Abstract
Anxious to bolster public confidence after the worst nuclear weapons accident in history, in 1966 u.S. officials went to extraordinary lengths to keep the delicate peace the public had made with nuclear weapons.
On January 17, 1966, an American B-52 bomber collided with a tanker plane during a routine midair refueling over Spain. Both planes exploded, killing seven airmen and launching four hydrogen bombs into the sky. Three bombs landed around the small farming village of Palomares, spreading plutonium for miles. They were quickly recovered. The fourth landed in the Mediterranean Sea, and it took the largest salvage effort in naval history to find it. The broken arrow at Palomares is still regarded as the worst nuclear weapons accident in history. Throughout the Cold War, there had always been people who criticized America's nuclear weapons programs. The airborne alert program, in which the U.S. Air Force kept nuclear-armed bombers aloft at all times, was singled out as reckless and unnecessary, and it was one of these bombers that exploded over Spain. Until Palo-mares, most Americans had managed to make peace with nuclear weapons, or at least accept them as a necessary evil. This uncomfortable peace existed only because Americans believed that their government had control of the weapons. The United States would launch the nuclear bombs only to respond to a Soviet attack or display U.S. strength.
That is why Palomares proved so disconcerting. The United States not only lost control of four hydrogen bombs, it actually lost one of them. The accident upset the fragile peace that Americans had made with nuclear weapons and the deal they had made with their government. Palomares was “a nightmare of the nuclear age,” as one writer said, because it showed that despite America's best efforts, nuclear weapons could not be easily controlled.
The U.S. government understood the enormous potential impact of the Palomares accident, perhaps even more readily than the public. Keenly aware of the public relations disaster that confronted them after the accident and its likely impact on U.S. nuclear weapons policy and foreign relations, Washington decided to keep the details of the accident secret, insisting, despite widespread news reports to the contrary, that no nuclear bomb was missing. On March 2, 1966, about six weeks after the accident, it finally admitted that a weapon had been lost in Spain. In a last-ditch effort to bolster public confidence, divert attention from the unfolding disaster, and to counter Communist propaganda, U.S. Ambassador to Spain Angier Biddle Duke staged a public relations stunt on a Spanish beach that is still widely remembered today.
A few minutes later, Duke emerged looking winded. The water was “thrilling,” he told the gathered reporters. “Sensational!” As the ambassador dressed quickly, the questions peppered him: “Did you detect any radioactivity in the water?” asked one reporter. “If this is radioactivity,” said the ebullient Duke, “I love it!” Another reporter questioned: “When you were out there, did you happen to see the bomb?” Duke replied gamely, “I wish I had!”
For weeks, the U.S. and Spanish governments, aware that the current press policy was neither controlling information nor calming fears, had been debating how to release more information. Duke had been pushing for a more liberal press policy since early February but could not get the two governments to agree on the particulars. The stalemate finally broke when Otero Navascuéz, president of Spain's Junta de Energía Nuclear, discussed the subject with the Spanish news agency CIFRA, which published lengthy articles on March 1. The Americans didn't know if Navascuéz had acted independently or in concert with the Spanish government, and the leak annoyed them. But it was also a relief. The Defense Department used the opportunity to publish a formal press release:
Search is being pressed off the Spanish Coast for the recovery of material carried by the two planes involved in the recent air collision, and for fragments of wreckage which might furnish clues to the cause of the accident. Included aboard the B-52 which collided with the KC-135 tanker were several unarmed nuclear weapons, one of which has not yet been recovered.
When this search and investigation have been concluded further announcement will be made of the results.
The impact of the weapons on land resulted in a scattering of some plutonium (Pu 239) and uranium (U 235) in the immediate vicinity of the point of impact. There was no nuclear explosion.
Built-in safeguards perfected through years of extensive safety testing, have allowed the United States to handle, store, and transport nuclear weapons for more than two decades without a nuclear detonation. Thorough safety rules and practices also have been developed for dealing with any weapon accident which might result in the spilling of nuclear materials.
