Immediately upon returning to my office on September 17 after my conversation with General Styer, I delivered to Reybold the memorandum assigning me to the MED and informed Robins of its contents. Both of them concurred in my intention to await promotion before taking over openly, and agreed with the measures which I had proposed to minimize drawing attention to my change in duties.
Next I discussed the recent turns of events with Nichols, who, in Marshall’s absence on the Pacific Coast, had been summoned to Washington by Styer the night before. I was anxious to learn the details of the problems which confronted the Manhattan Engineer District, especially in areas in which I had not been previously involved. Up to this time, I had asked no questions about the scientific difficulties and the probability of success in overcoming them, because it was not necessary for me to know them in order to carry out my responsibilities, which had involved chiefly assistance, where wanted, to Marshall in the site location and te procurement of land, equipment and materials. Now, I was particularly concerned with determining to what extent our work would be based on real knowledge, on plausible theory or on the unproven dreams of research scientists. Next, I wanted to know about the available supplies of raw materials. Finally, I went into the matter of obtaining high enough priorities to enable the work to go ahead at full speed.
I was not happy with the information I received; in fact, I was horrified. It seemed as if the whole endeavor was founded on possibilities rather than probabilities. Of theory there was a great deal, of proven knowledge not much. Even if the theories were correct, the engineering difficulties would be unprecedented. The raw material situation was not certain, but that did not disturb me, for this was a tangible difficulty. Neither was I particularly disturbed by the poor priority situation, for I felt that I could better it through my own efforts or, if not, that I could at least force a decision either to grant us the needed priorities or else to recognize that the project was not urgent.
Accompanied by Nichols, I called on Dr. Bush that same afternoon, under the assumption that he had been told of my appointment. Through some oversight, he had not been informed and, consequently, was quite mystified about just where I fitted into the picture and what right I had to be asking the questions I was asking. I was equally puzzled by his reluctance to answer them. In short, the meeting was far from satisfactory to both of us. As soon as I left, Bush got in touch with Styer, who informed him of my new assignment.
Bush accepted the appointment, although he was quite disturbed. He told Styer that he felt I was too aggressive and might have difficulty with the scientific people. Styer told him that this was quite possible and that the two of them, personally, might have to smooth out a number of difficulties, but that the work would move. Bush, still far from happy about my designation, thereupon sent the following note to Harvey Bundy, who was then handling the details on atomic energy development for Secretary Stimson, expressing the fears he had developed during my brief call.
Mr. Bundy:
I visited General Styer since I feared that comments would be made before you returned. I told him (1) that I still felt, as I had told him and General Somervell previously, that the best move was to get the military commission first, and then the man to carry out their policies second; (2) that having seen General Groves briefly, I doubted whether he had sufficient tact for such a job.
Styer disagreed on (1) and I simply said I wanted to be sure he understood my recommendation. On (2) he agreed the man is blunt, etc., but thought his other qualities would overbalance.
Apparently Somervell saw General Marshall today regarding Groves. I fear we are in the soup.
(Despite this inauspicious beginning, my rations with Bush, from that day on, were always most pleasant and we soon became, and remain, fast friends. We have often laughed about “the soup.” Never once throughout the whole project were we in disagreement. He was a pillar of strength upon whom I could always rely.)
Not particularly happy over the meeting, but completely unaware of the cause of my obvious failure to get through to Dr. Bush, I returned to my old office in the Construction Division. Finding my secretary, Mrs. O’Leary, there, I told her I was being reassigned and that if she wanted to come along, I would be glad to have her. I added, in what proved to be a great understatement, that this would be a very quiet and easy job for her and she should be sure to bring along some knitting to keep herself occupied. This prediction proved valid for about two days.
When I returned home that evening I told my wife and daughter and wrote to my son, a cadet at West Point, that I had a new job, that it involved secret matters and for that reason was never to be mentioned. The answer to be given if they were asked what I was doing was, “I don’t know, I never know what he’s doing.” To my son, I added, “If it is an officer who knows me well, and he is persistent, you can add, ‘I think it’s something secret.’”
My already long hours were gradually extended, but the extent of my travels away from Washington was about the same. My family continued to live as most Army families lived during the war and before, accepting the situation and asking no questions. Unlikely as it may seem to many people, they first learned of the nature of my assignment at the same moment, three years later, that the bombing of Hiroshima was announced to the rest of the world.
