LIFE ON JOHNSTON ISLAND DURING THE COLD WAR
podcast Episode 1. Debrief
Johnston Island, a remote coral atoll in the Pacific Ocean, holds a secretive and significant place in military history. This tiny island, barely a quarter mile wide, played a critical role in nuclear testing, satellite defense, and chemical weapons disposal, leaving a lasting impact on veterans exposed to nuclear fallout and, later, Agent Orange-related activities. One veteran’s story reveals the hidden dangers of Johnston Island, the health consequences of radiation exposure, and parallels to modern conflicts, making it a compelling case for greater awareness and veteran support.
Johnston Island’s Military History: A Three-Phase Legacy
Johnston Island’s military history unfolds in three distinct phases, each marked by activities that shaped its radioactive and chemical legacy:
Nuclear Testing (1950s–1961): Johnston Island served as a testing ground for atmospheric nuclear weapons. Bombs detonated 30,000 feet above the atoll left behind radioactive fallout, including plutonium with a half-life of 24,000 years. These tests, conducted until 1961, contaminated the island’s coral soil and lagoon.
Satellite Defense and Nuclear Rockets (1961–1969): By 1967, when the veteran I spoke with arrived, Johnston Island was a top-secret base housing four nuclear-tipped Thor rockets designed to destroy orbiting satellites. As a crew chief with the 18th Surveillance Squadron, he tracked satellites and fed targeting data to Cheyenne Mountain. A 1964 Thor rocket explosion had scattered radioactive debris across the island, yet personnel were not informed of the risks or required to wear radiation badges.
Chemical Weapons Disposal (1970s–1980s): In its final phase, Johnston Island became a site for storing and destroying chemical and biological weapons, including those linked to Agent Orange from Vietnam. Soldiers during this period wore full chemical warfare gear, unlike earlier decades when short sleeves and minimal protection were standard.
This complex history makes Johnston Island a focal point for understanding military secrecy, nuclear fallout, and chemical exposure.
A Veteran’s Experience: Life on Johnston Island
Stationed on Sand Island, a tiny islet near the main atoll, the veteran worked in a satellite tracking station built atop debris from the 1964 Thor rocket explosion. He described a stark, isolated life: no women were present, and recreation was limited to weightlifting, softball on a coral field, and rain-soaked outdoor movies. The mess hall, run by Holmes & Narver, offered gourmet meals like filet mignon—a rare luxury on an island steeped in danger.
One vivid memory was a 1967 Thor rocket launch targeting an orbiting object. The night sky erupted in yellow, orange, and green as a nuclear explosion lit up the horizon, confirming the mission’s success. Unbeknownst to him, the island’s radioactive past, including two Thor rocket explosions in 1962 and 1964, violated a nuclear test ban treaty, explaining the secrecy surrounding his work.
Health Impacts of Nuclear Fallout
Decades later, the veteran faced health challenges linked to his service. A bone density test revealed osteopenia, a condition tied to radiation exposure. An MRI uncovered two small brain tumors, also attributed to plutonium and ionized radiation from Sand Island’s contaminated soil. Despite submitting a detailed VA claim with evidence of Johnston Island’s radioactive history, it was denied—a common experience among fellow veterans, many of whom suffer from cancers, leukemia, and bone issues.
The long-term effects of nuclear fallout are profound. Plutonium’s 24,000-year half-life means its dangers persist, embedded in the island’s soil and lagoon where veterans walked, played, and scuba-dived. The lack of radiation badges or warnings left them vulnerable, with health issues often emerging 30–50 years post-exposure.
Agent Orange and Chemical Weapons Connections
Johnston Island’s third phase involved handling chemical weapons, including Agent Orange-related materials shipped from Vietnam. While the veteran I spoke with left before this phase, he noted the stark contrast between his minimal protective gear and the full chemical suits worn by later personnel. This shift reflects growing awareness of chemical dangers, but parallels to Agent Orange exposure in Vietnam are striking. Veterans exposed to Agent Orange have faced similar VA claim denials, highlighting systemic issues in recognizing service-related health conditions.
