Once upon a time in March 1979, my father was at his job in Atlanta for a few weeks (he had a hell of a commute), and my mother was at home listening to the Frederick, MD, radio station. I guess I was at home, too, but I was four and don’t really remember much about this.
Mom almost spat her coffee out when she heard an announcer on the radio say that airline pilots flying in to National Airport (downtown DC) could “see the flames and smoke from Gettysburg” as they were making their approach for landing.
It turns out that a white phosphorus truck had caught fire and exploded in town. Right next to the elementary school that I would eventually go for K-3, and it was only about 4 blocks from our house.
The fire was so intense it MELTED the civil war bronze statue about 50 feet away. They had to dig up the front yard of the school, haul it away, and eventually replace all the dirt.
The reason I start out with this story is to give you and idea of what we were coming off of when Three Mile Island hit the fan.
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