In a nation as kinetic as the United States, few communities are able to resist the drumbeat of progress. It’s just that some are able to dig their heels in a little deeper.

Driving through the town square of this provincial Pennsylvania borough is like an existential journey into an American folk painting. All the hallmarks are there: the clock tower, the Romanesque-style bank building, the quaint hardware store.

Survey the landscape more thoroughly and this town surrenders just a bit of its initial charm. A 7-11 on the horizon, a Rite-Aid down the road — signs that even this town has been stained by the fingerprints of homogenization.

And looking downstream from the banks of the Susquehanna River, an ominous reminder of this area’s most volatile encounter with progress: the cooling towers of Three Mile Island, in all its infamy.

Middletown might have preferred to lay claim to nothing more than its longevity, a place selected as a settlement site by William Penn himself in 1690. But 25 years ago, a malfunctioning valve at the nuclear power plant a few miles down Route 441 thrust the town’s name into newspaper datelines around the world.

Like the newspaper clippings that detail the events of what remains the nation’s worst ever commercial nuclear power accident, that 13-day crisis in March and April of 1979 has gradually faded from memory.

For most people.

For Eric Epstein, the passage of time has done little to reign in his determination to make sure the power plant never again threatens the community where he spent his youth swimming in the waters surrounding Three Mile Island.

“I don’t like that TMI is there, but I will try to make it safer,” Epstein says.
It’s a mission that has consumed the past 22 years of his life.

THE GREAT WORK BEGINS

At 4 a.m. on March 28, 1979, alarms wailed at TMI Unit 2. A valve became stuck open, releasing coolant from the reactor core. It was the first in a sequence of mechanical failures and operator errors that are still dissected by academics, journalists and the nuclear power industry.

In those first few days, confusion reigned. Statements from all involved parties — the governor’s office, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, local governments and Metropolitan Edison, which operated the plant at the time — contradicted each other, sending area residents on an emotional roller coaster.

Epstein was attending college in California when the trouble erupted at TMI.
“I knew more about the accident than my family here,” he says. “The information flow was awful. Some people left, some didn’t. Kids stayed in schools.”

It would be six years before anyone knew the full extent of damage done on that day. In the final accounting, officials confirmed that 50 percent of the reactor core had melted. By some estimates, the plant came within 30 minutes of a complete meltdown.
That was too close of a call for Epstein.

After finishing college in 1982, he moved back to nearby Lancaster, Pa. Soon after, he became involved in Three Mile Island Alert, an anti-nuclear citizen’s group formed in 1977 — two years before the fateful accident. But just three years after the near-meltdown at TMI, activists were already facing an uphill climb.

“Even by the time I came back in 1982, people were exhausted (from talking about TMI),” Epstein says. “People deal with TMI by not dealing with it.”

Epstein, however, is still dealing with it. At 44, he is now chairman of Three Mile Island Alert. The all-volunteer group operates on a $10,000 annual budget and remains an active participant in issues relating to the plant.

“No decision on TMI can be made without TMI Alert’s input,” Epstein says.

The relationship isn’t exactly fraternal, though. Ralph DeSantis, spokesperson for TMI Unit 1, might characterize Epstein’s assessment as self-aggrandizement.

“There’s nothing that says we need to defer to Eric in making decisions regarding the plant,” DeSantis says, indicating the company forges relationships with multiple groups. “We have a citizens awareness panel that is made up of different stakeholders in the community. We have a very active outreach program. We give tours for certain people. We go out and do civic talks. We’re available to the media essentially 24-7.”

But maintaining that kind of dialogue with the public may be a testament to TMI Alert’s efforts.

While the group claims nearly 600 dues-paying members, Epstein admits it is still a far cry from the several thousand who joined immediately following the accident.

The passage of time, perceived relevance, other environmental issues — to Epstein, all have relegated his life’s work to second-class status in the environmental community.

“Nuclear energy remains the environmental orphan,” he says. “The average American teenager knows more about the rainforests in South America than they do about nuclear power.”

And in this image-conscious world, even political groups are not immune.

“Nuclear power is not a sexy environmental issue,” Epstein says with an air of frustration. “Monitoring a nuclear plant is boring — technical and boring. It’s like being a prison guard.”

If anti-nuclear activists are to find any comfort in that sobering assessment, though, it is this: Epstein believes the nuclear power industry is confronting the same obstacle.

“Both sides of the issue are facing critical staffing issues,” he says. “There is a lack of young people training for nuclear power jobs.”

But as he sips his iced tea, he is clearly more concerned about his own recruiting efforts.

