Three Mile Island

While TMI doesn't have anything to do with the 1950s, it is a glimpse at how schools reacted to this event, from a first hand account of one who was there.

Remembering T M I

As the eighth decade of the 20^th Century grew to a close in 1979, the final assault of the nationally tumultuous nineteen-seventies was delivered on Wednesday, March 28, when the worst fears held by the critics of nuclear power were realized. On that day at Three Mile Island, less than ten miles from Hummelstown, a series of events began by which the core of a nuclear reactor came very close to meltdown. Area residents were alerted that morning by an announcement that broke into the regular radio programming that there had been an “incident” at Three Mile Island. No details were available, but listeners were told there was no immediate danger. Residents were, however, advised, as a precaution, to “stand by, close their windows, and stay indoors.”

Some citizens wondered if perhaps this was a cruel hoax related to the movie The China Syndrome which had opened only twelve days earlier. Such thoughts were shared by several high school faculty members who had seen the movie the previous evening in local theatres and had shared comments on the film on their way into school that morning. The possibility of such an event was particularly acute when on this very morning they were visited by a guidance counselor who rapped on the door of each classroom, motioned the teacher to come to the door, and advised that all windows be closed because of a problem about which he was not at liberty to elaborate. While the teachers waited to hear more information, they were again reminded just how isolated their classrooms were without radios, televisions, or telephones, and how they themselves were without recourse, not able to leave because of their responsibility for the students.

Later in the morning, it was announced by radio and television stations that while no schools were officially closing because of the incident at nearby Middletown, any parents who wanted to pick up their children at local schools could do so. It was, however, strongly suggested that the children remain in school and that parents not interrupt classes but report quietly to the school offices if they “insisted” on taking their children from their classrooms. At Lower Dauphin High School teachers were told to release any students whose names would be called over the public address system. At this point the faculty realized something serious was occurring and rumors began to float. School was not dismissed early nor was the school closed at that time, so faculty and students remained in their classes.

Unknown to me because I was with my own high school students, my son was the only child whose parents had not come to his elementary school classroom before the end of the school day. Years later he told me how frightened he had been watching his classmates, one by one, leave his room while he was left there alone with a terrible, unspoken fear that “something had happened to the world.”

The next six days were anxiety-laden for everyone in the country, but especially so in the area around the nuclear power plant at Three Mile Island. Emergency evacuation centers were being identified at destinations fifty miles from the reactor and routes to these centers were hastily being planned, even as to which towns in this area should evacuate in what order. Most of the citizenry didn’t know what to do and did not know whose advice to follow. Some were reluctant to leave their homes for fear of looting and some packed up their valuables and left town as soon as they could, hoping for the best. Others, my own family included, remained, believing the assurances of the media and government sources and dismissing the warnings from relatives outside the area who voiced far more dire concerns for what the local media insisted on calling an “incident.” Further, in my own case, my husband would not leave because of the responsibility he felt to be on call for the school district of which he was a high school principal.

Only later was it fully known that the rest of the country was getting news information far more frightening than what was being broadcast to central Pennsylvanians. The local tactic was to keep the population calm and, while no one would ever admit to withholding information, the residents were not being told how potentially dangerous the situation was. Official announcements from the government and, in particular, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, were delivered with composure, providing assurances that everything was under control. In reality, Middletown, the town closest to TMI, was fast emptied of its citizenry as people fled in fear.

By the weekend President Carter was flown in from Washington not only to assess the situation, but more so to instill confidence in the residents and the workers at the power plant. The public was being told that a series of mechanical breakdowns and human blunders had caused a crucial water pump to fail.  Backup systems were useless because workers had neglected to reopen valves they had closed for maintenance. That mistake was compounded by other system errors until the rapidly overheating uranium core approached meltdown status. In addition, wisps of radioactive gas leaked into the atmosphere and a huge hydrogen bubble began accumulating inside the damaged reactor, threatening to explode.

An eerie calmness prevailed among those who remained in the area, and the entire situation was later viewed as being surreal. Most of us were unaware of how close to a nuclear disaster we were living through in the shadow of the giant cooling towers. And no one really wanted to know because the possibility of a nuclear holocaust was simply beyond comprehension.