Restart: The Alabama Diary

By Arthur Ruggles

A professor on sabbatical helps restart a Nuclear Reactor in north Alabama. The reactor had not run in over 22 years, making the restart challenging. An account of the restart is taken from his diary and includes cultural, political and technical dimensions of his experience in Alabama.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098301491

Book preview

diary.

Monday January 22, 2007, Off to Work

The Browns Ferry Nuclear Power Plant is ten miles from Athens, AL, in the middle of flat farmland. Approaching the site on Nuclear Plant Road to find high voltage power lines draped across the farmland on the shoulders of huge grey-steel aliens. A couple wild pigs trot along a stream bed.

I turn left at the flashing lights, follow the road to procurement and receiving, and park on gravel wet from Sunday’s all day rain. To my right is a trailer park of GE commercial leased portable trailer offices. Grey, weary and remarkably ugly. I make my way to the eyesore. It is 7:20am on the first day of my Sabbatical adventure.

The trailers are connected by a wooden decking labyrinth, the decks covered with a canopy of plastic translucent roofing. The roofing is brittle now, brown in places from the blistering Alabama sun in summer, or so I suppose. The trailers are positioned on concrete block piers without mortar. Nylon straps stretch between the trailers and steel auger anchors. The piers have sunk into the asphalt over the four years of prior project time and the trailer floors slope every which way. Everybody walks like a drunk. We need Sea Legs.

I am given a rather spacious office with a door, window, and a computer. The majority of the workers here are in cubicles. A former high level GE executive, John Feltson, now working for Bechtel, has a cubical. This makes me uncomfortable. Some kind of white deposit has rendered most of my office window nearly opaque.

Mic is my boss, a civil engineer who rose through the ranks during the 1970’s, back in the glory days of TVA when they fielded the largest engineering organization on the planet. Mic and I have been working together for two years. My involvement as a consultant was usually limited to assessment reports, reviews and telephone conversations. Mic is a thoughtful guy, but not very open. He solicits my judgements, and asks questions, but never reveals his own position.

Adam, Why the big office?

Mic clearly heard, but does not answer. I let it go.

Mic, We scheduled training for you, and the plant access security check is underway. You will need to do the drug test, medical and plant access training at the training center. Karen will give you the schedule, 4-0899.

Adam, Good deal, I am anxious to start looking the machine over.

Mic, We have the divers in modifying the dryer this week, I’ll be over there most of today. And out he went.

Karen relates that there will be over a week of training before I can access the plant. The security and medical will begin tomorrow, the training will start Thursday. There is no need for training to work in the trailer park, and indeed many of the engineers here could not get plant access as they are Indian nationals hired by Bechtel to do civil engineering and mechanical design. Unit 2 will be going into a refueling outage in March, and people are already arriving to train for that outage. I will be training with nuclear professionals that travel from nuclear plant to nuclear plant nationwide, some worldwide, performing work during refueling outages. They do maintenance, calibrations, performance checks, and component change outs while the reactor is refueled. Some in the industry call these folks Rad-Fodder. They go around absorbing radiation until they get enough money to pay the bills, or their maximum annual allowable legal dose. Then many of them vacation on the beach and ride Harleys.

The week of training is a bummer because it will cause me to miss the exotic work underway on the steam dryer, the technical subject for my stay in Alabama. The steam dryer is a two story tall, 17 foot diameter stainless steel sheet metal and plate structure. This device takes the small droplets of water out of the steam generated in the reactor core, thus making the steam dry. This structure is being modified. Several plates are being cut out and replaced with thicker plates, and some other plates are being stiffened with ribs. The old dryer has not been used in the 22 years Unit 1 was dormant, but it is still so hot (radioactive) that all this work is being done under water. The water provides shielding from the radiation. I am missing the divers working underwater, cutting, welding and grinding, which all say is far more amazing than synchronized swimming.

