It is essential for the reader to keep in mind the truly pioneering nature of the plutonium development as well as the short time available for research, to appreciate the gigantic steps taken by both scientists and engineers in moving as rapidly as they did from the idea stage to an operating plant of commercial size. It was a phenomenal achievement; an even greater venture into the unknown than the first voyage of Columbus.
The laboratory investigations had to be conducted in the face of incredible handicaps. At the laboratory in Chicago, we were seeking to split atoms, and in the process to transmute one element into another —that is, to change uranium into plutonium. The transmutation of an element involves the conversion of its atoms—the smallest known sub-microscopic particles capable of existing alone which are not susceptible to further subdivision by chemical means—into atoms of another element possessing different chemical and physical properties. In effect, the scientists were reviving the classical, but always unsuccessful, search of the ancient alchemists for ways to convert base metals, such as lead, into gold; and the continuing, but theretofore unsuccessful, attempts of more modern chemists to change the character of elements. The precedents of history were surely all against us.
To carry out the transmutation process, even on a laboratory scale, and at an almost infinitesimal rate of production, a reactor, or as we often referred to it, a pile, of considerable size is necessary; for full-scale production, obviously, a much bigger pile is needed. The laboratory unit, it was estimated, would require, among other items, some forty-five tons of uranium or uranium oxide. Such amounts were not available in sufficient purity until late in 1942. Even then, the laboratory unit would not be able to produce enough plutonium to permit normal laboratory research on its recovery—that is, on ways to separate it chemically from the basic uranium and the other radioactive materials that would also be produced.
In June, 1942, when the Corps of Engineers came into the picture, the necessary research on plutonium production and recovery had scarcely begun. There was no experimental proof that the hoped-for conversion would actually occur; it was predicated entirely on theoretical reasoning. Not until December 2, 1942, did we have any such proof, and this was weeks after we had decided to go ahead at full speed on the plutonium process, and many days after we had started to prepare the plans for a major plant. On October 5, 1942, I paid my first visit to the Metallurgical Laboratory at the University of Chicago, where Arthur Compton and I spent the morning inspecting the laboratory facilities and discussing with a number of scientists the work on which they were engaged.
That afternoon I had a meeting with Compton and about fifteen of his senior men. Among them were two other Nobel Prize winners, Enrico Fermi and James Franck, together with the brilliant Hungarian physicists Eugene Wigner and Leo Szilard, and Dr. Norman Hilberry, Compton’s assistant. The purpose of the meeting was to give me an idea of the extent of their knowledge about the plutonium process, and the anticipated explosive power of an atomic bomb, as well as of the amount of fissionable material that a single bomb would require. Of particular importance to me was an understanding of the gaps in knowledge that remained to be filled. I wanted to be sure also that everyone recognized the intermediate goals that had to be achieved before we would attain ultimate success, and that I, too, had a clear understanding of these goals. I was vitally interested in just how much plutonium or how much U-235 would be needed for a reasonably effective bomb. This was all-important, for it would determine the size of our production facilities, not only for plutonium, but also for Uranium-235.
Compton’s group discussed the problem with me thoroughly, backing up their postulations mathematically and eventually arriving at the answers I needed. In general, our discussion was quite matter-of-fact, although much of it was highly theoretical and based on completely unproven, but quite plausible, hypotheses on which all the other participants seemed to be in complete agreement.
As the meeting was drawing to a close, I asked the question that is always uppermost in the mind of an engineer: With respect to the amount of fissionable material needed for each bomb, how accurate did they think their estimate was? I expected a reply of “within twenty-five or fifty per cent,” and would not have been greatly surprised at an even greater percentage, but I was horrified when they quite blandly replied that they thought it was correct within a factor of ten.
This meant, for example, that if they estimated that we would need one hundred pounds of plutonium for a bomb, the correct amount could be anywhere from ten to one thousand pounds. Most important of all, it completely destroyed any thought of reasonable planning for the production plants for fissionable materials. My position could well be compared with that of a caterer who is told he must be prepared to serve anywhere between ten and a thousand guests. But after extensive discussion of this point, I concluded that it simply was not possible then to arrive at a more precise answer.
While I had known that we were proceeding in the dark, this conversation brought it home to me with the impact of a pile driver. There was simply no ready solution to the problem that we faced, except to hope that the factor of error would prove to be not quite so fantastic. This uncertainty surrounding the amount of material needed for a bomb plagued us continuously until shortly before the explosion of the Alamogordo test bomb on July 16, 1945. Even after that we could not be sure that Uranium-235 (used in the Hiroshima bomb) would have the same characteristics as plutonium (used in the test and later against Nagasaki), although we knew of no reason why it should be greatly different.
The day’s discussions did leave me with a very high opinion of the scientific attainments of the Chicago group. It was obvious that it would not need major strengthening in any scientific area, and that the existing organization was more than adequate as a basis for any build-up that Compton might find necessary.
After the meeting, Compton and I resumed a discussion we had begun earlier with Szilard on how to reduce the number of approaches which were being explored for cooling the pile. Four methods—using helium, air, water and heavy water—were under active study. It was essential that we concentrate on the most promising and more or less abandon work on the others. By the end of the afternoon we settled on helium cooling. But within three months this decision was changed. The design problems early encountered in the comparatively small air-cooled reactor at Clinton indicated that the handling of any gaseous coolant in the much larger Hanford reactors would be very difficult. And as the operation of the Fermi test pite in December had proved that in a properly designed uranium pile water could be used as a coolant, it was adopted for the plutonium reactors we built at Hanford.
