Page 12 of The Women of Oak Ridge

AUNT MAE DIDN’T FEEL WELL the next morning.

A headache kept her awake most of the night.

I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with the contents of the box and my desire to know more about her life during the war.

I wasn’t sure what exactly upset her last night, but I felt responsible, nonetheless.

“Don’t worry about me.” She spoke from her bed when I peeked in to check on her. “I just need to rest. You go on to town and do some of that sightseeing you were talking about.”

We’d planned to purchase seeds and plants for the garden today, but it looked as if that was on hold for the time being.

“Can I get you anything before I go? Some hot tea or cocoa?”

She sank into the pillow. “No, thank you, dear. I think I’ll take a little nap. If I feel better, perhaps we’ll work on the garden later this afternoon.”

I kissed her forehead, grabbed my purse, and left the house. Georgeanne was in her yard, watering a plethora of multicolored flowers growing haphazardly throughout the small space.

“Good morning, Laurel.” She waved me over. “I’ve got news.”

I changed course and made my way to the low picket fence that separated the yards. “Good morning. Your flowers are gorgeous.”

“Thank you. They make me happy.”

“You have news?”

“You mentioned that you’d like to interview other residents of Oak Ridge who were here during the war, so I made some inquiries. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Talking to a varied group of individuals will provide a good range of thoughts and opinions about the secret work that took place here.”

She seemed pleased. “Some of my friends would be happy to share their stories with you. Elliot was especially interested in your research. He was in the Army and came to work at Oak Ridge as a young soldier. He’s still employed at the labs.”

This news intrigued me. “I haven’t spoken with anyone who still works at Los Alamos or Oak Ridge. His perspective could be really interesting.”

Georgeanne left me with the water hose while she went inside and returned with a handwritten list of five names, addresses, and telephone numbers.

“I know they’ll be thrilled to chat with you.”

I accepted the list, thanked her, and handed back the hose. While it would be easier to call the potential interviewees from Aunt Mae’s telephone, I didn’t want to go inside and disturb her. I’d find a pay phone in town.

Armed with a plan, I drove to Jackson Square, which seemed the best place to begin.

Georgeanne said it was known as Town Center when she first arrived and was the main shopping area.

She’d also informed me the dormitories and administrative offices, often referred to as Castle on the Hill, had been located nearby, but I hadn’t thought to ask if any of them still existed.

Happily, the Guest House, where Manhattan Project VIPs stayed—now the Alexander Motor Inn—and Chapel on the Hill, a small, white-painted church, still stood where they’d been built, a short walk from the shopping center.

As soon as I made my phone calls, I’d poke around the World War II-era buildings.

I parked in front of the movie theater and found a pay phone nearby. I dialed the first number on Georgeanne’s list. A man answered.

“Hi, is this Elliot Tyson?”

“This is his son, Jonas. May I help you?”

“Is Elliot available? Georgeanne Stokes gave me his number. My name is Laurel Willett, Mae Willett’s niece. I’m doing some research into the history of Oak Ridge, and Georgeanne said Elliot was interested in speaking with me.”

Seconds ticked by. “Just a moment.” A loud rustling noise sounded, as though he put his hand over the mouthpiece. Murmured voices in the background followed.

When the noise cleared, his deep voice filled the receiver. “Miss Willett, my father says if you’re available now, you’re welcome to come over. He’s home with a sprained ankle and bored out of his mind. He’d love to talk to someone new.”

I thought I detected a hint of humor in the comment. “Perfect. I’m currently at Jackson Square. Is your home nearby?”

He gave me directions to the house, located along the Black Oak Ridge on West Outer Drive, and we hung up.

I walked back to where I’d parked the car. I’d have to explore the town later.

Jonas Tyson answered the door when I arrived at the two-story brick home on a spacious lot. The house looked similar to those I’d seen around town, but the darkhaired man wasn’t at all what I expected.

Tall, good-looking, and maybe a few years older than me, he wore a police uniform, with a gun holstered on his hip.

“Miss Willett, come in.”

I stepped inside, slightly unnerved. While I held no personal grievances with police officers, the unrest in the United States during the Vietnam War caused many people to mistrust government officials, including the police.

