it was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, but in the summertime you could roll the canvas up and the evening breeze would cool it off. In the wintertime we had feather beds and my mother would warm up hot irons on the cook stove, and we'd wrap them in towels and put in our beds. And we managed, thought we were living all right. There wasn't any bathroom--there was no indoor bathroom, no indoor water supply. He dug a well down below the hill. Had to do it by hand, about 20 feet deep. And the way to get water up to the house, he had a, we called it a stone boat, it was a sled. He hooked the horses to it, the sled, and to pretty good sized barrels, I suppose 40 gallon barrels or something. He'd fill them with water from the hand pump down below the hill. And he'd circle around it, bring that sled up. That was the water supply for a few days. But of course, it didn't always last long enough. And I can remember my mother carrying two buckets [EMOTIONAL] of water up the hill. Excuse me. It was a hard life for women, especially, carrying water up the hill, and all the other work they had to do then. She was in charge of the garden. Of course, we had our weekly bath by a copper tub on a cook stove. And the tub, and that's where we took our weekly bath, and shared the affair. The two rooms in the house were the kitchen and then where we ate. The other room was the living quarters and where somebody might sleep if they were not feeling well, otherwise we slept upstairs in the tent house. So those were the early days. It took them quite a little while for my dad to get established, and also get some crops down that they could pay for their living expenses. And they had Fresnos then that the team of horses would pull, and they'd scoop the dirt and dump it in the low places and level it out. And farmers worked together on that. I can remember our neighbors--as I said, most people lived within a quarter or a half mile of each other. The Barnetts and the Nickolauses lived close to us and we shared--when it was time to put in some of the crops, the Barnetts would come with their mowing machine and there would be two or three mowing machines and everything going on, and we'd go back and forth and get the job done.
Bauman: So what sorts of crops did you grow then?
Fletcher: We--it was truck farming. We had to raise--we had to have cows. Truck farming was not too reliable. You had to, to fall back on, you had a herd of cow--most all farmers had a herd of cattle which they had milk cows and some beef cows. And you milked the cow--you had your own milking and made your own cheese, but you could sell to the creamery in Kennewick. And we had a milk house where we'd separate the cream from the milk. And we had the Twin City Dairy, I think it was, would come by once a week and collect the milk. We'd keep the milk in a cool water place or something. I don't remember now in details. We didn't have refrigeration. Maybe they came back twice a week. I'm not sure. So we had a herd of cattle, and of course you always had a team of work horses. And I had a pony when I got old enough, about third grade I think. In school I got a pony that had been tamed--he had been one of the wild horses from Horse Heaven Hills. And a bunch of horses had been caught. And we bought it from another fella, and he as a real-- Shorty was his name, and I thought he was the greatest horse, because he could outrun any horse. We had horse races. And a lot of the kids, the only horse they had to ride was a work horse. So I was very fortunate. Anyway, we raised alfalfa for the cattle and the animals. Alfalfa and clover, and of course you had to mow the hay in the summertime and let it dry and put it up in wagons and carry it and take it into the hay stack for the winter. We also raised some acres of corn, of field corn, although we could eat some of the corn when it was quite young, but it was mostly raised for the cattle. And we had an in-ground silo where we had a—we’d bring in, when the corn was mature we'd cut it down with machetes and bring the corn stocks and ears and all and run it through the chopper and made silage out of it. It would ferment in this silo, which was about 20 feet deep and it was dug out near the barnyard. And about I guess 12 feet wide or so. As a kid it looked bigger, probably, than it actually was. But anyway, that was part of the barnyard. And with the silage and the haystack, we kept the cattle going through the winter. Because you had to have enough hay to get through and that took quite a load. And then for field crops, we had a cherry orchard of three or four acres. We raised asparagus three or four acres. And that was a job that--that was a cash crop that game on early in the year in March. And the whole family pitched in. We got up early, almost daybreak to cut the asparagus. Before school you had to have it cut. And then they'd go ahead and you had to pack it in crates to get it ready to market. So we had the asparagus, and then we had, between the trees in the orchard-- one time my dad experimented with peanuts. And I don't think they turned out too well because I don't remember him having them very long. We planted strawberries. We had strawberries that we picked after the asparagus was done, the strawberries would be get ripe. And then the cherries would get ripe in June usually. And so it was staggered out. And then we always had a field of potatoes that you'd dig with a team or horses and a digger. But before you did that, you had to get seed potatoes, and they came whole. The family would--we had a cellar in our house. We'd cut those potatoes into quarters, so there's an eye on each one and that would sprout into a potato plant. And we spent probably a couple weeks, maybe not that long, cutting the seed potatoes into where they could be planted in the field. And I'm trying to think of other crops that we had. I know he tried different ones. We had peas--peas in a pod. And I don't think that paid off too well because I don't remember it lasting too long. Oh, we had some peaches. Not a big orchard, but we had some peaches and apricot trees. Those were sort of under my mother's domain, the garden and the apricots. And she made sure that we all pitched in and helped do the weeding and planting and picking. And all of that had to be picked and canned for the winter. I can remember my mother and sisters working hard--doing a lot of work canning. And the cellar was just full of--they were quite proud to display, in those days, to display their glass jars of fruit, peaches and everything. And took it to the fair to see if they could win some blue ribbons. So we didn't buy too much from the local grocery store, except cooking oil and bananas--fruit that wouldn't grow here. Orange. Those were a treat. Just a few times during the year bananas and oranges we got at Christmastime or your birthday or something. And the store was John Dam's, John Dam Plazas down here, named after the Dam Grocery Store. And there were two men, John Dam and Victor Nelson. They ran the grocery store. And you didn't go looking for your things. You handed them a list. You wanted two gallons of kerosene for your lamps and lanterns that you needed. No electric lights. And as I said, cooking oil, and flour and sugar in bulk. And once in a while you'd get a treat of candy or something such as that. So I think that covers pretty much what the farm was like.
Bauman: The crops that you grew, the cherries, strawberries, did you sell those somewhere?
Fletcher: Yeah. We picked and put them in crates. There was what they called the Big Y--it was in Kennewick. And it stood for Yakima I think. Yakima--there was a branch of Yakima Produce Company. And later on I worked there nailing, making boxes for different kinds of fruit when I was in high school.
Bauman: Mm-hm.
Fletcher: In fact, most kids did extra jobs like that. Excuse me. I've got to take a drink.
Bauman: Sure.
Fletcher: All right.
Bauman: I was going to ask you about your farm. You mentioned some underground silo. Were there any other buildings on your farm? Any warehouse or barn or any of that sort of thing?
Fletcher: Yeah. There was a barn from the cows, of course. And there are pictures in my booklet of some of these chicken houses in the yard, a couple of chicken houses. And a milk house. We had pigs. The pigs consumed a lot of the excess milk. You could--they'd eat most anything you had that was extra. And that was another thing we shared was when it came time to butcher a cow or a calf or a pig for meat, there was a man that was sort of a local veterinarian--I don't think he had a degree--Sam Supplee. If your horse got sick, he knew what--or an animal got his foot caught in the barbed wire, he knew how to treat it. And he'd come by. And he also knew how to butcher animals quite well. And he would come out. And I can remember that we had a hole, a pit dug out where we could put a fire in there, and it was covered with some kind of bars or metal affair. And a vat of water would be put in that over the fire at ground level. And adjacent to that would be a platform where the pig was killed. And after it had been killed and the organs taken out, they'd roll it into that vat of boiling water and then pull it back out again after a few minutes. Then you could scrape the bristles off of the pig. And Sam Supplee then would do the rest of the butchering. They'd hang it up to cure overnight, and then to cut it up. And for his efforts, he'd get part of the meat, or other people that had helped out, and that's the way that they operated. And he was a local person they turned to. There were other veterinarians in Pasco or Kennewick, but he was the one that they mainly relied on. Our horses, we had two work horses, Star and Monte. I can remember them well, and that was one of my jobs when I got home from school, after, was usually to rub them down after a day's work in the field, because they'd be all sweaty. Or on days when I wasn't at school, too, in the summertime, too take them down to the ditch where they'd drink a lot of water. They got real hot and sweaty. And then take the harnesses off. And there's lots of preparation before you could do too much. And so those were some of my jobs was to take in--you got home from school, the first thing to do was take in the firewood for the wood stove or the heating stove. And there were plenty of other things to do around the barnyard, to clean out the stall, or clean out the barn and see that horses were fed and such things as that.
Bauman: Mm-hm.
Fletcher: The thing was, I think that maybe a little different than nowadays, kids knew that they were part of the family and that they were an important part of the family. And that they had jobs to do. And just it was the thing that made families close.
Bauman: Sure.
Fletcher: I wanted to mention, too, that we did have special family friends. I mentioned the Barnetts. And they had kids that were--Dan Barnett was about my age. And my sisters had--they had daughters. Anyway, they had kids about our same age. The Hackneys were another family that lived not very far away and had a farm. And there was Richard Hackney and Dan Barnett and I were always good friends for a long time. And some other kids in that area, the Supplees. So I guess I forgot where I was here. The Hackneys and the Fletcher families and the Carlsons were particularly close. The Carlsons also had children that were our ages. And we would get together for family picnics, and especially Fourth of July we'd make our homemade ice cream and take to Pasco Park where there'd be fireworks. And then in the summertime, we always had a break in the farm work of about four or five days where we could get away from the farm. Usually it was around the Fourth of July or a little bit after. And we would get away because the irrigation ditches were shut down for a few days, about four or five days in order for the ditches to dry out and the weeds could be cleaned out. Because they clogged up with moss and other stuff. So that they would dry out the ditches and we could get away from the farm, as long as we had a neighbor to take care of the animals that we had. And there were enough other people that would do that. We'd trade off. So we would manage to get away for about three or four days and go up to above Yakima, Naches and up into the woods. And we we'd take our tents. One of the, the Hackneys, Art Hackney was a school bus driver, and school bus driver had to have their own buses. They'd own their own buses. So he could do with the bus whatever he wanted during the summertime. So he would be the one that we would load up the bus--he took a few of the seats out that could be taken out-with our camping gear in it, and some of the rest of the people would ride in that bus and others would go in their car. We'd invite some of our friends to go along too. So we'd have quite a group and several tents set up there around the lake up at Naches, Rimrock and up in that area. We had a wonderful time up in there with all our friends, and sitting around the campfire at night and hearing the stories that the older folks had to tell. So that's--
Bauman: Mm-hm. A real sense of community there, yeah.
Fletcher: Yeah. Part of the community. It was a close-knit community for sure. And naturally, you had more close friends with some of the people than you did with others. But as I said in my book that there was no--when you were gone, nobody as I knew, locked their houses or worried about any of that sort of thing.
Bauman: Mm-hm. You mentioned earlier that the house you lived in there was no running water, right?
Fletcher: Right.
Bauman: No electricity. Did you ever have a telephone?
Fletcher: That's another little story. My mother, her relatives lived in Wallace, Idaho, and her uncle, aunt and uncle, her uncle was a master carpenter. And they were very close and would come down to visit us and they were very helpful. When we were, when my folks were just starting out, they were a backbone to help them out as much as they could. They bought eggs from them and they'd ship them. I have some letters that my mother saved of that period in time. You may be interested in some of those. Anyway, they would come down, and after my dad--after he had this basement house built, they was able to save up enough in about 10 years to--Josh Pentabaker was my uncle's granduncle's name--was the main carpenter. And they arranged to buy a load of lumber from a lumber yard or a sawmill up in Bickleton, and they rented a truck or got somebody to haul this load of lumber down. And this Josh Pentabaker and my dad, and I think he got some local help, to get started on building a house above to replace that tent--actually a tent house that we had above the basement house. And then they enlarged it also. They made the basement twice as large to accommodate a more modern house. And that was in 1933 or 1934. And I think it was 1934 before we occupied it. And that included indoor bathroom and running water. In the meantime, before my dad was able to build a dig a new well up on top of the hill, he had to go down 60 feet for groundwater. And so that was quite a project. But he finally got it done. And he got an electric motor then. By that time, see, there was no electricity until during Roosevelt got the REA started, rural electricity or whatever the word is, REA. And you got an electric pump to pump the water up into a tank. And then you had pressure to run the water from the tank into the house--had water pressure. And so we had running water, we had an indoor bathroom, and those were quite appreciated. I think we got electric stove--that was one of the first thing. And that was quite an improvement over a wood stove. Oh, and then there was. And he didn't have enough money, I don't believe—oh, let me tell you, or let me go back just a bit.
Bauman: Sure.
Fletcher: Josh Pentabaker got this house pretty well built, but he had to go back and do his own work back in Wallace, Idaho. And my dad negotiated with a carpenter here, a local carpenter, Vandersant-- he was a Dutchman. And my dad traded a cow, a milk cow for this fella to put in a--he was a master carpenter, too. He put in the kitchen cabinets, is what I'm trying to say, and some of the other cabinets in the bathroom and things like that in exchange for this cow. Now, there may have been other things involved, but that was the main thing. He told about that in later years, and I can vaguely remember. In addition to the basement then, we got a root cellar where we kept most of our things cold. But anyway, before he could get a refrigerator, he cut a hole in the wall of the kitchen and he made a cabinet inside, and hung outside a metal tank or a metal thing that held water. And then he ran down some gunnysack fabric and that wetted enough to evaporate and cool the cabinet inside. It was quite a contraption. But it worked enough that it probably wasn't much cooler than the basement, but anyway, it was up and it was handy. So that was when we--in 1934 I think that we occupied the house that's there now.
Bauman: Did you ever have a telephone during the time you were there?
Fletcher: Yeah, we had a phone. You cranked it. I'm trying to think whether we had it when we lived in the basement, whether we had it there or not. It was a party line, and there would be three or four people on the same line. And you answered according to how many rings. If it was two rings it was yours, or a short and a long or something like that. And of course people listened in on what was going on. We had a crank--it was, you cranked it up in order to make the signal. And there was a main station downtown. We were three miles from the downtown area up on what is now George Washington Way. And what's the name of that street? I can't remember all those--the house was on--
Bauman: Spangler?
Fletcher: Spangler, yeah. Spangler Road. We had to--you kept up--Dad kept up with what was available.
Bauman: Mm-hm. How about news? Was there a newspaper, or how did you learn about--
Fletcher: There was. There was the Benton County Advocate came out once a week. In fact, I think I still have some copies of that somewhere. It was mostly local, of course. Somebody was entertaining a company from Wallace, Idaho or somewhere, or somebody was sick in the hospital. Ed Peddicord was the--as I remember, he was older than myself but younger than my parents, and he became the first postmaster when the Hanford project took over, and he was the postmaster for quite a few years before he retired from the Richmond Post Office.
Bauman: I wanted to ask you about the school that you went to. Where was the school? Any memories you have?
Fletcher: Okay, there were, in the downtown area of Richland, the--I'm trying to relate it to--the grade school went from grade one through grade eight. And it was two story with four classrooms on the bottom and four on the upper level. I think they had electric lights, as I remember. The floors were wood floors, and they treated them with oil before school was started and at Christmas vacation. So when you came back from school--they'd wipe them up, the oil--they'd treat the wood floors. They'd wipe up the oil before classes started, but there would still be all these spots left on it. And so we had to take our shoes off when we came home at night because we would track oil, that oil. That was just for a few weeks or for a week or two. And the stoves had a jacket around. Of course they were--I believe they were coal stove--they that coal. And there would be a jacket around, a metal jacket around the outside to it, a couple of feet from the stove itself so the kids couldn't get up and get burned. But the jacket that surrounded them was probably three or four feet high, metal jacket. And we would—I remember hanging our white gloves things on that metal jacket to dry them out. And that was in the back of the room of course. That was your heat in the classroom. As I said, the bathrooms for boys and girls, most of them separate of course, were outside where you went out to the bathroom. And I don't recall any running water or anything in the—The other, the high school was, it wasn't torn down when the project started, Hanford project, right away. And it was built more--it had indoor bathrooms, was more up-to-date, more than the grade school, four levels. There are pictures of it in my booklet. So that was quite a step up.
Bauman: Do you remember any of the teachers from either school, or do you have any favorite teachers from that time?
Fletcher: Oh yeah. I remember most of my teachers. My first grade teacher, Ms. Randolph, older lady. And she was very good. I can remember putting our mittens up around that canopy around the stove in the wintertime, put your mittens up to dry. And I can't offhand remember, but I can visualize most of my teachers. There was Mrs.--Miss Mallory--she was single then. Taught me in fourth grade. And there was Bill Rader, our eighth grade teacher. Kind of he was a pretty good disciplinarian. If people got out of line, he had a paddle that he didn't mind using. There was--I can't think of the names, really, offhand. And then of course, in the high school I remember more of the teachers that I had. The superintendent, he also taught a few classes in, because the grade school had one class of every grade level. I started in the first grade, I was five years old, and I became six in November. And the kids that I started with, about half of the 20--I think there were 20 in my graduating class--about half of them were the ones I started in first grade with. That's how permanent the group was. There was a lot of permanency. And we moved onto this--where each grade you had the same ones, you knew the people. There would be two or three changes each year. And like I said, of those 20 or so that started, probably about half of those in my high school class were the ones I started first grade with. And so we knew each other very well. And the others I'd known quite well, too. My wife, she came later and joined when she was in about seventh or eighth grade I think, and she graduated two--I graduated in 1940 and she graduated in 1942. And in my graduating class there was 20, and hers there was only 12. I don't know why particularly. The high school, it was in freshman year you usually took Typing and it pretty well diversified. History classes, English classes. I can remember the teachers, Mrs. Deighton and Mrs. Carmichael. She's the one that got very emotional when the kids acted up and would carry on. Mr. Carmichael was the superintendent, and Mr. Whitehead, rather. We had basketball teams. We played against--Kennewick and Pasco were out of our league. They were from too big a town. So we played Benton City. I played--even though I'm pretty short, I was on the basketball team. We didn't have a football team. We weren't big enough. [LAUGHTER] The high school was only--with four classes, probably only 80 students altogether. And so I was on the basketball team the last couple years anyway. And we would go up to--Hanford was about 20 miles upriver, and White Bluffs. They were a comparative size. And to Benton City, and also to Finley. We used to call it Riverview then. It was a comparative size to what we were in Richland at that time. So we had a group that we played softball league and basketball. No football that I can remember. We weren't big enough to be in that.
Bauman: And did you take a school bus to get to and from school then, or how did you--
Fletcher: Yes. We had--as I said, Art Hackney had a school bus that they owned their own school bus. They had a contract with the district. And there's a picture of myself and my two sisters in that booklet I gave you, waiting for the bus and there's a picture of the bus. It was kind of a--it looks kind of obsolete now, but that was the way they did things then.
Bauman: So you graduated high school in 1940.
Fletcher: 1940. Then I went off to Cheney for a year. And decided I wanted to--didn't want to continue there. I wanted to--I thought I wanted to be an engineer, but I didn't have really the background from the school. At least I could blame it on that. So I transferred to Pullman in my sophomore year. And during beginning of my junior year, I was taken in--I was in the ROTC and we signed up for deferment or whatever you call it, but they said we could finish out the year we were in during my sophomore year. No, it must have been my junior year. That’s the third year. But it turned out that they couldn't—they took us, they drafted us and I think it was about January of my junior year in Pullman, from WSU. And at that time I was a member of Sigma Chi. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: So was that January of 1943 then?
Fletcher: Yeah, it was.
Bauman: At some point that year, of course the Federal government started constructing the Hanford site.
Fletcher: Right. I came home before--they allowed us, when they called up the ROTC, fellas in Pullman, they gave us a couple weeks to come home and see our folks. So I came home, it must have been the end of January of 1943. And saw my folks, and said goodbye to my sweetheart, Betty Kinsey was her name--became my wife. And after I went back then, I went back to Pullman, and they took us shortly by train from Pullman over to Fort Lewis. And it was an old, real old train that I mention in my booklet that looked like it was one from the pioneer days. There was a--I don't need to go into all the detail, but there was a coal-burning stove in the end of this railway car for heat, and we went over there in the first of February to Fort Lewis. We were not in the army until they took us over there and were forced in it at Fort Lewis. And shortly after that, I got word from my folks that the word had come out that Hanford and White Bluffs and even Richland, it was all going to be taken over by the government for this Hanford project. And that was in, I believe they got word in late February. And the people up at Hanford, which is, of course, is where the actual reactors were, were notified and given about 30 days to evacuate. And my folks, of course, we lived--my dad was the manager of the irrigation district at that time, of the Richland irrigation district. And they had more time because that was where the workers were going to live. But in the meantime they built Camp Hanford out here where we are sitting about right now, and maybe just a little further north. And you probably have the history of Camp Hanford and all that. But anyway, they were allowed to stay I think about six months, whereas the others further up where the reactors were being built, they had to get out quick. And so my folks looked around. They bought a place. My dad, by that time, they offered some of the people work. Most of them were farmers and they wanted to continue farming. And that was my dad. He, by that time, the kids were gone. I was the youngest. The other two, my sisters, were married and off and living on their own. So he decided he'd go back to farming, and they offered him a job to see to some of the irrigation, the way it was continued. But he decided he didn't want to do that. And a number of people did take jobs here for temporary. So where was I now? [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: So your family had six months you said after they were--
Fletcher: Yeah, about six months. They found a place in Kennewick then, and my dad then bought some place and he put in a fruit orchard over on what became Blossom Hill in Kennewick. And we took over the old house. When I got out of the Army--I told you about that in my booklet here, that we took over their house, the two-story house that was on what's now where Denny's is at the corner of Kennewick Avenue and the Umatilla Highway.
Bauman: Do you know how much money your parents were given for their--
Fletcher: In those days, at that time, the government was not as benevolent in their takeover of land. And they did not really offer what the land was worth. So my folks, my dad was one of the leaders of the group that took them to court over the offer. And this lingered on for quite a while, because my dad was one of the--as a manager of the irrigation district. And John Dam that the park is named after, and two or three others, they figured that they were being offered what the land had sold for in Depression days, which had just been more or less begun to get over in 1943. And my folks and others were beginning to feel established, that here they'd worked most of their working lives for 12, 15 years getting to where they felt like they were established and could make a good living. And now they were being offered this, where they had to leave relatively quickly. And not being offered enough to buy something comparable in other areas, where they found they had to pay more than what they had been offered. So this went to court and drug on for a while. They did get a settlement that my dad was involved in. But it took quite a while and it still did not--they were not too happy about it. I'll put it that way. But anyway, they got over it.
Bauman: And so you heard about this happening when you were at Fort Lewis?
Fletcher: Yeah, I was still in the service. I was sent from there to Camp Roberts for infantry training. And I was there until June. See, this happened--I was taken in up in February I guess it was, and we had 13 weeks, almost four months, I think it was, of infantry training there in Camp Roberts in the desert in California. And then I was sent back to New York City. I had an opportunity--then they took some people to specialized training or a specialized training program called ASTP and I was able to get into that because of my college background and I passed some tests, I guess, and so forth. And so I was back there at the time and at Camp Roberts in California at the time that all this took place in Richland, and their dislocation and--
Bauman: Do you remember what you thought at the time when you found out?
Fletcher: [LAUGHTER] What I thought about that? About all this happening you mean?
Bauman: Yeah.
Fletcher: Well, so much was happening, you didn't have time to think too much about it. Because I was involved in the training and we were kept busy night and day pretty much, and then the infantry training camp and being back there. But I heard about it. They kept me up on it, and there wasn't much you could do about it, and neither could they, because that was it. You could appeal, but that was a long process, the appeal was. So they just took a time to get over it. They got over it eventually.
Bauman: Are there any events or things from your childhood growing up in Richland that sort of stand out? Special memories that we haven't talked about yet?
Fletcher: Probably quite a few things. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Fletcher: A number of things I mention in his booklet that I gave you. One thing I particularly remember as a kid was I had this pony, and my neighbor kids had ponies too, or else work horses that did the job. And so we could roam around quite a bit. We had a lot of freedom. We all had rifles. We went out hunting. And the jackrabbits were quite numerous, I remember. Going just about a mile from where we are now, there was a sand hill over here off of Stevens Drive, which we called Pole Line Drive. Those days there was a sand hill over there. And there was an irrigation ditch that ran along this sand hill. And we'd go in and the boys--take our clothes off and we'd swim in this irrigation canal. There was a flume there, too, and that was kind of an interesting thing to go through. And we would take our rifles, and there was one farm that was close to this sand hill called--I'm trying to remember the name now, Sam's. Anyway, he had a--his farm was right adjacent to the open sagebrush land and sand hill. And if you were there in the evening--he had an alfalfa field right along the edge of this sort of a desert area. At certain times in the dusk, there'd be whole bunches of jackrabbits would come in. I remember we would go there with our rifles, and my friends, Dan Barnett and Richard Hackney and I, and we'd wait for dusk. And you could shoot these rabbits. And of course Mr. Sandberg I think his name- yeah, Sandberg was his name, he welcomed anybody that would get rid of the jackrabbits for him because they were destroying his alfalfa field. And so we'd shoot a bunch of jackrabbits. And they did have jackrabbit drives once in a while, and they had pictures of them. I might have some in some of my folks' stuff. But anyway, we had ponies or horses and we'd go out, and sometimes we'd go up the river from here, Dan Barnett and Richard Hackney and I. And as I said, I had a pony that had been caught on the open range and he could outrun practically any horse around. We would go up there and we'd camp out for a day and we would find some old prospectors up there. They would be panning for gold. And I don’t think, from the looks of them that they found very much, but they were interesting characters that'd tell you stories about their life. And we kind of envied them a little bit, but nobody wanted to do what they were doing. Anyway, then we would go up there and we'd camp overnight. Other times, we would go up there--I said that my folks and the Barnetts and the Hackneys had-- we had a boom in the river. We'd catch driftwood coming down for our--did I tell you about this before?
