Former Army Linguist Links Fort Ord's Agent Orange Legacy to Cancer Cluster
A veteran's decades-long search raises new questions about a California base's toxic past, as officials dispute the reach of dioxin exposure and veterans seek accountability and care.

Julie Akey, a former Army linguist who served at Fort Ord in California during the 1990s, was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 2016 after months of bone pain and relentless fatigue. She was 46, healthy, and told doctors she did not fit the stereotype for the cancer, which is more common in older patients and often associated with other populations. “My world came crashing down,” she recalled in interviews about the moment of diagnosis. Akey says her experience prompted a deeper look into Fort Ord's history and its environmental footprint, a pursuit that has expanded into a broader catalog of veterans and families who lived on the base and later fell ill. She now maintains a growing database that includes cases of several cancers and other illnesses among former personnel, their spouses, and children who lived on base property.
The central question Akey raises is whether Fort Ord’s long-running vegetation-control practices may have exposed service members and nearby communities to Agent Orange and its carcinogenic byproduct, dioxin. Agent Orange itself was a mix of herbicides, with the dioxin compound TCDD identified as the chemical linked to cancer and other serious health effects. Akey notes that while multiple myeloma represents a small share of new cancer diagnoses overall, her Fort Ord database shows a disproportionate concentration of cases that she regards as suggestive of a link to dioxin exposure. “Myeloma makes up about two percent of all new cancer cases,” she said. “But in my Fort Ord database, it’s closer to 15 to 20 percent. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
Fort Ord, which operated from 1917 to 1994, served as a crucial infantry training ground through World War II, the Korean War and the Vietnam War. The broader history of U.S. military herbicide use during the Vietnam era is well documented, and Akey’s research notes that Fort Ord was one of at least 17 installations where Agent Orange was stored, tested or used. Treasury of records cited by researchers show that the base sprayed large areas for vegetation control, sometimes in hundreds of acres, with herbicides that contained the same active ingredients as Agent Orange, including 2,4-D and 2,4,5-T. In some cases, hazardous-waste logs show hundreds of pounds of weed-killing chemicals being stored or disposed of at Fort Ord, including figures from 1989 that indicate sizable yearly quantities.
Akey points to a gap between what was known at the time and what later became clear about dioxin’s hazards. Documentation from the era is fragmentary, and some materials were lost or dispersed across different branches of the military, complicating efforts to determine definitively whether tactical Agent Orange—a mix used in the field—was stored or deployed at Fort Ord. The Daily Mail and other outlets have reported these controversies, and Akey’s own study adds a veteran-focused perspective to the debate, arguing that the absence of clear, unified records should not be interpreted as evidence of safety.
Fort Ord’s legacy is also filtered through official health policy. The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs recognizes more than a dozen conditions linked to exposure to Agent Orange or other herbicides, but Fort Ord is not currently included on the VA’s list of sites where the chemical was stored or used. The VA has said that sites are listed only when documentation is strong, consistent, and corroborated by archived reports, environmental surveys, or military logs. Advocates say that this standard leaves behind veterans who lived near bases where records are incomplete or inaccessible and who subsequently developed cancers or other illnesses that they believe are connected to dioxin exposure.
The debate over Fort Ord echoes earlier findings at other bases. For example, Gulfport, Mississippi, housed a Naval Construction Battalion Center that stored tens of thousands of gallons of Agent Orange between 1968 and 1977. Later health reviews warned that transfers, spills, and airborne contamination during drum handling could have affected nearby communities in Gulfport and Biloxi. Eglin Air Force Base in Florida conducted extensive herbicide testing from 1952 to 1969, including aerial spraying of Agent Orange. In Hawaii, soil contamination linked to Agent Orange-like operations dated to the 1960s, and a 1966 episode in Hilo where drums of Agent Orange were briefly stored raised concerns about urban exposure.
The results of those historical patterns remain unevenly tracked in civilian health statistics. Some counties near former bases report elevated cancer incidence over decades, though researchers caution that attributing those rates to Agent Orange exposure is difficult without targeted, long-running studies. In Okaloosa County, Florida, and nearby communities in the Gulf Coast region, reported cancer rates have been cited in public discussions, while researchers stress that correlation does not equal causation without robust, site-specific data.
In parallel to the record-keeping gaps, personal stories continue to shape the narrative around Agent Orange’s legacy. Julie DiMaria, a New Jersey resident whose husband served in Vietnam, described struggles to obtain recognition and benefits after late-life health declines. “They still claimed it had nothing to do with Agent Orange,” DiMaria said, recounting a modest one-time payout years ago. Her husband’s heart attack and subsequent strokes before his death at 43 years old illustrate the human cost behind the statistics cited by researchers and policymakers alike. Advocates argue that the VA’s current scope may overlook stateside exposure and civilian communities adjacent to bases where chemical handling occurred.
Despite these concerns, official positions remain that Fort Ord’s environmental history does not meet the threshold for inclusion in the VA and DoD registries tied to Agent Orange. Akey and other advocates argue that the absence of proof in official files does not prove safety, especially when documentation from earlier decades is incomplete or dispersed. They call for renewed testing, independent reviews, and a transparent accounting of historical operations at Fort Ord and similar installations.
As Akey continues to navigate the medical realities of multiple myeloma—her blood test results and treatment plan show ongoing changes, including rising myeloma activity despite monthly chemotherapy—she remains focused on gathering and sharing what she has learned about Fort Ord’s past. She has emphasized that the conversation is not about assigning blame to individuals but about acknowledging long-term environmental legacies and protecting future service members and nearby communities from hidden hazards. “Almost 60 years later, this is still happening,” DiMaria said of the unknowns surrounding dioxin contamination and its health consequences. “And people don’t even know they might be living next to one of the most toxic legacies in the country.”