Tuesday January 23, Training and Forms

The ample forms and confused instructions that start my training are completed today, and the drug test is done as well. They check for warm urine. I sign the closure for the urine. I certify the urine is fresh and is mine. I blow into the breathalyzer machine. I signed my name over 12 times on forms and certifications. I was counting because I wished I had counted the signatures required on the security check forms filled out before leaving Tennessee. Ah yes, and let us not forget the sanity check/psychological exam. 576 questions. Have you ever thought of suicide? Two pages later, Have you ever thought of harming yourself? Do you, or did you, love your mother? Why do all you rad-fodder drive big 4 wheel drive trucks? (Made that one up, I have truck envy.)

Ten hour days are tiring, and the motel is quite confining, but my normal life in Knoxville is completely without TV. I am discovering TV, and cable network offerings, enjoying motorcycle construction, bass fishing, travel and dove hunting shows. I suspect a return to literature is coming, but some of these TV entertainers are engaging.

January 24, 2007, Training Continues

Alcohol and drugs do our society great harm. Auto accidents kill thousands each year, and seriously injure nearly 500,000. Farming/agriculture has a risk rating for on the job injury nearly 100 times that of nuclear power based on insurer data. Is this training or indoctrination? Actually these examples are the only slanted points in the training information today. Most of the training information is delivered in a level, deadly monotonous sequence of computer screens. No animation, with almost all the information transferred in textual form behind bullets, thousands of bullets on hundreds of screens in roughly 25 information packages. A few cartoon characters are sprinkled throughout, harvested from some data base, several used many times. I developed favorites.

The Fitness for Duty (FFD) medical resonated with a recent experience giving blood on campus at UT. Before giving blood I spent roughly five minutes responding to questions pertaining to casual drug use, sexual behavior, sexual behavior and drug use, drug use and number of sexual partners in the last five years prior to giving blood (long hesitation is a tell). Have you had any blood transfusions? Have you used needles to inject drugs? This poor woman at the portable blood drive clinic had to ask these questions scores of times each day. It is all about drugs, and it spoiled my experience giving blood. How can that be done?

The TVA Fitness for Duty training is similarly drug centered. They mention in passing that diet, exercise and sleeping can influence on the job performance, but over 90 percent of the information is about drugs, what drugs are, how they test for them, what your rights are when you are tested, how the test information is treated, how you can appeal test results, how you tell when a co-worker is using drugs, how you report when you think a co-worker is using drugs, what the penalties are,…. It is hard to notice exercise, sleep and diet after 70 slides on drugs. So much for the war on drugs we fought in the 80’s. Maybe we will resume the war on drugs after achieving victory in Iraq. Based on the State of the Union speech last night we expect victory in Iraq soon. Of course the reason Heroin is going for as low as 15 dollars a cap in Baltimore is because we won the war in Afghanistan. The Taliban didn’t put up with opium poppy farmers, but this new democratic and market oriented government we set up in Afghanistan clearly does. My son had been keeping me informed of the price of heroin and indicated it was becoming a cheaper high than Oxycodone.

Ever wonder how all that Heroin gets into the US? Imagine if it were something terrorists could use….? Oh, but I rant.

Thursday, Jan 25, New Glasses

After finding all other optometrists in Athens keep banker’s hours, I schedule a visit to Wall Mart for new glasses. Evening appointments are popular, and the earliest available was on Friday, and even then I took an appointment earlier than I wanted, 5:00pm. Arriving just on time, I meet with the pleasantly assertive optometrist, and I explain my circumstances. I have resisted bifocals, preferring to remove my glasses for prolonged close work. This approach is not conducive to radiation worker environments where touching of exposed skin or personal items can lead to contamination. I need safety glasses with bifocals. I also mention my circumstances for staying in Athens, hoping to mine some good information from a native’s point of view.