Bauman: No.
Fletcher: No, okay. If I ramble, tell me. We'd go up, my folks or my dad and the other men, we would have wagons--we'd hook the work horses to the wagons. And we'd take enough food to last a couple days. And us boys would go along, and some other boys were old enough to help, and some of us were too young to do much, but to tag along and have a good time. And we'd go up there and we'd set up a camp, and the men would have a log boom up there. They'd attach logs to each other and run them out into the water. And when the water would rise in the spring, it would lift these drift logs from upstream, clear up around where Grand Cooley is now, before Grand Cooley was built and any other dams. And these drift logs would drift down, if you had a log boom out you'd catch them, as the water would--the high water from the snow melt. And if your log boom was out far enough, you'd get a whole bunch of logs in there and that would be--which then we'd go up and the men would take their team of horses and use their chains to pull these logs out of the water that had been caught in the log boom. And then they'd have to cut them up enough to put on their wagons to haul them down home. And this would take two or three days to do. In the meantime, us kids, the younger ones, we'd have a great time with shooting rabbits and doing some fishing off what was left of the log boom. And fixing our hot dogs over the campfire. It was quite an experience. And we all wanted to go. I think the girls envied us. They couldn't go. I don't remember any of the women going. But when they got the wagons loaded, they had them all--I remember they had sideboards on them, so that they would be loaded up to the maximum. And of course the roads weren't too good. The horses would be really worn out by the time we got these loads down to where we lived. And we'd have to wash them off, rinsing the horses off with a hose because they'd be all that, and it would be quite late in the evening before we made it home. So that was quite a big event in our lives, and especially for the young fellas like us, we thought that was great. I'm sure the men folks were glad it was over. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Fletcher: So we had quite a few trips where we went out. I had a friend, Scotty who lived out in Yakima River, and I would go over--he was the one that I think I told you about the time that--maybe it was in my booklet. About the time that our well--the well that we dug up on the top of the hill, the 60 foot well, it had been real cold that winter, and usually the well didn't freeze, but it froze that winter. And so Scotty, my friend, he was the adventurer more so than I was. He said, oh, I can go take a blowtorch down there and thaw it out. Well, he did. My dad led him down this well. The well was hand dug and it was only about so big around. And there were iron steps put in the cement as they went down. As I said, it was 60 feet deep. Of course the water stood up in it about 20 feet or so. It would fluctuate. So Scotty went down with a blowtorch to thaw this pipe out because it had frozen the pump. And he got down there and I guess the confines of the gas or something, it exploded, and he was lucky he wasn't killed. He made it. Somehow it went upward rather than downward and he was able to get out. But his face was black and his eyebrows were singed off. And he was quite a mess from that occasion, but he didn't have to be hospitalized. They put cream on his face and I don't remember whether they got the pipe thawed out or not. I don't think so. I think it took a few days before it got the water up.
Bauman: So if someone was to ask you what it was like to grow up in a community like Richland, how would you respond to that? What would you say?
Fletcher: It was an interesting place to grow up because you were involved in all the activities. You were important as a member of the family. There were chores to do. You also had interesting experiences. You had time to play with your neighbors and develop your own activities and sports to a great extent. I guess probably I look back on it more with rose-colored glasses than it actually was, because I'm sure it was harder for the adults, too. Because it was kind of touch and go for them many times. There was no WPA or relief organizations. People helped their neighbors out when they needed it. I can remember a family that lived not too far from us. The man, the husband died, and they had some fairly young children, the Fraziers. And the wife was left with these--I forgot how young they were--two or three youngsters, and their small farm. And the people of the community just helped out. There was no other organization that they knew of. And later, Bruce Frasier who was in that family, who was about my age. He wasn't a classmate, but he told me years later at the reunions we used to have, he said, did you know-- [EMOTIONAL] did you know how much help your mom and dad did--I'm sorry.
Bauman: It's all right.
Fletcher: How much help your mom and dad gave my folks. And I said I had no idea. He told me that my dad and mother, and others--he said it wasn't just them. But they're the ones that made it possible for him to survive. And this, they didn't talk about it at all. Excuse me, cut it off a minute? Wipe my eyes here. I'm glad to get this opportunity. Don't take me wrong.
Bauman: That’s all right.
Fletcher: I am glad to get the opportunity to talk. There's not too many people who want to listen to it.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Fletcher: Can I have a little drink?
Bauman: Sure. I think we're just about finished anyway. I think we've covered a lot of the things that I wanted to cover.
Fletcher: All right.
Bauman: So I guess is there anything else that we haven't covered that would be important to talk about?
Fletcher: I think we've covered everything pretty well. I've probably gone side-tracked a lot. And it was a role in that community, as I said, that they did help each other out in many ways. And that they're very independent, too. And there aren't too many of us left. We still get to have a reunion. We did-- it's getting down to where there aren't very many of us left. Last year we met at the Old Country Buffet and I had a good time. I think there may have been about 20 of us. But about half of them were descendants, children that brought their parents, who needed help to get there.
Bauman: Oh, okay. So this is a reunion of people from Richland?
Fletcher: The old time Richland, yeah, they lived in old time Richland. There's another-- the Deranleau, Ray Deranleau, he was quite a storyteller, he still lives here, and he was just a year or two younger than myself. And Alice Perkins is his wife, Alice Perkins-Deranleau. And I kind of think he'd be in the phone book. If not—
Bauman: Yeah.
Fletcher: And Price Colley. George Colley his name was, but there's a Colley family that he was there last year, and he's quite a storyteller.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] About what time of year do you usually get together?
Fletcher: Usually in the middle of September.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Fletcher: Middle to late September. Edith--I used to be the one that was in charge of getting the literature out and the reunions set up. Anyway, Edith Wiedle-Hansen, H-A-N-S-E-N, is the one that is doing it now. She was in my wife's class two or three years behind me in graduating from high school. And she's still here. I could maybe give you some more information on that later, if you wanted to call me.
Bauman: Yeah.
Fletcher: I don't know, if you have trouble.
Bauman: I just want to thank you very much for coming in today and being willing--
Fletcher: I enjoyed it.
Bauman: --to have me asking questions.
Fletcher: Okay. I hope that some of it’s good use.
Bauman: You've been very helpful. Thank you very much.
Northwest Public Television | Soldat_Joe
Robert Bauman: Okay, all right. Well, we'll go ahead and get started. All right. What I'm going to have you do first is say your name. And then spell it for me.
Joe Soldat: Okay. Joseph Soldat, S-O-L-D-A-T.
Bauman: Thank you, and my name is Robert Bauman. And we're conducting an oral history interview. Today's date is August 6th of 2013. And the interview is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. And so I'm talking today with Joe Soldat about his experiences working at the Hanford site. So I wonder--let's start by maybe you tell me how you came to Hanford, what brought you here, how you heard about the place.
Soldat: When I graduated from the University of Colorado with a degree in chemical engineering, I worked for a while at the Denver General Hospital, which was associated with the university. And they lost their research grant. So I heard from somebody that there was a place called Hanford. So I wrote a letter to the employment department at GE. And I got a thing back, of course, that says, we got your letter on file. But it wasn't too long afterwards they called me, and told me to come. So I agreed to come out, sight unseen, on the train. And I got off to train. I looked at all the sagebrush, like everybody, and said, oh, I'll give it a year or two. That was 1948. And I stayed on the project for 47 years.
Bauman: Ah. And so you arrived in this place of sage brush and desert.
Soldat: Yeah.
Bauman: What sort of housing did you find?
Soldat: Well, when I came they put me in a barracks in North Richland, the old military barracks--small rooms for two people with a closet and a dresser. And showers were down the hall. Maid came in once a week to change the linens and towels. And I was paying $0.20 a day for rent. Eventually, I got to move to Richland--the dorm M4. And on the corner right now is a bank where M2 used to be. And M2 became a motel for a while—some guy bought it. And then it finally became a bank. But my wife-to-be lived in the women's dormitories with W numbers. And so we finally met, and ended up getting married in '52.
Bauman: So did you live in the dorms for about four years from about '48 to '52 then?
Soldat: Yeah, before I got married, yeah. And we managed to get a house. Because I was in radiation protection, we had some small priority on getting housing. And we picked out a pre-cut on the south side, three-bedroom. So we lived there till '63. And moved in a ranch house where I live now on Torbett, in a remodeled ranch house with an extra bedroom.
Bauman: About how large were the dorms that you lived in?
Soldat: The dormitories? Well, I'd say maybe as big as from here to that wall square. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: About how many people lived in the dormitories as a whole?
Bauman: So what was Richland like in the late '40s and early '50s in the community?
Soldat: Well, when I finally moved into town, the town, essentially, was closed. If you didn't work there, you couldn’t live there. You could come in. There was no fence around it. But if you retired, you had to go somewhere else to live. There was no retirement housing. And the city, when I got my house, supplied oil, or coal, free for the housing. So the rent was fairly reasonable at that time. And they had the federal government until, I think it was '58, when they sold houses to us, and got their own government. One of my friends, Bob McKee, was on the church council. And he became, eventually, mayor of Richland. His funeral is coming up Thursday. He died away back in the spring. But they delayed the funeral for relatives, I guess. But, anyway, I got a reasonable price for my house, I thought. It was like about $9,000 plus, because I had put up a fence, and a little thing for storage of garbage cans and stuff. They thought it was the enhanced above the original value. So I got a little better value. We had the option of taking a buy back offer. If you wanted to sell the house back to the government in x number of years, they would give you a 15% discount on your house. But I didn't opt for that. I figured by then, I was going to stay. [LAUGHTER] They had a cafeteria in a building next to the 703 Building, that old Quonsethut-shaped building, that later became commercial facilities. But we could go in there for breakfast and get meals that were partly for military style, like powdered scrambled eggs and stuff like that. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: And what about entertainment at the time you were living in the dorms? Were there things to do entertainment-wise?
Soldat: Oh, okay. The people that lived in the dormitories could join the dorm club. We did all kinds of things. We had parties, dances, skiing, bike riding, hiking—everything before all these individual groups were established. So they covered the whole share. I learned to ski a little bit at Spout Springs, made it down the beginner's hill.
Bauman: And you said you met your wife during that time?
Soldat: Yes.
Bauman: Was she working also at the Hanford Site, then?
Soldat: She was a secretary. And she worked for a while. We got married in June, and in December, she had to quit because she was pregnant. They would not allow, at that time, pregnant women to work after fourth or fifth month. And then she never did go back to work. But she got involved in things like volunteering at the Red Cross, and Republican Women's Club, and all the things kept her busy.
Bauman: Did you meet as part of some social activity? Or was it on the job, at work that you met?
Soldat: She did all this being a housewife, all those things.
Bauman: But how did the two of you meet? Was it at a--
Soldat: I'm trying hard to remember.
Bauman: Oh, okay. [LAUGHTER]
Soldat: I think I was introduced by a mutual friend, a guy that I used to bowl together. That's the other thing we had for entertainment in Richland, was bowling. And I liked doing that. But one of the guys I bowled with, we went to the restaurant. Next to the Richland Players Theater used to be a drug store, and they had a little cafeteria in there. We went in there, and we met these two women. And he knew one of them. The other one was going to become my wife. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Let's move now to the work you did at Hanford. What was your first job?
Soldat: My first job while I was waiting for my clearance was in what was the bioassay lab in 700 Area doing statistical analysis of the results of the analysis of employees’ urine for radioactive contamination. I wasn't allowed to know everything I was analyzing. But I did a statistical analysis. I had a orange card, which allowed me in, because I didn't have my clearance. Theoretically, I was supposed to be escorted in and out. But there was such a mob of people going in and out they never bothered to ask me whomy escort was. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: So where was this at?
Soldat: 700 Area, 703 Building—the old one. And the bioassay lab was inside the 716 Building, I think it was.
Bauman: And so how long did you do that?
Soldat: I did that--well, I came in August, '48. And it was five months before I got my clearance. Then I went out to T Plant as a radiation monitor in training.
Bauman: And how long did you work there?
Soldat: Oh, gosh, I worked there for a couple of years. And then I got transferred to environmental monitoring. Out there in 2-East Area, environmental monitoring people were housed in an old Quonset hut next to the coal pile. You had to go in and sweep your desk off with a broom every morning to get the coal dust off of it. [LAUGHTER] And I stayed there for a while. I did some projects, calibrating some instruments, and other things. And then we moved to 329 Building in 300 Area. I think it was in the early '50s. And I stayed in environmental monitoring work ever since, through the rest of my career, writing impact statements, deriving equations for calculating dose to the public from releases at Hanford in food, and water, and air, and stuff like that. And my models are still being used some places. I was--we didn't have a lot of data. But I learned from the turtle you don't make progress unless you stick your neck out. That’s how they do. Sometimes throw darts at the chemistry chart on the wall. And say, well, this one should behave like that one, and put together what we could know. And my coworker Dave Baker was a computer guy. I'm not very good at computers. But he computerized a lot of my equations and stuff. Between us, we agreed and what kind of factors to use. There was some literature from the fallout studies. There was a fellow named Yoka Ng, N-G, in California who had to put together a lot of data for the fallout branch on concentrations of various chemical elements in soil and plants, which made it very easy for me to predict the update of the radionuclides.
Bauman: So, what kind of findings did you have at some of your research about things that happened at Hanford in terms of the air, and water, and so forth?
Soldat: Well, depends on what you want. It all started in '58 when Jack Healy gave a paper at the International Atomic Energy Symposium. And he talked about what we were measuring in the environment, and the kind of findings that we had. And we eventually created a maximum individual person who ate big amounts of food, and drank milk from cows, and fish from the river, and all that. And then we calculated the dose he would get from concentrations in these things. And things were generally below the limits that they had at those times. Originally, in the early years the limits for the public were the same as workers. It took them a while to figure out that there are, perhaps, more sensitive people in the public because workers were all health screened and everything. So they lowered all the public limits by a factor of ten to be safer. And we also had to put controls on releases to the atmosphere. The manager of the radiation protection department—it call was called health instruments at first—set limits for the reprocessing plants, and how much iodine they could release, and other things. And they worked hard during those years in the '50s and '60s putting in new cleanup equipment on the stacks—sand filters. And then eventually PUREX had fiberglass filters to remove the particles and stuff. So I've installed sampling equipment on all of the stacks, and the separation there is, some of them before and after the cleanup so they could see what the efficiency was. And I kept track, by going to the operating gallery, what kind of metal they were processing, how old it was, how much it had decayed, so we could relate things to what we were finding at the stacks. That data is still around. And when they did the dose reconstruction under Bruce Napier, they used a lot of my old data about the stack releases. Fortunately, Bruce had an office next to me. [LAUGHTER] So we communicated.
Bauman: So you worked there for how many years at Hanford?
Soldat: 47.
Bauman: 47, you must have seen a lot of changes in technology, instrumentation, those sorts of things?
Soldat: And administration. [LAUGHTER] Yeah. GE, at one time, I think it must have been in the '50s, decided that they would have no job description titled assistant, or under-secretary, or whatever like that. There would be no committees doing any administration. Every job had to have a written, definitive description specifying the duties, and the authorities, and the obligations. And it worked well for a long time. And then before that, when I wanted to get a paper cleared, I had to go through about half a dozen signatures, including public relations, of course. But then later on, I--essentially with my boss and one guy from public relations--they all had to clear my public papers. And it worked out well then. Then Battelle took over, reorganized things a little bit. And a funny thing happened. I had a secret clearance with GE. When Battelle took over, they decided that they didn't want to have too many secret clearances to manage. So they lowered my clearance and several other people’s. I want to the library to get a report I had written in 1949, classified secret. They gave it to me on microfiche. I read it, and I asked for a full printed copy. The remark I got eventually was, you can't it. You're not cleared for it. What are you going to do, brainwash me? [LAUGHTER] So Battelle had to raise my clearance back to what it was before.
Bauman: Because you had written secret reports?
Soldat: I talked about iodine releases to the environment, and measurements inside the 200 Areas.
Bauman: I understand you were involved in a comprehensive food model?
Soldat: Yeah.
Bauman: What was that?
Soldat: Well, about the late '60s, Westinghouse had a project to try and calculate doses to the US public from a large nuclear economy, especially reactors, and ignoring the waste part. And they needed to know what would be in food, and water, and air, and everything. And a fellow by the name of Bill Templeton who was an aquatic biologist worked with me at first. And then, finally, he said, okay, Joe. You're doing all right. So he turned me loose. But I had a fellow, Dennis Harr, who came to Hanford from Alaska. He was a forest hydrologist. They assigned him to me to help look up the factors I needed. He came here to WSU--or to Pullman, really—and looked up all of thinking about how much a cow eats, how much water they drink, and how many acres of this and that is growing. So he was very helpful looking all that stuff up for me. I just sat down and wrote an equation. I had heard that in the Windscale accident that the iodine they released stuck about 25% to plants. So I used that factor. And I added that stuff from Yoka Ng with the soil to plant ratios. So I modeled the uptake from soil, and combine all that in a big long equation with about 21 parameters. And I gave a paper on that at an ANS meeting in the '70s. And I also developed a diagram—a pathway diagram I call it--with all of the lines from all of the sources going across and interacting. And then at the end, they combined for the dose at the end. And that got published, too, in my '70 paper. And I did put all that stuff together with some other things for Reg Guide 1.109. It included my calculated dose factors for people of four ages--four years, 11 years, 17 or 16, and adult, because the organ sizes are different. So the doses are different. That was in there, my food model was in there, and then I developed a model for exposure to sediment in the Columbia River. Dick Perkins had measured three or four radionuclides in the sediment in the Columbia River as best you could, because it's awful rocky on the bottom. And analysis of that told me what the relationship was between the water and the sediment, assuming it had been running for many years, and had time to come to equilibrium. So I developed the equation for that, which included the radioactive half-life of the elements. And that was used in several instances in impact statements about--I think it was '59, they had something called a Calvert Cliffs Decision, in which they were trying to build a reactor. And the government was forced to do an environmental impact statement on every existing reactor and every new reactor. First rule was 100 pages’ length. But it still grew, because people were copying what other people had done. Well, this flew, so we'll put it in. Then they add unique things to their site. And it kept growing and growing. But there were 50 reactors that had to have impact statements. And they split it up three ways between Argonne National Laboratory, Oak Ridge, and Hanford. And I got involved in the Hanford one. First time I used my sediment model was for plants on the shore of Lake Michigan, and exposure to people standing on the shoreline--first time I used it off-site. And we calculated the dose someone might receive from the sediment contaminated from the water which came from the reactor outlet that was diluted before it got to where the fishermen was. So that was added to the impact statement, along with the fish, and all the other stuff that we normally did.
Bauman: Hanford, of course, when you first arrived was all about production. But at some point that shifted to cleanup. Did that shift impact your work in anyway?
Soldat: Well, yes and no. [LAUGHTER] It changed exactly what I was doing. But I was still doing environmental stuff. For cleanup—well, before that we were doing impact statements for new things at Hanford, like a front end for PUREX to do 100 N fuel, and all kinds of stuff. Afterwards, I was doing impact statements and studies forproposed cleanup. There was a big, fat three-volume document--I think it was SWASH 1400, it started out. It ended up being ERDA 1400. And in there, they studied every possible waste source, contamination source, potential for accidents and exposure. And I did a lot of those calculations. So one thing they wanted, which is very current today, they wanted to know, what would happen if a tank leaked? They said, what would happen if 1,000 gallons of tank leaked all at once? So I got a guy, Andy Reisenhauer, in the water department we called them. He was doing ground water studies. And he figured it out. With this modeling, he showed how small the contaminated area would be, and how, essentially harmless and well-confined to the immediate vicinity it was. And I get all upset now a days about the clamor about everybody that don't understand what's going on, even the governor. [LAUGHTER] At least he tried.
Soldat: Yeah. Battelle just took over everything we were doing. Almost all people came directly to Battelle. There were a few that stayed in the 200 Areas the reprocessing areas. But some of them later came to Battelle. So a few stayed out there, worked for the various contractors they had. But it was nice, because having been altogether in GE, I could still communicate with those people when I needed information and data on releases, and access, and things. I could talk to them directly. I didn't have to go up and down the channels.
Bauman: You mentioned earlier that you had written a secret report. And you had to go back and look at it, they initially told you you couldn't. As a site that, obviously, emphasized security and secrecy, I wonder if you could talk about how the emphasis on secrecy and security impacted your work in anyway.
Soldat: Well, I told you what happened to me when I was working in the 700 Area. And I got here in '48. In '53, they renewed the Q clearances. I got called in the FBI for interview. They said, when you were in college—that's like in '46 or '47--you attended a meeting of, I think it was, SDS, which was supposed to be a Communist-related organization. They had a meeting in the park. They were complaining about their treatment. And it was a big hullabaloo. And I decided I'd go down and see what was going on. Apparently, they had spies watching all these people. So they started asking me questions about that. And I explained it away to their satisfaction. They said, do you ever read The Communist Manifesto? I said, no, but maybe I should someday. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: When you first started working there, did you take the bus out to the site?
Soldat: Pardon?
Bauman: When you first started working there, how did you get to the site and back? Did you take the bus out? Did you drive a car?
Soldat: There was no background checks when I first came, because I had that work card. It took them five months to do all the investigations of relatives and friends to find out if I was reliable. And I finally got my Q clearance. But they may have reviewed things other than that one I know about since. But the FBI was doing it at that time. Later on, they farmed it out to a different government agency. And I don't think the checks were quite as thorough at that time. But you couldn't drive through the project like you can today. When you want to go to the west side, you can drive down towards Vantage through the project. It's all right. But it used to be all sealed off. You had to go around by Robinson's barn to get where you're going.
Bauman: And when you went through security at the gate, did you have to show a badge?
Soldat: Well, after I got my clearance, they checked everybody's badge going through. At one time in 300 Area, they had a badge rack. You would put your badge in the rack to go home. They didn't want you taking it off site. Well, one thing, you might get exposed from TV. [LAUGHTER] The old TV sets had a relatively high energy coming out at the bottom. Some kid sat there with his feet under the TV set, he might get a little bit of exposure. And so one day, I wore some radiation dosimeters, those pencil dosimeters on myself while I was watching TV at a distance. And then I put some by the TV set to compare the readings. And there was a small difference. [LAUGHTER] Yeah, at first, I thought security was a little lax because of the way they were letting you go through 700 Area, first few months. But it got pretty tight afterwards.
Soldat: Well, there was a few, of course. They had limits they set on the releases for iodine-131. They had an experiment in which they wanted to have short cooled fuel, which would have more iodine in it, to released short-lived inert gases like Xenon and Krypton to the atmosphere so the Air Force could fly around with a plane and measure it. As I figure out, the idea was they could fly around Russia and see what kind of production they might be having from what they could detect in the air over a facility. Well, when they had—it's called a green run, when they had that, the iodine came out. And there was a little bit of to-do about that in later years, and people being exposed. And even before the iodine releases were controlled, there was quite a few releases. But in later years, I used my rules of thumb I learned, and my models to predict what doses probably were in the early years before they had reconstruction done. And I came probably within a factor of two of what they spent millions of dollars to calculate. [LAUGHTER] But that was one thing. And then they had some fuel that was mislabeled, and it was short cooled, that released iodine in the 200 Areas. And we went out and studied the vegetation on the project, and all around. Well, it turns out the iodine was held in the tanks for a while. And the vegetation that we measured didn't have any until they transferred the solution to another tank. Then the iodine escaped. And then we could find it on the vegetation—we found it in the Pasco area, and West Richland. And the meteorological group predicted it would--according to the weather, it should be high in north of Pasco. Well, it wasn't high there. It was higher in Benton City than it was in Richland. And there was a Benton City farm that had milk. And we sampled that milk every day for a long time, and plotted the curve as it decayed. And I backtracked it for a couple of days that we had missed. And I calculated the radiation dose a kid might have drinking that milk. And the standard model was one liter of milk a day. And I calculated all that. And we couldn't get the kids to come in to get a thyroid check for awhile. The mother was reluctant. Finally, he came in months later. And at that point, I predicted the thyroid burden ought to be 70 picocuries. And it turned out, he was measured 72 picocuries. Then something really interesting happened with that. Some anti-nuclears said that I had reported on this thing, and the dose was less than a fraction of the limits. So it's all right to die by a fraction at a time. Somebody else picked that up, and said I had pin pointed the death of a small child drinking that milk. So some guy from Oak Ridge, his name was Piper, investigated all this stuff, and tried to put everything straight, and straighten out all these misconceptions. But you can see what happens to the press.
