by John M Wylie II, Oologah Lake Leader
WINNING COLUMN —February 2002
On Feb. 16, some Oklahomans celebrated the demise of Public Service Co. of Oklahoma's planned Black Fox Nuclear Power Plant in Inola. Others decried the "Chicken Little Syndrome" which they say killed a great tool for economic development.
Who's right? Probably the celebrants, but not necessarily for the reason they think.
In 1973, when Black Fox was announced, there were still some wild-eyed optimists who stuck to the 1950s bromide that nuclear power would be too cheap to meter.
Nine years later, when it was pronounced dead, the cost for Black Fox — and nuclear power in general — had risen beyond comprehension. The reason had nothing to do with Carrie Dickerson, its leading opponent, and everything to do with a public grown skeptical of official institutions.
Nuclear power opponents said there was no plan to deal with the radioactive wastes, and they were right. President Bush finally approved a "nuclear waste repository" (that's radioactive dump in plain English) this month, but we suspect it will still be a decade or more before the first uranium trash is shipped there. Nuclear power opponents said a safe plant couldn't be built at a reasonable cost, and they were right. When corners got cut at Three Mile Island, thousands of people's lives were disrupted. They were the lucky ones.
When corners got cut at Chernobyl, thousands of people's lives ended. The lucky ones died quickly. The less fortunate died and are still dying slow, horrible deaths of cancer and long-term radiation poisoning.
Safe plants are possible, but the cost is enormous. Just drive about 150 miles up US 75 from Bartlesville to Burlington, Kan. There's a safe nuclear plant called Wolf Creek. The only deaths have been fishermen drowning in the cooling lake, and that could happen in any lake or pond.
But the cost? By the time all the safety features were added, by the time all the shoddy construction was fixed, by the time all the lawyers and engineers were paid, the cost had ballooned beyond belief.
I was the energy writer for The Kansas City Star who covered the project. As I prepared to move up the corporate"ladder, data became available from another rate case that allowed me to project the cost to customers of the plant. I wrote that if the full costs were allowed by state regulators, power rates for the affected utilities would double.
They screamed. They denounced. They called me Chicken Little. The story was buried on Page 29A.
And several years after we moved to Oklahoma, the rate filings were announced. My prediction had come sickeningly true.
Of course, the regulators couldn't let that happen. With some fancy footwork, they managed to trim down the increases to a more manageable level. For the larger of the partners, Kansas City Power & Light, it was painful but survivable.
But it was a different story for Kansas Gas & Electric of Wichita, the lead partner even though it was much smaller. It was so weakened, it became shark bait in the takeover crazy '80s. It fell into the arms of a company now known as Western Resources, but its rates remained much higher than those of Western's other Kansas electric utility, all because of Wolf Creek.
Its high rates enraged Wichita, whose mayor fought back. That has created an environment where Western is on the financial ropes after trying to diversify, the KG&E building—a $9-million edifice in downtown Wichita—is being sold for $475,000, and Mayor Bob Knight is riding the rage of his citizens into a serious campaign for governor.
And it all started because of a nuclear power plant.
PSO? Its corporate partner, Central and South West, took an increasingly active role in its affairs until it was bought out by a bigger conglomerate, AEP of Columbus, Ohio. Now Buckeyes are making the big decisions for Sooners.
But at least our power rates are stable. At least we don't have the nightmarish fear of imminent doom when the government announces that terrorists have found an Achilles Heel involving containment buildings and jumbo jets. At least the nearest permanent National Guard troops are in another county, at Tulsa International Airport.
Oklahoma Gas & Electric was derided when, in 1971, its president decided not to "go nuclear." As the company celebrates its 100th birthday this week, how wise that decision seems!
Carrie Dickerson did Rogers County a huge favor. Many PSO officials will tell you privately that she did them one, too. Black Fox was an idea whose time had gone before it was ever unveiled.