Page 25 of The Women of Oak Ridge

The story of Oak Ridge got even stranger when I came across an article that told the bizarre tale about a man named John Hendrix and a prophecy he made decades before the Manhattan Project came to Tennessee.

According to the newspaper, Hendrix was born in 1865 and died in 1915, twenty-eight years before General Groves began buying up land with the intention of building an enormous uranium enrichment facility.

An odd fellow, Hendrix often disappeared into the woods where he remained for weeks.

Once, after spending forty nights in the hills, he returned with a wild prediction.

“A huge factory will be built in Bear Creek Valley,” he told folks at the general store, “that will help win the greatest war there will ever be.” He predicted there would be a city on Black Oak Ridge, railroads, and thousands of people running to and fro.

No one believed him.

It was a little after three o’clock when the headline of a small article in the corner of the third page caught my attention. The date of this issue was from the second week in December 1944.

M. Willett Requests Information on Missing Roommate

M. Willett? Could that be Mae Willett, my aunt?

I enlarged the article so I could read the small print.

Maebelle Willett requests your help locating her roommate Sissy Galloway who has not been seen in Oak Ridge since November25, 1944. If you have information on Miss Galloway’s whereabouts, please contact Miss Willett immediately.

The article went on to give the name of a dormitory and a telephone number for Mrs. Kepple, the dorm mother. While I supposed there could have been two Maebelle Willetts in Oak Ridge during the war, how likely was it? The article must be about Aunt Mae.

According to the article, Aunt Mae’s roommate had gone missing sometime after Thanksgiving. The fact that Aunt Mae went to the newspaper for help was an indication she was concerned about her roommate.

The image of a pretty blonde woman’s face on the security badge I’d seen in Aunt Mae’s box of mementos flashed across my memory. I couldn’t recall her surname, but I did remember her first name was Sylvia. Was she the Miss Galloway who went missing?

I pressed a button on the microfilm machine. A printed copy of the page on the screen exited from a slot. After tucking it in my purse, I continued to search for more articles about Aunt Mae’s roommate, but no mention was ever made of her again that I could find.

At a quarter to five, I turned off the machine, paid for the photocopy, and thanked the helpful librarian for the stack of books she had ready for me to check out. My back and shoulders were stiff from hunching over the microfilm monitor for long hours. A soak in the bathtub sounded divine.

Aunt Mae’s car was not in the driveway when I returned. She must still be at the nursing home. My mind went over the limited details of the mystery surrounding Aunt Mae’s roommate as I headed for the house, leaving me with questions rather than answers.

What were the circumstances that led to a newspaper article requesting information about Sissy’s whereabouts?

Communication back then wasn’t as easy as today, with telephones and pagers offering people around the world a way to stay connected.

Not everyone had a phone in the 1940s, as strange as that seemed compared to our modern world nowadays.

The fact that I hadn’t found a follow-up article about Sissy’s continued absence made me think she’d most likely been located, thus eliminating the need for a story in the newspaper.

The mystery may not be a mystery at all.

Entering through the front door Aunt Mae left unlocked, Peggy greeted me.

I let her outside, leaving the door open for her return, then went to my room.

With my aunt out of the house, now was the perfect opportunity to compare the name on the security badge to the name of the missing roommate mentioned in the article.

I laid the page I’d printed at the library on the bed, then retrieved the wooden memory box I’d tucked in the corner next to the dresser.

After removing the old newspapers I had yet to read, I dug around and found the security badge I was looking for.

Sylvia Jean Galloway.

Although the article referred to her as Sissy Galloway, I was certain it was the same woman. And now that I knew she was indeed Aunt Mae’s roommate, I felt a sense of urgency to know what happened to her. Had she ever returned to Oak Ridge? Where had she been and why hadn’t she contacted Aunt Mae?

One last question circled my mind as I studied Sissy’s pretty face.

Why did Aunt Mae have her roommate’s security badge?

