But when I looked at the screen, I realized that the email wasn’t from Mom at all.
It was from Gloria at the Museum of American Women’s Art.
Julie,
This morning, we started removing the paintings from their frames to do a bit of restoration before the exhibit opens. On the back of one of the canvases, we found—well, I’ll let you see for yourself (images attached). Please call me when you can. This changes everything.
All best,
Gloria
I tapped on the attachment and discovered, for the last time, a secret painting. There was a girl sitting before a pair of gravestones, a half-finished canvas on her knees. She had a paintbrush in her gloved hand and a stiff apron over her dress. She had a canteen and a cup and a tiny jar filled with a liquid that cast its own light. She had everything she needed for plein air painting with poison.
I knew this painting had just been discovered. I knew I’d never seen it before, but it felt so familiar in ways that I couldn’t explain…until I looked closer and realized that I recognized those graves.
And I recognized that girl.
I’d seen her face in the moon, watching the skeletons climb into their graves.
Charlotte? I thought in astonishment. It was Charlotte?
Once I’d read the letters, I’d been so sure that the paintings were Lydia’s work. But if Charlotte had painted them—
After her sisters were already dead—
In the same cemetery where Luke and I’d sat together—
It was too unbearably sad to think about.
Then I remembered the second attachment. I clicked on it, expecting another hidden painting.
Wrong again.
It was a poem.
Sisters, lost to shadows,
I promise you this:
The world will know
how your light ebbed so mine could shine.
I will pick up your paintbrush;
I will pick up my pen.
Yours is the only story I can ever tell.
May the incandescent beacon of my love
illuminate the truth
as it keeps your memory alive.
—Charlotte Grayson/Charles Graham
And now I understood what Gloria meant when she said that this changed everything. If Charles Graham was really a pseudonym for Charlotte Grayson, and those articles exposing the truth about the Radium Girls were really written by her, in memory of her sisters and what they had suffered—
If Charlotte’s words had played such a pivotal part in unmasking the toxic corruption at the American Radium Company—
And if Charlotte’s role had been to finish the paintings, using her sisters’ paintbrushes to complete the canvases that Liza and Lydia had left behind—
Would there ever again be a reason to doubt what love could achieve?
Did it feel like this for Charlotte? I wondered as the charge settled over me, became part of me, until everything else melted away. To not just recognize but understand the sacrifices that had been made for me and all the ways, big and small, in which I’d benefited from them: that my every advantage was born from someone else’s self-lessness. Saving our home—the home my mom had made for us, the home that had helped me become the person I was today—was the very least I could do, considering all she had done for me. What could I—what would I—build on that foundation of love and sacrifice? I didn’t know yet, but I was certain about this: I wouldn’t let anything else stand in my way.
I reached up and rested my hand briefly on the rubbing of Lydia’s tombstone. She did it, Lydia, I thought. She accomplished great things, just like you dreamed she would.
The window by my bed offered an amazing view of the campus, like a photo from the prospective student brochure. I could see the quad and the long concrete paths that connected the buildings. I could see the sloping fields and the trees, smudged with darkness now that the sun was setting. Already there was a group of guys building a pyramid of fallen wood for the bonfire. I watched them for a while, sauntering in and out of the forest. Then, a spark, an orange flame licking up the wood, consuming it, and a cheer from the frat boys rose with the first plume of smoke.
If I looked to the right, I could see the science building. There was a light glowing in the fifth-floor lab; a light that kindled in me the wonder of discovery. No doubt I could join Luke tonight, if I wanted; the two of us keeping vigil together, making observations, jotting notes in the margins, flirting with exhaustion and anticipation as the experiment progressed.
Or would I wander down to the bonfire with Kira, sandwiching myself between the blistering heat of the flames and the creeping chill from the woods so I could start navigating this weird new world of roommates and RAs and frat boys?
I could even stay here on my own, maybe make up my bed like Kira had made hers. Maybe I could start unpacking—the smallest box, the one with my watercolors and my brushes and the brand-new pad of watercolor paper I’d bought after I left the cemetery.
All of me tingled with hope for what was to come: all the bright days and dark nights that were waiting for me. I was hungry for each and every one. I wanted them all. I already wanted more.
It turned out the decision wasn’t hard after all.
I smiled, in the darkness, for myself alone.
And I made my choice.
Author’s Note
This manuscript is a work of fiction based on a series of events that transpired during and after World War I. The Radium Girls, as they came to be known, were a group of young women who were hired to paint watch faces with glow-in-the-dark radium paint. Today, people know how deadly radioactive exposure can be. The Radium Girls were among the first to teach us that lesson.
Marie and Pierre Curie’s discovery of radium in 1898 changed the course of human history. This pale, metallic substance inspired great hope and lofty ambitions. An entire industry sprang up to locate, mine, process, and ultimately profit from this strange and mysterious element. Doctors hailed radium as a miraculous panacea, adding it to tonics and injecting it directly into their patients. They marveled at radium’s ability to decimate cancer cells. What they failed to realize, however, was that radium also killed healthy cells, and too often, the patient as well. Since radium’s chemical structure is similar to calcium, the human body deposits radium directly into the bones and the teeth, where it emits alpha particles that cause catastrophic damage.
