The Atomic City Girls: A Novel

by Janet Beard

  In the mess hall, he piled an extra helping of rice and beans on his plate, wanting to celebrate. He looked forward to sharing his good news with Ralph, but for now stuffing his face would have to do! He sat and ate and must have been smiling to himself because he heard a woman say to him, “You look like you’re in a good mood.”

  He looked up and Shirley was standing in front of him, holding her tray.

  “I am, as a matter of fact.” His happiness was so expansive that he was glad to share it—even with Shirley. He motioned for her to sit, and she joined him.

  “Enjoying the spring weather?”

  “Better than that. I just got some good news for myself. My wife going to get a job here so she can join me.”

  “Oh, Joe! That is fantastic news!” Shirley seemed genuinely happy for him.

  He let his smile take over his face. “I can’t tell you how much I missed my family.”

  “I can imagine. You have two children?”

  “Three. I can’t believe I be seeing them soon!”

  “I’m so happy for you, Joe. Have you told Ralph yet?”

  “No, I just found out myself.”

  “He’ll be very pleased.”

  Her face was warm and enthusiastic. Perhaps he’d misjudged Shirley.

  “What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Moriah. She a good woman. Strong-willed but kind.”

  “That’s the best sort of woman,” said Shirley, grinning slyly.

  “I reckon you right.”

  “I look forward to meeting her and the little ones.”

  After supper, Shirley had to go to work but sent Joe to the rec hall to celebrate with Ralph. Men and a few scattered women were playing checkers, cards, and dice, smoking and talking in the big barnlike room. In one corner, a man played the blues on a guitar, while a boy no older than ten accompanied him on harmonica. The rhythmic wailing soared right up over the muffled sound of men’s voices, and the room seemed to pulse to the beat of the song.

  Joe lit up a cigarette as he looked around for Ralph, careful not to look too hard at anyone. This room was full of men drunk on homemade whiskey, who would be eager for the slightest reason to start a fight. He’d known men like this all his life, though he’d tried to stay away from them. He never touched liquor himself, never put himself in a situation where a man’s emotions could get the better of him.

  “Joe!” Ralph called out to him. The boy was standing against the wall with Otis.

  “What you doing here?” asked Ralph.

  “Just came to relax a spell.”

  “Then you at the wrong place.” Otis smiled.

  Joe did not smile back. He wanted to share his news with Ralph, but not in front of Otis.

  “They gonna show a picture in an hour,” said Ralph, who knew Joe liked the movies.

  Otis laughed. “Wouldn’t count on it. Ain’t no one going to get this crowd to clear out for Cabin in the Sky.”

  “I might play checkers,” said Joe.

  “I’ll play with you,” Ralph offered.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  Otis shrugged. “I’m gonna play cards anyway.”

  Joe watched him walk away with relief and followed Ralph to an empty table, where they set up the board.

  “I been offered a new job.” Joe couldn’t help but grin.

  Ralph looked surprised. “Doing what?”

  “Janitor. And they gonna find a job for Moriah, too.”

  “Well, ain’t that something. Moriah here in Oak Ridge! I ought to get you a Coke to celebrate.”

  “Don’t waste your money.”

  “No. I’s getting you a Coca-Cola.”

  Ralph got up. Joe watched him go and wondered if the boy would be laid off soon. He didn’t want his happiness to come at Ralph’s expense.

  Ralph returned with two bottles of Coke, lids off. Joe leaned back for a big gulp and felt the pleasant sensation of the bubbles hitting the back of his throat. When he straightened up, he saw that Ralph was watching him. “How’s that?” the boy asked.

  “Nice,” said Joe. “Real nice.”

  “You know, they may start allowing Negro couples to live together soon.”

  “How you know?”

  “Colonel Hodgson has instructed Roane-Anderson to work with us.”

  “Why he want to help you?”

  “Guess Bob’s letter to him worked.”

  Joe wiggled his brow skeptically.