On September 19, Colonel Marshall arrived in Washington, and together we went over the new setup. I told him that the Manhattan District would function as it had before, with him continuing as the District Engineer. Soon afterward, Robins told us that Reybold and he had been relieved of further responsibility for the project and that I would attend to those matters that had formerly been handled by Styer.
With Marshall, I went to see Bush again. This time our discussion was cordial and uninhibited. Bush outlined succinctly the past history of the project, and, in doing so, cleared up a number of questions in my mind, and gave me many valuable suggestions. He mentioned that the Navy had been left out of the project at the explicit direction of President Roosevelt, and indicated that he considered this to be a mistake. He seemed pleased when I told him that I expected to visit the people at the Naval Research Laboratory in the very near future to discuss their work in the atomic area.
Before I left, Bush remarked that the handling of information within the project was becoming rather loose and that he hoped we could tighten things up. He seemed particularly interested in keeping recent scientific discoveries secret, especially those at Berkeley.
One of my first acts after learning that I was to have charge of the uranium project was to tackle what my recent construction experience led me to believe would be our greatest single obstacle. I did not see how we could possibly get the job done with nothing better than an AA-3 priority, and I did not feel inclined to fail by default. It seemed quite simple to me—if ours was really the most urgent project, it should have the top priority.
On September 19, I called upon Donald Nelson, the head of the War Production Board, and stated my views very simply but most definitely. His reaction was completely negative; however, he quickly reversed himself when I said that I would have to recommend to the President that the project should be abandoned because the War Production Board was unwilling to co-operate with his wishes.
When I left his office, I nad in my pocket a letter signed by Nelson, saying:
I am in full accord with the prompt delegation of power by the Army and Navy Munitions Board, through you, to the District Engineer, Manhattan District, to assign an AAA rating, or whatever lesser rating will be sufficient, to those items the delivery of which, in his opinion, cannot otherwise be secured in time for the successful prosecution of the work under his charge.
Just why Nelson gave in so easily, I will never know. I would have been most unwilling to have had this difficulty brought up to the President; the problem was mine. To have admitted frustration so early would have been most distasteful. And while I still had little liking for my new assignment, it was mine to carry.
In any event, as a result of my visit to Mr. Nelson, we had no major priority difficulties for nearly a year.
A couple of days later, Marshall and I went to the Naval Research Laboratory, where Rear Admiral H. G. Bowen and Dr. Ross Gunn, the technical adviser to the laboratory explained their experimental work on the separation of fissionable materials. This was my first direct contact with any laboratory work in the nuclear field, but I did not find myself at too great a disadvantage, for to an engineer their process, liquid thermal diffusion, was straightforward and not too mystifying.
Gunn had served on several of the committees that had previously controlled the uranium project, and it was quite evident that he was not particularly pleased over his omission from recent committee reorganizations. Bowen assured me, however, that his people would like to co-operate and co-ordinate their efforts with the Army. He was quite open in discussing their tests and the results they had obtained, although, so far as he then knew, I was only the Army’s representative with the OSRD for atomic development.
The Navy group was extremely small. Its only scientific men were Gunn and one other, a most capable physicist, Dr. Philip Abelson. Their research in thermal diffusion was being conducted on a very small scale, and I gathered that Gunn was not able to devote his full time to it. All in all, my first impression of the Navy’s uranium research was not favorable, primarily because of the evident lack of urgency with which it was being prosecuted.
On September 23, I became a brigadier general and officially took charge of the project. That afternoon I attended a meeting in an outer office of the Secretary of War. Those present were Secretary Stimson, General Marshall, Dr. Bush, Dr. Conant, General Somervell, General Styer, Admiral Purnell, Mr. Harvey Bundy and I.
The purpose was to decide on the form and make-up of the policy supervision of America’s atomic effort. It was obvious that the responsibility for making atomic policy was too great to be thrust upon one man alone, yet every member of a group selected for this purpose must be able to devote as much of his personal time to the project as might be necessary. This automatically eliminated from consideration the policy group already in existence, for three of its members, Vice President Wallace, Secretary Stimson and General Marshall, could not spare the time that adequate supervision of the project would require.