Bauman: So what time period was that?
Soldat: That was in '63. It's all published in Health Physics Journal, and all that stuff. They had an iodine symposium in 1963—a biology symposium. People all over the world came here. And we met in the old community house, this little anteroom off to the side, with swamp coolers. And it was 116 in Pasco. [LAUGHTER] It was a mess. But we published a whole book of the papers. And I have a couple in here, at least by abstract anyway. I learned alot about the different factors, again, and improved my knowledge of what was going on.
Bauman: So when there were releases of iodine, you were involved in calculating the--
Soldat: Yeah.
Bauman: Measurements?
Soldat: Yeah, another thing I did was I stood out by a met tower wearing a respirator device that measured my breathing rate by volume. And they released iodine--I think it was 135 or 132, a real short half life--that another guy and I could stand there and inhale. And then we went and got our thyroids counted, and watched the decay, and integrated the whole thing. And my total dose was probably about ten millirem, compared to the limit, which was 1,500 a year at that time. Herb Parker got real mad, because we hadn't checked with him to see if it was okay. He said we should have our thyroids examined before we did it. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: So you were used as test subjects?
Soldat: The other release was from REDOX--ruthenium--there was two rutheniums: 106, and 103. And the scrubber in the plant that was supposed to remove these from their exhaust failed. And it released about 40 curie of ruthenium out the stack. It was detectable on Wahluke Slope, and all the way up just southeast of Spokane. It missed all of real good farms, and everything, fortunately. So we went up collecting a lot of samples from that. Then there was a contamination on Hanford itself on the roofs of some of the buildings and the ground. So that was all cleaned up. I spent some time monitoring transportation workers who were going around picking up particles around the 200 Areas. The other thing that happened is they found radioactive rabbits and coyotes--BC trenches, in 2 East Area. They disposed of waste which had cesium. And, of course, it's a salt relative to sodium in the nucleic chart. And the rabbits got in there were eating the waste with the cesium, and digging down. And the coyotes were eating the rabbits. And so we were finding this contaminated environment, and traced it down to that. It didn't travel more than a mile or two. Rabbits have a very short range. They don't travel more than a couple miles. And so that had to all get cleaned up, and covered over, put to rest. There was a few things like that.
Bauman: Did any of these incidents or releases--were there ever any that you looked at, studied, calculated, and found that it was a risk to employees, or to the public at all?
Soldat: No, most of them were--the release of the strontium, the highest concentration found at Wahluke Slope across the river was--if a guy stood there and breathed the whole time the cloud time went by, he might have got 80 milligram to the lungs. And, of course, at that time, we were getting 100 milligram a year from radiation. And the limit to the public was 1,500. So, really, it wasn't that significant.
Bauman: I wanted to ask you about a little bit different part of it. President Kennedy visited in 1963 to open the N Reactor.
Soldat: Yeah, I want to see--
Bauman: Were you there? Were you part of it?
Soldat: I was standing far back in the crowd. And I could barely see the President. They opened up to the site to the public to go there. And I rode with a friend. And he and his son went with me. We watched that thing.
Bauman: Do you remember anything else about that day? Or just being really far away?
Soldat: Well, I remember when the helicopter landed with the President inside it, kicked up an awful lot of dust. I was glad that maybe it wasn't all that contaminated for people to breathe.
Bauman: Do you remember any other time when any dignitaries came to the site?
Soldat: Yeah, I just noticed something I looked at this week. Nixon visited Battelle facilities, the main research building. And Ronald Reagan was here one time.
Soldat: Well, I don't know. The least of my challenges was working with administration, because usually they managed to turn me loose when they found out what I was doing. I think that the challenge was finding data in the open literature that I could use to put into my models. I'd go to the library in those days, you would ask for literature, and sit down, and read it, and take notes—not like today. So I found things, eventually, from researchers in Russia who had studied uptake and radionuclides in fish, and studies at Oak Ridge on fallout in cattle, and all these things. But finding data was a little hard, not because it was classified. But it was in the open literature, and you had to think about where it might be located. That was one of my most challenging things. The other challenge was to learning how to use Word Perfect. [LAUGHTER] My secretary forced me to learn it. She helped teach me because she couldn't read my handwriting. That was a challenge for a while. I still have trouble with computers. But I think the biggest reward was all of the recognition I got from management, and Health Physics Society, and other groups. I got a file about that thick that I labeled Kudos. And when they have the recouplex incident in 234-5that had a solution that wasn't handled right. And it had a nuclear reaction, in an outfit called recouplex. We worked a week or so overtime in evening, and around the clock some of us, working on the effects of that, and the dose to the people. And I had measurements of the stack gases. And I predicted from the stack gases how many fissions had occurred in that pot. And then the other guys, the real nuclear experts, came and did theirs. And we agreed within a factor of two again. But, yeah, it never really did much off-site again. It dissipated before it got anywheres. We plotted the path, and by the time it reached the boundary of the site over towards Pasco it was essentially nothing. Because whenyou have a nuclear reaction like that, you generate a lot of short-lived radionuclides with seconds, and minutes, and days. And so it really wasn't that effective off-site.
Bauman: What was the time period of that incident?
Soldat: I want to say April '62, I guess. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Being involved in environmental monitoring, and monitoring the effects of releases and that sort of thing, did you at any point—it seems like at some point, nuclear power became--like, certain groups opposed that, right? You hadgroups that became opposed to nuclear power, and the use of--
Soldat: Obtained what?
Bauman: Opposed to nuclear power--
Soldat: Oh, oh.
Bauman: Anti-nuclear stuff. Did you feel that at all at work, I mean or stuff you were involved in?
Soldat: Well, yeah--well, there are people off-site who--that story I told you about that small child. And then there was another guy, he worked at the University of Pittsburgh. I'm trying to remember his name. He predicted all the dire results of fallout from strontium-90. He gave a talk at strontium-90 symposium in biologyput on here one time. And he came to me and says, I need to get my slides remade. What he was doing was correlating the concentration of strontium-90 in milk and leukemia in children. Well, this curve went to pot. And he decided he needed to summarize, average it, over two years. And eventually that went to pot. It didn't work. So then he eventually tried four years. And he asked me if I could get his slides rebuilt for his talk so he could use them for a four-year average. So I went to Bill Bair who was the manager of the symposium. And he said, sure, we'll do it for him. And they did. And he used them. Of course, a lot of people in the audience knew better than to believe what he was saying.
Bauman: Is there anything that we haven't talked about yet that you would like to talk about? That I haven't asked you about?
Soldat: Well, I got some awards. I don't know if you're interested. The local chapter Health Physics Society gave me what's called a Herb Parker Award for Distinguished Service. And then I got elected fellow of the National Society. And then I got the National Distinguished Scientific Achievement Award from the Health Physics Society, which was sort of a review of my total career, and all the, quote, the great things that I had done. The environmental section in the National Health Physics Society established an award for environmental radioactivity measurements type of stuff. And a fellow, a friend, Jack Corley, who worked here, and I got the first ones that they awarded for that as distinguished service. And then I got a plaque from Bill Bair when he was retiring. So he's such a nice guy, he awarded about three or four plaques to employees outlining their distinguished careers. I was one of them. And it's for all the work I had done on radioiodine. So I got that plaque.
Bauman: And you're involved in the Herbert Parker Foundation? Is that right? Are you part of that?
Soldat: I volunteered not to get involved in the Parker Foundation. I let Ron Kathren, and Bill Bair and Dale Denham, and all these guys do it. I worked for a little while after I retired for Dave Muller and Associates to help with the down-winders case, writings some papers on it, and releases, and another one with Jack Selby on plutonium releases from the 200 Areas that were used in the hearings for that business. I haven't really--well, people call me up every once in a while and ask questions—pro bono. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Overall, how would you assess your 47 years working at Hanford as a place to work?
Soldat: For me, it was a great job. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I had wonderful people, except maybe one case of this one boss. But totally great people, and I felt like I was doing something worth while. And it was useful. Later on, it got to be where everybody was writing impact statements, which are not a product. It bothered me a little bit. Even I got involved. And those were kind of necessary. EPA at one time says, we need you to calculate the effect of this dose out to the year 10,000. I said, what? So I got out my business card. And I changed it from environmental engineer to science fiction writer. [LAUGHTER] But I had a great time. I tried to get in the army when I first graduated from high school. And I couldn't because of my ears. And the Navy wouldn't take me because of my eyes, the program for officers. So I ended up—third choice was out here to do my part. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you very much for coming in today, and sharing your stories with us, and your experiences. I appreciate it.
Soldat: I hope it's been useful.
Bauman: Yes. Thank you.
Soldat: Yeah, just carrying this around helped me remember.
Northwest Public Television | McElroy_Jack
Robert Bauman: All right. We'll go ahead and started then.
Jack McElroy: Okay.
Bauman: We could maybe start by having you say your name and spell it for us.
McElroy: Yeah. My name is a Jack McElroy. It's J-A-C-K M-C-E-L-R-O-Y.
Bauman: Great. Thank you. And today's date is October 22nd of 2013. And we're conducting this interview on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. So let's start if we could by having you talk about when you came to work at Hanford initially, what brought you here.
McElroy: Right. I was born at Grand Coulee Dam when my folks came out here from North Carolina and grew up in Spokane. And they came out here to work on the dam. After it was completed, we moved Spokane. I grew up there. So at Lewis and Clark High School I took all their math and science classes. And in my senior year, Hanford started an engineering technician development program. And I was hired directly from high school by General Electric. And I came here in the summer of 1955 and started working. I was at the large central store's administration building next to the bus lot for a couple months while they obtained our Q clearances. And the program also involved sending us to classes. So during that time, we also started going to classes. So I basically came here in 1955 at the age of 18 directly out of high school.
Bauman: How many students were there? How many--
McElroy: There was about 20 of us that they recruited. There were several of us from Spokane. In fact, we formed a carpool and would go back to Spokane almost every weekend using the ferry that was here at North Richland, went over to South Landing on the Pasco side. And that was the quickest way to get back and forth.
Bauman: And so how long did you do that then?
McElroy: I did that for a year and a half. And I had some great rotations. And at the same time that I signed on down here, I joined the Air National Guard out in Spokane. And I was interested in flying. So in 1957, I actually left here to go into the pilot training program. But I probably ought to back up to my experiences here.
Bauman: I want to ask you about, you said a different rotation. What sort of--
McElroy: Yeah. My first assignment was radiation monitoring in a 325 Building, where I was basically a technician supporting chemists and also other radiation monitors. I learned a lot about the radiation and monitoring and so on, which was limited to the radio chemistry labs there in the 325 Building. My second assignment took me out to the 100 Areas, where I worked for Larry McEwen and the heat transfer group. And I was assigned to his group in the hydraulics lab that was at the 100-D and D Area. And I brought in a picture and gave that to you of me working there in the lab. I met some really great chemical engineers there including a guy that would have an effect in my life later on by the name of John Batch who was a PhD from Purdue. And they had quite an influence on my future as it turned out. My next assignment, I went to radiation monitoring again with Herm Pass in the 100 Areas. And he was stationed--they had an office at the 100-D, D Area also. And while I was on that assignment, I was very fortunate to be involved in the 105-B outage. And during that outage, we supported the changing out of the old curlicue pig tails. They basically looked like the real pig tail, and that's how they got their name. They were formed just like a curlicue. And they were on the front face of the reactors. And in 1956, on the B Reactor, they changed those out and put in stainless steel, flexible hoses and pipes. And so I was there at the reactor at that time supporting that operation.
Bauman: How long did that take?
McElroy: Oh, it was just a month or so to actually do that. And that was actually my last assignment. And I did pretty good and actually achieved radiation monitor status before I left and went into the Air Force in early 1957.
Bauman: Of those different assignments, did you have one that you enjoyed the most?
McElroy: I think the radiation monitoring at 100 Areas. I got to go out to all the different reactors. I was able to go the rear face on occasion. I mean, the rear face is a really hot, hot area. So you had to stay out to the side. But at least I was able to see the rear faces on the reactors and the front faces on several reactors. And so that was a very exciting assignment. But it was the hydraulics lab and heat transfer unit that probably had the biggest impact on me later on when I decided to go to college after I was in the Air Force.
Bauman: And so what sort of work did you do in the hydraulics lab?
McElroy: Basically took measurements of fluid flow. And then I did an awful lot of graphing for the engineers and realized at that time that, geez, if I had a degree, I could be having somebody else do the graphs for me. So it was very interesting.
Bauman: And you said that you and a group of you would drive to Spokane often, basically on weekends. Where did you stay? when you--
McElroy: When we came here, they put us up in the Sanford Hotel, which was on Swift Boulevard. It's since been removed. But it was an old army barracks type of place and had simple bunk beds and so on in it. But in 1955, the government started turning the city over to the community, basically. And things like prefab became available for renting. And so on a group of four of us actually applied for a prefab and ended up in a one-bedroom prefab at 1213 Potter Street. And it was a little bit crowded, but we had a ball.
Bauman: And what was the community of Richland like at the time, 1955, '56?
McElroy: It still had a mess hall. You could go to the mess hall there downtown just across from where the post office is at now and have a large buffet dinner and eat there. As I said, we stayed in the little hotel, barracks type hotel. Uptown Theater was there. It was pretty normal, small community.
Bauman: And so you were here for a year and a half or so.
McElroy: Right.
Bauman: And then if you can talk about what you did and what brought you back to Hanford.
McElroy: Yeah. Well, I left to go in the military. And I actually became a pilot and an officer and came back to the Washington Air National Guard up at Geiger Field and basically, at that time, decided, well, this is a great opportunity for me to go back to school. So I went to Gonzaga University while I was flying with the Guard and Air Force. And I received a Bachelor of Science in chemical engineering. And GE hired me immediately to bring me back down here. So I was back down here in July of 1963. So I was gone for about six years.
Bauman: Were you hoping to get back to Hanford at some point? Or was that--
McElroy: You know, I didn't know. I really didn't know what life had in store for me, but it just kept changing and progressing. And I was certainly glad to get back down here once I had the opportunity.
Bauman: So when you came back in 1963, then what sort of work were you doing? What areas were you working in?
McElroy: I kind of stumbled, or fate or something steered me into waste management and the group that was pioneering the development of waste treatment technology for handling radioactive waste. And they were just based, had a lot of their people, in a 321 Building, which was a building that had a lot of history. Other people may have mentioned it, but it had a lot of history for developing separations technology for the site. And at the time I was there, it was actually being used to develop which treatment technology. And so I got in with that group. And I spent three or four months with them learning about vitrification and also something called calcining, where you take liquid waste and heat it up, and drive off a lot of the volatile materials and turn it into a powder. And then from that, we would melt it, vitrify it, make glasses. So that was my first assignment. Second assignment, I went out to 100-N Area and had a great assignment there. I was a process engineer. And I was actually out there at the site when President Kennedy came in 19--I think was 1963, prior to the assassination of course--and saw him speak. And that was a great event. And N Reactor was a great reactor. It's unfortunate that we had to shut it down the way we did.
Bauman: Do you have any specific memories from the day that President Kennedy was here?
McElroy: Not really, no. I definitely remember being out there and seeing him, and hearing him talk, and the helicopters, pretty routine stuff. Yeah. I had one other rotation at PRTR, Plutonium Recycle Test Reactor, where I worked on the containment system for them. But in 1964, it was announced that they were going to shut down all the reactors. And so I decided it was time for me to pick a permanent assignment. And so I went back to the waste management group. I don't know if I mentioned their names, but Al Platt and Carl Cooley were heading up that organization. And they were real pioneers for developing waste treatment technology and working with other international people like in England and France at that time. So I got in with that group and had a lot of great opportunities with them.
Bauman: You mentioned as early as '63 they were already starting to work on vitrification sort of technologies?
McElroy: Right.
Bauman: What other sorts of technologies and waste treatment were being researched or worked on?
McElroy: At that time, it was primarily calcination and vitrification and looking at three different products, either a calcine powdery dry product for final storage or either phosphate glass or borosilicate glass. And also there was a phosphate ceramic at the time. So it really hadn't been decided what was going to be the choice for the US, what direction we were going to go with the treatment technology. And in the program I was in starting a '65, we actually demonstrated with radioactive material in the 324 Building several different technologies with all these different products. And from that, we chose to go with borosilicate glass, which is the current standard for product form for high level radioactive waste.
Bauman: And what led you to that sort of solution?
McElroy: The processes that we demonstrated, basically that seemed to be one of the best. We actually made it with in-can melting, a spray calciner, and in-can melter. I brought in another photograph of that showing all this equipment in the cell with the spray calciner setting over an in-can melter. And basically the product from that, the borosilicate glass, turned out to be the best product in terms of its durability. And also the process, in-can melting, was a pretty straightforward simple process to--
Bauman: Can you explain that a little bit, just a little detail?
McElroy: Yeah. Basically we sprayed liquid waste into the spray calciner, which is heated to about 700 degrees centigrade. And as the droplets came down, they dried. And it would be hot enough to where you'd get rid of all the nitrates and convert it to oxides. And the oxides would then fall down into the melter. We had a couple different melters at the time. We were actually looking at a continuous melter, that was made out of platinum and far too expensive, and the in-can melter, which is made out of Inconel. And we would add additives, boron and silica, to the calcine, and then heat them up to over 1,000 degrees centigrade in either the melter or the in-can melter and convert to the glass.
Bauman: So about what time period was this conclusion made to go with vitrification?
McElroy: The program was from '65 to '71. And so it was around 1970 that we basically decided that the borosilicate glass was the preferred route. And then things changed. And they actually didn't support doing any waste work for about a year and started it backup in 1972. And in 1972, I was recruited to be the manager for the development of the vitrification program. I was recruited by Al Platt, who I mentioned earlier and John Batch, who was one of the PhD chemical engineers out at the 100-D Reactor at the time I was there as a technician. So it kind of came back around again with one of the people that I word for earlier. So they recruited me to head up the program to further develop technology for using in the United States, for vitrifying high level waste.
Bauman: So were you actually able to begin the process of [INAUDIBLE]?
McElroy: In '72, we started building the program with the focus on the spray calciner and in-can melter, which was the choice from that earlier program, and also decided it was time to look at something that would handle large quantities of waste, such as what they have here at Hanford. Because when you just melt in a can, you're pretty well limited in terms of size and processing rate. So in 1972, I hired an engineer, actually Battelle hired him. Hanford Labs under General Electric became the Pacific Northwest Laboratories under Battelle. And so in 1972, I was then working for Battelle. And at that time, we started developing and hiring engineers. And so one of the engineers was Chris Chapman out of Kansas. He was a mechanical engineer. And we put him in charge of developing a new melter technology, a Joule-heated ceramic melter. And to jump further ahead, the Joule-heater ceramic melter now is the heart of the waste treatment plant. There's two of them in the low activity waste facility and two in the high level waste facility. But anyway, we started developing that technology in early '70s. And by 1975, we had a prototype working in the 324 Building of a liquid-fed Joule-heated ceramic melter. And I brought in a picture of that also to share with you.
Bauman: So that's almost 40 years ago now that you really started developing some of that technology.
McElroy: Right. If you add that up, that's probably 41 years. So it's over 40 years.
Bauman: Yeah.
McElroy: Yeah, time flies. Anyway, that technology--1977--we were developing most of this technology actually for the commercial nuclear fuel cycle with the expectation that the United States would develop reprocessing and have a complete fuel cycle here. In 1977, President Carter put a moratorium on reprocessing and that just threw everything into turmoil. And fortunately, there was a gentleman by the name of Frank Baranowski that was running the Department of Energy Defense Waste sites. And he chose to pick up the technology. And so we then turned all of our efforts from the commercial fuel cycle to supporting the Defense Waste facilities. So we spent several years working with DuPont to transfer the know-how for the spray calciner and in-can melter, as well as the Joule-heated melter for use down at Savannah River. And they initially started out choosing the spray calciner and in-can melter. But after they figured that there was a huge cost savings by eliminating the tall calciner in terms of canyon height for hot cells and processing cells, they decided to go with the Joule-heated melter. So we worked with DuPont and helped them get that technology in place in the Defense Waste Processing facility at Savannah River. And it's been very successful. It's been running for about 20 years.
Bauman: So you came initially in 1955--
McElroy: Right.
Bauman: --and the focus at Hanford was production. And came back in the '60s. It was just about to shift to definitely reduced production, right, and then--
McElroy: Right.
Bauman: I guess if you look back at that, you've seen a lot of the changes in mission, changes in technology.
McElroy: Yeah.
Bauman: In thinking back to the years you worked at Hanford and the changes, what--I mean, obviously impacted your work in terms of what you were focusing on. But the changes in technology must've impacted your work as well.
McElroy: Yeah. I still do a little consulting. It turned out to be a hot area, [LAUGHTER] waste management. So I'm still involved in it on a small part-time basis. I've retired two or three times. And I actually ran a small company for Battelle out there called Geosafe. We actually went out and we developed another technology called in-situ vitrification, where we literally clean up sites by putting electrodes in the ground and melting the earth and the soil. And we brought that along and made it to where it was capable of actually using the same method to melt in a large container. And so for a while here, Hanford was looking at that technology, it was called bulk vitrification, as a way of supplementing the current Vit Plant. And it's possible that that technology might still have a use here at Hanford.
Bauman: Mm-hm. So you came back and '63. And then how long did you stay working at [INAUDIBLE]?
McElroy: I worked for 30 years as an engineer and retired in '95 from Battelle. But I retired to run a small company for Battelle, the Geosafe company.
Bauman: Right. In looking back at the various things you've worked on, was there a part of your work, an aspect of the work that you found most challenging or part of it that you found the most rewarding?
McElroy: Probably the most challenging and rewarding was trying to make things work in a hot cell. The 324 Building—which is still there and may be there for a while, because there's contamination under the cell where we were doing the processing. Making things work, making them reliable, and getting week-long tests completed without major interruptions that was very challenging and very rewarding. And it could be done. Sometimes the only way to solve the problem was to put it in a hot cell and make it work. You could spend a long time outside playing around, but you really didn't know what the issues and problems were until you put in it in there and tried to do it.
Bauman: And then also during your years at Hanford, were there any incidents that stand out or problems or events that happened that stand out in your mind above some of the others?
McElroy: Hmm. Not really. I mean, some little events, but probably wouldn't want to put them on tape. [LAUGHTER] I would have to say that I am so amazed at the Manhattan Project and what they did so quickly and successfully. And even when I came here in '55 and then on in the '60s, we were able to do things pretty quickly. I mean, we could build it, put it in, test it. And somewhere '70s, '80s, things started to get too bogged down in paperwork and overly cautious. The safety culture was always there. But somehow or another the safety culture got to where it really slowed things down. And it's unfortunate. It just takes too long now to get things done.
Bauman: Is there any specific examples of concerns about safety or security that sort of thing that you can think of?
McElroy: Just the requirements for dotting the i's and crossing the t's and undergoing inspections and being afraid. I mean, I mentioned that sometimes the best way to get something done was to put it in there and make it work. Now, you can't put it in there until you're positive it's going to work. The Vit plant's a great example of that. And they have a truly big concern associated with these Pulse Jet Mixer tanks in the black cells, where they're going to be in there for 40 years. And I mean, that's a legitimate concern. But the fact is I believe that 90% of the waste could be processed without that concern. And then we're holding up the whole plant because of this other 10% of the waste. And that's frustrating.
Bauman: Looking back on your time working at Hanford, how would you assess, overall, your experiences working at Hanford?
McElroy: I had a great, great career, great experiences. A lot of memories, a lot of good memories, a lot of great people. And I raised my family here, too, my wife Carol, and daughter Toni and Jill. They're Bombers. It was Col High, Columbia High, at the time that they went to high school there. Now, it's Richland High School. And they had a great, great life and experience here also.
Bauman: I wonder if you could talk about the relationship between Hanford the workplace and then the community. How would you describe that relationship as you were living here in the '60s and '70s?
McElroy: I don't know, just business as usual. I don't set it apart from any of the other businesses around the area in terms of being different or unique. So just business as usual to me.
Bauman: I wonder, is there anything I haven't asked you about yet related to your work experience at Hanford or something that you'd like to share or talk about that you haven't had a chance to talk about yet?
McElroy: I don't think so.
Bauman: I wanted to make sure.
McElroy: There's probably something I'll think about later.
Bauman: Yeah. [LAUGHTER] That happens.
McElroy: Yeah, of course, right.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you for coming in today. This is a really interesting--as someone who came like you said as a--just out of high school, really.
McElroy: Yeah, I think that is kind of a fortuitous event, to come directly out of high school as something like this and to be a part of history. It basically impacted my life and my future decisions of where I was going to go and what I was going to do, very positively.
