Page 17 of The Women of Oak Ridge

THE WHITE brICK CHURCH sat on a corner, not far from the Scarboro Community Center.

Across the street were long, narrow houses that looked like they’d been there a while.

Jonas had pointed out similar structures during our tour yesterday, indicating the multifamily units had been built by the Army Corps of Engineers during the war.

I wondered if I was now looking at homes where workers of the Manhattan Project once lived.

I parked the Camaro next to the only vehicle in the lot. A glance at my wristwatch told me I was a little early for my meeting with Velvet and Roonie, but I was anxious to hear what the couple had to say about their time in Oak Ridge.

Last night over supper, Aunt Mae told me life was different in Oak Ridge for Black employees during the war.

I’d sat silent, letting the truth of her words sink in.

I hadn’t considered that the wrongs done under mandated segregation extended to the Secret City during the war.

Surely Black citizens willing to work under the unusual circumstances the Manhattan Project forced upon its employees deserved the same treatment as their white counterparts.

Their work contributed to the success of the mission too.

Yet Aunt Mae’s disclosure revealed that hadn’t been the case.

As I studied the church’s plain exterior, I thought back to the civil rights rallies I’d attended at Boston University when I was a student.

Although I believed in liberty and freedom for everyone, I didn’t have firsthand experience with the prejudices people in the South dealt with.

Growing up in Massachusetts, segregation and its lasting effects was known as a Southern issue.

Most of my Black friends never even spoke about it.

Yet hearing that the Southern issue had been prevalent in Oak Ridge during World War II made me wonder if segregation had taken place at the other Manhattan Project facilities as well. Had Black employees been treated differently at Los Alamos and Hanford?

I entered the church through a set of double doors. Everything was quiet. After some moments, however, the murmur of voices came from an open doorway at the front of the sanctuary. I quietly walked in that direction.

I’d just reached the entrance when a man with short, graying hair exited. We were both startled.

“Land sakes, you ’bout gave me a heart attack.” He chuckled. “You must be Mae’s niece. I’m Roonie, Velvet’s better half.”

As we shook hands, Velvet herself appeared in the entryway. “I heard that. Don’t go telling falsehoods to Laurel from the very beginning. She won’t believe a word you say later on.”

I smiled, enjoying the teasing banter between the couple. “I appreciate you both being willing to talk with me today.”

“I’m always glad to hear of young folks furthering their education,” Roonie said, “’specially if they intend to do good in the world with all that book learnin’. If our stories about those long-ago days in Oak Ridge can help you, I’m happy to tell ’em.”

“Let’s sit in the sanctuary.” Velvet motioned to the rows of wooden benches I’d passed. “This office is barely big enough for the two of us.”

We moved to the front pew, although Roonie sat on the step to the platform, facing Velvet and me.

“Thing is,” Velvet said as I readied my notebook and pencil, “we don’t talk much about our early years here.”

“That’s actually not unusual, from what I’ve learned.

” I glanced between the two. “Many of the people I’ve interviewed admit they don’t revisit those days very often.

Whether that’s due to the secrecy that was a constant concern or simply a result of passing time is something I’m interested in discovering. ”

Roonie gave a slow nod. “I suspect it’s a bit of both. From the moment we stepped a toe on the Reservation, keepin’ our mouths shut about everything we saw and heard was drilled into us.”

“Daily,” added Velvet. “Everywhere you went in Oak Ridge, there were signs posted about keeping mum about this or that. The enemy was always watchin’, they said.

I didn’t figure I had much to talk about, but I still never spoke out of turn to anyone.

Roonie”—she glanced his way—“is the only person I trusted.”

“Did you meet here in Oak Ridge?” I asked.

Roonie grinned and looked at his wife. “I saw her for the first time when she was seventeen years old, workin’ behind the counter at a drugstore as a soda jerk in Montgomery, Alabama. Prettiest thing I ever did see, I tell ya. I knew right then I’d marry that gal.”

I stifled a chuckle when Velvet snorted and rolled her eyes.

“As I recall, there were quite a few ‘prettiest things’ you were interested in back then.”

“Now, that ain’t true and you know it.” He met my gaze. “I haven’t looked at another woman since I met Vel. Been married thirty-seven years next month. Raised five children and started this church. I thank the good Lord every day for blessing me with the perfect helpmate.”