“I used to be the youngest person involved in a leadership position (in TMIA). Now you go to the annual meetings and you think you’re at an AARP convention.”

STILL GOING STRONG

Epstein’s assessment may be a bit harsh. In this state, whose senior citizen population is second only to Florida’s, he is still a relative youngster.

But like a weary soldier who has seen more than his fair share of battles, the years have left Epstein visibly tattered. Fewer hairs cover his head; the ones that do are now graying. And while seated behind a desk in his Middletown office, his middle-age spread is barely noticeable.

Still, he gives little indication that his spirit has been worn as thin as his hair.
Even on this Saturday afternoon, he is hard at work at the storefront headquarters of EFMR Monitoring Group, a non-profit organization founded in 1993 to monitor TMI’s still-operating Unit 1 reactor. The group formed out of a settlement with GPU Nuclear over monitored storage of Unit 2. At the time, GPU Nuclear owned both reactors.

Epstein is candid about his priorities. TMI Alert still occupies much of his time, but he would rather talk about EFMR’s efforts.

Within a four-mile radius of Three Mile Island, EFMR has 16 radiation monitors that provide hourly readings at the plant. Those monitors were purchased by Exelon, according to DeSantis, the Unit 1 spokesperson. Like GPU Nuclear before it, Exelon helps fund EFMR as a result of the settlement with the previous owner.
“I think it’s good for people to understand that TMI doesn’t have an impact on the environment,” DeSantis says.

Epstein, however, is more idealistic about the group’s role.

“We’ve established an independent monitoring group that is free of the biases of government and industry,” Epstein says. He meets regularly with plant officials, and he even brags about the fact that a portion of the EFMR staff is pro-nuclear.

In some ways this citizen leader, now working with the nuclear power plant, barely resembles the fringe activist of a generation ago. Gone is the young man who was arrested for acts of civil disobedience against TMI. It his place is a softer, more pragmatic man.

Still, transitioning from an agitator to a cooperative partner in the operation of TMI Unit 1 was a hard pill to swallow for Epstein.

“You get to the point where you have to get over the acrimony and makes friends with your enemies,” he says.

But for Epstein, it was a necessary step given the nature of the surrounding community.
“For too long environmental issues have been disconnected from economics,” he says. “I drink at the bar across the street with guys who work at TMI. They get their hair done next door. I’m not going anywhere.”

Epstein is keenly aware of the people he’s dealing with. He notes the prevailing parochialism of the area. He jokes about the insular attitudes of central Pennsylvania — “You’ve heard the expression, ‘Pennsylvania is Philadelphia and Pittsburgh with Alabama in the middle?’ This is Alabama” — but he does so without the air of condescension one might expect.

He understands this community, is a part of it. In almost paternal fashion, he has become guardian of these friends and neighbors.

“I never felt a kinship for this community until the accident. I became very pro-active,” he says, his voice trailing off. His gaze wanders toward the far wall, his head cocked slightly. Then he speaks quietly, as if in awe of himself. “And I just realized 22 years have gone by.”

THE NEXT BATTLE

For Epstein, it has been a colorful 22 years, checkered by both success and defeat. But there are fewer of each. While the war drags on — and will indefinitely — battlefield engagements are less frequent.

Much of that is the result of a decades-long suspension of activity within the nuclear industry. Not a single nuclear power plant has been planned and finished to completion in the United States since 1973 — six years before the accident at TMI. With no new construction, the anti-nuclear movement is a protagonist without an easily identifiable target. Epstein concedes that the crusaders’ most successful period came in the 1980s. And even then, he admits that the soaring cost of nuclear plant construction deserves most of the credit.

“It wasn’t Main Street that shut down nuclear power, it was Wall Street,” he says — a pithy declaration he has made repeatedly over the years.

It’s hard to argue with that assessment. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, the nation suddenly found itself in the enviable position of having a surplus of electricity. Demand for more generating stations waned. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission, responding to the accident at TMI, imposed stricter — and more costly — construction requirements for new power plants. And state public utility commissions stopped funding cost overruns.
It was an unexpected occurrence of synergy between two disparate interest groups — capitalist-minded investors and citizen activists.

“Not to take anything away from them,” Epstein says of TMI Alert, “but I used to think these people were really able technocrats. No. We were just lucky.”

With the curtain effectively drawn on new construction, both nuclear interests and opposition groups like TMI Alert began waging battle on other fronts. The industry has stayed afloat by increasing output capacity at existing plants and pursuing extensions on their operating licenses. It’s one of the issues Epstein remains rabid about.

“They’ve essentially extended the life of plants that should have been shut down after 40 years,” he says. “I give [the Bush] administration and the industry high marks for deception.”