Bauman: And then you came back in a very different capacity in many ways.
McElroy: Right.
Bauman: Well, thank you again for coming in.
McElroy: Okay. Thank you.
Bauman: I appreciate your coming and talking to us.
Northwest Public Television | Kaas_Gordon
Robert Bauman: So just for official purposes, my name is Robert Bauman and I'm conducting an oral history interview with Mr. Gordon Kaas. Is it Kaas?
Gordon Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: Okay. On June 12, 2013. And the interviews are being conducted on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. And I'll be talking with Mr. Kaas about his family's history and memories about their experiences in Richland growing up in that community. So maybe, Mr. Kaas, you can tell me, first of all, a little bit about your family and maybe how your family came to the Richland area.
Kaas: Well my father was an immigrant from Denmark and he came here right after the turn of century. Lived in Madras, Oregon for a while and his brother was up here in Richland. He come up here and he was a farmer. He bought some ground here in what's North Richland and planted the majority of the acreage to apples. His brother took care of the orchard for about the first three years while he lived in Madras, Oregon. That's where he met my mother and they were married. And they moved up here I think it was 1915, after the orchard began to bear. My oldest brother was born in Madras, and then I've got two older brothers, Nelson and George, that were born here, plus my only sister, and then myself and my twin brother. The three older brothers are deceased now but my sister and my twin brother are still living.
Bauman: And do they live in the area here?
Kaas: My sister lives in Kennewick. That's Alice Chapman, her husband James, live in Kennewick. And my twin brother and I married sisters, but they live in Kenai, Alaska. And he was a plumber. When I got out of high school, we had moved to Kennewick in 1943, because the government said to pack your belongings and go, you've got 30 days. However, we lived far enough north that they gave permission for those that lived up on from here, there's a little rise in the contour, that area they let farm their crop that year. So instead of moving in February or March, we didn't move until November of 1943. That's where the remaining five of the six children were born.
Bauman: So you'd mentioned your father came from Denmark.
Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: I wonder if you could talk a little bit about what you know about why he came to the United States, and maybe the same for your mother.
Kaas: Well, my mother was an immigrant also, emigrated from Prince Edward Island, Canada. And I had the pleasure of visiting back there this past summer. First time I'd ever been there. My father came over because of the opportunities that were in the US, and there was a lot of people moving to the New World. His background was farming. I think I mentioned he was the youngest of 12 children, and two brothers and a sister had immigrated over here ahead of him. So he had a little forewarning of what was here. And at that time, this area here in Hanford and White Bluffs was a fairly new irrigation area and was attracting people from around the country, and around the world, I guess you could say. Because there was other Danes and Norwegians and Swedes here. When I was small, when I grew up, we had an apple orchard. But during the Depression in the ‘30s, apples was one thing that people didn't have to have and consequently, the market went away. And at that time, peppermint was coming in and he hired a county bulldozer to come in and bulldoze the trees out and planted peppermint. And raised peppermint, as long as we was on the farm. I should clarify that in 1949 I lost my father, and I and my twin brother were between our sophomore and junior year in high school, so we became the farmers. And that was after we had moved from Richland to Kennewick. We had a 40 acre farm here in Richland and the war took my three oldest brothers. My father had the option of keeping one of them at home to help on the farm, but he wouldn't do that. My sister, and my twin brother and myself became farmers fairly quick. And then we moved to Kennewick in 1943, and in 1948 he had come down with cancer. And in '49, he passed away in the middle of August of '49. By that time my twin brother and I was the only ones still in school and we became students and farmers both. And then after we graduated from high school, my mother leased the place out. And I ended up taking a job out in Hanford. I worked out there for 21 years, but never got the thought of the farm out of my head. In 1972 my wife and I and we had two children at that time, a son and a daughter. And we bought a farm six miles north of Pasco. And that's been our home ever since.
Bauman: So you returned to your farming roots?
Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: Yeah. What about your mother? You said your father passed away, unfortunately, in 1949. How about your mother?
Kaas: My mother lived for some years later. I think she died in-- I can't remember the date on it like I can my father—but in the mid '70s. I think it was '78 that she passed away. And at that time the farm was being sold for plots for houses, and now it's all houses.
Bauman: So how many so how many children were there in your family then? How many siblings did you have?
Kaas: There were six.
Bauman: Six, okay.
Kaas: I had three older brothers. Then my sister come along. And then to finish out the six was my twin brother and I.
Bauman: You and your twin brother. And you and your twin brother were born in hospital?
Kaas: We were the only ones that were born in the hospital. Because thought there might be some complications. So we were born in the Pasco Lady of Lourdes Hospital. The rest were all at home.
Bauman: And you talked about how the primary crop was apples for quite a while until at some point in the Depression you shifted to peppermint. Is that right?
Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: And were there other crops that you grew as well?
Kaas: Well, we had of course, alfalfa because we had a few livestock. We had asparagus. And that was up early and that was the asparagus fields. My three older brothers were in the service. Two of them in the Army and one in the Navy. We'd get up early and go cut asparagus. And when we were left on our farm through the summer we'd see everything booming out here, trucks going by. We lived right on George Washington Way. And we'd be out in the field and watching the trucks headed north where the construction was going on. And we had strawberries. We had a few potatoes. Then, of course, peppermint. And all that ground was real irrigated.
Bauman: How was that irrigated?
Kaas: Real irrigated where you had corrugates that the water ran down. And so I was changing water twice a day. And my father worked from daybreak to dawn. But as time went on, we were more help. After the military took my three brothers my dad bought a tractor. And he didn't like the tractor. He liked the horses. So my twin brother and I, we got a lot of practice on the tractor. He put us out on the field and get us started and he'd go do some other chores. We, my twin brother and I, we continued to farm the Kennewick farm. Which, was downsized. It was only 20 acres. At that time though, you could make a living on a farm that size. But I lost my oldest brother in the war. And the next oldest one was in the Army and over in Germany. And the third from the top was in the Navy and over in the Pacific. And after the war was over they came home and took jobs out at Hanford, my remaining two brothers. And when I finished school I got a job out there. And my brother worked out there. My twin brother worked out there on construction. I was a power operator. And in 1972 I'd been wanting to get out on a farm and I said, I got to make the move before I'm 40 or I'm going to give it up. And we found a place to buy. And it's been good to us. My main crop, it started off being alfalfa and wheat and sweet corn. But after a couple years I got into raising potatoes. And that ended up being our main crop until I quit farming.
Bauman: Got it. Let me just go back and ask you another question, too, about your family farm that you grew up on. So were there other buildings besides the houses? The barn? Any other buildings? And you said it was 40 acres. Is that correct?
Kaas: 40.
Bauman: Okay.
Kaas: Yeah.
Bauman: And so I wonder how large the house was? Were there any other buildings as well that were part of the farm?
Kaas: Well, back then it didn't take as much a house as it does today. When my folks moved up here from Madras, Oregon--and I can't tell you--I think it was around 1917 or 1918. They had the ground but there was no buildings on it. But there was a small house. I think it was about a two-room house that my dad's brother and him moved from what would be over on--is that--what street is that? Over to the west? Anyway, they moved it from there to onto Georgia Washington Way where we lived. And then he added onto that. And then just before the government came in, we had enlarged the house and the next year was another project to finish it. But it started off being a two bedroom. And small ones at that.
Bauman: Now, it was originally, was there an outhouse? What did you have?
Kaas: We didn't have neither electricity or running water in the house until--it was about 1940.
Bauman: So not too long before the war.
Kaas: Yeah. And that was a big improvement. My mother didn't have to pack water for the washing machine or carry it out. But we didn't have any electricity. So the washing machine had a little gas engine on it. And like most, Monday was wash day. And that'd be all she'd get done except cooking some meals.
Bauman: So was there a well?
Kaas: Yes, we had a well.
Bauman: Okay.
Kaas: That was before my time. But I remember that he had a nephew that came over from Denmark plus my uncle lived here and there was a hand-dug well. And that was on the property that is the Energy Northwest headquarters now.
Bauman: Oh, okay. And what about neighbors? Who were your closest neighbors? Were there other families that you socialized with?
Kaas: Well, yes. We had one neighbor that lived right across the road. And others close. I can say there was one, two, three--about five that lived in walking distance. You know, a 20-minute walk at the most. It was interesting. In the early spring of 1943 there was a number of cars that had come into town. And they were driving different places. It was late enough that some farmers were out in the field. The next day they were all in town at the schoolhouse. And they called to me and said that the whole community, including White Bluffs in Hanford was being evicted for a government project. And that's all they would say. Nobody knew what was ready going on out there until after the bombs were dropped. And it was interesting when those people that were here driving in cars were appraisers. And they were going around and appraising the farms of how much to give the farmers for it. Some got very nervous. They thought if you didn't take the first, they might just haul you out in handcuffs or whatever. But they allowed if you didn't accept for the third appraisal. My father accepted the third appraisal. My grandmother, she got nervous. And they got her to sign. I think it was on the second appraisal. But my father, if you didn't sign and take the third appraisal, then they would take it to court. But they give you, I think it was 80% of the offer. And there were a few that took it to court. But my father thought the--But the surprising part about that is the farmers that took the money and couldn't find a farm, the price of the farmland was going up so fast that what would buy a farm when they got the money, a year later was probably only half enough. So those people put a hardship on them. But I can't say our situation put a hardship. Because we was able to find a farm and it was a good form.
Bauman: Do you have any idea how much your parents got for the farm?
Kaas: You know, I've been wondering that myself. But what I can tell you is that the 20 acre farm we got, it had a big house on it. It had a five-bedroom house plus porch, front and back. It was $7,200. And I'm sure it was in that neighborhood, maybe a little more. Because it was 40 acres rather than 20. And it was the only house still standing in North Richland until it too was torn down oh, 15, 20 years ago.
Bauman: Oh, it stood for that long?
Kaas: Yes, because the criteria was that if it had indoor plumbing and electricity they would save it if they could and somebody would move into it. And a patrolman that was hired by the--well, I guess it was GE back then. Or no, it was DuPont.
Bauman: DuPont? Mm-hm.
Kaas: He wanted that house. And he got the okay on it. But he would come by about every three or four days and see what the progress was of us moving out. He was anxious to move in. There was a shortage of homes. And it was used for living for a few years and then it was right in the middle of that big trailer camp that was out here. And it was turned into the office for the trailer camp.
Bauman: So he moved in shortly after your grandma left then?
Kaas: Yes. When he could see the date that we was going to be out, he had his stuff packed and ready to move.
Bauman: And so how old are you at this time? About 9 or 10 years old? Somewhere in there?
Kaas: I was 12 years old when we moved.
Bauman: Okay.
Kaas: So we moved and we were still moving in November. Because that's when my birthday is. And I remember the time we took the tractor with a big trailer we had behind it with some of the last things. And my dad let me drive it after we got off the highway. I was 12 years old. And our farm, in Kennewick, the address was 3904 West Fourth Avenue now.
Bauman: So what did you think about this at the time as a young boy? You had spent your whole life, at that point, on this farm. And you're suddenly having to move. What did you think? And do you know what your parents thought? Did you talk to them?
Kaas: Well, we spent a lot of time driving around to find a farm. We looked up a lot up Prosser Way. I can remember sitting out in the yard there for a couple of hours, my mother and dad talking. And there was a nice big house, older house. It was a little smaller farmer than we had gotten. They finally decided they would take it. And my dad went to the door and said, we've talked it over and we'd like to buy your farm. And they said, well, we're sorry. My husband's down at the court house signing papers on it now. So we were back to looking again. But you can imagine a 12-year-old. We thought this was kind of a thrill, driving around looking at farms and discussing it and where we was going to live. And I can remember several farms we looked at that some of them had a nice house. But the property wasn't the best. The soil wasn't the best. But we was happy when we settled on this one in Kennewick.
Bauman: So for you, maybe the fact that you ended up with a nice farm in Kennewick--
Kaas: Yes, it was a nice farm. Kennewick is a little bit rocky. But it's bearable. The farm we had out here in Richland was a lot more sandy. But heavier soil, you can raise better crops. But sandy soil is easier to farm.
Bauman: So I want to go back to also talking about your early years here. Where did you go to school? And what was the school like? And how many? How big was the school? That sort of thing?
Kaas: The school I went to was built in--which was Lewis and Clark school down in south Richland. And the year I started there it was brand new. Because of the Depression there was money for stuff like that, to generate employment. And Hanford got a new school. And Richland got a new school. And that's where I started the first grade, my twin brother and I. My sister was four years ahead of us. So she was in an old school that they immediately tore down after the new school was built. But my dad was a well thought of man here in this area. And when the irrigation district was in, neighbors twisted his arm till he agreed to go on the board for irrigation. Same for the school district. He was on the board, directors there. In fact, he was the president of the board and signed a couple of my brothers' diplomas. And after we moved, well, some would know Jay Perry, who was a county commissioner in Kennewick. And he came and wanted my dad to run for his place. They talked quite a while. And my dad said, well, Jay, that would never work, because you're a Democrat and I'm a Republican.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Kaas: He said, I'd do anything to get you in. Whether you're a Republican or not. So that's the only way I knew of what his preference of party. But there was, for farmers back then, there was more done for the farmers than a lot of people.
Bauman: So do you know how big the school was? Do you know how many students there were about?
Kaas: Well, it was an eight-room school, first through the eighth grade. And I would say, there was probably on the average of at least 20 in each class. Then when things got a little tougher, first, well, second grade and half of third was in one room. And the other half of third and the fourth grade was in another room. So they were small enough then that they could do that. But that school was tore down for the replacements that there are now. But it was a nice all-brick school that for old time's sake, I hated to see it go. But both of my children started in that school.
Bauman: Oh, did they really?
Kaas: For first grade. Because we lived in the south end of Richland at that time. And our--what is the--the Justice over in Pasco, he went to that school. My son went with him. Cameron Mitchell.
Bauman: Oh, Cameron Mitchell, sure. So what sorts of things did you do for recreational activities growing up on your farm?
Kaas: Oh, main thing for recreational was work. But we did have time. And when we were little my dad didn't require us to--We never were slave labor by any stretch. But we'd roller skate out on the road. There wasn't very many cars. And we'd play hide and seek and one thing my dad let us do is a couple horse to an old sled that we had that was about four by six, to a horse. And take our dog and we'd go out hunting jackrabbits. Didn't have a gun. But that dog could catch the jackrabbits. And we'd probably get five or six every time we went out. They'd be just wandering out through the sagebrush. We was out at the edge of the farming community here in Richland. So there's plenty of sagebrush ground. And we thought that was great, to go out with the dog. My twin brother and I, and my three cousins from over on the coast would come here. I got a picture of it. Looking at it yesterday, that all five of us on that sled, out jackrabbit hunting. But just things like that. What kids do.
Bauman: Sure.
Kaas: Bicycles.
Bauman: Oh. Yeah. So you were on a farm. Did you go into town much? Into the town of Richland?
Kaas: Well, it was a five-mile drive on the school bus. Back then we didn't have these factory-made school buses. Generally a farmer would say, I'd like to build a bus and hire it to haul the students. Well, there was an aisle down the center that you sat back to back to and then down each side. And it was just made out of an old truck. And we didn't know what heaters were. Wintertime got pretty cold. But--
[PHONE RINGS]
Bauman: No cellphones then, either. [LAUGHTER]
Kaas: Huh?
Bauman: No cellphones then either.
Kaas: I meant to take it out. But I forgot it.
Bauman: That's all right.
Kaas: I think I was in about the third grade when we got factory manufactured school buses. And they looked as long as a train. And there was three of them. And that picked up students all over the Richland area. And then it wasn't too long after that the government came in and the area just exploded. And it was surprising when you had to, how fast they could put buildings up. They had people in here. They added onto the school and built more schools. But after '43 I wasn't here much.
Bauman: Did you start going to school in Kennewick then at that point?
Kaas: Yes. I think I was in the fifth grade when we moved to Kennewick.
Bauman: I was wondering about sort of community activities. Do you have any memories of community picnics or 4th of July celebrations? Anything along those lines?
Kaas: Well, yes. In that time, the boat races--that would be equivalent to what we have now here in the Tri-Cities—was up at White Bluffs. And I remember, several times being young, going up there and watch the boat races. And then there was community picnics. I remember looking at some books at the county fair, before they registered at the picnics, they had them. Found a couple where my folks, my dad registered as being at the picnic, 4th of July picnic, I think they were. Then there was plenty of family gatherings. Maybe two, three, four families would get together and go to the park. But I don't know, it never seemed like we lacked activity.
Bauman: What about churches? Were churches close by? Did your family go to church regularly? And where were they?
Bauman: What, church, you say?
Kaas: Yeah, churches.
Kaas: Well, my folks heard the Gospel by two homeless ministers in 1921. And the church met in a home. And I'm still in that faith today. We don't have church buildings. So there was churches in town. But they accepted that way and the family grew up in it.
Bauman: Okay. So you mentioned earlier, talking about the Depression, and how your father then sort of changed crops, right? Primary crops. Did you know of any families in the area that maybe lost their farms? Or did you see any other impact of the Depression for other families or for the town itself?
Kaas: Well, my uncle lost his--that lived, oh, half mile or less from us. And I remember my dad saying he wanted him to financially help him. He was a bachelor. He had never married until he was 82, I think. And then he married his sweetheart that he had when he was young.
Bauman: Wow.
Kaas: And neither one of them, they were married. They got back together in old age.
Bauman: That's quite a story. Wow.
Kaas: But anyway, my dad had to decline him because he said, Jim, I've got a family. And if I did that I would probably lose my farm too. And you're single. Realized I hate to say no. But I just don't have it where I can feel that I could do it. And there were others the same way. But you have to remember that I was-- that was not something I can physically remember. I was too early in the '30s. I was born in '32. I remember him talking about ones that sold out or it didn't have any equity and couldn't make payments. But my father was very frugal. He didn't buy what he couldn't afford, which was very little, that he bought. But yes, when my father decided to push out the orchard, we had a big enough orchard. In fact, it was the largest apple orchard in the Tri-Cities. I can't tell you how many acres it was. But it was 15 acres or so.
Bauman: Do you know what kind of apples?
Kaas: At that time, Red Delicious. But he made the decision to take the apples out, because every year he'd be losing a little more money. And plant peppermint. Well, 100 pounds to the acre of peppermint oil was considered excellent. And I never remember him getting less than 100 pounds. And I remembered selling for $7 a pound. And today the price of oil isn't that much better. It's just that the farmers' farms are a lot bigger.
Bauman: Mm-hm.
Kaas: I think, from what I've heard, I know some people that are farming peppermint and $9 or $10 I think would be an excellent price now.
Bauman: So what happened with your uncle then? He lost his farm you said? What did he do at that point?
Kaas: My uncle?
Bauman: Mm-hm.
Kaas: He moved to Oregon. And lived in Troutdale for quite a while. I think he just hired out. He was a stonemason, brick mason. And I think he made a living at that.
Bauman: I want to ask you a little bit about, you talked about the war a little bit and that your older brothers all joined and went to serve. Do you remember hearing about the war? And have any memories about that at all?
Kaas: Yeah, when the war come on, some time during that we got a radio. And I know my dad listened to the news every evening. My oldest brother, Edward, that was born in Oregon and was the only one that wasn't born here, was drafted into the Army. And he took his training down in one of the southern states. I can't remember for sure now if it was Texas, or--. Anyway, they ended up sending him to a little place by Washington, D.C. that they call Vint Hill Farms. And it was a training, a special training area. And he worked there as, we'd probably called it a cadre that helps do training. But there everything was coal fired. So in the wintertime they had to keep the furnace going and the hot water heater going and snow removal or whatever. And he never did go overseas. But he was on a laundry run. And he was riding in the back of a deuce and a half army truck. And a Lincoln hit the truck head on. And he was thrown up against the cab and killed. So he wasn't-- he didn't see overseas action. But I remember that was a sad day for the family.
Bauman: I imagine. You mentioned having the radio. Did your family get that before the war or at some point during the war, you remember?
Kaas: It was during the war. I don't remember. We didn't have a radio while we were still in Richland.
Bauman: Oh, okay. You got it after you have moved to Kennewick at some point.
Kaas: Yeah.
Bauman: Okay. So how did you get news when you were in Richland? Was there a local newspaper?
Kaas: Yeah, there was a newspaper. And don't ask me if it was daily or weekly or semi-weekly. But well, I guess, in the old days, we took the Spokesman Review. I don’t think--there wasn't a local newspaper. There might've been a weekly. But you're getting too far back in my brain.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Yeah, do you know how your family found out about the war, that United States was going to war? Was it through the newspaper? Or sort of word of mouth?
Kaas: Well, I think all the above. You know, neighbors were close and we did get the Spokesman Review. And I don't know if it was a day late. I think it came down on the train. So it could be the same day. At that time Pasco, its main industry was the train. A train town. And Richland was just a little farming community along with White Bluffs and Hanford.
Bauman: Right. And then was it in the spring of '43 that you first heard about that the government was coming in and was going to be taking people--
Kaas: Yes, yes. 1943.
Bauman: But your family, you have sort of the rest of that growing season. Is that right?
Kaas: Well, it must've been later in February or maybe first part of March that that happened. I suppose there's some way I could find out. But I do know that the ones that lived in what we call downtown Richland didn't get to stay and farm their crop. And we did.
Bauman: Yeah. I wonder if there's anything that we haven't talked about yet that you think would be important to talk about, something you know, about growing up in Richland, about the community itself, about farming?
Kaas: Well, we had a great swimming pool, Columbia River. Also fishing. Never had a fancy fishing pole. But go down to the river and cut off a large willow, tie the line on the end of it. Works good.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] What sort of fish did you catch with that?
Kaas: Probably mostly carp. Occasionally we'd get an edible fish.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Kaas: But we enjoyed doing it. Some real hot days, the whole family would go to the river. Our firewood, you could put on what they call a boom out on the river. It'd be several logs fastened together with chain or cable. And have an anchor out on the upper end. So it would catch all the wood that was coming down. And that's where we got the firewood. And for the icebox, we'd go down and my dad would saw chunks of ice out of the river and we had a sawdust bin that we would bury the ice in there and it would last long ways into the summer. So things were a little bit crude back then. But none of us died from it. We all made it.
Bauman: Right. [LAUGHTER] What about in the winter? You know, in terms of the river, the river ever freeze over? What sorts of things did you do? Any things that you can say--
Kaas: All I can remember about that is that what I've been told. I think I was about two years old when it froze over. And they even drove cars across it. I don't think we had any bridges at that time. It was a ferry that would ferry cars across. And it seems like the winters don't get as cold as they used to here. I don't know if it's a cycle or what it is. But my younger years, we could ice skate on the river, most all winters.
Bauman: Mm-hm. So that was something you did in the winter then for fun?
Kaas: Well, I don't remember doing a whole lot. But you know, the river is dangerous, and we knew it back then, if the ice only goes out a small ways. So my folks wouldn't--I just know that my folks wouldn't have let us go to the river to ice skate if the ice wasn't thick enough.
Bauman: And you mentioned a ferry. Where was the ferry landing?
Kaas: Well, there was the ferry landing down at what's Columbia Point, I think, now. And there was another one between Kennewick and Pasco. There was another one up at Hanford, one across. It would come and go as the need was. But I remember the first bridge across the Columbia was long enough ago that I can't really remember it.
Bauman: Okay. I want to ask you a little bit about your employment at Hanford. When did you start working at Hanford? And how long did you work there? And what sort of work did you do there?
Kaas: Well, I graduated high school in 1951. And of course, we were still farming the ground. I did take a job in wheat harvest. And my brother stayed and did the chores that had to be done through the summer. And so my mother paid him what I made, the same amount that I made. So it was like both of us having a job. After wheat harvest was over in September of 1952--I think it was, yeah, 1952--I want out and applied for work at Hanford. And I got a job in the power department, running the steam boilers and turbines and that's out there. And I worked there for 14 years. It was all under GE then. I finished up in what was called the N Reactor. And that's when they built a steam power plant just across the fence from the N Reactor. And I applied for a job there with, at that time was the Washington Public Power. Now it's Energy Northwest. And I stayed there until '72 when I got the crazy idea of being a farmer again. And haven't really regretted it. You go from being carrying a dinner pail to being a businessman in one sense. It takes a lot of money to farm these days.
Man 1: Sorry, one last time. It looks like battery. [LAUGHTER]
Man 2: Oh.
Man 1: Pretty low.
Kaas: You can prompt me on anything you want to.
Bauman: What's that?
Kaas: You can prompt me.
Bauman: Oh, okay. I'm going to ask you just a little bit more about you working at Hanford. You mentioned working for GE and at the N Reactor, and ask you where else at Hanford you worked?
Kaas: You asked me where I met my wife. I can give you a little more on that.
Bauman: There you go. And then I may ask you about I know President Kennedy had the official ceremony, right, in '63.
Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: And I'll ask you if you were there.
Kaas: I was still working for GE. And it was Thursday morning. I had to work a swing shift that day. So I just stayed out there.