I retrieved the second ID from the box. Aunt Mae had been a pretty young woman too, even if her hair wasn’t fashioned in a popular style like Sissy wore.

I could imagine the two of them having fun together, living in a town where the women outnumbered the men.

After reading through Oak Ridge Journal articles today, I’d learned the town planners had done their best to provide all the amenities and entertainment opportunities one would find in any other town.

Black-and-white photographs documented sporting events, dances, plays at the theater, and other activities that were available to keep employees of the Manhattan Project happy and on the job.

I felt certain Aunt Mae and Sissy took full advantage of the entertainment offerings, especially knowing my aunt had grown up poor in a small coal mining community in Kentucky.

Oak Ridge would have been an exciting place for twenty-something-year-old Maebelle Willett.

An ache in my lower back reminded me I’d wanted to soak in the tub before dinner.

Setting the badges and article on the bed, I walked across the hall to the bathroom and turned on the faucet.

The noisy pipes sang their loud song while I sat on the closed commode and waited for hot water to arrive, which usually took at least a full minute.

Once the flow was warm, I plugged the drain with a rubber stopper and watched the water level rise until the tub was half full.

A couple drops of Aunt Mae’s rose oil filled the air with a sweet aroma before I turned the knob to the off position.

I returned to the bedroom to change out of my clothes but stopped short in the doorway.

Aunt Mae stood next to the bed, Peggy at her feet. The printed page from the Oak Ridge Journal and Sissy’s badge were in her hands. Her face had drained of all color.

When our eyes met, tangible fear shone in hers, intensified by the thick glasses she wore.

“Where did you get this copy of the Journal ?” she hissed, her body trembling.

Peggy let out a whimper and hurried out of the room.

“At the library,” I said, hoping the gentle tone in my voice would help to calm her. “Remember? I went there today to go through old newspapers to learn more about Oak Ridge during the war. When I saw the headline with your name, I got curious.”

Her breath came heavy. “You shouldn’t be poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I told you nothing good can come from bringing up the past.”

I didn’t take her angry words personally. I had a feeling her reaction was more about whatever it was that kept her from wanting to remember bygone days than it was about me.

“Aunt Mae, I’d like to understand what it is about the past that upsets you. Does it have to do with Sissy? The article says she was missing. You must have been worried about her. Was she okay?”

Her hands shook when she looked at the badge, then to the printed page. I thought she might give an explanation, but in the next instant, she threw the items on the bed and bolted from the room. The small house shook when she slammed her bedroom door closed.

I stood in shocked silence.

Something was terribly wrong, but I had no clue what. Remorse washed over me as I put the badge and the article in the box. I’d really done it this time. I felt horrible, yet I didn’t know how to make things better.

I didn’t linger in the tub. When I came out of the bathroom, her door was still closed.

I ate a peanut butter sandwich, then retired to my room and read over the notes I’d taken at the library, all the while hoping she’d come out and we could talk things over.

But she remained closeted in her room. At my knock and offer to bring her a sandwich, she declared she wanted to be left alone.

While I readied for bed, I mulled over the situation. If Sissy had truly gone missing, wouldn’t there be a police report? Even back in the 1940s, things like that were investigated.

I crawled into bed, my back complaining as I stretched out.

Maybe Jonas could help. He was an Oak Ridge police detective, after all. But should I involve him? I wouldn’t want Aunt Mae to think I was discussing her personal matters with everyone in town.

I yawned and turned out the light.

It wouldn’t hurt to ask him about police records from the 1940s.

If he indicated they still existed, I’d see if he could look for information on Sissy Galloway without divulging the connection to Aunt Mae.

I could tell him about the article I found but leave out my aunt’s name.

That would protect her privacy but would also hopefully yield answers as to what happened to her roommate.

I made a silent promise to Aunt Mae before sleep claimed me.

If Jonas couldn’t find anything on Sissy, I’d drop the matter entirely. I didn’t want my visit to Aunt Mae’s to end with a severed relationship because I’d become too nosey.