When I was a student, we heard reports of false arrests, brutality, and other unpleasantness that took place at protest rallies on college campuses throughout the country.

Although I knew there were two sides to every story, it all served to make me wary of cops.

“Dad’s in the den.” He led the way down a hallway.

I followed, noting the house was neat and tidy. Framed photographs lined the walls, and I recognized Jonas in many of them.

Elliot Tyson sat in a recliner with his bandaged leg propped up on the footrest, a middle-aged version of his son.

“So, you’re Mae Willett’s niece. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He reached to shake my hand. “She’s mighty proud of you and your sisters. Talks about y’all every time I see her at church.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Tyson. I appreciate your willingness to see me on such short notice.”

He motioned for me to take a seat on the sofa. I did, but Jonas remained standing sentry near his dad, his steady gaze on me, which caused my nervousness to return. I’d never even received a parking citation, so I didn’t know what type of behavior to expect from a cop.

“Georgeanne says you’re working on your doctorate,” Elliot said. “You’re too young to be a professor.”

I hid a smile. “I hope to become a psychologist rather than teach. I’d like to use what I learn to help people achieve a deeper level of contentment in their lives. Sometimes speaking with a psychologist can help unlock issues that keep us from achieving happiness on our own.”

He pondered that for a moment. “A psychologist. Well, I suppose we need some of those too. I’m curious about your research. What does the history of Oak Ridge have to do with becoming a psychologist?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jonas shift his stance and cross his arms, as though waiting for my reply.

“I’m studying the long-term effects on residents of the Secret City and how they felt after the atomic bomb was dropped on Japan.

Those of you who worked on the project experienced something completely unique that can’t be duplicated.

I’ve spoken with people who worked in Los Alamos, and I hope to travel to Washington at some point as well.

I came to visit Aunt Mae and learn more about her life as a young woman in Oak Ridge, but I also wanted to talk to others who were here during the war. I’d love to hear your story.”

Elliot’s eyes narrowed as he gave a slow nod.

“Life in the Secret City was different. Different from anywhere else in the world, except maybe Los Alamos and Hanford. The town sprang up overnight and was run by the Army. The average age of Oak Ridgers was twenty-five, which was fun and strange all at the same time.”

“Why was it strange?”

“The town didn’t have any elders. No grandparents or mature folks to offer wisdom.

No one had grown up here or had kin who’d always lived here.

Everything was brand new. There were older men in charge of the military personnel, but most of the engineers, scientists, and administrators weren’t much older than me. ”

His answer triggered a memory. “I read a quote from someone who worked in New Mexico who said something similar. Although the work they were doing was intense, the off-duty atmosphere was very party-like at times.”

Elliot glanced at his son. “Do you remember when we took a trip out west and stopped in Los Alamos? I guess you were about eleven years old and your sister was six.”

Jonas nodded. “I do, although I mostly remember the Rocky Mountains, not the history.” His attention returned to me.

“May I ask what kind of information you hope to get from my dad, Miss Willett? Even though some data on the Manhattan Project has been declassified and made available to the public, there are still many topics that aren’t up for general discussion. ”

His stern tone surprised me, considering we’d just met.

“Officer Tyson,” I began, only to have him interrupt.

“Detective Tyson.”

“Pardon me. Detective Tyson.” I didn’t know why Jonas took the defensive so quickly, but I hoped he would see I wasn’t there to take advantage of his father in any way.

“I’m well aware certain information remains classified.

” My gaze took in both men. “I have no interest in the confidential details of what went on here during the war. My interest is in the people. How they coped with the secrecy and the hardships everyone experienced. About day-to-day life in Oak Ridge. However, the main focus of my dissertation will be on how employees of the Manhattan Project felt when they learned about their role in the making of an atomic bomb. How did it affect them then and does it affect them now.”

Jonas seemed to evaluate my words.

“You’ll have to excuse my son, Miss Willett.” Elliot wore a mischievous grin. “Those of us in law enforcement tend to have suspicious minds. Jonas comes by it naturally, I’m sorry to say.”

His comment confused me. “I didn’t realize you were in law enforcement.”