Parallels to Modern Conflicts: Depleted Uranium and Gulf War Syndrome
Frank’s story draws chilling parallels to modern conflicts. Depleted uranium, used in munitions like Hellfire and cruise missiles in Iraq and Afghanistan, mirrors Johnston Island’s plutonium contamination. When these munitions explode, they atomize, spreading radioactive dust linked to Gulf War Syndrome and birth defects in affected regions. This ongoing use of radioactive materials underscores the need for accountability across generations of veterans.
Shining a Light on Johnston Island’s Legacy
The veteran’s frustration stems not only from his health struggles but also from the VA’s consistent denial of claims from Johnston Island veterans. Through a Facebook group, he’s connected with others facing similar challenges, including cancer and premature deaths. He believes exposing these issues is critical, not just for his generation but for younger veterans exposed to depleted uranium in recent wars.
As he put it, this isn’t a 1960s issue—it’s an American issue. Veterans who served their country deserve recognition and care, regardless of when or where they were exposed. His call to action is clear: contact elected officials, share stories, and demand accountability for the hidden costs of military service.
Why Johnston Island Matters Today
Johnston Island’s story is a microcosm of broader issues in military history: nuclear testing, chemical weapons, and the long-term health impacts of service. By understanding its legacy, we can better advocate for veterans affected by nuclear fallout, Agent Orange, and depleted uranium. If you or someone you know served on Johnston Island or faced similar exposures, consider joining the conversation. Connect with veterans’ groups, reach out to Congress, or share your story to help shine a light on this overlooked chapter of history.
Keywords: Johnston Island, military history, nuclear fallout, Agent Orange, depleted uranium, Gulf War Syndrome, veterans’ health, radiation exposure, Thor rockets, chemical weapons, VA claims.
Full Transcript
Johnston Island Veteran Interview
Host: Alright, welcome back to the podcast. I’m thrilled to have you here today. I’ve been really excited to talk to you ever since I learned about Johnston Island and spoke with a few folks who served there. It’s such a fascinating topic, and it’s incredible to me how so few people know about it, yet so many veterans have been there. I don’t know if you’ve listened to my shows, but I got interested in Johnston Island after interviewing a homeless veteran who spent time there. He mentioned that in the ‘70s, while in the Army, he was in Hawaii and they took a C-130 from Hawaii to Johnston Island, but they had to dress in full chem warfare gear. When they got there, they were playing around in the sand, on the beaches, doing maneuvers, and he thought it strange at the time. But now, after talking to you and others and doing my own digging, it makes a lot of sense why they’d have them in protective gear for Johnston Island. I’d love to hear your story from the beginning—how you got there, how long you were there, what you witnessed. Then, I’ve got a couple of questions, if that’s alright.
Frank: Sure. I think Johnston Island has three chapters to its history. I’m in the second chapter. The person you mentioned, from the ‘70s, he’s in the third chapter. The first chapter was when the island was used for atmospheric nuclear testing, with bombs dropped about 30,000 feet above. They used it to record the effects of those detonations, and that went on until around 1961. From 1961 until I left the area, starting in 1967, Johnston Island was a top-secret base with four nuclear-armed rockets for destroying satellites orbiting Earth.
Host: That’s wild. So, tell me about your time there in 1967?
Frank: Yeah, I arrived in 1967. I was attached to the 18th Surveillance Squadron. Our job had two parts: tracking satellites and measuring their locations, then feeding that data to Cheyenne Mountain for targeting, if needed. When I first got to the island, I was amazed at what wasn’t there. It was just a coral reef, tiny—a quarter-mile by half a mile. It’s since been expanded by dredging coral to make it larger for bigger planes. My mission was as a crew chief. I had a six-person crew, and our satellite tracking station was on a small island called Sand Island, about half a mile from the main island. Sand Island was tiny—maybe 50 yards by 200 yards. It also had a Coast Guard Loran station with two-man Loran towers as a beacon for ships and aircraft.