  “Roane-Anderson be sending a representative to meet with us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. They coming to the CCC meeting tomorrow night.”

  “It’d be real nice if I could live with Moriah and the children.”

  “We’ll make it happen.”

  Ralph sounded so calm and sure. Normally Joe would have laughed at his ideas, but he was in a hopeful mood, so he smiled and took another gulp of his Coke instead.

  Ralph cleared his throat. “I got some news, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Joe grinned, expecting to hear that Ralph had proposed to Shirley. But the boy’s face was solemn.

  “I got a letter from my mama.”

  Joe was shocked. As best he knew, Ralph hadn’t been in contact with her since he’d run off to the Hopewell place six years ago. “How she know you here?”

  “Reckon one of the men in our gang know her. Told her he thought her son work here.” Ralph stared down at his Coke bottle.

  “What she say?”

  Ralph nodded without looking up. “She says she doing good. Working as a housekeeper.”

  “That good.”

  “My stepfather gone.”

  “That real good.”

  Ralph nodded again. “When I save up enough money, I’m gonna visit her. You know I ain’t ever want to leave her.”

  “I know, Ralph. I sure she understand.”

  Ralph looked up at Joe. “He ain’t die that day I left. My stepfather. I always worried about that. But he ain’t dead. He gone but not dead.”

  Ralph’s eyes were wide open and vulnerable. He took a gulp of his Coke, and Joe saw that the boy’s hand was trembling. Joe tried to make his voice gentle. “That real good, son. You’s a good boy and we all know it.”

  They drank their Cokes in silence.

  (Courtesy of the Department of Energy)

  Chapter 15

  AFTER SAM’S TALK WITH ANN, HE FELT AWKWARD AROUND THE house and spent even more time with June or Max—anywhere besides home. He hadn’t eaten dinner with Charlie and Ann in weeks; though Ann still invited him, he muttered an excuse and went out. Charlie seemed pained by the whole thing, though Sam didn’t know what Ann had told him. He was acting overly cheerful, always trying to catch Sam in conversation, his natural warmth turned up in a desperate effort to thaw the frost that had settled over the home. Ann acted as though nothing had happened, which irritated Sam even more. It was another symptom of her properness. Everything just so, perfectly dressed, words all well chosen. Phony.

  He and June were on their way to the movies one night when they passed Charlie on the boardwalk.

  “Sam! I’m so glad I ran into you.” Charlie was beaming, which Sam assumed was just more overcompensation for the tension in their domestic situation. “You’ll never guess who’s in town—Collins!”

  “Artie? You’re kidding!” If Charlie had been the nicest of the graduate students at Princeton, then Artie Collins had been the funniest.

  “I’m on my way now to Kellerman’s house. There’s an impromptu gathering. I’d looked for you at home, but you weren’t there. This is perfect!”

  Sam glanced at June. “Well, we were headed to a movie. Artie’s an old friend. Would you mind terribly if I went?”

  “She should come!”

  “Oh, I don’t want to get in the way,” said June. “You go on. I’ll be fine.”

  “Nonsense,” said Charlie, and Sam wished he wouldn’t butt in. “You won’t be in the way, and we’d love your company. I won’t he
ar of leaving you behind.”

  June looked up at Sam, unsure. In truth, he did think she would be in the way, or at least bored by all the physics talk and reminiscing. But after Charlie’s enthusiasm, he couldn’t tell her not to come. So he nodded, and they followed Charlie.

  The house was almost identical to Charlie and Ann’s, and they could hear laughter coming out before they even got to the door. “That’s Artie for you,” said Charlie. “Got the crowd going already.”

  Charlie knocked and someone shouted, “Come in!” Artie, jacket off and tie askew, sat in the center of a group of seven in the living room. Cab Calloway was singing on a scratchy record somewhere in the background.

  “Cantor and Stone! Now the party can finally begin. How the hell are you, Sam?” Artie shook his hand and patted his back.

  “Can’t complain. What brings you to our fair construction site?”

