Not long after he learned he had cancer, Partain found out that his recurring rash since birth and his breast cancer — rare among men, particularly those with no family history of the illness — probably stemmed from his exposure during fetal development and the first year of his life to water contaminated with tetrachloroethylene, a solvent used in dry cleaning.
Just two months after Partain's wife felt the lump, the federal Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry acknowledged that Marines and their families who between 1957 and 1987 lived in the LeJeune neighborhood where his family lived, drank water contaminated with extremely high levels of the carcinogenic chemical.
Partain and a network of former LeJeune residents who believe their serious health problems are due to the poisoning point out, however, that the government first knew of the contamination in the early 1980s — but did little or nothing to let the former Marines and their families know they were at risk.
"At this time last year, I was dying and I didn't know," Partain said. "The government knew I was dying and didn't tell me. That burns me up."
The LeJeune families can't sue the feds, since the government hasn't waived its sovereign-immunity protection. The military, meanwhile, is protected by the Ferris Doctrine, a 1950s-era ruling that protects the armed services from legal action by the men and women who serve — the idea being that if a soldier was wounded in battle because of a commanding officer's dumb decision, the country would be worse off if the government had to battle personal-injury lawyers as well as foreign enemies.
I first met Partain in the fall of 2006, several months before his diagnosis. He was the adjuster for an insurance claim we filed. A former teacher from Winter Haven, where he grew up, he and I talked of his deep regret about having to give up teaching to support his wife and four children. That conversation even helped inspire a column about ex-teachers in November of that year.
Last year, after he told me his illness motivated his involvement in a crusade to reveal the truth behind the LeJeune environmental debacle, the Tallahassee Democrat reported his story on July 9, a few weeks after a congressional hearing on the LeJeune families.
A congressional investigation is still under way, and Partain has gotten help from U.S. Rep. Allen Boyd, D-Monticello, who called Partain's story and that of other LeJeune families "deeply troubling, to say the least."
Boyd's office, which has tried to navigate the federal and military bureaucracies for Partain, said he is one of seven constituents in the congressman's North Florida district who are seeking more information related to the LeJeune contamination.
Now Partain reluctantly acknowledges that he's an activist, a word he's still not comfortable with because of his conservative upbringing and beliefs.
When I likened the experience of the LeJeune Marine families to military victims of Agent Orange during the Vietnam War, Partain agreed.
"Defend, deny and delay," he said, describing the government's strategy in the face of claims that Agent Orange was responsible for a slew of veterans' illnesses. "And that's what they're doing to us."
Partain (strashni@comcast.net) was to share his story last night with vets at the American Legion post on Lake Ella. Even though he doesn't realistically expect compensation from the government, it's part of his personal commitment to spread the word about those exposed to the poison, estimated to number upwards of a million Americans.
It's one more example of a government's betrayal — always shocking, but, sadly, no longer surprising and, as Partain says, quickly forgotten.