Radium soon made its way into everyday life, but it was hardly the benign element that scientists, doctors, and the public assumed. Powdered radium and zinc sulfide were added to paint to create a beautifully luminous substance that could be applied to almost any object. The United States’ entry into World War I in 1917 caused great demand for luminescent wristwatches and airplane control panels, but radium paint was also used on clocks, light switches, keys, medicine bottles, telephones, and even toys. With young men fighting overseas, young women—including teenagers and girls as young as eleven—were hired as dial painters to paint millions of watch faces. For many, it was their first opportunity for paid employment, and they took great pride in their contributions to the war effort.
Since paintbrushes were easily flattened by the sticky, radium-laced paint, dial painters were taught to point the brushes with their lips. Supervisors assured them that the paint was harmless. Hour after hour, day after day, dial painters licked radioactive paintbrushes, continually ingesting small amounts of deadly radium. They also painted glowing jewelry on their skin and used radium paint to illuminate their nails, hair, and teeth. Company officials encouraged the dial painters to practice with the paint on their own time to improve their technique. One dial painter applied it to the walls of her bedroom, though what she painted there has been lost to history.
By the early 1920s, some dial painters were suffering from bizarre and terrifying ailments. Their teeth began to fall out, leaving holes in their jaws that festered and would not heal. Their bones weakened and broke spontaneously, wh
ich happened to one dial painter when she attended a dance. They developed severe anemia and strange cancers that often led to amputation of their limbs. Even worse than the disfigurement was the agonizing pain the young women suffered as they marched toward a slow death from incurable radium poisoning.
A woman named Amelia “Mollie” Maggia became the first known dial painter to succumb to radium poisoning in 1922, although her death was attributed to syphilis at the time. Years later when her body was exhumed, not a trace of syphilis was found—but her bones emitted shocking levels of radiation. The symptoms of syphilis are extremely varied (its nickname is the “Great Imitator”), making it an easy diagnosis for any collection of odd ailments. The stigma of the disease, though, could have certainly influenced other ailing dial painters against coming forward. This seemed to be the goal of two major companies: the US Radium Corporation in Orange, New Jersey, and the Radium Dial Company in Ottawa, Illinois. There was no connection between these companies, yet each engaged in reprehensible behavior when the dial painters became ill.
A scientist on the US Radium payroll examined the young women without informing them that he wasn’t actually a physician. In fact, he didn’t even have a medical license, but that didn’t stop him from telling the girls that they were fine. Later, he furthered the syphilis rumor by publishing a paper suggesting the disease was a potential cause of their ailments. The vice president of the company also posed as a doctor, assuring the girls that they were in excellent health. After inspections of the factory revealed extensive radium contamination, the president of US Radium forged a report claiming the opposite and filed it with the state. When New Jersey officials finally demanded that US Radium institute basic safety practices, the company refused, preferring to shut down their New Jersey plant and relocate to New York, where they could get away with the same unsafe working conditions that were killing their employees.
The Radium Dial Company, which opened a few years after US Radium, was well aware of the risks posed by dial painting. Rather than institute safer practices, Radium Dial did little to protect its employees, although they eventually offered dial painters a glass stylus instead of a paintbrush to reduce “lip pointing.” Later, the company arranged for frequent medical exams of the dial painters, which revealed that they were becoming increasingly radioactive from their work. Radium Dial kept these results secret, but when the dial painters asked to see their medical records, a supervisor told them, “My dear girls, if we were to give a medical report to you girls, there would be a riot in the place.” The company’s callousness was matched only by its cruelty. Catherine Donohue was still employed when she began wasting away from radium poisoning. Company officials eventually fired her because they thought her presence would frighten dial painters who hadn’t developed symptoms…yet.
What compelled these corporations to act with such wanton disregard of the dial painters’ health? Certainly profit was a motive. Radium was used in many consumer products and medicines, and no one with a vested interest in the radium business wanted to scare the public by acknowledging its dangers. Perhaps their denials were also borne from fear. Before the dangers of radium were widely known, top scientists and company officials treated radium with cavalier indifference. Admitting that radium was killing the dial painters would mean admitting that they were potentially facing a similar fate.
Despite relentless pain, severe deformities, public shaming, and being ostracized from their communities, the dial painters persevered. Meeting in doctors’ and dentists’ waiting rooms, they were the first to realize that something in the factory was killing them. They fought for recognition of their illnesses and compensation to ease their final days. In New Jersey, Grace Fryer found a lawyer who would represent her in a lawsuit. Four other dial painters, including two of Mollie’s surviving sisters, Quinta and Albina, joined her suit. The media latched onto the horrors of their ailments, sensationalizing the lawsuit and enraging the public on their behalf. US Radium tried all sorts of legal maneuvering to get the case dismissed. It was widely believed that US Radium was dragging out the case in hopes the dial painters would die before a verdict could be reached. Public outrage was so enormous that US Radium was forced to offer a settlement to the five dial painters, though the company refused to accept responsibility for its role in their illnesses.