Bauman: So you mentioned working for GE for a number of years. And then you said you ended up with you working at the N Reactor. I wonder before that, what other parts of the Hanford site you worked at?
Kaas: Well, I started at the C Reactor in the power department. C. B and C were right together. Actually it was the B reactor. Then I got drafted in the army. And in December I went in the service to--they sent my back to Virginia for training. And when the training with over, took a troop ship to Korea. I spent two years in Korea. Part of the time I was first service. War was still on. And then after my two-year stay I came home and they put me back on out there. At that time I'd been communicating with my future wife. And my twin brother, he had a bad ear and they wouldn't accept him. Ironically we was going with sisters. But they weren't twins. And so they decided to get married. So they got a two-year head start on us when I came home. Well, my wife, Beverly, and I got married. And been married ever since.
Bauman: And how had the two of you met? When did you meet?
Kaas: We was in school together. And the same way with my brother and his wife.
Bauman: And so how many years is that now?
Kaas: Boy, you're--
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] I'm testing him.
Off camera speaker: It'll be 60 next year.
Kaas: That's--
Bauman: Wow, almost 60.
Kaas: It's getting awful close to 60.
Bauman: Yeah, wow. And so you mentioned you were in Korea for two years. And the war was still going on when you first arrived?
Kaas: Yes. Yes.
Bauman: And what sorts of--
Kaas: I went in and they put me in the medics. And I took my medic training down in Camp Pickett, Virginia. And then sent me to Korea. I was a medic.
Bauman: And then one other thing I wanted to ask you about, during your time working at Hanford, President Kennedy was here in, I believe it was September of '63. August or September of '63 to dedicate the N reactor.
Kaas: Yes.
Bauman: I was wondering if you were there at that time and if you have memories of that?
Kaas: I was. I was there. And witnessed his groundbreaking. He flew in in a helicopter and flew out in a helicopter. I think probably went up to Moses Lake, where they parked the plane. And it was interesting that I happened to be on the swing shift at that time. So when the ceremony was over I had to go over to the plant and start my shift.
Bauman: Was there extra security that day? Or do you have any memories of a lot of people there?
Kaas: Very much so. You know, that was just not long before he was assassinated. And there was a lot of security. There was three helicopters came in. And the doors opened on all three of them. They come to land, you didn't know which one he was on. But the first thing you seen was they pulled a machine gun up in the doorway. And they looked all directions before they left anybody off. And there was a big crowd there. That was very interesting.
Bauman: Mm-hm. Were there any other events during your time when you worked at the Hanford site that sort of stand out? Any significant happenings or anything that sort of stands out in your memory?
Kaas: They formed a rescue crew out there. They outfitted an older bus. And I think there was about three or four different crews, maybe five. We never did get called to an event, like there's been several around the United States since. But that's what we were trained for. And I was on one of those crews because I'd been a medic in the army, was the reason they put me on there. We had drills. But never had to go to an actual event.
Bauman: And obviously Hanford was a place where security was very important. Did you do have to have a special clearance to work there? Or what do you remember about some security processes?
Kaas: Well, yes. I had what they called a Q clearance, which was top clearance, with everybody that was full time employed. That the only ones that would get out there was if they had to have a special person, something broke down and had to go out there. And then he had to have an escort. And they told us that you don't talk about what work it is on the job. But at that time, Hanford wasn't classified top secret anymore. After the bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that's when they found out what Hanford was building.
Bauman: Were you able to drive your own car out to the site where you were working? Or would you have to take a bus?
Kaas: Oh, we had to take an expensive bus ride.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Kaas: They charged us a nickel each way. And nobody could afford to drive their cars. If you did, you car pooled. But because the buses didn't have any air conditioning, just the windows. But as long as I worked for GE I rode the bus. When I started working for Washington Public Power we car pooled. They didn't have an option. But they paid us for travel time.
Bauman: And how long did you work for Washington Public Power then?
Kaas: Seven years.
Bauman: Seven years. '65 to '72? So anything else that I haven't asked you about, either about growing up on the farm here in Richland or about your work at Hanford that you'd like to talk about or you think is important that we haven't talked about yet?
Kaas: Something serious?
Bauman: Oh, either way. No, it can be funny.
Kaas: Well, I remember when my twin brother and I was out and we had a watermelon patch. And we thought it was time to pick the watermelons. And we'd pick a whole pile of them. My dad said, well, those aren't ripe yet. We'll have to feed those to the pigs. So the pigs got watermelon early. But you know, we would--that's some of our pastime would be walk around the neighbors and such. There wasn't too many dull moments. Especially, my mother used to say that when you have twins, well, one can't think of the other kin. So I guess you can take from that what you want.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Yeah. If you had to sort of sum up for someone who wouldn't know much about the area, what it was like growing up in the small community at the time, growing up on a farm at the time, what would you tell them?
Kaas: Well, that there wasn't many dull moments. I think there's an advantage that kids today don't have. We grew up having responsibility to know that there might be a little time for play. But they're also work to be done. I can remember going out in the fields of whole peppermint and my dad would take two rows where my brother and I, we'd take one apiece and pull the weeds out. And we'd fill up a gallon jug of water. Had a burlap sack wrapped around it and dipped it in water before we went out. And that would keep cool. That was our drinking water. Had to come in in time for chores. We milked as many as five head of cows. But at the time my dad got sick we only had two milk cows. And a couple of horses and several young stock. And then there was 4H and FFA. That was after we moved to Kennewick. I can't remember much more about Richland, only being 12 years old and there's probably more. But I'll think about it after our interview is over. I remember riding the bus was quite a treat. When we got the new buses in Richland it was, as I said, I think I was in about the third grade. It was quite a treat. And they said there was heaters in them. But we couldn't tell when winter come.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Didn't feel like it.
Kaas: They weren't very efficient.
Bauman: Well, thank you very much. This has been really interesting, very informative. I appreciate it. You’ve been great. Thanks very much.
Kaas: Have you interviewed others?
Northwest Public Television | Johnson_Jean
Robert Bauman: All right. Ready to get started?
Jean Johnson: Mm-hmm.
Bauman: Okay. We'll start by having you state your name.
Johnson: Well, my name--the name that people from White Bluffs will remember is Carrie Jean Conning. That was my name there.
Bauman: Right. Your name now is Jean Johnson?
Johnson: Yes. I left the Carrie off.
Bauman: Okay. Great. And my name is Robert Bauman, and we're doing this interview on July 31, 2013, at Jean Johnson's home. And so I want to start our interview by just asking you to tell me a little bit about your family. If you know when they came to White Bluffs, how and why they came there, and when.
Johnson: When my father was Leslie Andrew Conning. Known in White Bluffs as Andy. Andy Conning. He came from Pennsylvania. Somewhere here in the West and came up the river and landed in White Bluffs in 106.
Bauman: And do you know why he came to White Bluffs?
Johnson: He was kind of an orphan when he was born. His mother died with birth. And his grandmother and father raised him, and they couldn't take care of him, so an uncle took him. And his name was Andrew somebody else. Had sheep. And he wanted my dad to come back, come there into Colorado, or in the White Bluffs area and have sheep. Don't know if he ever did.
Bauman: And so that's why he came to White Bluffs.
Johnson: Mm-hmm.
Bauman: And how about your mother?
Johnson: My mother came from South Dakota. They went to Yakima. I don't know why. And then they went from Yakima to White Bluffs in 1912. She married my dad in 1918. And he had four--they had four children. I have three older brothers, then myself.
Bauman: And so your parents met in White Bluffs, then?
Johnson: Yes. They were neighbors. Because her name was Johnson, also. She came in there as Irma Johnson. And then she married Codding. That's what people are confusing when they say, what was your mother's maiden name? Johnson. [LAUGHTER] So, then I went to work right from graduation to The Republic newspaper in Yakima.
Bauman: In Yakima, okay.
Johnson: And I worked there--I was only, I think I was maybe 17. I was going to say 16, because I did graduate a year earlier in my age than I should have. And I could only work so many hours, because that was during the war. '43 I graduated from Yakima High School. And I had to sign a paper for a Social Security number. I never had had one before. So then that's when I took off the Carrie and just put Jean Conning. And then, of course, as soon as I got married, I had to do it again.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] I wonder if you could talk a little bit about where you grew up in White Bluffs. Your family farm, what that was like, what sort of crops you grew, that sort of thing.
Johnson: He grew--my father had apples. And we lived right next to the Columbia River, and we had a water pump. And used to pump our water out of the river to irrigate. And then we had--he had just a home. Little bunch of fruit trees. Peaches and pears and cherries. And every—lot of people would come and pick them and can them, and my mother would can them. And they worked—they irrigated with the pipe and plugs.
Bauman: What kind of pipes, do you know what that pipe was?
Johnson: Wooden. Wooden pipe. And they had a cement--I don't even remember what they call it. But the water came from the river, and stayed in there, and then the pipes would drain off to put water in the field. And then the war came. And I was still in school, because I started--I was born in 1925. So he lost that place and had to move to another place. And the boys were all in the service by then. And he worked it by himself. And worked himself down. He got sick. But we stayed in White Bluffs. And then the cars were going through with the US government, so we knew something was going to happen.
Bauman: I wonder if you could talk a little bit more about the farm that you grew up on. Were there other buildings that you had? Was there like a storage--a warehouse for storing some of the fruit, or any other sort of buildings?
Johnson: Not then. We had a barn, because we had a milk cow, and two horses. The horses used to pull the spray wagon. And then in later years, they put a pipe out for them, to hold a spray. So they could just hook up and spray. And they were spraying that lime and sulfur, something like that. It was very--after everybody was gone, I heard how dangerous that was.
Bauman: And was that for insects?
Johnson: Mm-hmm, worms. The worms were eating him up. And nothing would stop them, since I told you before, they didn't come with DDT until after the war started, which was too late for him.
Bauman: Did you have electricity on your farm?
Johnson: Uh-huh. And my mother had an electric stove and an electric washing machine. But it was just a small little house. And the school bus would not pick me up, because I lived within three miles of the school.
Bauman: So you walked to school?
Johnson: So I had to walk to school. And there were three other girls there, who all four of us had to walk to school, carrying our lunch buckets and our books. And no fear. You know, every place we went, we walked. We had no fear. We knew everybody.
Bauman: Do you remember the names of any those girls that you used to walk to school with?
Johnson: Yvonne Ponsat was one. P-O-N-S-A-T. Her father was French. And she had two brothers who were in high school with my brothers. Another one was Elizabeth Keele. I don't know what he does. He's around Yakima somewhere. He's probably gone by now, too. The other girl, I can't remember her name, because she had moved there.
Bauman: So when walking to school, was that elementary school and high school, or?
Johnson: High school.
Bauman: High School.
Johnson: Yeah, the school bus would take us to grade school, but not to high school.
Bauman: The high school was closer to you.
Johnson: And it was just across one field, but we walked over and went down and walked down the road. And then eventually we all got bicycles. But the bicycles were--we were almost grown by the time we could afford a bicycle. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Must have been a little tricky walking sometimes in the winter.
Johnson: There were no winters there. We lived so close to the river, it was warm all winter. I don't remember any snow. No snowmen, no snow fights, no icy roads.
Bauman: And did you have telephone at your house?
Johnson: Oh, yes. With the ringer, you know-- "number please!" [LAUGHTER] You remember them?
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] I remember the dial phones. [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: Oh yeah. Well, this was just a telephone operator. And we also had RFD. We also had mail service. So it wasn't too remote.
Bauman: So how far from the town were you?
Johnson: Well, they said I lived within three miles.
Bauman: Okay.
Johnson: And that was the limit for school was three miles from town.
Bauman: Do you remember any of your teachers from school at all? From either grade school or high school? Did you have any favorite teachers or ones that you remember at all?
Johnson: Well, those pictures reminded me. I did not remember them, yes, but I do now. And another thing, too. My father was the clerk of the school board.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Johnson: So he got to have all the interviews of all the people who came that wanted a job of teaching. And my youngest brother and I would sneak around and try and get a good look at them before any of the school kids did. We wanted to know who they were first. [LAUGHTER] My other two brothers had graduated from high school by then, but my younger brother and I went to school as close together as four years could do it.
Bauman: Mm-hm. Were your parents involved in any other organizations at all in the community?
Johnson: Well, just my dad was a Mason, and my mother was Eastern Star. And that was all of their--they did not go to church. And we had eight churches in White Bluffs, and they were all active. No, there were six! Six. I'm too far.
Bauman: What about the town itself? What sorts of businesses do you remember, or stores, or anything like that?
Johnson: Mm-hm. You want to bring that in, Leslie? It's out there. I didn't bring the right one. It's a tablet. Just seeing that picture reminded me of a lot of their names. Okay, the grocery store was the first scene. His name was Dick Reirson. R-E-I-R-S-O-N. And then we had a drugstore, but it was a pharmacy. And he had an ice cream table. And he had a distorted hand, and he used to put the ice cream cone down in there, you know, with the little top, and then reach down. Remember those cans that had the ice cream in it? Good old hard ice cream put in there, and never drop a drop. He was also the band leader for the high school music. And then there was the power company, and I could not remember the lady's name. They had Pacific Power there. And he had a Ford dealer with a service company. That was Fred Gillhualy. G-I-L-L-H-U-A-L-Y. And they were four boys. And I don't know if they're around Yakima or gone by now.
Bauman: Yeah, I'm not sure.
Johnson: I know the name because one boy said he was flying home from California to Yakima, and they were taking—so many people had to get off the airplane, but he got to ride all the way to Yakima. Went to get off the plane, the little stewardess said, how do you pronounce your last name? [LAUGHTER] They couldn't tell him to get off the airplane because they couldn't pronounce his name! So that was good. And Levi Austin was the superintendent at the high school. And the Austin name is from Prosser. The one boy, he had a hardware store in Prosser. But I keep thinking, you know, they're still there, but I'm just lucky to live as long as I have. Because they were probably--they were in my brother's age. And see in there, everybody's gone. So I don't remember any teachers.
Bauman: Okay.
Johnson: I remember--well, I don't remember the principal, but I remember the principal of the high school took us all in the next morning after Pearl Harbor, and told us that they had bombed Pearl Harbor.
Bauman: Is that how you found out about it?
Johnson: World War II, yes. Because remember Roosevelt? Franklin Roosevelt? "This day will be known in infamy." Well, I heard that. Course, it never went away. And then my father--this was years before we moved to this ranch. The first ranch we had when we were all little. My father and the neighbor built this warehouse, and they came in with apples, and they poured them in this water bath, and then it went down. And the women sorted off all the bad, and the other ladies were packing the apples with wrapper paper. Take that little paper. And they'd go on a roller to the lidder, and he would put the lid on and stack them up. And then two more people would come with these lifts and carry the five boxes of apples across a ramp and put them on the truck until they got the truck loaded, and then they would take it to White Bluffs, to the railroad.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Johnson: The Milwaukee Railroad came into White Bluffs, and they would take them to Yakima.
Bauman: And that's how the apples would get shipped out.
Johnson: And the Pear and Fruit. I don't even know if they're still there, but my father worked for them after he had to leave White Bluffs and went to Yakima.
Bauman: When you were growing up on the farm, did you have any chores? Any things that you did?
Johnson: No, I was little.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: I was little. No. And I said we didn't have any indoor plumbing, and we didn't have any running water. And my brother reminds me so much of Wes, the boy you met. Said, well, Jeannie said we just put the bucket on the rope and put it down, and get a bucket of water. Wind the rope up, grab a hold of the buck, and if you were still able, you'd run the water to the house. [LAUGHTER] So he tried to tell me that we did have running water. But no, I did--I probably took care of the chickens or something like that. I didn't have any pets.
Bauman: Did you swim in the river at all, or anything like that?
Johnson: No. No, I was too little. The boys did, and we'd go out in one of these peach orchards. There were a lot of orchards in White Bluffs. Beautiful orchards. And they also had irrigating water. Pretty British, no. What's the Puget--what's over here? Where the river goes under the bridge?
Bauman: Not sure.
Johnson: Priest River! Priest Rapids!
Bauman: Priest Rapids, sure.
Johnson: Priest Rapids irrigation. And they had paid in money for the upkeep of it. And that was one of the things that the boys--some White Bluffs boy told me, did you ever get any money back from your--what do you call that? Whenever you give money--have money yearly. It's not a donation; it's a cost.
Bauman: The years of the irrigation.
Johnson: Oh, can't think. Okay. And no, we didn't ever have any. But they did have plenty of water. That's one thing they did have up there was plenty of water. And those peach orchards, they could afford to clean up new land, and bringing in new trees, and have the water. And they could--with the winters that we had there, their fruit would get onto the market before California would get up to Yakima. So when that company came in to take over, they gave my dad about $5 an acre. And these guys got maybe $20. And they were all rich enough to hire lawyers, and they hired lawyers. And their lawyer got them much more money for their land. But it was worth it. To see those brand new trees get just bulldozed over!
Bauman: I was wondering if you remember any special community events or celebrations? Did you have any 4th of July celebrations, or picnics, or anything like that? Foot races?
Johnson: I can't remember any specific. I do remember that they built next to the high school something called a Community Hall. And they would have dances and the boys would play basketball. And maybe Kennewick would come up and play basketball. They'd have basketball games. But as far as grange, they did not participate.
Bauman: So--
Johnson: Oh, and this orchard, in their warehouse. Yes, he had told me that before, that he had about 16 people that they hired. And my mother was the bookkeeper. And so these people were getting money every Friday night. 1934 and '35. So he had lots of friends. Lots of people liked him, because he did provide for people to get a job. There were no jobs, as far as work was concerned. The grocery store would hire--his nephew was there. And the drugstore did it by himself. And one lady, Mrs. Leander, was the postmistress. She took care of the post office. I don't know who any of the people were that came around to deliver the mail.
Bauman: You mentioned earlier that there was the initial farm that your parents had, and then your father had moved at some point. Is that right?
Johnson: Yes.
Bauman: About how old were you at that time, then?
Johnson: Well, according to the pictures on--at home, I was about four. Because I was just with the kids as they would stand out go to school. I wasn't going to school. And then I cannot tell you how long it was, but it was a big blow to leave that house and that yard, and go to a house where workers had lived in all their life. And they had cardboard on their walls, covering up the wood. And it had one bedroom, and I got to have the bedroom. And there was a big porch in the front, and the three boys slept in part of it, and Mother and Dad slept in the other. But the weather over there was never cold. I guess it was hot, but I don't remember that. I'm sure it was hot. Because it was desert.
Bauman: And how far away would the second place have been from your first house? Was it fairly close?
Johnson: I would say three and a half miles, just up over a hill.
Bauman: And then you lived there until you moved to Yakima?
Johnson: Yes.
Bauman: Okay. You mentioned that you'd heard about World War II beginning. You want to talk about your brothers? And I understand they all joined the service at some point. Is that correct?
Johnson: Mm-hm.
Bauman: And that's why you were still living in White Bluffs?
Johnson: No, Yakima. Well, you're right. They were. But then they left, because one was going to university and the other two we're going to Washington State. And they joined in what, '41? And then we had to move in '43. But they said, Mom, don't worry about moving to Yakima, because we can get to Yakima from anywhere in the world, but we can't get to White Bluffs. So they were probably already in the service doing their first camp or something. And one--I had no idea in the world what reconnaissance meant--he did not fight a war, but he was in reconnaissance--until I looked it up in the dictionary. And he was fighting the war up in the air, taking pictures of their movements, the Japanese movements. And my other brother was in a tanker taking fuel from New Orleans to France in the Atlantic. And he said that the Atlantic was full of German submarines. He said there were four days that they didn't even take their clothes off. But his was brand new, and he could not go slow as everybody else did. And he could go faster than their convoy, so he circled their own convoy without any cover, because he said his boat would not go that slow. And my other brother was in Marine fighter pilot. And he--I don't know if you knew the story about Ted Williams, but Ted Williams' group came in. Whenever my brother left that camp, Ted Williams came in. And I just heard that on the--because people look at me and say, Ted Williams, the baseball player? And I said, yes, he went to war. Yeah, he was in a group that came in and took over where my brother had been.
Bauman: You mentioned earlier that you started seeing some cars and vehicles that said U.S. Government. Do you remember any more about that? Anything else that happened?
Johnson: Well, that was our first--there was gossip around that, I don't know, that they were going to take over and build a atomic bomb or something on our land. That we were going to have to leave. Well, you know, until it came to push, and then came shove. But these station wagons were showing up, and each one of them had about four men sitting in it. And they were surveying the land. And they had surveyed how many houses there were, and what condition they were in, because some houses were ready to be burned and a few houses were moved. And the rest of them were demolished. And then all of a sudden it came across that you were going to have to move by the 15th of September. They gave them the date. And my mother worked on an election board. And whatever year that was, I don't know. But she wanted to stay and work on that last board. And I had been told later that that was the only money she was going to move with, was what she got paid for. She had a sister that lived in Yakima, and they found us an apartment. And it was just two rooms. Oh, goodness, it was small. But that was where we were. And my dad stayed to work on the orchard. They let him stay until the crops were all picked. And he sent the last bunch of apples off that orchard to Yakima.
Bauman: How did you feel about having to leave? Or your parents ever express anything about--
Johnson: They did not, because as I've said before, I said we were poor. Leslie just said we didn't have any money.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: And we all got jobs. I got babysitting jobs with a little neighborhood girl. The mother was there, but I would just go over there and play with her, and get maybe $0.25 or something. Well, that's all there was. And I didn't drive. I couldn't go anywhere. Cars were--gas was rationed. And then we went to Yakima. And I graduated on about the 3rd of June and went to work on the 6th. I said to Mother, now, don't wake me up. I'm going to sleep for two days. She woke me up and said, well, there's an ad in the paper. The newspaper wants help. And I said, well, I'll go see. Well, I got taken that day. I worked there for seven years. In the advertising, Johnny, doing anything that they wanted done. I would do it. I ran the switchboard. And I could--I did a lot of odd jobs there. But I was in advertising. Yeah, I have to tell you that writing for sale notes to be published in the paper. And Friday night, he had to have it. Everything had to be back in the room to get onto Sunday's paper, at least by five o'clock Friday night. And this one man would invariably come about 20 after 4:00. And every time I could, I would leave the room. But I got a hold of him one time, and he had cattle for sale. And I was writing it down. And he had a milking short-horn bull. And I wrote it down, and I looked at it. That's what it said, a milking short-horn bull. I said, that's not possible! Oh, he said, you silly girls don't know a thing. That's what it is. Put in the paper. [LAUGHTER] I couldn't ask him, hey, my father wouldn't have known what a short-horn bull was either. [LAUGHTER] Wow, I never will forget that. So I found out later that that's a breed of animal. That's what they're called.
Bauman: I was asking about leaving White Bluffs. Did your parents get any money for their property at all?
Johnson: I have no idea. Money was never spoken of. I know that we took what furniture that there was suitable, and we had an aunt and uncle that lived in Sunnyside. And they came over with an old truck, and took whatever we couldn't take. Because when we went to Yakima, they said the apartment was furnished. So we didn't take anything. And that was bad. Because what they had furnished, we didn't want to sleep on. And we'd already sent out stuff to Sunnyside. So we slept on a Davenport until we got enough money to--Mother went to work for a lady that lived up the street. Had a little milk and bread grocery store, and she had two sons in the service. And so she and Mother had lots in common. And Mother would go to work for her two days--for a couple of hours two days a week. And that was what we bought groceries with.
Bauman: When you were living in White Bluffs, how you get news? Was there a newspaper? Did you have a radio?
Johnson: I never read a newspaper. I don't know anything about that. As soon as I got into the newspaper business, I read everything I can. I don't know. And as I said before, the radio we had was run by a battery. And the boys were allowed to have 30 minutes of radio when they got home from school. One of them was Jimmy Austin. Remember the--well you probably don't remember--it was a airplane. My one brother was crazy about airplanes then. And then they got into the, oh, some stupid--I think that was television, though. And then my dad was a great news man, and he would listen to the Richfield Reporter.
Bauman: And how about you? Did you listen to anything on the radio?
Johnson: Uh-uh.
Bauman: I was wondering if you ever had a chance, opportunity, to go back to White Bluffs at some point later, during one of the White Bluffs reunions, or anything like that, where you have to go back and see the area at all.
Johnson: Just three times I have. One was our 60th graduation. And the four I told you about--we had four--and the other three came. And that was when he took my girlfriend and I up to the--Harry Anderson took us up to our homes. Otherwise we would just join the convoy that would go out around and around and around. And come back in and drive through what White Bluffs streets were to get back out to the park.
Bauman: When you were able to go back and see the area, were there any things that you recognized at all that were still there, or was pretty much everything gone?
Johnson: Well, a lot of the houses were still there. The girls that I used to go visit and knew about. And the warehouse was there. Just about the last packing he did was when he left. And a wind storm had come in and it was just boards. And the wind leveled it. So that was the end of that. And our hay barn, our cow barn, had collapsed, and I didn't want to go back anymore. It wasn't home.
