Page 9 of The Women of Oak Ridge

I SPENT AN ENJOYABLE AFTERNOON with Georgeanne.

Her stories were fascinating and brought wartime Oak Ridge to life in my imagination.

Those unforgettable days would have been something to experience, to be sure.

The most important question I asked her, and the answer she gave, played over in my mind as I walked back to Aunt Mae’s.

“How did you feel after you learned your work at Oak Ridge had a role in making the atomic bomb that killed over one hundred thousand people when it fell on Hiroshima?”

Georgeanne had sat silent for a long time, staring out the window, before she answered.

“Like everyone else, I was elated the war came to an end. Some people wished we’d had the bomb years earlier, because it might have stopped Hitler and prevented the loss of millions of lives.

When we heard that we’d helped enrich the uranium that was used to make it, we were proud.

Proud that our work helped bring our boys home.

Proud that President Truman mentioned us in his speech to the nation. ”

Her eyes had taken on a troubled look. “But once things settled down and I had time to think about it, I wasn’t as proud as I’d been when I first heard the news.”

“Why is that?”

“Because so many innocent people in Japan were killed by that bomb. By Little Boy. It wasn’t just enemy soldiers.

It was men, women, children. All gone in a matter of seconds.

Three days later when the military dropped Fat Man on Nagasaki.

.. Well, it was too much. Too much death. Too much destruction.”

The sorrow in her voice was unmistakable.

“I was happy, then I was sad. There were days when I couldn’t stop thinking that I had a part in killing all those people.

It bothered me. It bothered me for a long time afterwards, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

I ultimately had to stop thinking about it and move on, so that’s what I did. That’s what we all did.”

We’d sat in silence for a time, letting the truth of her words linger in our minds.

I’d had one last question.

“Knowing what you know now, would you do anything differently? Would you still accept a job at Oak Ridge, knowing that what was being produced here would change the world irrevocably?”

She’d met my gaze straight on. “I would. It brought the war to an end.”

I found Aunt Mae in the backyard, watering a patch of flowers in a bed beneath the kitchen window. Weeds sprouted up, nearly as tall as the plants themselves. Peggy wandered through the vegetation, her pug nose close to the ground.

Aunt Mae glanced up as I approached. “How did it go with Georgeanne? I imagine she has all kinds of interesting stories about living and working in Oak Ridge in the early years.”

I appreciated Aunt Mae’s inquiry, considering her resistance to discussing anything about those days. “I learned a lot and got some good information I’ll use in my dissertation.”

She moved to the faucet and turned off the water to the hose. A heavy sigh followed.

“I feel bad that I’ve been so adamant about not wanting to talk about my time at Oak Ridge.

” When I gave her a hopeful look, she said, “I haven’t changed my mind.

Those are days I’d rather not think about.

But I also don’t want to be the only one who didn’t help you with your research.

You’re my niece, and I’m very proud of you, Laurel.

I brought out a box of things I kept from back then.

Old newspapers. A handful of mementos and such. You’re welcome to look through it.”

Her offer was surprising and much appreciated. “Thank you, Aunt Mae.” I hugged her. “I’ll go through it after dinner.”

Wanting to continue to build on the connection we were slowly forming, I volunteered to weed the bed while Aunt Mae cut flowers for the table.

“I haven’t spent much time out of doors this spring.

My poor eyesight makes it hard to get around.

I wouldn’t want to take a tumble in the yard and hurt myself.

I’ve even had to hire a high school boy to come mow the grass.

” She glanced to the overgrown plot in the corner.

“I won’t try to plant a garden this year, although I’ll miss my homegrown tomatoes. ”

I followed her gaze. What should’ve been a well-tended garden with new growth was instead overrun with weeds. It would take some elbow grease to get it ready for planting. I didn’t have much of a green thumb, but I did have a strong desire to do something nice for my aunt.

“If you’d like, I could help get the garden planted. Some tomatoes and whatever else you might enjoy that wouldn’t take too much tending.”

Her brow rose. “You wouldn’t mind? It’s a lot of work, getting the ground prepared and all.”

“I’ve never planted a garden, so this will be a learning experience.”