At Mr. Stimson’s request, I outlined the general way in which I expected the MED to operate, emphasizing that we intended to avoid empire-building by utilizing to the utmost existing facilities of other government agencies. After that, the Secretary said he felt there si ould be a new military policy committee made up of extremely able men from the OSRD, the Army and the Navy. There was general agreement to this. He next suggested that the committee should consist of nine or possibly seven men. I objected quite vigorously on the grounds that such a large committee would be unwieldy; it would cause delays in taking action; and some, if not the majority, of its members would tend to treat it as a secondary responsibility, to the detriment of our progress. I felt that a committee of three was ideal and that any more members would be a hindrance rather than a benefit. I pointed out that I could keep three people reasonably well informed on our major problems, and, furthermore, that I would be able to obtain advice from them much more readily than I could from a larger group. In the end, my views were accepted.
There was one obstacle, however, and that was that everyone recognized that both Bush and Conant should be members. Secretary Stimson solved this problem when he proposed that the committee consist of Bush as chairman (with Conant as his alternate), Rear Admiral W. R. E. Purnell of the Navy, and me. Everyone seemed well satisfied with this solution and especially liked having both Bush and Conant on the committee.
There followed some general conversation, in the midst of which, and with no small amount of embarrassment on my part, for I was by far the most junior person present, I asked to be excused if I were no longer needed, for I wanted to catch the train to Tennessee and inspect the proposed production plant site, so that the land acquisition could proceed. With this, the meeting broke up. I was a bit relieved when Somervell told me several days later that my request could not have been better timed, because it convinced everyone that he had not overemphasized my urgent desire to get a job moving.
Later in the afternoon, Mr. Stimson decided that Styer, instead of me, should be the Army member on the Military Policy Committee. I did not learn of the change until after my return from Tennessee, when I was told of it by Styer, who seemed just a bit embarrassed, and he assured me that he had not had anything to do with it. I replied that I knew he had not, and that in view of his position and consequent ability to help us, I was glad that he would be on our side of the fence.
The change was not the least objectionable to me, and, as time passed, its advantages to the project and to me became increasingly evident. Among these were having available in Styer the counsel of a most capable engineer officer, and in having him familiar with our problems, and ready at all times to assist us in securing the support of the various elements of the Army Services of Supply.
Colonel Marshall and I met in Knoxville early the next morning after the conference in Mr. Stimson’s office, and together we went over the proposed site as thoroughly as the existing roads permitted. To my great pleasure, it was evident that it was an even better choice than I had anticipated.
The site Marshall had selected was near the town of Clinton, about seventeen miles from Knoxville. The highways from Knoxville would be satisfactory in every way for our early operations. Railroad service was adequate, and an adequate source of water existed in the small river which flowed through the area. It was then typical rural Tennessee country, containing only a few schools of moderate size. Farms were scattered throughout. There were no towns or villages and the population was relatively small and dispersed.
Originally, the entire site went under the name of “The Clinton Engineer Works,” the title deriving obviously from the near-by small town of Clinton. The name “Oak Ridge” did not come into general use until the summer of 1943, when it was chosen for the new community’s permanent housing area, built on a series of ridges overlooking part of the reservation. To avoid confusion, as well as to lessen outsiders’ curiosity, the post office address was Oak Ridge, but not until 1947 and after the establishment of the Atomic Energy Commission was that name officially adopted, in lieu of the Clinton Engineer Works. As in the cases of Hanford and Los Alamos, our first consideration in the selection of names was to find the one least likely to draw attention to our work.
As soon as I had gone over the site, procurement of the land—about 54,000 acres—began. As always happens when the government takes over any sizable area, some owners suffered real hardships by their dislocation. This is inevitable, despite the fact that they are paid the full value of their property, as established by the government appraisers and accepted by the owners or, if not accepted, as fixed by federal judges and juries after condemnation proceedings.
It became necessary at this time to have a Presidential proclamation issued, setting up certain restrictions on this area. The proclamation came out in due course, but because of the nature of our operations, I did not consider it wise to give it any wider circulation than was absolutely necessary. For that reason, I told Colonel Marshall that it should be brought to the personal attention of the Chief Executive of the state, Governor Cooper, before it became known to anyone else.
Unfortunately, I did not discuss the way in which this should be done, since I assumed Marshall would handle the matter personally. As it turned out, I should have, for Marshall, who was most adept at dealing with high public officials, because of other pressing matters did not see the Governor himself, but sent another officer in his stead to perform this delicate task. To the Governor this was a serious breach of protocol, and it was compounded by the facts that the emissary was not a senior officer and that it was his first experience in such matters. The Governor must have been somewhat displeased in the first place by having such a large installation placed in Tennessee without his having been consulted or informed when the matter was under consideration. He was further disturbed by the relatively junior rank of the officer who finally brought him word of our movement into his state. Security limitations prevented any disclosure of our purpose and our lack of definite plans made it impossible to give him any idea of the possible size of the installation. About all that could be done was to present the Governor with a copy of the proclamation establishing the federal reservation. On the whole, we got off to a most inauspicious start with our new neighbors, and the ensuing resentment plagued us for several years.
