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On disability since the anthrax attacks in 2001, Postal Service employee Leroy Richmond spends a lot of time reading his father's Bible. Richmond still experiences breathing problems and lack of energy related to the effects of anthrax. |
LEROY RICHMOND used to ride bikes with his son Quentin after the youngster got home from school. Sometimes they'd play soccer together or walk to the local library--about a mile away.
But today, Richmond's 8-year-old is learning board games like chess and checkers to give the pair some more sedentary activities to share.
It's a transition the North Stafford man finds discouraging--especially since he never lacked energy before.
But that was before inhalation anthrax sapped his strength.
Before the bacteria sent through the mail in October 2001 killed two of his co-workers.
And before he became a statistical anomaly--a survivor of inhalation anthrax.
Richmond, who lives in Stonehill Estates subdivision with his wife, Susan, and their young son, is now free of the deadly bacteria that had invaded his body.
But the 59-year-old father of three--he also has two grown daughters--is reminded of its impact daily.
He's discouraged because memory lapses and his lack of stamina keep him from returning to the Brentwood postal facility in Northeast Washington--where he'd worked for more than 34 years.
The only medication Richmond now takes is an anti-depressant. He struggles with depression because he can no longer find meaning for his days.
"At times, it feels there's no value to things," Richmond said. "I'm not suicidal, but there's no value to the day."
He found his job satisfying and used to look forward to getting to work--even though it meant leaving home before 3 a.m.
"I think I miss the routine of accomplishing something anonymously every day by processing the mail," Richmond said.
For Richmond, whose primary job was processing Express Mail, the meaning behind the work wasn't lost. He knew someone at the end of the line was looking for the packages he was sorting.
"My reward wasn't my paycheck," he said. "It was that I've accomplished my job and someone else is going to be happy."
But, at least temporarily, those days are gone.
"Right now, I'm in limbo," Richmond said.
Anthrax-tainted letters sent to Sens. Tom Daschle, D-S.D., and Patrick Leahy, D-Vt., were processed at Brentwood. And though Richmond didn't normally process letters, he was asked to clean up the area around the machine contaminated by the letters and suspects that's how he became infected.
The letters to Capitol Hill were postmarked Oct. 9, 2001, in Trenton, N.J., and opened six days later after passing through Brentwood.
As soon as the anthrax was discovered by a Daschle aide, staffers were checked for exposure and given antibiotics. Two days later, the House of Representatives and Senate closed their office buildings.
But the Brentwood facility didn't close until Oct. 21--four days after congressional offices closed, two days after Richmond was hospitalized, the same day co-worker Joseph Curseen Jr. went to an emergency room and the same day another co-worker, Thomas Morris Jr., died.
Curseen, 47, died Oct. 22.
It is that chronology that Richmond said prompted him to file a $100 million lawsuit in U.S. District Court in January 2003 against three postal officials.
He doesn't expect to get millions, though he could use some financial help. What he wants, he said, is for the U.S. Postal Service to follow its standard operating procedures.
He said the procedures existed when the tainted letters passed through his workplace and were discovered on Capitol Hill; they just weren't followed.
"All I want them to do is say we will not put profit ahead of human lives," Richmond said during a recent conversation at his kitchen table.
"I never wanted to take them to court," he added. "But when you look at all the things that should have happened and didn't happen, it makes you angry."
Sens. Daschle and Leahy recently tried to provide some financial assistance to the people who were victims of the anthrax attacks.
Two years after the tainted letters passed through the Postal Service and up to Capitol Hill, the senators introduced the Anthrax Victims Fund Fairness Act. It sought to qualify anthrax victims for financial help from the September 11th Victims Compensation Fund.
The proposal also sought to extend the deadline for that fund through 2004.
The measure failed, but the senators are currently considering whether there is some other way to assist the anthrax victims, according to Tracy Schmaler, a spokeswoman in Daschle's office.
"We're looking at what it would take to reintroduce it--what the issues are involved," she said.
Nowadays, Richmond's life moves at a slow pace.
The tall, lanky man walks to a neighborhood store each morning for a newspaper, following doctor's orders for exercise.
He goes to a Kaiser Permanente clinic in Springfield one to three times a month to meet with a psychiatrist and to the Kaiser clinic in Woodbridge about every three months to see his internist, and he's taking part in a long-term study of anthrax survivors run by the National Institutes of Health.
Dr. Mary Wright, who works in the biodefense clinical research branch within the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, is leading the study--the first of its kind because this is the first time the country has had inhalation-anthrax survivors to monitor.
The study is tracking the survivors of both the inhalation and cutaneous forms of anthrax. Originally, it was to run for two years, but Wright, whose office is in Bethesda, Md., said she's hoping to get it extended for at least another three years.
She declined to say how many people are participating, but 22 people were infected in 2001. Five of the 11 inhalation victims died.
Richmond said one of the most comforting things for him in his recovery has been the support of his friends and neighbors in North Stafford.
This month, he got another reminder of just how caring and generous people can be.
He stopped in at Advance Auto Service on Dorothy Lane one day while out on his walk and asked if the owners might have a car he could buy for about $500--just something to get him back and forth to his medical appointments.
Jenna Boswell said she didn't have anything for that price, but then began contacting local dealers to see if someone would donate a car if she, her husband and the other co-owner would service it for the next year.
On Dec. 1, the general manager of Ron Rosner's Toyota dealerships in Fredericksburg and North Stafford called to say he had one.
That day, Richmond received a 1988 Toyota Corolla free of charge--something he called an early Christmas present and "a blessing from heaven."
Clay Huber, general manager and co-owner of the Toyota dealerships, played down the act of generosity. He said he just wanted to help someone in need.
Despite the kindnesses, Richmond is still eager to get his life back to normal, his energy level back to where it once was and his ability to cavort with his young son restored.
"Yesterday, he wanted me to slide the down the hill with him," Richmond said after a mid-December dusting of snow.
"Before, I would do it. The hill was steep, and we had the time of our lives."
But for now, those times are gone for the anthrax survivor and his son.
"He wants to know, 'When will you not be tired?' And I can't answer that," Richmond said.
To reach PAMELA GOULD: 540/657-9101 pgould@freelancestar.com
