Today it sounds almost unimaginable: A 325,000-kilowatt nuclear plant looming upon majestic Bodega Head, within a quarter-mile of the restless San Andreas Fault. An emissions shaft belching steam. Heated water spewing into the ocean. Electrical cables draped from steel towers along Doran Beach.
Six decades ago this seemed the inevitable fate of Bodega Bay, then a remote fishing port with more seabirds than citizens. As California’s population and energy needs soared in the 1950s, Pacific Gas and Electric (PG&E), the state’s largest public utility, decided to build a nuclear-powered “Atomic Park” on Bodega Head. The corporate colossus confronted an unlikely and under-estimated foe: a coalition of ordinary citizens, marine scientists, ranchers, fishermen, farmers, professors, students, musicians, a sharp-eared waitress, an outraged homemaker and a feisty widow named Rose Gaffney.
An immigrant from Poland, Rose came to the Gaffney family’s dairy ranch on Bodega Head to work as housekeeper and cook. In 1917 she married one of the owners. She was 22; he was 49. Working at his side for decades, Rose developed a deep love for their windswept land. After her husband’s death in 1941, she would brandish a baseball bat or even a shotgun to shoo away trespassers. When PG&E representatives tried to purchase the ranch in 1958, Rose adamantly refused, triggering a years-long barrage of lawsuits and countersuits.
Although PG&E tried to keep its atomic plans secret, Hazel Mitchell, a waitress at a local restaurant, overheard its employees discussing nuclear energy and spread the word. Despite residents’ concerns, PG&E plowed ahead–excavating a massive crater that locals dubbed the “Hole in the Head.” Its opponents became known as the “Hole in the Head Gang.”
In 1962, the San Francisco Chronicle published a poignant eulogy for the beautiful “doomed” headlands by Harold Gilliam, its environmental reporter, and a call to action from Karl Kortum, director of a maritime museum, who urged readers to write to the Public Utilities Commission and demand open hearings. In the heated proceedings, Rose Gaffney attacked PG&E’s promises as “Hooey!” Joel Hedgpeth, a distinguished biologist, warned of dangers to marine life. David Pesonen, a young Sierra Club staffer, testified about possible collusion between the utility and county officials. Nonetheless, PG&E’s plans were green-lighted.
Pesonen, who left his job to lead the Hole-in-the-Head Gang, transformed the ragtag squad into a savvy political lobby. At an informational meeting he organized for Sonoma County residents, a state official infuriated the audience by urging them to leave complex issues like nuclear energy “to the experts.” An irate Doris Sloan, a full-time homemaker and mother of four, mobilized volunteers in a grass-roots crusade of canvassing and letter-writing.
Sign-carrying protesters demonstrated in front of PG&E’s headquarters in San Francisco. Popular musicians, including legendary trumpeter Lu Watters, composed and performed protest songs, such as “Blues over Bodega,” that played on Bay Area radio stations.
On Memorial Day, 1963, the Gang hosted a festival-like demonstration on Bodega Head. Its highlight was the release of 1,500 helium balloons, each tagged to represent a radioactive isotope that might leak from the proposed plant. The balloons flew hundreds of miles, sparking widespread alarm and national publicity.
The ultimate death blow for the project came, not from a stunt, but from science. Pierre Saint-Amand, a geologist with expertise in the young science of plate tectonics, became alarmed about the proposed plant’s proximity to an active earthquake fault. On a covert inspection of the Hole in the Head, he discovered “a spectacular fault” that ran through the center of the excavated crater. “I can’t imagine a worse location for a nuclear plant,” he concluded.
As safety concerns reached the federal government, the Secretary of the Interior called for an investigation. When more surveys confirmed the risks, the Atomic Energy Commission declared the Bodega Head site “unsafe.” PG&E officially withdrew its plans on October 30, 1964.
The Rancho Bodega Historical Society, the Stewards of the Coast and Redwoods and the Museum of Sonoma County commemorated this occasion with a webinar. A recording is now available on the Stewards of the Coast channel on YouTube .