My experience in this case highlights what everyone who issues general instructions, or what in military terms are called mission orders, must always remember. While normally instructions will be followed much more intelligently if they are general rather than spelled out in great detail, inherently they are subject to misinterpretation, and when this happens, a great deal of effort must be expended in picking up the pieces. Nevertheless, mission orders must be used whenever there are many unknowns. Our project was full of unknowns, which was the principal reason why I habitually employed mission orders. Marshall and later Nichols followed the same practice. Only in the rarest instances were direct, detailed instructions issued, and even then they usually dealt with fairly simple matters for which specific instructions were perfectly appropriate.
I decided to make my headquarters initially in Washington; I could always move later if it seemed desirable. However, as time went on, I came to realize that Washington was the ideal place for me to be, for there I was able to keep in contact with the War Department and the other government agencies, and to smooth the way for our people in the field. This was particularly true during the later phases of the work, after we became involved in international negotiations, and in military intelligence, and when we began to deal so closely with the Secretary of War, with Air Force Headquarters and with the overseas commands. Another major advantage was that distance alone prevented me from becoming involved in too many details, which is so dampening to the initiative of subordinates.
The office out of which I was to control the Manhattan Project was set up while I was on my first visit to Tennessee. It consisted of two rooms, 5120 and 5121, in the new War Department Building (now the State Department Building), at Twenty-first and Virginia Avenue, N.W. I moved as soon as I returned.
As I consider Washington today, it seems incredible that these accommodations were as limited as they were. My secretary, Mrs. O’Leary, who was soon to become my chief administrative assistant, and I occupied one room. The only furniture added was one, and later another, heavy safe. Alterations were limited to those essential for security and consisted of sealing the ventilating louvers on an outside door, which was kept locked and bolted. One other door, leading to an adjoining conference room, was also locked permanently, so that the only access to the room which I occupied was through my outer office. This room, at first used by visitors, eventually accommodated three assistant secretaries and file clerks.
After several months we took over another small room. By a year later, we had grown to a total of seven rooms, of which two were occupied by district personnel working under the direction of the District Engineer on procurement matters. This arrangement lasted until shortly before the bombing operations, when we took over a few more rooms for our public information section, which had to be ready to start functioning with the news release on Hiroshima.
It was undoubtedly one of the smallest headquarters seen in modern Washington. Nevertheless, I fell far short of my goal of emulating General Sherman, who, in his march from Atlanta to the sea, had limited his headquarters baggage to less than what could be placed in a single escort wagon.
Our internal organization was simple and direct, and enabled me to make fast, positive decisions. I am, and always have been, strongly opposed to large staffs, for they are conducive to inaction and delay. Too often they bury the leaders’ capacity to make prompt and intelligent decisions under a mass of indecisive, long-winded staff studies.
Initially I did plan on having an executive officer, and I selected first one and then a second highly competent man for that position. Yet, before either could even begin to take over his duties, I had to reassign him to fill a pressing need in the field, one at Hanford and the other at Los Alamos. I soon realized that as long as we were under such pressure I would always find it necessary to assign to the field anyone whom I might consider acceptable as an executive officer in my headquarters. Consequently, I abandoned all further attempts and relied instead upon my chief secretary, who became my administrative assistant. With her exceptional talents, and her capacity for and willingness to work, Mrs. O’Leary more than fulfilled my highest expectations.
After our work at Oak Ridge got under way, and shortly after Nichols succeeded Marshall as District Engineer, it became essential to move the district headquarters to that point, though we continued to carry on many activities through our four suboffices in New York. Having our offices dispersed throughout the city was most advantageous because it obviated many of the exasperating difficulties in transportation which consume so much time during the working day. It also served to compartmentalize our people and reduced the opportunity for cross-chatter between the various segments of our activities.
In mentioning Marshall’s replacement by Nichols, I should explain that in August, 1943, the Chief of Engineers asked me if I could relieve Marshall for a key assignment overseas, which would mean his promotion to brigadier. Since the project was by that time well organized, I did not feel I should refuse, and appointed Nichols in his stead. This was an excellent choice and one I never regretted. He and I had been in the same battalion in Nicaragua for two years, some twelve years before, and he had shown much promise there. But the decisive factor in his selection was the extraordinary grasp of the technical and scientific details of our work that he had demonstrated in the year he had been with the MED.