Host: Sand Island sounds like a speck in the ocean. What was your setup like there?
Frank: Our building on Sand Island was built on waste from a launch pad demolished in 1964, after a nuclear-tipped Thor rocket exploded on the main island. Back then, they decided to chew up the launch pad, dump some of it in the sea, and use the rest to expand Sand Island. The superstructure of the pad wasn’t demolished—they just painted over it. All the radioactivity from that explosion was spread across the island and onto places like Sand Island. We didn’t know this. We weren’t required to wear radiation badges, and no one mentioned the accident from just three years before I got there. It was all hush-hush. Even my job as crew chief was so secret that I only learned about some missions when I arrived on-site.
Host: That’s unsettling, especially with the secrecy. Why was it so classified?
Frank: I’ve since learned the secrecy was because Johnston Island violated the nuclear test ban treaty. They had to keep it quiet. My work was top-secret, and we were only told what we needed to know.
Host: Can you share any specific experiences that stand out?
Frank: One night sticks with me. We were told there’d be a live launch from the main island, half a mile away. We’d been tracking a large object, feeding targeting data to Cheyenne Mountain. They planned to take it down. I was on the midnight shift, and around 2 a.m., we got a warning that a launch was coming within the hour. I was in our building, and the roof opened to expose our optical tracking device. Horns blared, lights flashed, and the Thor rocket launched. Everything shook—it felt like the end of the world. After about a minute or so, the sky lit up yellow, orange, green, all these colors. You knew it was a nuclear explosion, right above Johnston Island and my little Sand Island. The next night, we tracked again, looking for that object. It was gone. The mission was a success—whether it was a dummy target or a Russian satellite, it was destroyed.
Host: That’s intense. What was life like on the island otherwise?
Frank: It was isolated. No women were on the island at all. For fun, we lifted weights, played softball on a coral field—no grass. The best part was the mess hall, run by Holmes and Narver, who also handled security. It was the best mess hall I’d seen in the Air Force—like a five-star restaurant. We had filet mignon, incredible food. We also had an outdoor movie theater, but since we were in the Pacific, it often rained during screenings, so we brought ponchos. After my one-year tour, I was sent back to the States, to a tracking station in Jupiter, Florida, which has since grown a lot.
Host: Sounds like a mix of paradise and hardship. You mentioned no biological weapons were stored there during your time?
Frank: Right. That started around 1969, after I left. They began shipping stuff from Vietnam to the island. By the ‘70s, in the third phase, Johnston Island became a dumping ground for chemical and biological weapons. That’s likely when the veteran you mentioned was there. They built one of the first plants to destroy those weapons, but they also scraped the island’s coral soil, including radioactive plutonium, and piled it on an extended part of the island.
Host: That’s where the plutonium comes in. You walked on that soil, played softball on it, even scuba dived in the lagoon where they dumped debris?
Frank: Yeah. There were two Thor rocket explosions—one in ‘62, one in ‘64—plus the earlier high-altitude detonations. We were exposed to that contaminated soil and water. I scuba dived in the lagoon where they dumped the ‘64 debris, not knowing any better.
Host: It blows my mind that nuclear weapons were tested there, leaving plutonium everywhere, and it wasn’t a bigger deal. Did they know the risks back then?
Frank: I don’t know how much they knew or what damage they thought it’d cause. We were told nothing about the ‘64 accident, no radiation badges, nothing. I enlisted in ‘66, wasn’t drafted, and loved my job. I felt we were doing important work during the Cold War, tracking satellites in the arms race. I was proud of my service, even though it wasn’t Vietnam. But about 10 years ago, I got angry when I started connecting the dots.
Host: What happened to make you realize something was wrong?
Frank: I use the VA healthcare system in San Diego—it’s great, never had issues. Ten years ago, they did a bone density test and found osteopenia, a weakening of the bones with tiny holes, making them less strong. They said it could be age-related or caused by radiation exposure. I didn’t think much of it until three years ago, when I had dizzy spells. An MRI found two small tumors on my brain. They’re not big enough for surgery yet—nobody wants brain surgery unless necessary. I asked what could’ve caused them, and they said plutonium or ionized radiation. I put two and two together: Sand Island, built on debris from the ‘64 explosion, just three years before I got there. That’s when I realized my health issues might be tied to Johnston Island.
