TL/DR –
The Mallinckrodt factory in St. Louis, which processed uranium for the Manhattan Project in 1942, has left a troubling legacy; decades later, cancer, autoimmune diseases, and other illnesses are common among local families. Communities exposed to the nuclear waste from the arms race have largely been excluded from a federal law intended to assist those harmed by radiation exposure. However, Congress is currently working on new legislation that would allow victims from regions including New Mexico, Tennessee, Arizona, and Washington state to receive federal compensation.
St. Louis Family Legacy of Nuclear Fallout and Illness
Bill Scheig, an ironworker who helped build St. Louis’s famous arch, would come home from the Mallinckrodt factory and head straight to the garage to get rid of his clothes, contaminated by the toxic remnants of his work. Scheig’s job at the plant – which processed uranium for the Manhattan Project starting in 1942 – was never explicitly discussed. Nevertheless, by 49, he developed kidney cancer and passed away.
After Scheig, his daughter Sheryle, who had a son with a stomach tumor, succumbed to brain and lung cancer at 54. The Scheig family was not alone. Numerous classmates had also died prematurely from cancer, a grim reminder at each high school reunion.
A Toxic Heritage
The uranium processed at the Mallinckrodt plant triggered the first controlled nuclear reaction and led to the creation of the atomic bomb. Yet, this accomplishment left a devastating legacy: A slew of cancer cases, autoimmune diseases and other illnesses have plagued generations, particularly in St. Louis, where exposure to the radioactive ingredients of the nuclear arms race was dire.
Now, Congress is working on legislation that would enable victims harmed by these materials, previously excluded from federal compensation — extending to New Mexico, Arizona, Tennessee, and Washington state — to receive federal aid.
The Legacy of Radioactive Waste
The plant, while churning out 50,000 tons of uranium for the atomic arsenal in the 1940s, also unceasingly discharged heaps of nuclear waste. For many years, hundreds of thousands of tonnes of radioactive waste, carelessly stacked in open steel drums, were transported and dumped across the city. This waste has infiltrated large tracts of soil, including land that later turned into sporting fields.
Such stories are prevalent nationwide, affecting Navajo workers in New Mexico and Arizona, children of Tennessee and Washington state uranium plant workers, and Southwest “downwinders” who inhaled fallout from aboveground tests. None of these communities currently qualify for aid under federal law, a situation that the proposed legislation seeks to change.
Expanding Federal Aid
The Senate recently passed a bill led by Senators Josh Hawley and Ben Ray Luján, aimed at expanding the law to include thousands of new beneficiaries, such as the Scheigs. If not enacted by June, the existing law will expire, shutting off the fund for those currently eligible and blocking access to cancer screening clinics in neighborhoods greatly affected by radioactive exposure.
Bleeding Through: St. Louis’s Radioactive Fallout
The impact of this toxic past is immediately visible in St. Louis, with cleanup of the affected Coldwater Creek scheduled to last until 2038. Workers in bright yellow boots and white Tyvek suits can be seen from the highway, excavating the ground next to rail cars filled with contaminated soil.
For families like Kay Hake’s, who has lost multiple family members to various cancers, the threat of illness feels inevitable. “Every time we get sick, we think it’s probably cancer,” says John Hake, Kay’s husband. “It’s not if it’s going to happen,” Kay Hake adds. “It’s when.”
Thumbs Up or Thumbs Down
The bill to expand the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act passed the Senate in March. In the Senate chamber at the time, Christen Commuso, a Missouri resident who developed thyroid cancer, recalls wanting to “clap and scream and holler.” However, she found the sight of senators casually voting — a thumbs up or thumbs down to the Senate clerk — on her life’s worth unsettling.
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