Ann is not native to Athens, but hails from Decatur 20 miles south. Ann lives in one of four homes in Decatur that survived the civil war. All else was destroyed, mostly burned. She delivered this data rather off handedly, between various questions like which is clearer, a…..or b, switching between vision test plates and lenses. Her voice was hypnotic, sweet and high, but very authoritative. It was bondage.

With paraphernalia withdrawn from the chair Ann asks the inevitable question……

Where are you from?

Western Maryland,… Hagerstown. I have some inkling that perhaps this response is the most acceptable of those I might craft, in addition to being truth. Almost Southern, but perhaps not southern enough. Hagerstown was, after all, not reconstructed. Nor was it entirely destroyed.

Ann, Yes, I know where that is. Are you a student of the civil war?

Adam, No, more a student of human conflict. It makes us special, humans I mean.

Ann, Yes, it starts in Kindergarten. The girls grow out of it, but the boys just need to fight.

Ann, Look up please.

Surprise! Eye drops just that fast. Dilation begins. I think perhaps the girls just learn more effective ways to get what they want.

Select some nice frames and I will examine your eyes after they dilate in around ten minutes.

I am shown the door…and too many frames. I later wonder if this conversation was the least bit remarkable to her, or if it would just blend into the 20 or so other superficial chit chats she will have with customers during her shift.

Jan 26, A Weekend and Return Home

Training ends at 3:00 to accommodate the schedule of various union crafts also training with me. The class in total is perhaps 60 folks, and the crafts are rowdy, with many having heard these stories many times. Most of the training can be done anytime, with all the slides served up on demand.

I plan to stay in Athens Saturday to look over the town, and then travel to Knoxville for some farm work Sunday, and University work Monday and Tuesday.

January 27, 2007, A Yankee meets Athens

Internet research told of Antebellum Architecture, and recounted history from cotton plantations to civil war battle. More recent history is absent on line, but there were contemporary data showing Athens is currently home to 20,000, and seat of Limestone County.

I park in front of an imposing old courthouse at the town center at 8:00 AM, with ample time to watch Athens awaken to a cold sunny January Saturday. With hiking boots on a pedestrian exploration commences of the sights, the smells, and the sounds of the community.

A map from the internet located the historic district, Veterans museum, state university campus, hospital, cemetery and three funeral homes. The Courthouse offered the opening gesture from Athens, a plaque describing the occupation and plundering of the town by Union Troops in 1864. The Officer involved was promoted through Presidential influence just prior to court martial, and subsequently acquitted. This was a good thing to see early in the day.

The Courthouse stands alone, surrounded by a broad street and parking. The approaches to the building all involve use of massive staircases. I circumnavigated the structure and found a confederate soldier standing tall and proud in marble, with the inscription, ennobled by triumph, exalted by defeat.

The historic district was first examined since none of the commercial interests surrounding the Courthouse were yet open. The march was on past some very well preserved homes from the 1820’s through the 1850’s. Peppered among these homes stood equally impressive architecture from the early 1900’s through 1930’s. A few ‘apartment for rent’ opportunities were noted for later investigation. The current plan of staying six months in one of the motels strewn along the interstate is not appealing.

The George Smith Houston House and library, 1845, was adorned with another iron plaque telling of the period when Athens suffered under radical reconstructionists. Note now reconstructionists are not in the Microsoft dictionary, but deconstructionists are. The library would open at 11:00AM, and a good read could certainly improve my spirits during upcoming evenings away from home. Librarians are wonderful sources of information.

Crisp early morning winter air and beautiful old homes, relaxed and disarmed by walking, a barking snarling Doberman startles me into adrenal bug-eyed alertness. The dog and I square off as I look for rocks and loose bricks. I hear the siren call of ownership, Delfhine, stop that barking! The siren emerges from a picket-fenced yard in a zippered velvety house coat and slippers. Sixtyish and fit, with blue eyes and grey blond hair, she gives me a dismissive look, like why am I arousing her dog? But this quickly passes and she smiles and grabs the dog firmly by the collar with her ring hand, bending at the waist so as to provide a stimulating view as she attaches a leash.