Velvet sent her husband a warm look, then said to me, “We’ve had a good life here in Oak Ridge. Lots of friends and family live here. Your aunt is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”

I was certain Velvet knew of Aunt Mae’s reticence to talk about her life at Oak Ridge during the war. I hoped she would be able to help me understand the reasoning behind it.

“You mentioned that you both worked at K-25.”

“We did. For the maintenance department but doing different things.”

“How did you first learn about Oak Ridge?”

Roonie spoke before Velvet could answer.

“I’d tried to join the Army but wasn’t allowed to, as they said I had a heart murmur.

I needed work. My brother heard there were construction jobs up in Tennessee, workin’ for the government.

Said they were payin’ good money. I figured I’d go up and see what’s what—”

“And leave me in Montgomery alone,” Velvet added, giving him a mock scowl.

“But my wife wouldn’t hear of me going without her,” Roonie continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “So, we packed up my brother’s car and drove to Knoxville.”

“When was that?”

“October of 1943,” they said in unison.

It was becoming clear this interview would be entertaining as well as enlightening.

“I remember it well,” Velvet said, “because the leaves were turning, and everywhere I looked was something beautiful. Hills covered with gold, red, and orange. God’s handiwork was sure on display.

” Then she grimaced. “Except for the mud. I never could get used to traipsing through that red, mushy mess.”

“Georgeanne mentioned that too. Why was it so muddy all the time?”

“Because,” Roonie said, “the government bought up sixty thousand acres of farmland and then proceeded to scrape every livin’ thing off it to make room for what they intended to build.

All that was left was dirt. Every time it rained, even light showers that didn’t last long left fields of mud to slog through. ”

I jotted some notes, then asked, “What kind of work did each of you do when you arrived in Oak Ridge?”

Roonie nodded to Velvet to go first.

“As I said, I worked in maintenance at K-25. My job was simple: keep the place clean. Me and dozens of other gals swept, mopped, and polished all day, every day. The only jobs available to Black women on the Reservation—we were called colored back then—were janitorial, kitchen, or maid service.”

She went on to give a description of the massive plant, giving me a good idea of what it was like to work there.

“One day I was called to where there’d been a leak that needed cleaning.” A soft smile parted her lips. “That’s the day I met your aunt.”

Here was an opening to learn more about Aunt Mae’s work, but I wasn’t sure it was right to question Velvet. She must’ve read my mind.

“I know Mae doesn’t like to talk about those days. She probably hasn’t spoken much about what she did back then.”

I shook my head. “I’d love to hear about her life as a young woman, but she isn’t willing to share about it. The only thing I know is that she worked at K-25 as an errand girl and had to ride a bicycle around the plant because it was so big.”

“She was such an outgoing gal when we first met. Treated me like an equal. We formed a friendship despite our differences.” Her face took on a serious look then. “But sometime around the end of ’44, somethin’ changed. She changed.”

“How so?”

“She started keeping to herself, I guess you’d say.”

“But you don’t know why?”

Velvet shook her head. “Even though we’d become friendly, there were still rules—spoken and unspoken—about how Black people could interact with white people. Prying into her personal business wasn’t somethin’ I felt I could do.”

Aunt Mae’s words from last night filtered through my mind. “She told me about segregation in Oak Ridge during the war.”

“It wasn’t any different here than it had been in Alabama,” Roonie said matter-of-factly. “Jim Crow laws followed us, no matter where we went.”

They took turns sharing the various ways those laws affected them, from separate drinking fountains and riding in the back of the bus, to poor quality food in the cafeterias that served Black residents. However, I wasn’t prepared when I learned about their living conditions on the Reservation.

“All the Black folks lived in what they called ‘hutments’,” Velvet said, “but they weren’t real houses.

I’d describe them as sixteen-by-sixteen shacks made from the cheapest plywood the government could find.

They didn’t even have glass in the windows.

Just an opening with a wooden shutter that let in the heat in the summer and the cold in the winter.

We had a potbellied stove in the center for warmth, but we weren’t allowed to cook on it.

The gals I shared a hut with were nice enough, but I would’ve rather lived with my husband. ”

I glanced between her and Roonie, confused. “You didn’t live together?”

They both shook their heads.