  “Oh, top secret government business, of course. I’m just checking up on you for Oppenheimer.” Robert Oppenheimer was the scientist heading the whole bomb-building project. Sam had known him at Berkeley.

  “Let me get some more seats,” said Kellerman, heading off to the kitchen. His wife was sitting on the sofa with some other physicists Sam recognized, most of whom worked with Charlie. There was one woman, Dr. Elizabeth Temple, a decent scientist though not at all attractive.

  “Who is this?” asked Artie, extending his hand toward June.

  “My friend, June Walker,” said Sam.

  “Nice to meet you,” said June.

  Kellerman returned with chairs and said, “Artie was just telling us about life in New Mexico.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s quite idyllic. We go horseback riding along the mesas.”

  “You doing any physics?” asked Charlie.

  “Plenty. We’re just waiting for our shipments to get in from Oak Ridge so that we can do some experimenting.”

  “Experimenting?” asked Sam. “Let’s hope you get it right on the first go.”

  “Cheers to that!” Artie raised his glass of milk.

  Sam had noticed that the higher up his colleagues were positioned in the operation, the more likely they were to disobey the Army codes of secrecy. Everyone resented having to work in such a scientifically unfriendly fashion and constantly dropped hints to one another.

  “Presumably you can drink there at least,” asked someone.

  “Oppenheimer was famous for his parties at Berkeley,” Sam told June. He’d always thought of Oppenheimer as a bit of a kook, really. Tall and gaunt with large dark eyes, he came from money but put on bohemian affectations. Sam had been shocked when he heard he’d been put in charge of the Manhattan Project. Lawrence or Compton at the University of Chicago would have made more sense.

  “Old Oppie has changed. He’s a regular slave driver these days. We eat, drink, and sleep the Manhattan Project; there’s very little time for anything else.”

  “Except horseback riding.”

  “It’s physics horseback riding. Oh, the secrets those mares know! They could end the war before we could, if they could just get some U-235 out of Oak Ridge.”

  “Watch yourself, Collins,” said Kellerman.

  “Well, if all the girls here are as pretty as this, then I can see why you may get distracted from the job at hand.”

  June giggled, and Sam hoped she wasn’t too mortified by the attention.

  “That’s enough, Artie,” said Kellerman. “While you’ve been trotting around on your ponies, we’ve been designing, building, and running some of the largest, most complicated facilities the world has ever seen.”

  “Don’t let him get to you, Kellerman,” said Charlie. “Collins is just jealous of our twenty-four-hour cafeterias and free buses.”

  The truth was, of course, that every Oak Ridge scientist in the room was green-eyed over Artie’s being down there with Oppenheimer, Fermi, Teller, Compton, and Bohr. That was the big show, and they all knew it.

  “The lunch hall is truly open all night long?” asked Artie.

  “Truly. People work around the clock for your . . . you know what.”

  Artie grinned. “Well, what do you know? I feel a bit hungry now.” A few minutes later, the whole lot of them was headed out to the cafeteria, led on an adventure by Artie, just like at Princeton.

  By the end of the evening, they had made their way to the canteen, having moved on from the cafeteria. They were sitting around a table, and Artie was telling a story about Sam’s falling asleep in their old laboratory, ribbing him in a good-natured way, and everyone laughed. “You keep an eye on this man, June,” Artie said, nudging him. “He can’t quite take care of himself.”

  Sam hung his head in mock shame. Even though he hadn’t wanted June to come, Sam was glad that she had. He hoped Charlie would go home tonight and tell Ann all about it. You see? June was capable of holding her own with physicists, he might say. Maybe she hadn’t shared her thoughts on Freud, but she had listened and been charming. He wasn’t mad to love her, after all. Her cheeks were rosy from the beer, and her eyes glowed in the dim electric light as she laughed at Artie’s jokes. Sam put his arm around her, feeling happy and protective.