Bauman: I see. What do you think is important for people to know about the community of White Bluffs?
Johnson: I want them to know that we were a community. We had stores. We had grocery stores. We had a barber shop. Had the power company. We had electricity at home. My mother had an electric washing machine, which was very, very rare. But the boys had made enough money in the service to help her buy some stuff. So she had an electric stove, and she had a wood stove. And the electric stove is what she baked in. Use it for baking. Because we had so many apples, she was always making apple pie. The wood stove had a great big reservoir. So if you wanted hot water, you started the stove. You'd have enough hot water to wash the dishes at suppertime, and wash your face to go to bed. That I can relate to something else that's kind of bad to these kids, but every morning, after breakfast, before we went to school, we’d put a little bit of soda and little bit of salt in the palm of our hand, and take our dry toothbrush and mix that together. Have a glass of water, and the four of us went outside, and stood outside on the lawn, and we'd all brush our teeth. Dip it in the water, and dip over here. We didn't have toothpaste, but I guess soda and salt will work just as well. We never had candy. We did have apple pie and chocolate cake. Mother did bake. And then my father had that cow, and would have a calf. And whenever the calf got big enough, he'd butcher it. And it would hang up in a tree. It was cool. It was always in the fall that he'd butcher the calf. And they'd go out and cut some meat, take it in, and have it for supper. So it was very, very pioneer. True. But as I said before, Leslie has made me think we were not poor.
Bauman: Right. Did you go to any other towns very much at all? To Pasco or to--
Johnson: Oh, Pasco we went for a doctor, because I got real sick in my fifth grade. I had Bright's disease. Don't even know what it is. But the doctors now say, well, I'm glad you had it then, because we don't want you to have it now. And I had to stay in the hospital in Pasco. And my mother would come twice a week, and she'd say, how are you doing? Oh, I said, I wish you'd bring me some water from home. The water they give me has--they always put my medicine in my water! And I said, I don't like it that way. I like to be able to drink a drink of water. And she said, well, they shouldn't put your medicine in your water. So she went out to the nurse and said, Jean said that the water isn't good. Well, she complains to me, too, but she's drinking city water. They had chlorine in it, and I didn't like it. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] How long were you in the hospital for that?
Johnson: About two weeks. To me, that was a long ways to be from home.
Bauman: And about how old were you at that time?
Johnson: I was in fifth grade. I think I was 11. Bright's disease, I think, was a kidney problem, and the doctor, without telling me, told my mother that I may not ever be able to have children. So nobody told me anything about that until after I got married. And I had four children in six years, so I proved them wrong! [LAUGHTER] All doctors aren't right.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Were there doctors in White Bluffs?
Johnson: I was born there, yes. That's what one of my friends said, you couldn't have been born in White Bluffs unless you were born at home. I said, no, I was born in White Bluffs. There was a little house there, and there was some doctor. I don't know who he was. He was an old, old man. And the lady I talked to, the nurse, was a retired army nurse. And she said she had studied--what's baby birth? It's not pediatrics.
Bauman: It's not pediatrics?
Johnson: Well, anyhow.
Woman: Was it midwifery?
Johnson: Yeah. Well, that's what she was. She was a midwife. So yeah. The boys were all born in Yakima.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Johnson: My mother would go in there and stay with her mother.
Bauman: But you were born in White Bluffs?
Johnson: I was born in White Bluffs. And isn't that funny? I can remember that, a white house. It was spotless. And there was no dogs and cats running around in it. No children. Just that old man and that lady. But I made it through.
Bauman: Are there any other memories or stories, things you remember from growing up that we haven't talked about yet, or I haven't asked you about yet that you'd like to talk about?
Johnson: No, I ended up with The Republic and then I got married. Well, I worked seven years at the newspaper office. And the picnics and things that we had was over on the other house where we had the big lawn. We always had a picnic there. A lot of those people who were working at the warehouse would come over on Sunday and bring one dish or something, and all their kids. And they would play on our yard, because we had water in the yard--came to go to the orchard--had been derailed and come on to the yard. And he had and old lawnmower and mowed it. So it was fun. And we had a lot of company, because everybody was beholden to my father. And that's about all I can remember, but I wanted to express myself that this is really from my heart, because I have wanted to do this. And I appreciate all your help and the other people coming in and standing there waiting for us to get done.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you very much for being willing to share your stories. This has been terrific. I really appreciate it.
Johnson: Thank you. And the weather there! The weather in White Bluffs--I'm sorry. It was beautiful, even though it was desert. We had warm winters. I do not remember any snow. And it was a long trip from White Bluffs to Yakima in an old car. [bounces up and down]
Bauman: Is that the Ford?
Johnson: An old Ford--no, no. Oh, my, no. We had a big Chevrolet. My brother bought it, then they went to war.
Bauman: So you took the Chevrolet once they were gone.
Johnson: Mm-hm. Well, I am a very happy person.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Well, thank you very much. Again, it was really appreciated.
Johnson: Mm-hm.
Crew woman: Is that it?
Bauman: Yeah.
Crew woman: Okay, well I heard you talking about the boat regatta.
Bauman: Oh. Yeah. The boat regatta. There's a photo of the cars lined up on the river.
Johnson: Mm-hm.
Bauman: Could you talk about that at all? Do you have any memories about the--
Johnson: Oh, yes. Because two of our men were in two of those boats. One of them was the Wiehl. I can't remember what another man's name was. I don't remember too much about it, because to me the boats were just going around and around and the rest of us kids were either trying to get ice cream, or [LAUGHTER] see how many rocks we could pick up or something. It wasn't--and that's another thing, too. I probably mentioned that before. We were never afraid. We were never afraid. Day or night. If somebody new came into town, he was well covered. And everybody knew who he was in ten days, five days.
Bauman: The boat regattas, did it happen every year? Is that something that's a yearly--
Johnson: As far as I remember. I cannot say it was every year. Maybe every year for five years or something like that. And that was one of the biggest events. There was no rodeos, and no parades that I can ever remember.
Bauman: Okay. Well, Jean, let’s have you look at some of these photos, maybe. And have you talk a little bit about them.
Jean Johnson: All right. This is my mother and father’s wedding. They were married in Prosser in August 19—I almost want to say 1916. It doesn’t matter, really, it was somewhere in there. And they had met in White Bluffs, where mother’s family grew up—moved from Yakima to White Bluffs—was only 100 feet from Dad’s shack.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Johnson: So they met early in the shack. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: They were neighbors. [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: Yeah. Okay, and this was a brand new Ford Turing. It wasn’t Turing—what did I tell you it was?
Bauman: You thought maybe a Model A, possibly?
Johnson: No. I don’t think—I don’t know. Maybe not, it was a brand new car. And when Dad went into White Bluffs to pick up the car, he took the three boys with him and bought them all three new hats. So they were spiffy and ready to go. And here they were just showing me off.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: And this is my house in White Bluffs. I loved that house. And you can see from the pictures they had a great big lawn.
Bauman: Right. More kids again here.
Johnson: Mm-hm. And we played—I was out on the grass all the time. The boys had pretend airports over here with their model airplanes. In those days they had airplanes that were made of steel or something, they were heavy.
Bauman: And who took all these photos, did your parents have a camera then? Do you know?
Johnson: Are we all there?
Bauman: No, but I mean—this is the four of you kids, but did your family have a—
Johnson: Yeah. They had a Kodak Box. And those other pictures that I took when I was older, I had a little tiny thing that took 110. And then they finally did away with the 110 film. So the girls gave me a digital—3M or something, I don’t know. I can’t think. [LAUGHTER] So I don’t take any more pictures. Yeah, this was 1937.
Bauman: So, you were about 12 years old? What year were you born?
Johnson: ’25. No, I was little. I was about four, I didn’t get to go to school yet.
Bauman: Oh, here you were little, yeah. Let’s see. Oops.
Johnson: Yeah. And that’s an orchard that they worked in and they climbed up a tree. And there was a ladder, and there’s the dog standing there with them. See that? Ben-ben was always with them.
Bauman: That was your family dog?
Johnson: Mm-hm. There was a—
Bauman: And who’s this here?
Johnson: That’s my second brother. He was the one who was on the gas run for the Navy.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Johnson: He had come home from Pullman. He was very, very studious. He was the president of his senior class in college.
Bauman: Oh, okay, was that Washington State?
Johnson: Yes. And this one—my older brother went to the University of Washington, Seattle.
Bauman: Okay, I’m going to bring in some of these school photos now.
Johnson: This was the seventh grade.
Bauman: And which one are you in here? You see yourself?
Johnson: Remember? I was in the background, up by the teacher, tall. Yeah. And this is what? Fifth and sixth. We were younger. See that’s me right there. My brothers were all ahead of me. And that man’s name was Tomet. He lived in [UNKNOWN]. Fred Tomet.
Bauman: And he was the teacher?
Johnson: Mm-hm.
Bauman: This was taken outside in front the school.
Johnson: Mm-hm. That looks like a pretty good looking school, doesn’t it?
Bauman: It does, yeah. Now here’s an earlier one.
Johnson: Yeah, that was the teacher of second grade. I told you when she came back she had a little tiny—had a belly on her! Next time we knew, she had a new baby in her arms. That was my experience of when children would come, taught in school.
Bauman: And which one are you in this photo?
Johnson: Oh, right there.
Bauman: Uh-huh. And there’s grade school.
Johnson: Oh, this is a whole bunch of them!
Bauman: Looks like the whole grade school.
Johnson: It must be.
Bauman: Of White Bluffs.
Johnson: I think I’m down here, because that was the teacher. And that was my first grade teacher—I told you she was an older woman. And do you know, to this day—I called her Mrs. Moody—and there’s a lady in Ellensburg that my brothers went to school with. And they called her Mrs. So-and-so. In those days, that’s all we—you did not call them by Martha and George. They were mister and missus. And that’s what—in that, the lists that Betsy made of all those men in town—I didn’t know their first names that came to me. But they were always Mr. Gilhuly and Mr. Larsen and Mr. English. Kids in those days didn’t say, Hi Fred!
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Johnson: [referring to picture] I can’t tell, I can’t tell. But I’m there.
Bauman: And another thing I wanted you to talk about was this.
Johnson: Yeah, that was the name of my father’s apple. This was painted on the backside of his—on the solid end of the apple box. And that does say White Bluffs on it. Codding and Heideman, Fred Rea – Seattle was his—when his stuff was shipped out. When it went right into the store, right into people, it was Pear in Yakima. Pear Fruit Company.
Bauman: And who was Heideman?
Johnson: He was a neighbor. We lived here, and went through the orchard and through the orchard, and he lived right there. And they had five children and they were all younger than we were. But it’s funny how they grew up, because two of the boys were teachers that came into Yakima. They were agriculture teachers and one was a livestock teacher. And they came into the school from Wenatchee. So many of those kids, you know, they moved out of White Bluffs when they had to. And they all stayed within the area, almost. I don’t know, some of them must have left and went out of state, but a lot of them just stayed with what they knew. That’s the only thing you could do, you couldn’t get really educated.
Bauman: A lot of them stayed close by?
Johnson: Mm-hm.
Bauman: I meant to ask you, do you know how large your farm was, like how many acres?
Johnson: I think it was something like 22. It wasn’t large, but they were all trees.
Bauman: And so your father partnered with Mr. Heideman for these apples.
Johnson: Well, I would say Mr. Heideman let—knew my father. Because he wanted to build it.
Bauman: Okay.
Johnson: And Heideman said, well, I’ll help you. And so they got in a real good friendship. Us kids were all good friends, but the parents didn’t have much to do until they got into this. But he was, as I said before, a lot of people had great respect for him for getting them jobs.
Bauman: Mm-hm, right.
Johnson: Now, not to change the subject, but my boys are the same way as my dad was. Because my boys hire whatever they have to hire. And they are—the boys that they hire comment to them and to their parents how easy and how nice it is to work here. Because they say thank you, they don’t yell at them, they’re paid every time they need money or time they’re off. And that’s what they have learned. If they did the work, pay them. Don’t say you have to wait until Monday. So they have very good respect in the Valley. I’m very, very proud of all of them.
Bauman: Sure. I meant to ask you, how did you come across this label? How did you get this label?
Johnson: I have no idea. Somebody must have drawn it up for him.
Bauman: Mm-hm. All right. Thanks. Thank you, that was very good. Very helpful.
Northwest Public Television | Jackson_Donna
Robert Bauman: Okay. Why don't you go ahead and state your name first.
Donna Jackson: My name is Donna Jackson.
Bauman: Okay. And my name's Robert Bauman and Donna Jackson will be telling us some stories. Today is July 16, 2013 and this is being conducted on the campus of Washington State University Tri-Cities. So at this point I'll turn over to you Donna, and go ahead and tell your stories.
Jackson: Okay. I'm going to tell you a story about John and Mary. They and their four kids lived in the Midwest. They had family working at Hanford and came west to join them in 1946. Now when there is a housing shortage, private citizens try to fill the need and make some money. John and Mary found housing at what is now called Columbia Park. A man named Garst had a cherry orchard and he put up tents and shacks to rent. Mr. Paulson had a farmhouse just west of that and he divided his land into Paulson’s Plats and built small houses on it to rent or sell. The businesses that were in that area at that time were Wild Bill's Garage, Sherry's Groceries, and there was a drive-in theater and a tavern. John and Mary bought one of Paulson's three-room houses and they bought three extra lots for a total of $1,600. Actually, it was a two bathroom house. There were three rooms, plus a small bathroom with a shower stool and sink, but built on the outside of the house was a small concrete block washroom with a laundry tub, space for a washing machine and a toilet. You had to go outside to get to it, but actually this turned out to be quite convenient. When more of their family arrived in the area, they set up tents and they had a toilet available for their use, and it was handy for the kids, too, because they didn't have to come in the house. There were about eight houses in Paulson’s Plats and several of the families living there wanted to grow a garden and tried, but it just didn't work. The canal was south of them and so much water seeped into their yard that nothing would grow. Now John and Mary lived there two years before the big flood of 1948. Being right on the river they were flooded out. They moved into a tent on what is now Highway 12. Each morning they would get up and look over to see what things were like where their house was. One morning, they found their very own icebox had floated loose and right up to the bank below where they were camped. John fished it out, cleaned it up, and they could use it again. During this time, they would go to a washateria. They would wash their clothes and hang them on the bushes to dry. Mary would rent an iron long enough to press three shirts, which would get John through a week's work. Nothing else would be ironed because of the cost of renting the iron. Now when they were there in Paulson’s Plats, there was ice delivery for their icebox. But there wasn't any ice delivery in town because nobody was allowed to go into town, no deliveries of any kind. As Mary said, they just didn't, but they were afraid people would blab about what was going on. Well the water finally receded and they went out to check their house. There were big holes in the walls, the wood flooring had come off and washed down the river, presumably into the Pacific Ocean. The kitchen floor didn't come loose because the wood stove was heavy enough to keep it in place. Mary's dad and the Red Cross came to help put in new wallboard and flooring so they could move back into their house. Another problem during the time of the flood was getting to work at Hanford. At that time, the bridge across the Yakima was down at river level, and during the flood, no one could cross it. John had a ride that would take him going up across the Horse Heaven Hills and around. One day, he missed his ride and had to fly to work. He walked a mile south to the airport, and for $3 could catch a plane that would take him across the river. A shuttle would meet the plane and then take the folks on out to work. When John and Mary got back into their house, they had a problem with drinking water. They had a 100 foot well and after the flood, the water was not drinkable. John pumped the well out and poured a gallon of Clorox down it. He repeated the process nine times before the water was safe to drink. One weekend, the family went on a road trip the Yakima. Mary left her purse at a stop and they didn't miss it for ten miles. They were absolutely sick when they figured it out. They had to go back and get it since all their ration coupons were in it, as well as their money. It added another 20 miles to their trip, and they didn't think they had enough gas to get home and the gas stations wouldn't sell to them after hours. Well, they went back, got her purse, and headed to Richland and sure enough, they ran out of gas. They sat there bundled up and cold and finally a trucker stopped. He was going to get gas someplace because they would sell to trucks after hours and he said he'd come back and help them. When he finally returned, he said give me your container and I'll get you some gas. Well there was a problem, they didn't have a container. The only thing they could think of was John's rubber boots. The trucker put 10 boots full of gas in their car and they made it home. One of Mary's friends, who lived in Richland proper, took in boarders and cooked meals for three people that lived in Sunnyside. They went home on weekends, but part of the deal was that they gave her part of their ration coupons. This friend also had a small coupe to drive. There were shortages of everything, and when someone heard there was a line somewhere, everyone got excited. They never knew what would be for sale, but it didn't matter. She would drive through the neighborhood tooting her horn and the women would come out and jump into the car. Sometimes some would even hang onto the running board. They would get in line, and then find out what was for sale. It didn't matter, they would buy it and if they didn't need it, their friends did. What is now Columbia Center was a garbage dump. When you shop there today, you sometimes think it still is. One family gathering place was Howard Amon Park, which had a swimming pool. The family would have a picnic ready, and when Dad got home from work, they would head for the park. Mom would stake out a picnic spot and Dad and kids would head for the pool. They would wait in line, oh, 40 to 50 minutes. You could be in the pool for 30 minutes, and then everybody got out and a new group got in. Obviously, there were more people than would fit in the pool. The community celebrated Richland Days on Labor Day weekend for a few years. This changed to Atomic Frontier Days with parades and celebrations, and then this was combined to make the Benton Franklin County Fair. In 1949, the government was building the dam at Umatilla and they condemned the land in the Columbia Park area and bought everyone out. John and Mary were able to get a three bedroom prefab in Richland and they paid $37 a month rent. In their block on Snow Street, the government paid for everything but the rent. The trash trucks came right to your back door where the garbage cans were in a little shed and took them from there. There was one lawnmower for the block, a reel-type push mower, not that there was much gas. There was one phone outside on a pole for the block. The housewives could call housing for mousetraps, they were brought out and baited. Then you called housing to collect the traps and the mice. When they bought their ranch house, the monthly payment was huge, $76. It was nearly double what their rent had been and they didn't know if they could afford it. The house cost $10,500 and if you committed to stay there for a certain length of time, the purchase price went down $800. They gladly made that commitment. When there was a wedding, you gave a lot of thought to what would make a nice and useful gift. At one particular wedding, Mary and a friend with together and bought a nice pair of salad tongs. Then to make it more special, Mary wrote a poem to go with the gift. “Life is a salad, carrots for sunshine, onions for tears, cucumbers and celery for peace through the years, tomatoes the acid that sometimes make way into the tranquility of the day, radishes and peppers for garnish and frills, next comes the lettuce for paying the bills. Toss together with love for the dressing. May your bowl of salad have God's richest blessing.” Now you remember John and Mary had to promise to live in the house for a few years to get a reduced price, they lived there the rest of their lives. Then I have another story about Dick and Liz. Dick and Liz lived in Tennessee and Dick worked construction. This work provided a nomadic way of life for this family and their three small children. Dick would get a job, the family would pack up and move to the newest location. As soon as they could find a place to live, Dick would be off to work. It was Liz's job to settle the family, locate the grocery stores, the church, and make friends with the neighbors. They would stay six months to a year and then they would move to another job. They worked in Nebraska, Oklahoma, Michigan, and Tennessee. Liz was tired of moving around, she had a dream. She dreamt of a yard where she could grow flowers, she dreamt of living in one place for the rest of her life, not starting over every few months. Well, Dick went to Memphis one day and when he got home he showed her his train ticket to Hanford, Washington. He had been given a job on a construction crew at Hanford and they gave them a train ticket to get there. He and Liz talked and the next day he got on the train for Washington State. When he arrived in Pasco, he was met at the train station and given a ride directly to the job site and put to work. Well, Liz saw her dream of a home and permanence fly out the window. Again she had to make travel plans. Where on earth was Hanford, what would be there, where would they live, would they have schools, would there be any kind of civilization? Washington State was 3,000 miles away. Well, Liz didn't question the arrangements, her place was with her family and her husband was the provider. She would go where he was working. Liz made arrangements to bring the children out to Hanford. She had to make choices, what she could take with her and what she had to leave behind. She had a friend who worked for the railroad and he helped her as she packed her linens and their dishes and clothes. One large item she couldn't leave behind was her treadle sewing machine. She needed it for making and mending clothes. Her friend from the railroad helped her to get her belongings shipped, and then took her and the children to the station and put them on the train for this place, clear across the country, called Hanford. The trains were used both for civilian passengers and for military transport, they were crowded with soldiers. Before Liz left, her friend took her aside and warned her not have anything to do with the soldiers on the train, it might not be safe. Liz got on the train and was surrounded by soldiers. Many were just teenagers, 17 or 18 and very homesick. Others were young family men who had left their wives and children behind. They were delighted to see Liz and her children, and they couldn't do enough for them. The trip was much easier than anticipated—until they neared their destination. The train came across the Blue Mountains and was nearing Pendleton, Oregon when it stopped in the middle of nowhere. Was this Hanford? No, but there was a train derailed in front of them, they could go no further. They sat on the train for eight hours. Even though it was October, the passenger car was soon stifling since the noon-day sun was glaring down on them. People opened the train windows and soon they were covered with dust and soot. Finally, the track was cleared away and they got the Pendleton, but the train to Pasco was gone. Liz didn't know how they'd get the rest of the way or even where Pasco was from Pendleton. She didn't know how she could get in touch with her husband; she didn't have a cellphone, of course. The passengers were told there was a school bus about ready to take the kids home from school and they could get to Umatilla on that. Their train tickets would be honored. Liz wrote out a telegram to Dick and asked a porter to send it for her and she handed him $0.50. He said, not enough, and reached over and took $1.00 out of her hand, and then he never sent the telegram. Well, Liz and the kids were first in line to get on the school bus and then were told they had to go in and buy tickets. They went in the depot and they were told their train tickets were okay after all, but they were now last in line to get on the bus. But they did get on. They climbed on the bus with schoolkids, Liz carrying the baby. The bus was packed to capacity, but a man who had a seat stood and let Liz sit down. As a school children were dropped off, seats became available. Liz's kids thought they were going to Kenny-wick and the school children all laughed at that and taught them the name of the town. They got to Umatilla and were eventually put on a bus to Pasco. Well, Dick hadn't gotten any telegram, but had heard about the bus situation and was there to meet them and Liz wondered where they were going to sleep that night. Imagine her relief when Dick had told her he had just that day got a three bedroom prefab for his family and it was furnished. The furniture was minimal, but functional. There was one double bed and the necessary number of single beds for the children, there was a table and six chairs, a couch and a chair, a stove and an icebox. The only linen was one comforter for the double bed. There were no curtains, no trees, no grass, no flowers, but you know, it really didn't matter. They were in a house, they were together again as a family. They went to bed that night, the children were covered with their coats and Dick and Liz used the comforter, and the next day things got much better. All the things she had shipped arrived. They had dishes and pans and linens and clothes and even her sewing machine. Soon there were curtains at the window, trees, grass, and flowers took while longer. They were cared for in their little house. If the house needed painting, it was painted for them. If the furniture broke, it was replaced. If the light bulbs burned out somebody came and changed them. Dick's job was to work construction. Liz's job was to care for her husband and family. Everything they did was as a family. Neighbors would come over in the evenings; they’d put the children to bed and play pinochle. One night they decided to go out to a movie so they asked a neighbor to stay with the children, and Dick and Liz went to their first movie in Hanford. The first scene in the movie was of a fire burning in a fireplace, and that scene is etched in Liz's mind today. She can't remember anything else about the movie. Now their house didn't have a fireplace, but all she could see was their house on fire. She spent the entire movie worrying about her family and just knew her house would be gone when they got home. Well, her house and children were just fine, but she really didn't want to go to any movies after that. Few people had cars, and the Richland bus system was free and everyone used the buses. When some of the mothers wanted a chance to clean house without children underfoot they used the bus system. They would put the kids on the bus and let them ride to the end of the route and back home so they could cleanup house and maybe have a cup of coffee. Well they started going to the church and the second time they went, Liz was asked to teach Sunday school. She agreed and taught Sunday school most of the time for the next 45 years. One day she went to call on someone who had visited their church. There was a friendly Great Dane in the yard and when she knocked on the door, he came and stood patiently beside her. When the lady of the house invited her in, the gigantic dog walked in the house with her. He went in the kitchen area and curled up in the smallest area as a Great Dane can curl up in. After the visit, Liz started to leave and the owner of the house said don't forget your dog. Liz's reply was, that's not my dog; I thought he was your dog. Well, they shooed the dog outside and he wandered down the street until he came to his own home. There are stories of people not being able to find the right house when they come home. I expect the dog knew his house, he just wanted to meet the neighbors. Liz's dream had come true. She had a house and some permanence. She did have to move one more time, but that was only a couple miles north to a ranch house. She had lots of flowers in her yard, she raised her children and has been part of the same church family for 45 years. Dick passed away a few years ago, but Liz is still comfortable in her home.
Bauman: That's great.
Jackson: Those are my stories—
Bauman: Thank you.