Residents of Ottawa shunned the dying dial painters from Radium Dial, worried that the community would be stigmatized by their horrible illnesses. As a result, Ottawa doctors refused to diagnose radium poisoning and Ottawa lawyers refused to represent the dial painters in court. Eventually, a Chicago lawyer named Leonard Grossman agreed to take their case. Once again, the press exploited the dial painters’ plight, granting the “Radium Girls” membership in the “Society of the Living Dead.” When the time came for Catherine to testify, she had to be carried into the courtroom. She brought with her a jewelry box containing pieces of her own jawbone. Though the Illinois Industrial Commission ruled in Catherine’s favor, Radium Dial appealed the ruling all the way to the US Supreme Court. Catherine died without receiving any of the compensation to which she was entitled.
There were no happy endings for the Radium Girls whose illnesses were so highly publicized, but a century later, their legacy lives on. Publicity about the dial painters’ demise raised awareness about the dangers of radium. Their lawsuits resulted in new regulations for workplace safety. Decades-long studies of the surviving dial painters helped scientists establish limits for radiation exposure. When World War II began, the need for luminous watches and dials exploded once more, but thanks to the sacrifices of the first dial painters, the second generation was at far less risk. Advances in laboratory safety equipment were based on devices that were specifically invented to protect the dial painters. The last radium glow-in-the-dark products were made in the 1960s, when radium paint was replaced by safer compounds.
Even today, the dial painters’ remains are so highly radioactive that they emit measurable radiation from the grave. You can visit their final resting places with a Geiger counter to know if you’ve found the right place. This faint signal is the last message that the doomed dial painters can send. It is our duty to remember them, their struggles and sacrifices, and how valiantly they fought an entrenched system that was rigged against them. We remember Mollie and Grace and Quinta and Albina and Catherine and all the other dial painters, known and unknown. We remember.
Additional Reading
Bellows, Alan. “Undark and the Radium Girls.” Damn Interesting. December 2006. http://www.damninteresting.com/undark-and-the-radium-girls/.
Blum, Deborah. The Poisoner’s Handbook: Murder and the Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York. New York: Penguin Books, 2010.
Brown, Carrie. Rosie’s Mom: Forgotten Women Workers of the First World War. Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2002.
Clark, Claudia. Radium Girls: Women and Industrial Health Reform, 1910–1935. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 1997.
Farabaugh, Kane. “‘Radium Girls’ Remembered for Role in Shaping U.S. Labor Law.” Voice of America. September 2011. http://www.voanews.com/english/news/usa/Radium-Girls-Remembered-for-Role-in-Shaping-US-Labor-Law-129169888.html.
Glassmire, Charles. “The Radium Girls.” Tales from the Nuclear Age. September 2010. http://talesfromthenuclearage.wordpress.com/2010/09/13/the-radium-girls-2/.
Grossman, Leonard. “The Case of the Living Dead Women.” The Modem Junkie’s Portal. October 2009. http://lgrossman.com/pics/radium/.
Irvine, Martha. “Suffering Endures for ‘Radium Girls’ Who Painted Watches in the ’20s.” Hartford Web Publishing. October 1998. http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/40/046.html.
Moore, Kate. The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women. Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2017.
“Radium: From Wonder Drug to Hazard.” The New York Times. October 1987. http://www.nytimes.com/1987/10/04/nyregion/radium-from-wonder-drug-to-hazard.html.
> Redniss, Lauren. Radioactive: Marie & Pierre Curie: A Tale of Love and Fallout. New York: It Books, 2010.
Acknowledgments
Jamie Weiss Chilton is technically my agent, but that word doesn’t begin to convey all the roles she really plays: advocate, advisor, inspiration, motivator, confidant, and most of all, dear friend. She saw the promise of Glow when it was scarcely more than an idea and has championed it—and me—at every stage, and I will be forever grateful.
When I thought I’d explored every possible direction this story could take, Wendy McClure came along with such outstanding editorial feedback that she inspired all kinds of new ideas and made the revision process a joy. I’m grateful to Wendy and the entire team at Albert Whitman—Annette Hobbs Magier, Jordan Kost, Alex Messina-Schultheis, Tracie Schneider, and Laurel Symonds—for their expertise and professionalism. Thank you for transforming my manuscript into a beautiful book.
I’ve been fortunate to work with many excellent editors on previous books, and I’m especially grateful to Kelli Chipponeri, Siobhan Ciminera, and Kara Sargent, whose insights and encouragement have helped me become a better writer. I’m also grateful to Debra Dorfman, who said the first “yes” of my career.
I am lucky to live in a particular time and place where the written word is celebrated, and so I am deeply indebted to the incredible team at Bookmarks, especially Ginger Hendricks and Jamie Rogers Southern, as well as Ed Southern at the North Carolina Writers’ Network. Receiving the North Carolina Arts Council’s support at a pivotal moment in the writing of this book made its completion possible. I’m also fortunate to be a member of Writers and Illustrators of North Carolina and have benefitted tremendously from the wisdom and generosity of my colleagues.
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