The debate over license renewal is poised to rear its head in Epstein’s backyard. TMI Unit 1 is currently licensed to operate until September 2014. Epstein expects Exelon to seek a 20-year extension on its license for TMI Unit 1, though plant spokesperson DeSantis says no decision has been made.

But in October 2003, the company replaced the reactor head vessel of Unit 1 at a cost of between $15 and $18 million. To most observers, it was an indication that Exelon will seek license renewal.

DeSantis says it was a simple matter of maintenance.

“In November 2001, during a refueling outage, we identified a number of indentations in welds on the reactor vessel head,” he says. “We repaired the indentations, but it made sense to replace the unit.”

Under NRC regulations, Exelon was not required to replace the reactor head vessel, merely to monitor and repair it every two years.

License extension at Unit 1 would have consequences for the defueled Unit 2, owned by FirstEnergy. Under the terms of the purchase agreement between Exelon and GPU Nuclear, the company that sold Unit 1 in 1999, the contaminated Unit 2 and the still-operating Unit 1 must be decommissioned together. A license renewal at Unit 1 would mean at least another 20 years before final cleanup and decontamination can occur at the damaged Unit 2 reactor.

Scott Shields, spokesperson for FirstEnergy, says the company is prepared for decommission — whenever that may be.

“We have a process in place,” Shields says. “We’re collecting money for decommission and it’s being put aside. By the time that occurs, the funds will be in place.”

A delay in the decommissioning of the plant is perhaps the issue that concerns Epstein the most. Despite his confidence in his planned efforts to fight a license renewal at Unit 1 — “We have every intention of winning,” he says — he realizes most people may not see the consequences that decision would have on the damaged Unit 2.

“The public at large is ill-informed of the condition of TMI-2. It’s still contaminated. It’s still highly radioactive.”

A NUCLEAR RENAISSANCE?

Many believed the accident at TMI 25 years ago signaled an end to nuclear power in the United States. And even if the public hadn’t been entirely convinced to abandon the technology, many others saw the 1986 Chernobyl disaster in Russia as a clarion call for an end to nuclear power once and for all.

But a generation removed from the stigma of those two accidents, the nuclear industry has found a powerful ally in President Bush. Since shortly after his inauguration, the president has been lobbying tirelessly for the Energy Policy Act. Under the plan, investment in nuclear power would be eligible for the same tax treatments as renewable energy sources. It also extends for another 20 years a ceiling on the liability nuclear power plant owners face in the event of an accident. And it provides federally guaranteed loans for construction of new reactors.

Exelon, owner of TMI Unit 1, was a major lobbyist in the energy task force headed by Vice President Dick Cheney in 2001. The bill was crafted in large part by the task force. And Exelon has been digging deep into its pockets to promote nuclear interests. The company spent $1.4 million during the midterm elections in 2002, including $230,000 in contributions to the Republican National Committee.

Since unveiling his energy plan in 2001, Bush has had a tough row to hoe. The measure passed by a comfortable margin in the House of Representatives in November 2003, but was filibustered in the Senate, where supporters fell just two votes short of forcing action on the bill. Majority Leader Bill Frist, R-Tenn., promised to revive it this year.

Even if the measure passes this session, it may be blocked from taking effect. The $31 billion estimated cost far exceeds the $18 billion provided for it under the congressional budget resolution for 2004. That discrepancy, notes a November article in Congressional Quarterly, that the bill would face a budgetary point of order. Senate Minority Whip Harry Reid, D-Nev., told the publication, “This bill is just not going anywhere.”

Despite that damning statement, Bush appears undaunted in his efforts to oversee a nuclear renaissance. In a February speech to high school students in Pennsylvania, the president made a subtle reference to the proposal.

“When you have blackouts or brownouts, and you’re trying to employ people, it’s awful hard to do so,” Bush said. “In order to get jobs back, in order for people to retain jobs, we need an energy plan in this country. We need to modernize the electricity grid. We need to become less reliant on foreign sources of energy.”

Those remarks were delivered to an audience in Harrisburg, Pa., just 10 miles from Three Mile Island. But Epstein is almost dismissive in his assessment of Bush’s plan.
“This administration, from a technical standpoint, is riding a dead horse backwards into the twentieth century,” he says.

Epstein clearly prefers to look ahead, seemingly stopping in the moment only long enough to do what he can to alter what he sees as this epoch’s inevitable legacy.

“I think 500 years from now people looking back on this generation will view us as environmental philistines,” he says.

But he retains his sense of humor through it all. “I can’t believe that 500 years from now people will be applauding us for shitting nuclear turds."