The Radium Girls: A Glow That Cost Their Lives

The year was 1917. The world was at war, and America had just joined the fight. While soldiers were being sent overseas, another battle was brewing quietly on American soil—one that wouldn't make headlines until it was too late.

In a modest building in Orange, New Jersey, dozens of young women bustled through the doors of the United States Radium Corporation. They wore fashionable dresses and pinned their hair back neatly, laughing and chatting as they clocked in. They were dial painters—hired to paint numbers and hands on watches and instruments with a special, glowing paint called Undark, which contained the element radium.

The girls, mostly teenagers, were proud of their jobs. At a time when women rarely earned their own income, working at the radium plant offered freedom, money, and even glamour. The paint glowed faintly in the dark—a ghostly green that seemed like magic. What no one knew was that this glow was a warning, not a blessing.

Among these girls was Grace Fryer, a smart and strong-willed 18-year-old who had dreams of becoming a teacher. She was diligent, respected by her peers, and like many of them, followed the “lip-pointing” technique the company taught. This involved putting the tip of the paintbrush in their mouths to make a finer point. “Lip, dip, paint,” they’d say, like a chant. They were told the paint was harmless—some supervisors even joked that it was good for them.

At the time, radium was hailed as a miracle element. Discovered just two decades earlier by Marie and Pierre Curie, radium was used in tonics, cosmetics, toothpaste, and even advertised as a cure for arthritis and cancer. It was the marvel of modern science, a glowing promise of a healthier, longer life.

But behind the promise was a deadly truth. Radium is radioactive, and when ingested, it wreaks havoc inside the human body—particularly in the bones, where it mimics calcium. Inside the factory, radium dust floated through the air like fairy glitter, landing on clothes, hair, and skin. The girls glowed when they walked home, illuminating the sidewalks like living lanterns. They joked that they didn’t need lamps at night.

Years passed. Grace Fryer left the company in 1920 and began working as a bank clerk. But in 1922, she began feeling pain in her jaw. Her teeth started to loosen. Dentists were baffled when her entire lower jawbone came out during a procedure. Around the same time, other girls who had worked at the same factory began experiencing eerily similar symptoms—broken bones, painful ulcers, fatigue, and tumors. Some of the women were collapsing from the inside out.

Doctors didn’t know what to make of it. Some claimed it was syphilis—a cruel accusation that added shame to the women's suffering. But Grace and others knew better. There were too many of them, all from the same workplace. And most had followed the same procedures, using the same paint.

The United States Radium Corporation denied responsibility. Their own scientists, who handled radium in protected labs with gloves and lead screens, had long known of its dangers. Yet the women had been given no protection—because they were seen as expendable labor. Company spokesmen insisted radium was safe. When questioned, they hired biased experts to lie or suppress findings. In court, they used delay tactics to wear the women down.

But Grace Fryer was not the type to stay silent. In 1925, with her health rapidly declining, she began the process of taking legal action. It took two years to find a lawyer willing to take her case—no one wanted to challenge a powerful company like U.S. Radium. Finally, attorney Raymond Berry agreed to help. By 1927, Grace and four other former dial painters—Edna Hussman, Katherine Schaub, Albina Larice, and Quinta McDonald—filed suit.

They were already dying.

The media caught wind of the case, and the women were soon dubbed “The Radium Girls.” Their faces appeared in newspapers nationwide, shocking the public with photos of their fragile bodies and hollowed-out jaws. Reporters flocked to their homes and hospital beds. Sympathy turned into outrage.

The court case was grueling. The company stalled, hoping the women would die before a verdict could be reached. In one heartbreaking moment, the judge even postponed the trial by months, fully aware that the plaintiffs might not live to see it.

But the public pressure was too great. Finally, in 1928, the women settled out of court. Each was awarded $10,000 (roughly $170,000 today), plus a $600 yearly pension for life and coverage of medical and legal expenses. The company admitted no fault—but the truth was already exposed.

The case of the Radium Girls sparked a national reckoning. For the first time, the dangers of radiation were publicly acknowledged. More importantly, the women’s legal victory set a precedent. It established that employers could be held responsible for the safety of their workers. It led to the creation of new labor laws, workplace safety standards, and, decades later, the establishment of OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration).

The women’s victory did not come without sacrifice. Grace Fryer’s health continued to deteriorate. She wore a steel brace to support her spine and suffered near-constant pain. Many of her fellow plaintiffs died within years. But their courage saved countless others—from industrial workers to soldiers, scientists, and even astronauts.

While the original Radium Girls fought in New Jersey, similar stories unfolded in Ottawa, Illinois, where the Radium Dial Company employed hundreds of women. When these girls began suffering the same fate, they too sued and eventually won their case in 1938. Among them was Catherine Donohue, who weighed just 60 pounds at the time of her testimony. She died shortly after the trial.

For decades, the story of the Radium Girls was nearly forgotten. But in recent years, their legacy has been revived by books, documentaries, plays, and a 2020 film that retold their story for new generations.

One of the most remarkable aspects of the Radium Girls’ story is how ordinary they were. They were not scientists or activists or famous figures. They were daughters, sisters, mothers, and friends—regular young women who wanted to earn a living, support their families, and be a part of something greater.

They did not ask to be heroes. But when faced with injustice, they stood up. Even while dying, they fought for truth.

They gave us more than just safer factories or a legal precedent. They gave us the example of what it means to be brave in the face of cruelty—of how even the smallest voices can echo across history.

🔹 Legacy of the Radium Girls:

The epilogue highlights how the courage and perseverance of the radium girls led to lasting changes in labor rights and workplace safety laws.

Their legal battles set precedents that helped establish the right of workers to sue for occupational diseases.

They played a key role in the formation and strengthening of the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) decades later.

🔹 Emotional Reflection:

Moore pays tribute to the dignity, strength, and humanity of the women.

The epilogue often evokes a sense of mourning but also celebration—not of their suffering, but of their bravery and impact.

🔹 Continued Relevance:

It draws connections to modern issues of corporate negligence and the need for vigilance in protecting workers.

The story is positioned as a warning and an inspiration, showing the importance of standing up against injustice.

In essence, the epilogue reminds readers that the radium girls did not die in vain—their sacrifice led to real change and continues to influence the fight for health and safety in workplaces around the world.Epilogue

Today, the site of the original U.S. Radium plant in New Jersey is a fenced-off Superfund site. In Illinois, a memorial honors the women who suffered and died for a job they thought was safe. Their names are carved into stone, glowing not with radium, but with remembrance.

The Radium Girls are no longer faceless workers forgotten by time. They are icons of resistance, symbols of justice, and proof that even in the darkest of circumstances, truth can shine brighter than any glow-in-the-dark paint.

The epilogue highlights how the courage and perseverance of the radium girls led to lasting changes in labor rights and workplace safety laws.

Their legal battles set precedents that helped establish the right of workers to sue for occupational diseases.

They played a key role in the formation and strengthening of the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) decades later.