Abstract
I CAUGHT THE DISEASE at Three Mile Island. Perhaps it was the day that I scampered over the roof of the concrete containment building that housed the crippled reactor. My memory isn't as clear as I would like it to be, or maybe the affliction didn't seem so important at the time. I do remember that it happened sometime in June or July 1979. I was thinner and beardless then, did not have to adjust my glasses to read, had never used a personal computer, and did more scampering than I do now. And although I was a historian, I generally defined change as something that happened in the past to other people. Three Mile Island changed all that.
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