My agreement to Marshall’s relief was in line with my belief that the project should be managed with as few regular officers as possible. Those that Marshall had brought in at the beginning had been relieved without too much delay, as soon as they could be satisfactorily replaced and an overseas assignment was open.
I believed strongly that in time of war every possible regular officer should be in the combat area. I was undoubtedly influenced in this belief by my personal knowledge of the disappointment suffered by many regular officers who were kept in this country during World War I, with no chance of combat experience. In my own case, I was already a cadet when the war started, and remained at West Point until a few days before the Armistice. Had my own experience been different, I would quite probably have had a considerable number of regular officers assigned to the project throughout its duration.
As I look back now with a full appreciation of the tremendous import of the development of atomic energy, I think it was a mistake not to have had them. Our country would have been much better off in the immediate postwar years if we had had a group of officers who were thoroughly experienced in all the problems of this type of work—not only in problems of atomic energy but in all the manifold problems involved in technical and scientific developments that have played such an important part in our national defense since 1945.
While I am on the subject of my own mistakes, I perhaps should add that there was another consideration, similar to this, to which I did not give adequate attention. That was the necessity of having replacements available if either Nichols or I died or became disabled. Many serious problems would have arisen if anything had happened to either of us, and it was not proper for me to have placed such great reliance, fortunately not misplaced, upon the physical and mental ability of both of us to stand up under the strain, to say nothing of the possibility of accidental death or injury, particularly since we did so much flying.
This was brought very vividly to my attention in December of 1944, when Mr. Churchill suggested that I should come to London to talk over our problems, and particularly our progress, with him and other members of his government. In discussing his request with Secretary Stimson, I said that while I would like very much to go to England, I was afraid that it might take me away from my work for a considerable period of time, especially if something developed that would make it impossible for Mr. Churchill to receive me immediately on arrival.
Mr. Stimson told me that if I went, I could not go by air, because of the hazards involved. When I said, “Well, I don’t see what difference that would make,” he replied, “You can’t be replaced.” I said, “You do it, and General Marshall does it; why shouldn’t I?” He repeated, “As I said before, you can’t be replaced, and we can.” Harvey Bundy, who was also present, said he had heard that I had previously urged flying when air safety dictated otherwise, and then asked, “Who would take your place if you were killed?” I replied, “That would be your problem, not mine, but I agree that you might have a problem.”
I went on to say that if anything happened to Nichols, I felt that I could continue to operate, though it would mean a very strenuous period for me personally, but that if it were the other way around, while Nichols was thoroughly capable of taking over my position, I thought because he was not so familiar with my responsibilities as I was with his that he could not do both my job and his.
Mr. Stimson said, “I want you to get a Number Two man immediately who can take over your position, and with Nichols’ cooperation, carry on in the event that something happens to you.” He added, “You can have any officer in the Army, no matter who he is, or what duty he is on.”
I drew up a list of about six officers who I thought would be satisfactory, keeping in mind that it would be all-important for the man selected to be completely acceptable to Nichols, since success would depend on the utmost co-operation between them. I particularly wanted someone who would not attempt to overrule Nichols in any of his actions or recommendations until he had had time really to understand what the work was all about, and I doubted whether it would be possible for anyone to accumulate the essential background for this before the project was completed.
Having made up my list, I discussed the matter with Nichols. I asked him to look over the names and to strike from the list anyone whom he would prefer not to have in such a position. He struck several names. I always suspected he struck the first one just to see if I really meant what I had said, because it was the name of a man whom I had known for many years, and who was a very close friend. When he struck that name, I did not bat an eye, but merely said, “Well, he’s out.”
After he had crossed off the names of the men he considered unacceptable, I asked him if he had any preference among the remainder. He replied, “You name him and I’ll tell you.” I said that I felt that the best one on the list was Brigadier General Thomas F. Far-rell, and Nichols replied, “He would be my first choice, too.”
Farrell was a former regular officer who had been Chief Engineer of the State of New York. Early in 1941, he came back on active military duty as my executive officer. He was then stationed in India, but was on leave in the United States. I asked him to come to Washington to see me and told him that I intended to ask for him, but that I did not want him if he had any objection to coming. He did not, fortunately, and soon joined us. He proved to be of inestimable value, especially throughout the trying period of the summer of 1945, when all of our efforts attained their climax.