Sorry, I don’t expect anyone on the street so early in the morning in winter. I didn’t even look before opening the gate. She approaches me, which is disconcerting, and offers her hand, Sarah Spline.

Adam Reinholt, here temporarily working at the TVA plant, looking over these fine homes. She smiles, grimaces actually, and gives me a tenuously annoyed look.

Sarah then walks almost through me, doggy in tow, turns around and kneels ever so deliberately down to retrieve the morning paper. We danced, or she had, with a clumsy partner. She was standing and I had not yet moved, somehow paralyzed by her presence. Sarah sighs, Bob wants his paper. I had best deliver promptly. She walks past me again and back to the house with Delphine.

I just met my first Athenians and promptly tripped over some slate slabs heaved by confederate roots, reddened with a flash of embarrassment, and eventually returned to self-absorbed detached observation.

Thirsty from walking two hours I return to the Jeep for water and find a bookstore/café open. A book by Charles Frazier, Thirteen Moons has been out a few months and I plan to purchase this book, and perhaps some good coffee. I was breathing deep from walking in cool air. I search for the book, and then ask if this book is available. The man to whom this question is directed looks ownerlike, mid 60’s, authoritative, not friendly, but approachable. Initially we have good eye contact, but his gaze eventually averts. I note the author in question wrote Cold Mountain. He knows of Cold Mountain, but not of Thirteen Moons. Now, having posed this question, it occurs to me that Cold Mountain may not be a popular book here. The movie, although sanitized and stylized in the Hollywood tradition, was probably not well received either. He goes online, finds Thirteen Moons, and orders it. With a very long, somewhat cool penetrating look he informs me the book will arrive Thursday week after next. Our eyes do not avert.

Conflicts are a special interest and this looks like an opportunity, so I compliment him on the town architecture. I also note my love of traditional downtown venues for pedestrian shopping. He responds that the chamber of commerce and historical society are working to keep the downtown healthy, and offers a local author’s history of the town. I look it over.

Adam, The plaques at the courthouse and Houston house/library indicate Athens had a rough time during and after the civil war.

Clerk, That was a long time ago.

Adam My grandmother, whom I knew well, went to church with Civil War Veterans.

Clerk, Where are you from?

Adam, Western Maryland….Hagerstown.

The clerk smiles and notes, They didn’t reconstruct Hagerstown.

The clerk pulls out a map of Athens like the one I already possess, only printed on both sides, with advertisements providing the additional material.

Owner/clerk, The town library is here, that Houston House Library is not very good. You can also use the Athens State University Library for free, but I am not sure about out-of-staters.

I marvel how forthcoming the bookstore was with library information. Adam, Thanks, I plan to walk around town a few more hours, I’ll return for lunch.

The battles of Antietam, South Mountain, Harpers Ferry and Gettysburg were just minutes from my hometown of Boonsboro, 13 miles southeast of Hagerstown. Soldiers often marched along the Old National Pike, a frontier road west in use since the 1700’s, complete with limestone mile markers for weary wagon travelers to count. The road bed resists change in part due to efforts of the Historical Society in Washington County, MD, which works to preserve important Civil War battle fields and supporting historical artifacts.

Across from my childhood home in Boonsboro a limestone mile marker on the National Pike was painted with a yellow stripe. This marker was in front of the church parsonage. I was five when this church and parsonage were built, replacing an old church on South Mountain that was too small and collapsing. The new church was built by the membership, and my father was busy helping while I played with the preacher’s kids (PKs) and other kids from the congregation.

Years later I helped put a garage onto the parsonage, learning carpentry skills by lifting and toting and listening and watching at 15 years of age. They finally let me drive a nail or two. Eventually I made measurements and operated the skill saw. There were just three of us working on the garage most of the time,