Host: That’s devastating. Did you pursue a VA claim?
Frank: Yeah, I submitted a claim with heavy documentation about the island’s radioactive content. After a year, it was denied. I could’ve hired an attorney to keep fighting, but that’s when I got involved with the Johnston Island Facebook group. I noticed a pattern: everyone’s claims—cancer, leukemia, bone cancer, all kinds of illnesses—were denied. I tried to organize the group, but it’s tough. We’re all digital, spread across the world, and some guys are in their 80s. I’m in my early 70s. Two guys I served with died—one of stomach cancer two years ago, another of blood cancer.
Host: That’s heartbreaking. You’re seeing so many veterans with similar stories.
Frank: Exactly. I’m not in pain now. My tumors haven’t grown in four MRIs over two years, so maybe they never will. But others have worse issues. I wish we could shine a light on this, especially when I hear about Blue Water Navy vets getting compensation for Agent Orange exposure. I have a relative who was TDY at Tan Son Nhut Air Force Base in Vietnam for 90 days in ‘64. He was a clerk, flew on a C-130 that carried Agent Orange. He’s an alcoholic, had a heart attack, and gets full VA disability. I don’t smoke, worked on a contaminated island, and get nothing. It’s unfair.
Host: The system’s broken, no doubt. Your story is so important, not just for your generation but mine. Plutonium from those Thor rockets has a half-life of 24,000 years. Anything it touches stays radioactive. It gets atomized in explosions, settles in sand, and blows around. We’re seeing similar issues in Iraq and Afghanistan with depleted uranium in munitions like Hellfire and cruise missiles. It’s dense, great for penetrating buildings, but when it explodes, it atomizes, settles in sand, and gets inhaled. In Iraq, we’re seeing birth defects in children, likely from uranium passed through parents. My generation might face the same health issues you did.
Frank: I’m shocked. I didn’t know Iraq’s munitions had uranium. That the government’s turning a blind eye to your generation’s health issues is deplorable. You all volunteered, you’re heroes, and they’re ignoring the consequences. Your generation’s exposure is even worse than ours, except for those of us handling nuclear weapons.
Host: It’s a pattern. Have you or your group contacted Congress to push for recognition?
Frank: Not formally. It’s hard to organize, but you’re right—if you serve and develop a disability 10, 20, 30, 50 years later, you deserve compensation. It won’t restore your health, but it’s recognition your country cares. Plutonium’s effects can take 30–50 years to show up. Once exposed, it stays in your body—you can’t get rid of it.
Host: That’s why we need to keep talking about this. I’m doing what I can to spread the message, but it’ll take veterans like you speaking out. I’ve reached out to dozens in the Johnston Island group, and you’re one of the few willing to talk. I’m interviewing another guy later today—Ron, active in the groups. He might’ve been there in the ‘80s or ‘90s, phase three, maybe dealing with biological weapons or plutonium. I’d love to connect you two.
Frank: I don’t know Ron, but if he was there later, he might’ve dealt with different hazards. I see pictures of guys on Johnston Island in the ‘80s wearing hazmat suits. When I was there, I wore short-sleeve shirts and shower clogs. That shows how much they knew later. Whatever you can do to shine a light, I appreciate. Many guys feel like it’s pushing a boulder uphill, fighting the government. But we need to persist, not just for us but for you guys exposed to uranium in Iraq. It’s abominable, and the government needs to admit it and help.
Host: Absolutely, we’re all in this together. It’s not a ‘60s thing or a 2019 thing—it’s an American thing. Thank you for sharing your story. I know it’s not easy. Anything else I can do, let me know.
Frank: I’ll do what I can to help. Thank you for this. Keep pushing the mission.
Host: Will do. Thanks again.