She chuckled. “That it will. We can go to the hardware store tomorrow and buy some seeds and starter plants.” The look of pleasure on her face was my reward.

Over a dinner of homemade pot pie made with the leftover chicken from last night, we began a list of what to purchase the next day.

I suggested we buy an extra hose and sprinkler so Aunt Mae wouldn’t have to cross the uneven lawn every time the garden needed watering.

She could just step out the back door and turn on the faucet.

“Mama always had a garden when we were growing up,” she said as we lingered at the table once our bellies were full.

“Pa worked in the coal mines and money was scarce. The company store charged outrageously inflated prices for everything, so Mama did her best to supplement our diet with homegrown vegetables. She’d save seeds all winter and barter with neighbors for this one or that one.

If she could scrape up enough money, she’d order some from a catalog. ”

“Dad said Grandma was an excellent cook.” I smiled. “You certainly inherited her skills.”

“Our mama could make the most delicious meals out of the simplest ingredients. I was glad when she and Harris came to live with me after Pa died. I hope I was able to make her last years a little easier.”

After we tidied the kitchen, I was anxious to look through Aunt Mae’s Oak Ridge memorabilia.

As we moved into the living room, my eyes fell on the plain, medium-sized wooden box where it sat on the coffee table.

I hated to abandon her and carry it to my room, but I also didn’t know if it was a good idea to look through them in her presence.

She must’ve sensed my dilemma. “Why don’t we go through the box together.” She settled on the sofa. “It’s been ages since I opened it. I can’t recall what I might have saved.”

Thrilled with her change of heart, I sat next to her.

I read the words stamped on the lid. “Union Carbide Company.”

“That was the name of the company in charge of K-25, the plant where I worked. They still run things today.”

“I thought everyone was employed by Clinton Engineer Works.”

“We were,” she stated matter-of-factly, “but Clinton Engineer Works was just a code name for the Manhattan Project at Oak Ridge. Of course we didn’t know that at the time.

There were different companies under CEW’s umbrella, I guess you’d say.

Tennessee Eastman operated Y-12, where Georgeanne worked.

DuPont was involved with X-10, which was the graphite reactor. ”

It was extraordinary to hear my aunt share her knowledge of the history of Oak Ridge. She’d seen and experienced things I’d only read about in history books.

“I didn’t know you worked at K-25. Do you mind if I ask what you did there?”

She hesitated before answering. “It’s not very exciting. I was with the maintenance department and worked as a clerk and an errand girl. I rode a bicycle around the plant because it was so big, and carried parts and tools to the various areas where machinery was housed.”

“I saw an aerial photograph of K-25 in a book at the university library. The caption said the U-shaped building was the world’s largest structure at the time. Bigger than the Pentagon, which had recently been built.”

She nodded. “General Leslie Groves oversaw the construction of both buildings. President Roosevelt handpicked him to head up the Manhattan Project, although we didn’t hear his name or the official project name until everyone knew about the bomb.”

I couldn’t imagine working for a company without knowing what its purpose was or what was being made. Yet that is exactly what over seventy thousand people did every day in Oak Ridge during the war.

She seemed to warm to the subject. “General Groves was given the monumental task of finding people—scientists, physicists, and the like—smart enough to figure out how to construct an atomic bomb before the Nazis beat us to it. Then he had to build the facilities to make it. No one had ever done anything like this before. Years later I read that even some of the scientists who worked on the project weren’t sure the bomb would work once it was built. ”

To prepare for writing my dissertation, I’d done quite a bit of research on General Groves, J.

Robert Oppenheimer, Los Alamos, and the making of the atomic bomb.

Yet it was utterly fascinating to hear the story from Aunt Mae’s point of view.

Like Georgeanne and the others, she’d witnessed it all unfold and had a unique, personal perspective that doesn’t carry over in written historical accounts of the event.

Those were the stories I was after.

I lifted the lid to the box. A yellowed newspaper lay on top. The Knoxville Journal ’s bold headline announced, “War Ends.”

“Wow,” I breathed, carefully removing it from the box. “I’ve seen microfilm of newspapers from August 1945, but to actually hold one is really cool.”