  The next day at work, he got a phone call asking him to report to a private meeting with Dr. Armstrong. He had the sensation of being called to the principal’s office for bad behavior—although Y-12 had been running smoothly as of late. Sam lit a cigarette as he sat down at Dr. Armstrong’s desk. Sunlight streamed through the window, forcing the men to squint.

  “Well, Cantor . . .” Armstrong leaned back in his chair, deeply inhaling from his own cigarette. “I’m going to be leaving you.”

  Sam wasn’t sure how to take this, or even what it meant. Was he leaving Y-12? Oak Ridge? Was he dying? “I’m sorry to hear that” seemed appropriate for any of the possibilities.

  “Yes. I’m a bit sorry myself. This crazy place has become dear to me.” He straightened his back, and his voice became more practical. “Anyway, I’m not going far, and I’m sure I’ll be in Y-12 periodically. Actually I’ve been promoted and am moving to the main offices. I’ll be overseeing work at different sites here, but of course, most intensely involved with Y-12.”

  “In that case, congratulations.”

  “Thank you. Now, Cantor, if you’re interested, I’ve discussed it with my superiors, and we think you should be promoted, too.”

  Sam took the cigarette out of his mouth, surprised.

  “You won’t be at quite my level. The idea is that you and Houser will both be given greater responsibilities and will take over my position between the two of you. It’s a decision from above; no offense to either of you, but you’re not quite senior enough—you know how the Army is about hierarchy. And before you get too excited—let me warn you, it’s mostly going to be administrative work. Honestly, we’ve gotten through the hardest times of getting the place up and running, as I’m sure you realize. They wouldn’t be moving me otherwise.”

  “Of course not.”

  Armstrong leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette in a large glass ashtray on the desk. “But that doesn’t mean congratulations aren’t in order for you, either. You’ve come by this through your own dedication to Y-12 and practical, innovative thinking. There will be a substantial pay raise, and you will get one of these big offices as well as a secretary.”

  “Will Glenda be my secretary?” Sam asked, referring to the matronly blonde currently assisting Dr. Armstrong.

  “Oh, no. I’m afraid I’m taking Glenda with me.”

  ***

  “BUT I CAN’T type,” June said for the second time.

  “Don’t worry. I just told them you’d taken a course, and that you’re overqualified to be working on the calutrons. Which is true.”

  Her face was pinched with anxiety. “Maybe. But I can’t type.”

  She was sitting on the edge of his bed, across from him in the chair. “Honestly, how hard can it be? You’re smart.”

  “Do you know how?”
>
  Sam had typed plenty of papers in grad school, but had only ever utilized his index fingers in the process. “Not really, but I can use a typewriter.”

  She made a whimper and put her head in her hands. He had thought she’d be thrilled at the prospect of getting away from those tedious machines and becoming his secretary, but ever since he’d mentioned the typing test she’d have to take, June had been miserable. He was becoming annoyed. “You know, I’ve pulled strings for you. I’m trying to help you.”

  She gave him a limp smile. “I know. Thank you, honey.”

  He came over to the bed and put his arm around her, which inevitably led to kissing. Before it led to anything more, she gently pushed him away. “Ann’s here, isn’t she?” June whispered.

  Sam let out something between a sigh and a moan. Of course Ann was there, so they mustn’t. Goddamn Ann. He released June and lay back flat on the bed. This evening wasn’t going anything like he planned. He wanted to celebrate his promotion with June. He thought she’d be thrilled about his arranging this interview for her, too, but instead she was just worrying herself sick over it. His head was beginning to ache.

  June stroked the back of his hand with her fingers. “You hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m starved. Why don’t we walk over to the cafeteria? You’ll work up an appetite on the way.” She stood and straightened her skirt.

  He got up slowly, still with half a mind to stay in bed. But he didn’t want to upset her. He collected his jacket and hat from the desk and began putting them on. “I don’t understand it,” he said, opening the door for her. “You’re usually so optimistic about things. I thought you’d be thrilled for this opportunity.”

  “Honestly, Sam, I am thrilled. I’m just nervous, too, you know. I wish I knew how to type.”