Radiological surveys of the Palomares area and its human and animal populations have included detailed laboratory studies by leading Spanish and U.S. scientists throughout the 44 days since the accident. They have obtained no evidence of a health hazard. These experts say there is no hazard from eating vegetables marketed from this area, from eating the meat or fish or drinking the milk of animals.
Steps have been taken to insure that the affected areas are thoroughly cleaned up, and some soil and vegetation are being removed.
These measures are part of a comprehensive program to eliminate the chance of hazard, to set at rest unfounded fears, and thus to restore normal life and livelihood to the people of Palomares.
Immediately, government agencies began stumbling over one another, releasing press statements, talking points, and question-and-answer sheets in both Washington and Madrid. Defense, trying to control the situation, quickly ordered the embassy to coordinate all publicity but permitted Gen. Delmar Wilson, the commander of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) wing in Spain, and navy Adm. William S. Guest to handle routine public affairs matters on their own.
The press reacted to the sudden surge of information with a mixture of bemusement and sarcasm. Despite the official stonewalling, reporters had known the main points for weeks. “The news is now official. One of our H-bombs is missing,” said an editorial in the Boston Globe, which then compared the searchers to basketball players looking for a lost contact lens. “One U.S. official insisted that the bomb was not actually lost,” added Newsweek. “‘We just haven't found it,' he explained.” The Washington Post and the New York Times ran a cartoon of a befuddled military man tipping his hat to two Spanish peasants. “Perdoneme,” he asks, “ha visto un–uh–H-bomb?”
Duke was pleased with the new policy. But now that the radioactive contamination was public knowledge, he worried that Soviet propaganda could hurt Spain's largest industry: tourism. Together, Ambassador Duke and Manuel Fraga Iribarne, the Spanish minister of information and tourism, cooked up a publicity stunt to defuse any fears. Fraga was planning a trip to Almería to dedicate the new parador; Duke and his family would join him at the hotel and then swim in the Mediterranean to prove it wasn't radioactive. “If I could take my children there swimming, and go in myself, why, obviously it could not be all that dangerous,” said Duke. The CBS reporter Bernard Kalb called the swim a Spanish-American effort at “aquatic diplomacy.” “There are lots of things, like money,” he said, “riding on this dip in the Med.”
Something went awry on the morning of the swim, however, and Fraga never showed up. Duke made his chilly dip without the Spanish minister, chatted with newsmen, and posed for photos on the deck of the new parador. Then he changed clothes, threw his bathing suit into the trunk of a car, and headed a few miles down the road to Camp Wilson for a scheduled briefing.
At some point, Fraga and his entourage also arrived at Camp Wilson. Tim Towell, Ambassador Duke's aide, wondered what the Spanish officials were up to. Towell saw Fraga walking along the beach with a Spanish general and some members of the Spanish press. Curiously, the group seemed to be edging toward the water. Suddenly it dawned on him: Fraga was trying to pull a fast one. “He wants to swim alone,” said Towell. “He'll be dipped if he's going to share this with the American ambassador. This is his thing.”
Towell and Duke both realized that Fraga was about to upstage the ambassador. The two men looked at each other and said, “Holy shit!” Towell tore down the beach and burst into a tent. There he found a handful of Navy divers on break, lying on their cots. Tow-ell, huffing and puffing, asked for help. “The American ambassador needs a bathing suit,” he said. “We gotta go swimming instantly, it's an emergency!” The divers said they had just come in from the water and their suits were dripping wet. Doesn't matter, said Towell–we'll take what you have.
Moments later, Duke stepped into the tent, peeled off his European clothes, and wriggled into a wet bathing suit that Towell described as a “little damp jockstrap.” Emerging from the tent, Duke jogged across the sand and caught up with Fraga just after he had entered the water. “Fraga's been had, so what's he to do?” asked Towell. “And in they go together.”
