Twenty thousand, nine hundred and thirty days elapsed between the day in 1967 that Paul Critchett's life changed forever and the day, just two weeks ago, when it changed again.
This time for the better.
Fifty-seven years ago, Critchett was a 20-year-old machinist in the U.S. Navy, stationed in the waters off the coast of Spain and tasked with what he believed was a straightforward assignment: Repair a stripped pipe fitting. What made it less straightforward was the location of the pipe: Inside a reactor compartment on a nuclear submarine.
Something on that day went horribly awry, and Critchett was exposed to a level of radiation so high it could not be tracked on the pocket dosimeter used to monitor radiation levels in real time.
And through every one of the 20,930 days that have passed since that incident, Critchett has carried with him the specter of what those four-plus minutes in the nuclear reactor compartment did to his body.
When he was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic cancer at age 61 -- a decade younger than the national average for such a diagnosis -- his reaction was less "What in the hell?" and more "Of course."
For years Critchett has demanded in vain that the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs acknowledge the connection between that day in the nuclear reactor compartment and the terminal cancer diagnosis that followed.
That quest ended Feb. 21, when Critchett got a call from his attorney. After years of making his case, of being denied, of painstakingly appealing those denials, Critchett was informed that the VA had affirmed that the cancer he has lived with since 2008 was more likely than not caused by that radiation exposure in November, 1967.
He was granted 100% of benefits due going back to 2020.
The battle was so long in the making that Critchett could hardly believe it when he heard it was, in a legal sense at least, over.
"It was Friday night, around 5:30 p.m.," Critchett said of taking the call of his Santa Rosa-based attorney Pat Grattan. "He said, 'We won.' I said, 'What?' And he said, 'We won.'"
The final document in Critchett's winding saga is 13 pages long. But the important information is succinct:
"Entitlement to service connection for chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL), claimed as secondary to exposure to ionizing radiation, is granted.
Entitlement to service connection for small lymphocytic lymphoma (SLL), claimed as secondary to exposure to ionizing radiation, is granted ...
With resolution of all reasonable doubt in the Veteran's favor, the evidence shows that his chronic lymphocytic leukemia and small lymphocytic lymphoma are a result of ionizing radiation in service."
The win means back pay for Critchett to the tune of $200,000 and a monthly stipend of more than $3,600 for the rest of his life.
But even before he learned of the payout, Critchett repeatedly said his fight wasn't about the money. He never married, he never had children. He has no direct heirs.
He simply wanted the government to take ownership of what happened, and going forward he wants veterans who make similar claims to be acknowledged.
So even in victory, Critchett, 77, is subdued. There remains a hint of anger in his voice. After all, his cancer is terminal, meaning for the past 17 years he has had to fight for his life while also fighting the government he served.
"This isn't just a win for me," Critchett said. "They have been denying claims from people for years, for decades. That is bull***t."
"I hope my case gets cited when people go toe-to-toe with the VA," he said. "If anyone wants to know, I'm here."
And, so too, are Mikayla Pentecost and Grattan, the two attorneys who shepherded Critchett's case to the finish line even in the face of a mountain of previous denials.
Within Critchett's case file were his written and oral testimony, but also a concurring statement from a chief petty officer who served with him, a letter outlining the exposure written by a captain and officer in charge to the Medical Service Corps, military-issued documents noting his exposure, and letters from his medical team -- including seven doctors -- linking his exposure in 1967 to his illness.
And still the federal government repeatedly denied him.
Pentecost, the founder and supervising attorney for Legal Aid of Sonoma County's division for veterans advocacy, took on Critchett's case years ago. Grattan, who is retired and worked pro bono, came aboard more recently.
"I looked at his paperwork as a favor to a mutual friend," Grattan said. "I concluded that he had been wronged, that the VA had not treated him fairly. And I was personally, and I guess as a lawyer, I was offended by the injustice. And that is what I told Rep. Thompson in my first letter to him."
It was Grattan who last year appealed to U.S. Rep. Mike Thompson, D-St. Helena to intervene on Critchett's behalf.
A Vietnam veteran who was awarded a Purple Heart, Thompson is co-chair of the Military Veterans Caucus and the Purple Heart Caucus.
In October, Thompson wrote then-Secretary of Veteran Affairs Denis McDonough, citing Critchett's terminal diagnosis and urging that the case be "fully and fairly considered." When Doug Collins took office on Feb. 5 as the new secretary of Veterans Affairs in the Trump administration, Thompson re-sent the letter.
"We stayed on it," Thompson said in an interview. "We worked with Paul and the VA to assure that Paul knew he had a champion in this fight."
On Feb. 5, the same day Collins took office, Critchett received an email acknowledging the VA had received Thompson's October letter. The letter indicated the VA would give Critchett's case "further review."
That review was brief.
On Feb. 10, Critchett received a follow-up email stating that the VA on Feb. 7 had come to a determination and he had been denied.
But at the same time, Thompson's office sent word to Grattan that Critchett should press on. They urged him to appeal.
Critchett's saga appeared on the front page of The Press Democrat on Sunday, Feb. 16. Monday was Presidents Day, a federal holiday. At 9 a.m. on Tuesday, Critchett's phone rang. The caller was from Washington, D.C.
"The lady apologized for my claim being denied and said 'You need to file an appeal right away,'" Critchett said.
That call prompted immediate meetings between Critchett, Grattan and Pentecost.
An appeal document was both faxed and sent via overnight mail on Feb. 20.
The next day, the Veterans Bureau of Appeals overturned the denial.
"We got someone to take it very seriously," Grattan said of Thompson's office. "It's a sad failure of the system that it took a Congressman's intervention to force the VA to look at it closely, which is something that they should have done all along."
Thompson both celebrated the win while criticizing the system that played out the way it did.
"To say that it was a long, hard fought win is an absolute understatement because this took way too long. He had to get both his Congressman and his lawyers involved and it shouldn't be like this," he said. "It is unacceptable that this is what it took to get the help he earned."
Pentecost knows this as much as anyone. This is what she does. She was emotional in recounting what it took for Critchett to keep his case alive in the face of not only his own health issues, but years of denials.
"I think it says something about the tenacity that our veterans have," she said. "Even at points where I was like, 'I don't know, I don't see a way where we can win this,' he wanted to give it one more go and to know he did everything he could."
Critchett said he did it not for himself, but for other veterans who are unable to fight.
"I felt duty bound because I have shipmates that I know worked around that stuff that died before their time," he said. "I still remember their faces as young men. We were 18, 19, 20 years old. We were teenagers."
So Critchett fought. When the VA told him no, he still fought.
For years, Pentecost believes, the VA held Critchett to a higher standard of proof than allowed by law. The VA is required to find in favor of the veteran in any case where evidence shows a tie in the question of whether exposure caused or didn't cause an illness.
Critchett met that bar time and again, Pentecost said.
"I thought he had met that burden," she said.
Where Critchett's case is likely to leave a legacy is in Pentecost's ongoing work.
Pentecost counts herself among a small network of attorneys across the country doing veteran-specific work. They talk. They trade notes.
"We can share information and case strategies that have worked," she said. "So they can see in cases like this where they are trying to prove exposure, they can see what argument would work."
That, Critchett said, is the real win. Today there is a road map of sorts for the veterans who make similar radiation exposure cases going forward.
The U.S. Navy Creed states that a United States sailor will represent the fighting spirit of the Navy and those who have gone before.
Critchett, who left the Navy some 55 years ago, kept that fighting spirit. He not only fought for those who have gone before, but for the countless sailors and other veterans who will come after.
© 2025 The Press Democrat (Santa Rosa, Calif.).
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