Jackson: --from friends who grew up here.
Bauman: I think that's great to just end it there.
Jackson: Okay.
Bauman: I don’t--asking questions I don't think would--
Jackson: Okay.
Northwest Public Television | D_Henry_Raymond
Robert Bauman: Okay. Well, we'll go ahead and get started. And I'm going to start by having you say your name, and spell it for us, please.
Ray Deranleau: Ray De-- are you ready?
Bauman: Yep.
Deranleau: Ray Deranleau, D-E-R-A-N-L-E-A-U, R-A-Y on the first name.
Bauman: Great, thank you. And today's date is September 3rd of 2013. And we're conducting this interview on the campus of Washington State University, Tri-Cities. So let's start, if we could, by having you talk about your family--how they came, how, when, why they came to the area here.
Deranleau: Well, my folks come here in 1930. And at that time, there was just six kids left in the house. The three older ones had grown up. And they more or less, I think, starved out--they were up at Genesee, Idaho. And the price of wheat wasn't anything, and they just kind of went broke up there. They moved down here, and, of course, we farmed down here, but that was altogether different. Dad had been a dry land farmer, but he had to learn the irrigation thing.
Bauman: Do you know how he heard about Richland, or any of that?
Deranleau: I think he just put the place up for sale and the real estate person, Carl Williams, who was in Kennewick for a long time, handled it. I know that. And I suppose that's how it happened. I was about--I was six--or, five when we moved here. So, a lot of that up there, I don't recall even.
Bauman: And what were your parents' names?
Deranleau: Henry and Elizabeth.
Bauman: And so where was your farm?
Deranleau: Well, it was right across the ditch from where Battelle is, headed west. It was across that ditch. And if you are familiar with that, there was an old school—Vale School, up there at one time. And Dad had 33 acres, and that seven acres was out of that original 40. So we were right adjacent to that.
Bauman: Okay. Who were some of your neighbors, or people who lived closest to you, then?
Deranleau: Well, Pete Hansen lived right next to us. And then, across the ditch, was Hultgrenn. Were the two closest.
Bauman: And so what sort of crops did you grow on the far?
Deranleau: Well, we had--towards the last, we had a little mint--peppermint. And we had quite a few grapes, but most folks didn't raise grapes like Dad did. And, of course, we had hay and asparagus, and strawberries.
Bauman: And growing up on the farm, did you have particular chores or responsibilities that were yours?
Deranleau: Hell yeah. We milked cows, and just all the stuff that went with it. Cut asparagus. We'd get up as soon as you could see to cut asparagus in the spring. That was always a cash crop that made a little money for everybody that--and of course, it was early. It'd give them a chance to have some money to pay the water bill, and stuff like that. So that was a good crop then.
Bauman: Do you know where the crops were sold?
Deranleau: Well, they were sold mostly at Kennewick. And some things at Pasco, but mostly at Kennewick. Ours was, anyway.
Bauman: I want to ask you also, about your farm, were there other buildings besides the house itself on the property? What other buildings were there?
Deranleau: Well, yeah, we had a barn, and a little shed that, I suppose at one time, had been kind of an open end garage type thing. But most of that stuff was so worn out that you could throw a cat through it somewhere.
Bauman: So when you bought the place, it was something that someone else had already owned?
Deranleau: There was what?
Bauman: Someone else had already owned the place?
Deranleau: No, Dad got that place from the ditch company. And he just moved on there for no payment at all. And of course, the reasoning behind that was if they had people farming, they were buying their water. So they were better off just to let you set on there. And of course, eventually, he paid for it. But that's when they moved on that thing.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Deranleau: And it was awful run down, to begin with. Whoever was on there ahead of us didn't do much farming. They just--
Bauman: Do you know how old the place was?
Deranleau: No.
Bauman: It had been there for a while?
Deranleau: Yeah, it was older than I was.
Bauman: And what about electricity? Did you have electricity there?
Deranleau: Yeah. [LAUGHTER] We got electricity there. And at that time that, PP&L was in here, which was Pacific Power and Light. And they wouldn't give you electricity until the ERA came in, and then they were right there to give you some, if they could. But they had to run a line in from Stevens, you know, where I live, there. And that was probably, what, a block and a half maybe. But anyway--and then they went to our neighbors. And we had to buy electric stoves. And I suppose--I know we bought them from them, and I don't know if we had to or not. And just a deal where you pay a nickel down, pay the rest your life, type thing. And I suppose they got a dang good shafting on the price of that stove. I don't know that, but common sense tells me that. But that's the way electricity was then. And like I said, boy, they weren't very helpful until the ERA came in, and made all the difference in the world. REA, I guess it is.
Bauman: REA, right. And did that happen sometime after you arrived, the REA? Probably, yeah--
Deranleau: Yeah. Roosevelt, I think, went in in, what, in '32? And so we went there in '30. And we moved on to that place, I would say, in '35. And I could be off a year or two. It was the second place where we first lived.
Bauman: Okay, so where did you live before that, then?
Deranleau: We lived just off of Van Giesen, and right in there close to where that little shoplifting center is, there on Van Giesen. If you know much about the history of this place, there was a house there, and they called it Officer's--Officer's something. And I can't say the word I want to. But anyway, it was a big, nice house, and they had left that for quite a while before they ever tore it down. I think they moved it to West Richland eventually.
Bauman: So that's where you lived initially, and then you moved to the place--
Deranleau: Pardon?
Bauman: So that's where you lived for about five years? '30, '35, and then you moved to the second place? Okay. And what about telephone? Did you have a telephone?
Deranleau: Yeah. We had a telephone. My dad was on the ditch board--the water board. There were three other people around there. And then they had a guy running it. In fact, Fletcher--his dad run that. And he had to have a telephone because of that.
Bauman: Oh, okay.
Deranleau: I suppose we wouldn't have had a telephone as quick as we did.
Bauman: Was that a party line, sort of?
Deranleau: Oh, yeah. Yeah, then about that time, too, we switched over from horses to a tractor. So that was kind of a change in farming for us a lot.
Bauman: So initially you had horses for all the work on the farm? Do you remember what kind of tractor you got?
Deranleau: Yeah, we had an F-12, Farmall tractor.
Bauman: So what about the town of Richland itself? What do you remember about the town during the 1930s? Any businesses, or things that you--
Deranleau: Well, there was a couple of grocery stores, and a couple of gas stations. You could buy little candy bars, and stuff like that at those gas stations. And there was a hardware--good hardware store. And I probably missed some of them, but there wasn't much here.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] Did you have a radio, or--how did you get news?
Deranleau: Well, we had a radio. It worked part of the time. [LAUGHTER] One of those deals where everybody had his damn ear down into the--trying to hear it.
Bauman: Do you remember listening to any shows, or anything in particular on the radio when you were growing up?
Deranleau: Oh yeah, we used to listen to Jimmy Allen. And of course, Dad listened to the news. So we'd listen to that, too. But Jimmy Allen, and, oh, Amos and Andy. We'd listen to that. And I don't remember what else. Not much, we didn't listen to it a lot. It wasn't very good.
Bauman: What about newspaper? Was there a newspaper?
Deranleau: Yeah, we always had the Spokesman Review. There wasn't any local papers at that time.
Bauman: I want to ask you about school. What school did you go to? And do you have any specific memories about school, teachers or anything like that?
Deranleau: Well, we had a pretty good little school, if we'd have tried to learn something. And some of us wasn't too interested in that, to be real frank with you. And I was one of them--hell, I thought I knew everything there was to know at 15. But really, we didn't have a bad school.
Bauman: How did you get to school? Was there a bus?
Deranleau: Yeah, went on a school bus.
Bauman: Was that a sort of regular school bus?
Deranleau: Yeah.
Bauman: It was? Okay.
Deranleau: Yeah, they had certain routes. There were about--I would say maybe five of them.
Bauman: Were there any teachers that you particularly remember from your years of school in Richland?
Deranleau: Well, no, not really. We had some good ones and some bad ones. But I don't like to badmouth some of them. And especially the kind of student I was. If I'd have had me, I'd have killed me. Just to be real frank with you.
Bauman: What's a recreational activities? What did you do for fun growing up?
Deranleau: Well, we played ball, and we fished, and just kind of entertained ourselves. We worked a lot, really. When kids were old enough to work--and if you had any spare time, Dad would go out and buy another 20 acres, just about what it boiled to with those old guys. You know, if they had boys especially, they were out looking for more land. [LAUGHTER] Which was a way of life at that time.
Bauman: Mm-hm. Do you remember any community events? Any--
Deranleau: Well, we used to go to grange meetings. And they'd have two a month. And one of them would be a social thing, and at that one, they'd serve a little sandwich and coffee, and they'd have dances. You'd just volunteer a band, so that was pretty neat.
Bauman: Where were the grange meetings held?
Deranleau: The Grange Hall was right up where the Lutheran church is, here in Richland, on Van Giesen--or, yeah, Van Giesen and Stevens.
Bauman: So I assume your father was a member of the grange.
Deranleau: Yeah.
Bauman: Was he part of any other organizations? You mentioned the irrigation, right?
Deranleau: No, not really. We went to church when we had gas.
Bauman: What church did you go to?
Deranleau: Catholic. And we'd have to go to Kennewick for that. There wasn't any Catholic church here. In fact, there was one church, and I think they called it Community Methodist. And pretty near all the protestants would go there. And maybe they'd have a Methodist preacher for a while, and if he starved out, the next one could be Lutheran, or whatever, you know. You just kind of, in those days, did with what you had. And they pretty much had a Seventh Day Adventist little church there, too. There wasn't many members, but they would have meetings there, on Saturday.
Bauman: Were there a number of families that went to the Catholic church in Kennewick from Richland, who lived there?
Deranleau: Oh, I don't think there was a half a dozen. Maybe something like that. Of course, them Catholics, in those days, had lots of kids, and more kids than the rest of them. So we could kind of outnumber them. We didn't need--if we had families, we had groups. [LAUGHTER] We had one Catholic bunch, lived out there on the river. And I think they had 17 or 19 kids, somebody said. And in those days, it wasn't unusual for children to die at childbirth. And they had some where they'd lose one--they'd just name another one the same name. And I always thought that was kind of weird, but I know they did that.
Bauman: You mentioned playing ball growing up. Did you play sports in school at all?
Deranleau: Well, we played softball. We didn't have any football--we didn't have a football team. We didn't have any material for it. And we didn't play baseball, either. They had a local baseball team--we'd call it a town team. And everybody, whoever wanted to--and then they had some pretty decent players on that darn thing, for those days.
Bauman: How about basketball?
Deranleau: Well, we had a high school basketball team. And that was the size of that. I don't remember anybody other than just--well, maybe in grade school or middle school, you could play around then.
Bauman: So you arrived here in about 1930—
Deranleau: Yeah.
Bauman: --the years of the Great Depression. Wondering ways in which the Depression sort of impacted people here.
Deranleau: [LAUGHTER] Well, we were poor as church mice, you know. But everybody else was the same way. Hell, when I went in the service in '43, I had better conditions in the service than I had at home. And like I said, everybody was poor, so I thought that's the way everybody was. And they were, around here--most of them, some of them were better off than others, naturally. But it was pretty hard times for everybody. We didn't ever--went hungry, or anything like that. I don't mean to imply that. But, boy, we worked from the time were about 11 and 12 in the fields. And after we got a little older, we could hire out, if we got a chance. We'd get enough money for our school clothes that way. And it didn't take much--of course, we didn't get much either. You'd get maybe two bits an hour, you know. And boy, I'll tell you--that was work in those days, too. Picking up potatoes, and things like that.
Bauman: I want to go back to school. So what year did you graduate high school, then?
Deranleau: '42.
Bauman: And how many people were in your class?
Deranleau: I think there was just eight of us, or maybe a dozen. I don't know, they got to--I think Edith maybe brought you that picture of that group.
Bauman: Yeah, small group.
Deranleau: And some of us--I remember, one old teacher that--he was always talking about our sheepskins, when we graduated. And I said something about my sheepskin one day. And he said, yours won't have any fleece on it. [LAUGHTER] Oh, gosh. I think about that school--what a waste of my time and theirs. It was all my fault, I'm not blaming anybody but myself. But it was a fact. It was just stupid that I didn't want to learn more.
Bauman: And you mentioned you joined the service in '43?
Deranleau: Yeah, right after they--as soon as they got the notice here, I started. I had two brothers in the service at the time. And there were four of us in there, before it was over with. And everybody was in the service. And I just felt like I should be in, and I didn't have the guts to leave. And dad wasn't any spring chicken. So I hated to leave before—But once they got rid of that farm--
Bauman: So tell me about when you notice from the government about needing to leave.
Deranleau: Well, we got we got notice from the government on March 3, and they just told us that our place-- condemned our places, and was taking them. And we got our notice a little bit before noon, in the mail. And I was plowing a field out there. And I came in for lunch, and they were, of course, telling me about it. And after I ate, I went back out and cranked up that tractor. And I bet I hadn't been plowing an hour and a half, and somebody called up there, and told them to get that tractor out of that field. I don't know who called, or any more about it than--the deal was you couldn't find out anything. And looking back, you understand why. But you sure didn't in those days. And then, the bad thing about that--it put all those farmers on the market for a new place, and immediately the land went up. And they weren't offering a lot. And a lot of the people didn't accept--they sued for it. And they did better. And Mr. Fletcher--Robert's dad--was involved in that. And, of course, there was an attorney that they had naturally--or, normally up there. And he handled the case--Lionel Powell, from Kennewick, who was an attorney.
Bauman: How did your parents respond to the letter?
Deranleau: Well, confused--everybody was. I guess they just finally told us that it was a government thing, and it was a secret. And they wouldn't--couldn't tell us, and they kind of accepted that. But first, they just were going to run you out of there, without any kind of explanation at all. And we never did get--it was world news when we found out that Richland was part of the atomic bomb thing.
Bauman: So what happened with your parents, then? They sold the land--
Deranleau: Well, they settled in Kennewick, and Dad bought a couple little places there.
Bauman: How long were they given to leave?
Deranleau: Oh, boy. They extended the time to get off of there. I think probably it was fall before the folks left. And then, a lot of those crops, they had the prisoner of war camp, out on the Yakima there. And they had those prisoners in there, taking care of some of those crops. Because I remember a couple of them working up there in the grapes at our place. And one of them asked the other one why he was in the slammer. And he said he was a letter writer. Anyway, he forged checks. [LAUGHTER] He said he was a letter writer.
Bauman: Was that camp--that camp was in existence for a while, before '43, there? The prisoner of war camp?
Deranleau: It was what?
Bauman: It was there before '43?
Deranleau: I don't know. I don't think so. I think they put it up, but boy, they had people. They just put something like that up overnight. I'll bet it didn't take them two weeks to put the dang thing up.
Bauman: And you said your parents then bought a place in Kennewick?
Deranleau: Yeah.
Bauman: A farm, or--
Deranleau: Well, they bought a little place down on the corner of 19th and Washington. There was a credit union there for a while, and they're gone from there. I don't know what's in there now. But industry's moved that far down in there. And of course, that was all farming. That was one thing about the farms, too, in Richland. So many of them--now, we were up on just sagebrush bordered us. There was always land there, available, if you had the time to get it. In fact, Dad would--he'd water some of that--was watering some of those. He'd put in rye grass, because it'd stand the wind. It was hearty, you know? And he'd water. And he was figuring on getting two or three years of rye grass in that, to hold that sand a little bit, and then buying that. And it was things like that that they'd do. And they were pretty loose with--the ditch company, as long as they had water, they'd let them do things like that. But the ditch company owned a lot of Richland. I thought back a lot of times, and wondered, between the Federal Land Bank and the ditch company, what percentage of these little areas--and we weren't unique on that. All you had to do was go down the road to the next one--it was the same thing.
Bauman: You talk about irrigation. How did the irrigation system work? I mean, what sort of irrigation pipes--
Deranleau: It was all real irrigation--ditches. Little ditches. We never heard of a sprinkler system, at that time.
Bauman: Was there cement pipes, at all?
Deranleau: Oh, well, yeah. Some of it was open ditch, and some of it was pipes. And some of it was even what they call continuous pipe. And I had never seen them make that. But the inside out of it--there wasn't any joints, and they had something they'd drag through the middle of it, put the cement around it, and then pull that. That's how they had to do. I never seen them do it. It wasn't very good. It wasn't as good as a good concrete pipe. And, of course, people, as they could, they were improving on that kind of stuff. Getting rid of that kind of junk, and putting in better.
Bauman: So do you remember what your, or your parents', feelings were about--were you upset about having to move off the land? Angry?
Deranleau: Well, they were all probably angry, and confused, more than angry, I think. Because just imagine--getting a letter that you--and on those farms, it was--every month of the year, there was something to do. In winter, you had more cows to milk, and stuff like that. So it wasn't where you had a lot of time off, or anything.
Bauman: So do you remember where you were when you heard about what was happening at the Hanford site? About what was being built, and used for?
Deranleau: No, I really don't. I was in Europe, and I come home--and they gave us a 30 day furlough. And we'd seen just enough combat that we'd been good candidates for over in Japan. And I think that was what they were figuring on. But anyway, I was on a train going back to South Carolina, where I had to report back to. And we were up in Montana, and the conductor come through there, and told us that they had dropped those bombs, and that the war was over. And I think that's the first time I ever knew what Hanford really did--as near as I remember, at least.
Bauman: Do you remember your response when he came through and told you this?
Deranleau: [LAUGHTER] Well, I hate to sound like an idiot, but we were playing poker--a bunch of us--and we were more interested in the poker game. And--it was almost disbelief, I think.
Bauman: And so how much longer were you in the service, then? When did you come back to the area?
Deranleau: Oh, after that, I would say I was in the service five, six months. And we moved around a lot. I was in a chemical warfare outfit. It was a mortar outfit. We had big mortars, and were designed to shoot gas, if we had to. That's why we were in the chemical end of it. But we also had high explosives that we shot. And we would be attached to the infantry. But I don't know really how long we was. Here again, I went back to--I was in 89th Chemical. And when I got back to Colorado, I went over to where it was supposed to be, and--nothing there. So I saw another chemical outfit, right next door--90th. So I went over there. And I happened to walk right into the same company that I'd been assigned to. We'd all been assigned to that, and we didn't even know it. And I'll never forget the First Sergeant in there. He told me where to go, what barracks I could bunk in. So I went up to that barracks, and it was full. And I came back, and I said, that barracks is full, up there, I said. He said, go up and throw one of those guys out of there, and get a bunk. And I said, you go up and throw him out. [LAUGHTER] And that guy took a liking to me. And he was the biggest horse's neck ever to come down the pike. He was a hobo that had found it in the Army, and he was re-enlisted. But he was kind of a weird booger. But anyway, he took a liking to me. And hell, I could just get away with anything after that. It was kind of weird. Some of the guys used to razz me about being his buddy. [LAUGHTER] But anyway, we were doing a lot of moving around. They were just shifting everybody. We went down through Texas, and they brought us up to San Francisco for Army Day Parade. We looped around on those damn hills down there a lot. My wife told me I wasn't supposed to cuss, too, didn't she? But anyway, we were moving around a lot, and then finally ended up at Fort Lewis, where they booted us out.
Bauman: Do you know, after your parents left the farm, do you know if it was torn down right away? Or did the government use it for anything?
Deranleau: Well, ours was, I'm sure, because it was just a shack. And most of them were like that. And it was just the better houses that they kept for folks--like that one I was telling you, Officer's Club is what they called that house over there, where we first lived. And houses like that, they kept them around to put people in. But boy, I'll tell you, some of those houses around here, you could throw a cat through the wall of them--they didn't amount to much.
Bauman: Do you have--are there any memories of growing up in Richland that really stand out to you? Any sort of humorous events, or things that you remember from growing up here, that really stand out to you?
Deranleau: Oh, boy. Well, [LAUGHTER] I remember one time, a bunch of us went up to Brown's island. And that's about maybe eight, nine miles up the Colombia from here. And, of course, in those days, all those dams weren't in there and that was free water. And if you knew where to go, you could wade over to that in the summer. And if you didn't, you'd have to swim a little. But a bunch of us went up there. Anyway, we camped up there for pretty near a week. And we just hunted and fished, and loafed around there. But anyway, there was a little shack on this side of the river. And we'd come back, and I don't know whether we were getting ready to leave, or just that morning, we were maybe going to hunt rabbits or something. But we all had .22s. And one of those kids shot up into the corner of that damn thing, towards the ceiling. And that bullet--we tracked it afterwards, and it went down the ridgepole of that little shack, just probably that far. And hit a nail, and it dropped down on one of the kids' neck. Now, it just dropped, I think. But anyway, it burned his neck, and it just rolled off, you know. And I remember, he said, I'm shot! [LAUGHTER] We didn't pay any attention to him. And he said, I'm shot, you damn fools! [LAUGHTER] It just boiled down that that had just rolled there, but just a strange thing. It hit a knot, to begin with, and turned and went right up that ridgepole about two inches. And then, by that time, that little .22 was spent. But anyway [LAUGHTER] he was pretty excited, because he thought he was killed, and we didn't pay any attention to him. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: I'm wondering, anything you--or, what do you think would be important for people to know about what it was like growing up in a small community of Richland in the 1930s, 1940s?
Deranleau: Well, really, it was pretty good, because everybody knew everybody. And everybody associated with one another. There wasn't anybody that was left out, really. And like I said, we were all poor as church mice, but we thought that was the way the whole world was. And like I said, I don't think there were any of us around that went hungry. I really don't. Folks would can, and they canned everything. I remember one year, I had three sisters that were going to get married in the fall. And those girls and mom canned for their families to be, and our family. And they would can in those old wash boilers. And I don't know if you've ever seen that done, but what they'd do is put a little rack in the bottom that was made out of cedar. And it had holes bored about like that, so that the water could circulate through it. But those jars wouldn't sit right on where it was so ungodly hot. And they put those in there, and then boil them for a couple hours to seal those—but they’d put up even meat, my folks did. And mom, even, would can butter a time or two. Now, she didn't heat it, you know--she'd put it in salt water, and put it in those jars. And then, we'd open that when, I guess, when we didn't have butter otherwise. I don't really know. I think she just did that one year. But they'd put up all kinds of vegetables and fruit. And everybody had some of that, and you'd trade around. Or if people had surplus, they'd just give it to you. There was a lot of that, because--
Bauman: It was a way to preserve things for--
Deranleau: Pardon?
Bauman: It was a ways to preserve things--
Deranleau: Yeah. And folks would also put up pork. And put so much salt you couldn't eat it hardly, and you'd have to soak it for a week before you could get close enough to it to eat it. [LAUGHTER] But we always--Dad would kill a steer in the fall. And we'd give some of that, probably, to the kids. Maybe they'd kill one later, and we'd get part of that, and stuff like that. Or neighbors--
Bauman: So it was very much a community, everyone--
Deranleau: Yeah.
Bauman: --sort of shared, and worked together. Well, any other things that we haven't talked about yet, that you remember, or that--
Deranleau: No.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you for coming in today, and for sharing your memories and experiences.
Deranleau: Okay.
Bauman: Thank you very much.
Deranleau: You betcha.
Northwest Public Television | Balderston_Mildred
Robert Bauman: So let's maybe go back. So he was saying we didn't quite get the first couple minutes of our conversation. So if you could just, again, talk about what brought you to Hanford, where you were, and talk about your background, coming from Kansas, and so forth.
Mildred Balderston: Well, I was working at the Remington Arms when I got a call from Hanford for people to come up there, when they were laid off at the Remington Arms.
Bauman: So Remington Arms was in Denver?
Balderston: Denver. And I knew that I was going to get laid off, because they were laying off all these people and just keeping a certain amount. And so I said to my boss, I would like to go to Hanford. He said, that's not a place for you. Just kind of like that, you know. And I thought, okay. It wasn't time for me to leave yet, so I was still there. So a few days later, I said, you know what? I would kind of like to go to Hanford. He said, that is not a place for you. So I thought, well, how am I going to get around this? What am I going to say? So I finally said to him again, you know, I would really like to go to Hanford. [LAUGHTER] I guess he was tired to that. So he said okay.
Bauman: And how did you--going back a little farther--so how did you get the job at Remington Arms?
Balderston: Oh, you put in an application. See, I knew they were coming to town, and they were hiring. And so I put in my application, and I got the job.
Bauman: You had already moved from Kansas to Denver before that.
Balderston: Pardon me?
Bauman: You had already moved from Kansas to Denver before that?