U.S. papers praised the ambassador, calling the swim daring and imaginative, a stunt that had taken guts and courage. “We think of our diplomats as men who do not mind being in hot water,” said the Dallas Morning News. “But ambassador Duke may have been the first diplomat who had to prove the water wasn't hot.”
Fraga, Duke, and a few others in the entourage splashed merrily in the sea for a few minutes, then returned to shore and chatted with reporters. Then the two men toured Palomares, greeted by cheering townspeople carrying neatly lettered signs–most likely not the handiwork of peasant farmers–praising the United States and General Wilson. “The humble of Palomares welcome the illustrious visitors,” read one sign. “We have blind faith in the justice of your plans,” said another. Afterward, Duke gave a short radio interview with Jay Rutherfurd of Mutual News Madrid:
The swim was a public relations masterpiece, making news in Europe, the United States, and Latin America. An Associated Press photo of Duke and Fraga waving to the cameras made page one of the New York Times and was reprinted around the globe. U.S. papers praised the ambassador, calling the swim daring and imaginative, a stunt that had taken guts and courage. “We think of our diplomats as men who do not mind being in hot water,” said the Dallas Morning News. “But Ambassador Duke may have been the first diplomat who had to prove the water wasn't hot.” Variety summed up the enthusiasm with this headline: “Duke's ‘Swim-in’ for Spanish Tourism Best Water Show Since Aquacade.”
Letters poured in to the embassy from various luminaries. Jack Valenti, the special assistant to President Lyndon B. Johnson, wrote, “I'm glad your bathing suit finally got wet. Seeing it splashed all over today's press reminded me that I can always count on you for the dramatic ideas. (Though it did look like you were more in danger of catching pneumonia than radioactive poisoning.)” Former First Lady Jackie Kennedy wrote: “Dearest Angie–How happy I was to see you coming out of the ocean–looking marvelous. That was such a wonderful thing of you to do–I was so proud of you. I hope you saw all the nice things that were written about you here.”
Some journalists turned a more cynical eye to the event. “Feel safer already?” asked Newsweek. “Supposing a bomb is reported missing in Norway? In the winter?” asked a writer in the Times of London. “Perhaps in such cases the job could be suitably left to the Naval Attaché.” The Soviet publication Izvestia also weighed in, saying that Ambassador Duke should receive the “Order of the Bath” for his feat. At least one paper cut to the core, questioning the airborne alert program that had led to the accident in the first place. “For many years,” read an editorial in the Boston Globe, “it has been part of this nation's defense setup to have bombers carrying nuclear weapons flying many hours, ready for nuclear war in case of attack. This may have been necessary in times of crisis, though it was already scary in 1961 to know that the world's stockpile of nuclear weapons contained the equivalent of 30 tons of TNT. for every person on the planet. But today, when intercontinental missiles have better capability of delivery than airplanes, is it not time to call a halt to routine flights with nuclear weapons?”
The interviewer pressed LeMay. Is it really necessary, he asked, to have SAC bombers in the sky at all times, loaded with nuclear bombs and refueling in midair? Yes, replied LeMay, ticking off the reasons why. SAC's primary mission is to prevent war. We need to be strong, and our enemies must know this. In order to be ready for war, we have to train for war with usable weapons. Furthermore, SAC has been refueling in the air for years. He added, “The fact that we had an accident means nothing.”
The general ended with a warning and a plug for the airborne alert program. America's deterrent force is not as strong as it was a few years ago, he said. Our enemies are moving faster; the gap is narrowing. Cutting down the manned bomber force, depending too much on missiles, would be a mistake. With manned bombers, he argued, SAC could offer more choices to U.S. leaders. “A man can think and react and do things he never thought he'd have to.” If war began, he wanted “a thinking man, a loyal man,” at the controls. Not some mindless missile.