Balderston: I lived in Kansas before I went to Denver, and then when I went to Denver, I got this job, and then I started going to business school, so I could get a better job. And so then I worked in this, I think it was an insurance office, for about a year. And then I put my application in at Remington Arms, and I got hired there, so I quit the dental job. And they had a dormitory for us, and I said, well, I wanted to go to the hotel one night. So they had the Desert Inn. That was our first hotel thing or whatever you want to call it. So I went to that for one night, and then I went to the dormitory. And I lived in the dormitory for probably a year or a little better. And then they were reducing people here, so they made up a single girl's contract to rent a house. So we rented a house. There were several of us in the dorm that lived right in a certain vicinity. So we decided, well, we'll take a house. We got a house, and I think there were four of us to start with in that house. It was a three-bedroom. Then in about a year, one of the girls got married and left. So, we got another one in there. We kept adding to. We got another one in there, and then a year or so beyond that, another girl got married and left. We must have had three of them, because then I went home on vacation. And I had a sister who was a schoolteacher there, and she was kind of disgruntled with her school teaching. And so she wanted to do something different. I said, why don't you go up to Hanford with me? So she got rid of her contract. Just chop-chop. It wasn't any big deal. And she packed, and we came back up after my vacation. I think she made the third of us then, and then we had one more that we had to get. After the fourth one left--no, I guess it would only be the third one, because I was still there--I had four sisters, so as they graduated from school, they started coming up. So finally, we had them all up here, and so I didn't have anyone else in there, which was kind of nice. They got jobs here, and they stayed. And then, well, just one at a time they came, because they graduated—when they graduated, they came up. And so one went away to school, and one found a boyfriend, and she got married, and so she left. So there was just the two of us, and my folks lived in Kansas, of course. And of course, they decided, well, they'll move out here. Well, we asked them, why don't you come out? The rest of the family's here, so come on. So we went back and brought them out. But we couldn't rent a house in Richland. So we had to go to Kennewick. We bought a house there, and then my dad went to work. And that was kind of it. My sister and myself and my mother and my father, and so as time goes on, my father wasn't in good condition. As time went on, he wasn't able to work. And so I think he had a--I was going to say a stroke, but I'm not sure that that was it. And he was in the hospital for a while, and the doctor told them that he would only live five years. Well, he hung on to that five years for five years, and at the end of five years, he knew he was going to die, which he did. But the interesting part about this is he had worked with some people who sell houses and other stuff. And he had made friends with other people. So he goes around to each of these people just before he passed away to say goodbye, which amazed me. I just didn't realize that you do those kind of things. [LAUGHTER] But anyway, he did this. So then that left just my mother and my sister and myself. We had moved to a bigger house, which was kind of nice at the time, and besides, the one that we bought first had a basement. And we were afraid that the folks might fall downstairs, and we wouldn't be home, because we were working. So we moved to this house, a one story house. And so we lived there, and then my mother had problems. And so we decided we needed someone to take care of her. Now do you want all this kind of stuff?
Bauman: This is fine, yeah.
Balderston: Well, if you don't want this kind of stuff, let's go on something different.
Bauman: Okay. Well, I just wanted to ask you about the house she lived in in Richland, that first house. Where was that house?
Balderston: That was on Sanford Street.
Bauman: Okay.
Balderston: It was a--what were those things we had? It was a--
Bauman: Was it one of the alphabet homes or prefab?
Balderston: Similar to a prefab, but I don't think that's what it was called at that time. Perhaps it'll come to me sometime close here, and I can back up a bit and tell you.
Bauman: Well, then I also want ask you about your job when you first came out Hanford. What sort of job was it, and where in Hanford were you working? What area were you working in?
Balderston: Well, when I first came up here, I went out to the 300 Area, I think, for a day. And then a job opened up in Richland, and I went in for an interview, and I took the interview—I mean, I took the job. So then I came back to town, and was there for a number of years. And then I moved around to other people that had job openings. So I kind of went up the ladder a little bit. And I enjoyed all of them. But while I was in the 300 Area, an interesting thing happened. I was taking dictation, and this man had the door kind of closed a little bit, because we weren't allowed to talk about anything when I first came. And so he was dictating, and he said a word that I--it was associated with a plant, but I didn't recognize the word. And so I repeated it, so I'd be sure and get it down right. My goodness, he ran to the door, and he looked out. Oh, we don't say that word out loud. So I thought, well, that probably takes care of my job. I won't have a job. But that didn't—I didn't lose it. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Do you remember what the word was?
Balderston: I've tried to think of what that word was. I've tried and tried and tried to think what that word was, but it didn't come. It hasn't come to me yet.
Bauman: So when you first came to Hanford, did you know what sort of work was being done at Hanford, what Hanford was being built for, or what was happening out here?
Balderston: What is it?
Bauman: Did you know what was being done at Hanford?
Balderston: Oh, no. It wasn't talked about. We just knew that there was a job at Hanford, and you go out there and do your part. Well, I didn't know for a long time what it was, even when I was out here, because you just didn't talk about those things. You run to the door to see if anyone had heard you. So no. I enjoyed it. I had good bosses; I had good jobs. I really couldn't have asked for anything better. I had worked in an insurance office in Denver, and then I had gone to the Remington Arms, and so I had that experience. But it was a good place to get an experience.
Bauman: Do you remember what your first impressions were of Richland and the area here when you first arrived, what you thought of the place?
Balderston: Well, we came in to Pasco on the train, and that was the dirtiest place I have ever seen. It was just awful. And I thought, oh, I hope Richland isn't like this. So anyway, they hadn’t gotten started working on Pasco by then. And when I got to Richland, everything was kind of in the new stage because of all the new houses, all the new equipment that was available. So Richland was a different story.
Bauman: And so when did you arrive then? Around what time period did you arrive in Richland?
Balderston: I think it was the 14th of August in 19--probably '43. I think it was '43.
Bauman: And what were the dorms like? You mentioned that you lived in the dorm initially.
Balderston: Oh, they were very nice. And then that building next to the building downtown in Richland. What's the name of that building? That brick building—that brick building that they built. And the post office was in one end of it. Well, right across the street was a cafeteria, and that's where we had to eat. And our dorms, the women's dorms were in that same area. The men's dorms were on the other side of Swift, I guess it is. But then we went to this house that they made for the single girls. And we did our own cooking, so we didn't have to go there. But those places can get kind of old after a few meals there. And so we were glad to do that.
Bauman: What sorts of things were there in the area for entertainment in Richland? Were there movie theaters at all or any places to go like that for entertainment?
Balderston: I can't remember of any entertainment. I'm sure there must have been something there they could've done, besides the television. Oh, I think there was some--the high schools had ball, and so I think some of them went to that. And I don't think there was a fat lot of anything there, because we were so busy working. By the time you went to the area, and by the time we would get back, the day was far spent.
Bauman: So when you worked at the 300 Area or some of the other places out on the site, did you take a bus out there? Is that how you got out there?
Balderston: What was it?
Bauman: When you worked out at the 300 Area or some of the other places on site, did you take a bus there? Did you have to take a bus?
Balderston: Oh, yeah. We'd take a bus from where we lived out to the 300 Area. Well, no. We would take it out to the bus depot, and then you'd take a bus from there. So yeah, we took a bus.
Bauman: And you mentioned, talked a little bit about the secrecy—you couldn't say certain things or talk about what was going on or what your work. So do you remember when you found out that there were—what was being made at Hanford? Was it the end of the war?
Balderston: You know, I'm not sure. I can't remember when I found out about that. The thing is, knowing that we weren't supposed to know, it wasn't that important. So we didn't go around asking people, what are we doing? Just go ahead and do it. So I don't know. I can't remember when--it seems like there was a war or something, or people were going to war or something that it came out. But I wouldn't say, because I can't remember.
Bauman: So you said you started working in August of 1943, about? How long did you work at Hanford then?
Balderston: 46 years.
Bauman: Wow.
Balderston: Long time.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER] So when you initially came, were you working for DuPont?
Balderston: Right.
Bauman: And then did you work for some of the other companies that came later--GE and some of the other companies?
Balderston: Yeah, and I worked for—I can't think of that name either. I worked for DuPont. I worked for GE. I worked for—it was a telephone company, I think. It had the name of that, and then there were several others. So I wasn't just with one, but I just kind of went from one to the next you know.
Bauman: Right. So, 46 years, that's a long time. You must have seen a lot of changes take place.
Balderston: A lot of changes.
Bauman: What are some of the changes that you saw--ways the community changed, or Hanford itself changed?
Balderston: Well, actually, they really weren't changes to me. It just seems like we just moved from one thing to the next. And so it wasn't a change; it was just part of the show. So I didn't really realize that there were changes. I guess if I would've taken time to think about it, I would've thought, well, we changed from this to that. It just didn't dawn on me. I just worked, because I had a job, and whatever they told me to do, well, that was what I did.
Bauman: And you mentioned that your sisters came out here and worked also. Did they have similar sorts of jobs and work similar places that you worked?
Balderston: Yeah, they all worked out like at the site or someplace. And my sister that came out with me that was a teacher, she got a job at the—I think it was at the—it escapes me. But anyway, she eventually got a job to go to work for the company, and she was with Battelle for many years and had a good job there. And she really enjoyed it. I guess it was different from school teaching maybe.
Bauman: And did you say your father, also, after your parents moved here, he worked at Hanford for a little while also?
Balderston: Well, he didn't work at Hanford. He worked at one of the schools as a janitor. He had kind of done his thing, but he had to be busy, and so there was an opening, and so he went as a janitor.
Bauman: So overall, how would you describe your 46 years working at Hanford? Overall, how was Hanford as a place to work?
Balderston: Well, I enjoyed it. I didn't go home grumbling or anything. I really enjoyed my time there. And the bosses I had were all really good, and it was a good experience.
Bauman: I did want to ask you about one other thing. President Kennedy came out to Hanford in 1963 to dedicate the N Reactor. Do you remember that at all? Were you here? Do you remember him coming at all?
Balderston: Vaguely. I kind of remember that.
Bauman: And do you remember if you went to see him speak at all, or you don't remember?
Balderston: No, because of the different areas. They didn't cover all of them, and so we didn't--some did, but a lot didn't get in on that.
Bauman: Is there anything I haven't asked you about your years working at Hanford that you want to share or that it's important to talk about?
Balderston: Well, my last bout was 13 years in the 300 Area. That was my last--that's the last place I worked. So no, I was just kind of same old, same old. And so I only worked in the 300 Area and Richland. I didn't go any farther out, so now my sisters--I had two sisters that worked in the area, and they thought they had a hilarious time riding the bus and meeting all these people. So they had a great time. It wasn't something that we just took because there was nothing else to take. So yeah, they had a great time. And so I guess nothing was lost with them.
Bauman: Well, I want to thank you very much for coming in and sharing your story with us and letting me ask you questions.
Northwest Public Television | Brinkman_Loris
Loris Brinkman: L-O-R-I-S and Brinkman is B-R-I-N-K-M-A-N.
Robert Bauman: Thank you very much. Thanks for letting us talk to you today, I appreciate it. Today's date is October 29, 2013. My name is Robert Bauman and we're conducting this interview in Richland, Washington. So let's start, if you could, Loris, by having you tell us about how you came to Hanford, what brought you here, and when did you arrive?
Brinkman: Okay, I was, as I stated before, I spent seven years with Civil Conservation—with the CCCs. And then I got a job with DuPont spent one year at Rosemount Minnesota, and that was from 1942 to '43. So I came out here in September of '43. And I came out here and they sent me out to 200 West. I came out to 200 West, and there wasn't much going on there yet. It was pretty in the beginning part of it. Now they were digging--they were excavating for the 221-T Building. And I think they were probably building on the powerhouse. Well, my first job, they had to get water down there. And there was a water line just north of us, as I recall. And the first thing we had to do is to have a temporary water line, and that was made of wood pipe. And it was laid out, and it was laid out like this, so it made a circle around there so that all the facilities would be able to get water from this water line. And I was given the job of somebody has to follow the work. And there were be places where we'd have to pour some concrete. And it was wood pipe. And wood pipe was certainly new. And so when we got that pretty well taken care of, I was given the job to follow the steam lines. Now as I said, the powerhouse was under construction. And the steam line that came out of the powerhouse was about 16 inches in diameter. And you see, at that time, there was the T Building and the U Building. And the steam lines came out of the powerhouse, which was kind of halfway in between the two. And then one line went up towards the T Building and the other line went down toward the U Building. Well there was construction or excavation being going on at the--I think they called it the 221-T Building. And the steam lines were necessary because they were going to furnish the steam for all the construction there. Now in the steam line, it doesn't sound like a very important job, but we would probably go 300 to 400 feet. And then there would have to be a, what they called an expansion loop there. It would go like this. And that was to take care of the expansion when the steam was in operation. Now the thing that we did was we would construct maybe three--I don't remember--but 300 to 500 feet in length. And then there would have to be a loop to take care of the expansion. And what we would do is to construct a line, and then about midway between these expansion loops, we would cut the line and take out about two or three inches, as I recall. And then they would put chains on there and bring those two together and weld them together. Now the reason for that is that the tension was on there when it was cold. And when they put the steam in the line, the expansion would make the steam line pretty much without tension on it. You get the idea? And along with that steam line, I worked on construction of several permanent buildings that were part of the main construction there. And that was the--we had the laundry and we had the office building, and a few buildings like that. I worked on those, too. Now when the work was all complete, my portion of the work was finished there, I went to the 200 East Area. And I don't really remember what I did there, but I think it was probably similar to what I did over in the West Area. And after about a year's work there, the work that I was doing was pretty well completed. And so I went to--excuse me. See, at my age names don't come quite like they used to.
Bauman: That’s right, yeah.
Brinkman: But I went to Indiana, to the Indiana Ordinance Works. And I worked there for about a year. And by that time, after completing the work there, I went to the Wilmington head office there, and I worked there for about two and a half years. But you know, after being out here a year, I couldn't quite get this place out of my mind. As we said, if you can last six months, you're going to like it. But many people came out here didn't last six months. When I came out here in the beginning, I was going to--the fellow that I was working with at Rosemount was already out here. And he had a room in Pasco, and I was going to room with him. So when I got out here and I called his number, and I said, I'd like to speak to Hamm. Mr. Hamm terminated last Friday. And there was another man with me and he said, Mr. Brinkman, I don't know anything about Mr. Hamm. I will tell you one thing, it takes a damn good man to stay out here. [LAUGHTER] But anyway, after another year down at Wilmington--or down at Indiana Ordinance Works, I went to Wilmington and I stayed there for about two and a half years. And then there was an opportunity for me to get back out here. I didn't hesitate. I came out here again. Got out here in--I think it was--1948. And I've been here ever since.
Bauman: What was it about the place that made you want to come back?
Brinkman: One of the things is the climate. This is ideal climate. We don't have these 40 degree weather that we had in Wisconsin. Once in a while it did get cold here. One time. I was, let’s see—we did have six days of cold weather. And the temperature got as low as minus 26 or 27 degrees.
Bauman: Wow.
Brinkman: And that was six days. And then I went out in the evening and oh, I says we have a chinook. A chinook--they called it a chinook when the warm breeze would come in there. And it's chinook. And the temperature went up 40, 50 degrees in the night. So the cold period was over with. But I just like the weather. I like the people that were here. They were people that were out here for one purpose, we've got to get this thing built. We need this in our war. So that was the main thing that I liked out here.
Bauman: Mm-hm. When you first came in 1943, what were your very first impressions of the place? Do you remember?
Brinkman: Well, I really didn't hate the place. A lot of people did. We didn't have very much sunshine. There was about six weeks the sun didn't shine. But I really enjoyed the place.
Bauman: And when you came out here to work, what did you know about the work you were doing or what Hanford was for?
Brinkman: Well, in the first place, you didn't know what we were going to make here. Nobody's--there were a few people that knew, but that was not discussed. We did not discuss what we were going to make here and what it was going to be used for. That was absolutely quiet.
Bauman: Do you remember when you found out?
Brinkman: Yes, when I was--I think it was--in Indiana Ordinance Works when they dropped the bomb. Then I knew what we were doing out here. That this was very important. And the bomb was very important.
Bauman: And when you worked out here in 1943, do you remember how much money you made?
Brinkman: Yes. I made--I think it was--about $85 a week.
Bauman: And how many hours a week was that?
Brinkman: Well, when I first started out here it was nine hours, six days a week. Put in about 54 hours.
Bauman: And then when you came back in 1948, what sort of job did you have when you came back here?
Brinkman: I have to think a little bit on this, on what I did. I don't remember what exactly what the first job was. But my biggest job after getting back here was construction of--supervising, or not really supervising, but seeing that the job was done according to the plans of the tank farm. We had these underground tanks. You see, we had waste, and that waste had lots of plutonium in there. We didn't get it all out. The uranium was changed in--part of it was changed into plutonium. And then that was in the 100 Area. Or--yeah, the B Area and 100 Areas. And then in the 200 Areas they separated the plutonium. And the plutonium was used to make the bomb. And then there we had tank farms. Oh, I'm trying to think how many, 750,000 gallons or something like that. And we usually had 12 steel tanks. And we would dig a hole way down deep. And these tanks were, I think, something like 75 feet in diameter. And we'd pour a concrete base and then we'd build from there. And they would go up about 75 feet. And then when they were all completed, then we'd backfill again. And then we'd have these tanks ready for the waste from the process that was going on there. And I think--I don't remember just how many--but we had maybe three or four tank farms. And I worked on those tank farms. I was known as the tank farm engineer, something like that.
Bauman: So what did being a tank farm engineer involve? Sort of, supervising?
Brinkman: Yeah, you have to have somebody there. We would have a contractor do the work. And we would have to see that it was done properly, check everything that was done. And be very careful about the back filling and that sort of thing.
Bauman: So how long did you work the tank farms?
Brinkman: Oh, I think maybe two or three years, probably.
Bauman: What did you do after that?
Brinkman: Well, I have to think now. [LAUGHTER] After that, I got involved mostly with--as we call it--the project engineering. And with this place there were always new facilities being created. And we call them a project. Maybe we would design this project and then follow the construction of it. But there was considerable work being done all the time. And I was part of the project engineering work.
Bauman: And so how long in all did you work at Hanford? When did you stop working?
Brinkman: Okay. I was 59, and that was in 1971, I think it was. And then I retired. And about a year later, why, they called me and said, would you come out and help us? And I said, no! And then I thought about it a bit and I said, wait a minute, call me tomorrow. I'll think about it. And they called the next day, and I says, I'll come out and work about four months. And you know, I enjoyed it very much. And the next year I went out again for four months. And I did that for four years! Finally I got to the stage where I said, no, I think I've gone long enough. It's now time for me to travel. So after that, why, then my wife and I traveled all over the world. We took three month tours and went around the world, down South America, and that sort of thing. And we loved that very much.
Bauman: I want to go back to when you first came to Hanford in 1943, you mentioned that a lot of people stayed for just a little while and left. What sorts of things were there to do for fun? Was there entertainment available? What sorts of things happened here?
Brinkman: Well, they had a big place down at Hanford itself. They built barracks for people. And they had, well, for one thing in ten days they built a great big building which was the entertainment building. And they had party—or dances and that sort of thing. And they had beer places around. People could buy a big jar of beer. And they had lots of those. They had to have facilities here that would interest people so they would stay. And they spent a lot of money on that to make interests for people.
Bauman: Mm-hm. And you said when you first came you--did you stay in Pasco?
Brinkman: No, let's see, I first stayed up at Grandview. I stayed there and worked back and forth. Then I got a house in Richland. And that was great, then. And I stayed there until I moved out to--
Bauman: To Indiana?
Brinkman: Yeah, Indiana. Right.
Bauman: And then when you came back in 1948, where did you--did you move into Richland?
Brinkman: Yeah, right in there. I got a house. I had got a house practically right away.
Bauman: What was Richland like as a community in the 1940s?
Brinkman: Well, it wasn't a big town in the 1940s. Oh, you mean before we came out here?
Bauman: No, I mean when you were here.
Brinkman: All right, when we were here—see, I have to think a little bit. We had—
Woman one: Hello?
Brinkman: We had a number of stores.
Woman: Hello? That’s okay, I’ll come back later.
Brinkman: But Pasco had stores and Kennewick had stores. And most of the shopping was done over in those areas. But we did, then, we had the C. C. Anderson place here. And that was a place, they had good material in there that you could buy. It wasn't a very big shopping area here, but it was adequate. I would say that.
Bauman: Did you go over to Kennewick and Pasco occasionally, then, to shop?
Brinkman: Oh, sure. Yeah. And the funny part of it was my daughter, when we got over to Kennewick, she said this is a real city.
Bauman: [LAUGHTER]
Brinkman: It's a little bit different than Richland was. But Richland was being built all the time and adding new facilities, new stores, new houses all the time, until it got to be a pretty good place.
Bauman: I’ve had a few people I talked to from that period talk about the dust storms. Was that an issue at all that you remember?
Brinkman: Yes, we had dust storms. And when we had a dust storm, we'd close the windows, of course. But there would be dust all over the inside of your house. And that was the thing that sent quite a few people out of here. They'd have a dust storm and then they'd leave. But it didn't bother us, we just took those things in stride. We liked—by that time I liked it here. And when we came back on the second time, we got this house, and right across the street was the school. My wife went over and said, I'm a teacher, I have a master's degree, I would like a job. She got a job as a fifth grade teacher just like that. [LAUGHTER] And she taught there for 23 years.
Bauman: And what school was this?
Brinkman: In fifth grade.
Bauman: Do you remember which elementary school it was?
Brinkman: Yeah, it was Lewis and Clark. And we lived right across the street from there, right on the corner.
Bauman: Oh, okay, did you have one of the alphabet homes?
Brinkman: Yeah, H house. And then the time came when we were able to buy that house. And that was wonderful, too. That turned into a good deal for us.
Bauman: Do you remember how much?
Brinkman: Yeah, I paid about $6,000 for it. Then I added. I did some construction on it. I added--enlarged the two bedrooms. And when we sold it, boy, I don't mind saying it, we sold it for $85,000. And made a return of say, like, $76,000 or $77,000. So that was a good thing for us.
Bauman: That's a pretty good deal.
Brinkman: Yeah, it was a very good deal. Yeah.
Bauman: President Kennedy came out here in 1963 to dedicate the N Reactor. I wonder, were you there? Did you see him when he came at all?
Brinkman: I sure was there.
Bauman: What do you remember about his visit here?
Brinkman: I don't remember anything about his speech. He just, as I recall, he emphasized the fact of the importance of this work here. That was probably the main thing. And he tried to make us feel like we were really doing something great for the country. And I guess we were.
Bauman: You and your whole--were your whole family out there as well?
Brinkman: Oh yeah, the whole family was there, yeah.
Bauman: A very special event.
Brinkman: You see, they--it was wonderful for us to have that school there. [LAUGHTER] Because my wife could go over there and teach and then get back in time. And when I got home the meals were ready.
Bauman: So I wanted to ask about security at Hanford. Did you have to have special clearance?
Brinkman: Oh yes, yes. Yes, we had to have Q clearance, mm-hm.
Bauman: Are there any other events that really stand out in your mind?
Brinkman: Any what?
Bauman: Any events that stand out in your mind, or things that happened during the time you worked at Hanford that you just thought were really interesting or important?
Brinkman: Well, I should remember, but my mind doesn't function like it should in that case. I don't know that there was anything—important things that we had.
Bauman: Overall, how was Hanford as a place to work?
Brinkman: How was what?
Bauman: Hanford as a place to work?
Brinkman: Wonderful, as far as I was concerned.
Bauman: And what was it about working there that made it wonderful for you?
Brinkman: Well, we worked out in the area most the time. And people--we all worked together. That was the thing, I think, that was—that we were all working together, helping to accomplish what we were set out to do there. Now my mind doesn't work quite like it should. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: Of the different jobs you had at Hanford, was there one that was a favorite for you, one that you really enjoy the most?
Brinkman: It wasn't the tank farm. That wasn't it. But I think the part I liked the best was in the latter part, we worked on various projects. And the projects were our projects, so to speak. And we were interested in seeing that those--we probably designed them, worked out the design and then followed the construction of it. And we were just anxious to see how it worked out.
Bauman: Is there anything I haven't asked you about yet, or that you haven't had a chance to talk about yet, in terms of either working at Hanford or living in Richland, that you think would be important to talk about?
Brinkman: Well, as I said, at my age here, my mind doesn't do quite what I hoped it would do. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: You're doing great. [LAUGHTER]
Brinkman: Well, we just, oh, when we got, as far as the schools are concerned, we had such great sports here. Our basketball team has won the state championship three times. They had won the state championship in football once or twice. And this has just been a very wonderful sports area. We've had quite a few basketball players that played well for colleges. And as I said, we won state championships three times and got second place maybe three or four times. It was just wonderful sports. And we were always--my wife and I were always interested in sports. We would go to the other cities and that sort of thing. My son played on the basketball team.
Bauman: Great. Well, I want to thank you very much for letting us talk to you today. And for sharing your memories. I really appreciate--
Brinkman: My mind doesn't work quite the way it should right now. [LAUGHTER]
Bauman: It's working pretty darn well, myself. [LAUGHTER]
Brinkman: Well.
Bauman: Thank you, again. I really appreciate it.
Brinkman: Well I'm sure glad that if I have anything here that will be of some use to you, I'm sure happy to have helped out.
Bauman: Absolutely. Thank you very much.