I left Chicago feeling that the plutonium process seemed to offer us the greatest chances for success in producing bomb material. Every other process then under consideration depended upon the physical separation of materials having almost infinitesimal differences in their physical properties. Under such circumstances, the design and operation of any industrial processes to accomplish this separation would involve unprecedented difficulties. It was true that the transmutation of uranium by spontaneous chain reaction into usable quantities of plutonium fell entirely outside of existing technical knowledge; yet the rest of the process—the chemical separation of the plutonium from the rest of the material—while extremely difficult and completely unprecedented, did not seem to be impossible.
Up until this time, only infinitesimal quantities of plutonium had been produced, and these by means of the cyclotron, a laboratory method not suitable for production in quantity. And by quantity production of plutonium, I do not mean tons per hour, but rather a few thimblefuls per day. Even by December, 1943, only two milligrams had been produced.
Several possible methods for the chemical separation of plutonium from uranium had been studied during the previous year by Compton’s group, but there was no agreement on the most feasible process. Nobody had any real concept of the kind of equipment that would be needed.
I returned to Washington convinced that our first efforts should be applied to the plutonium project and that our other problems would have to be resolved later. This was in accord with the general philosophy I had followed throughout the military construction program and to which we adhered consistently in this project; namely, that nothing would be more fatal to success than to try to arrive at a perfect plan before taking any important step.
Even before I talked to Compton’s group in Chicago, I had begun to realize that we were involved in an enormously bigger undertaking than I had previously understood and that it was unreasonable to expect Stone and Webster to carry the full burden of all the engineering, even with subcontractor assistance, to say nothing of all the construction. It was also clear that the operation of the plants would be so complex that no governmental agency could handle it under the usual and necessary rules and regulations. Moreover, the plants would be so large that we ought to have a different operator for each one. We needed going concerns of sufficient size to provide the solid nucleus of management upon which we could build successful operating units.
In removing some of the load from Stone and Webster, I concluded it would be most logical to reassign the plutonium effort, on which work had not yet started. Next, I had to decide whether to place the various responsibilities for the engineering, the construction and the operation with one firm or with several. To me, a single firm carrying the threefold responsibility seemed by all means preferable. For one thing, it would lessen the problems of co-ordination that would fall into my lap, which by that time was becoming rather crowded with major problems. After I had studied all the possibilities, I concluded that only one firm was capable of handling all three phases of the job. That firm was du Pont.
Its engineering department, always of the highest quality, had become even more vigorous through the tremendous construction program it had been carrying on for the Army. It was thoroughly experienced in both design and construction and was accustomed to dealing with highly technical processes. A further attraction of du Pont, from my point of view, was that for several years I had been working most successfully with its engineers on the Army construction program.
A number of us had come to realize by that time that the operation of the plutonium plant would be extremely difficult, and that it would require highly skilled technical management, thoroughly experienced in large operations. A thorough knowledge of chemistry and chemical engineering was important, and this du Pont had. The need for a sound knowledge of atomic physics was much less vital, and for this we could lean on the Chicago laboratory.
Before arriving at any final decision to bring du Pont in, I discussed the problem with the members of the Military Policy Committee and particularly with Conant. There was no dissent.
My next step was to prepare the group at the Metallurgical Laboratory for the changes that were about to take place. This did not prove to be at all easy. When I broached the subject to Arthur Compton, he agreed at once, saying that he knew Stone and Webster were overburdened and were way out of their field of experience, and that it would be a great relief to have du Pont in the picture. However, he warned me that we would encounter opposition, some of it quite strong and quite influential, from some of the people in his laboratory.
He told me that in the previous June he had assembled his staff and proposed bringing in an industrial firm to take over responsibility for the production phase of the plutonium project. The suggestion had resulted in a near rebellion, particularly among those whose entire experience had been in academic institutions. They simply did not comprehend the immensity of the engineering, construction and operating problems that had to be overcome. Whenever attempts were made to explain them, they brushed them aside as inconsequential. After the furor had subsided, Compton announced that he expected to go ahead with his idea.
He said that while his position had been accepted then, he had no doubt that there would be many objections, voiced and unvoiced, and that the selection of du Pont—the very symbol of large industry—would be particularly opposed. He went on to assure me that personally he was very much in favor of my proposal and, moreover, that he felt that du Pont was by far the best choice that could be made.
On the other hand, a number of his scientific people, particularly those who had been trained in Europe, where scientific and engineering education were more closely linked than in this country, had the idea that all design and engineering for the project should be accomplished under their personal direction. Some even went so far as to say that they could also supervise the construction. When I visited the laboratory on October 5 and again on October 15, I was told by several different persons that if I would provide them with from fifty to one hundred junior engineers and draftsmen, they would then themselves design and construct the plutonium plant, rapidly and without delay. They added that the plant could then be turned over to a private company for operation, or possibly be run under the Civil Service. The absurdity of such a proposal is apparent when it is remembered that this was the plant where our construction forces reached a peak of forty-five thousand and was so difficult an undertaking as to strain even the great resources of du Pont, with the full power of, and considerable aid from, the government and much of America’s industry behind it.1
Needless to say, I did not share their views, and their completely inflexible attitude made it virtually impossible to explain to them satisfactorily just why their ideas were unacceptable. Some of the most determined members of this group continued to maintain their position even after the magnitude of the Hanford works became apparent to everyone, and a few die-hards continued to argue the point even after the project had been completed.
Some months later Conant told me he thought that it might help if I would officially appoint Dr. Richard C. Tolman and himself as my scientific advisers. Conant, though it was not generally known, was already really serving in that capacity, and Tolman, a distinguished physicist, the graduate dean of the California Institute of Technology and a vice chairman of the NDRC, was familiar with our aims and had assisted us from time to time.
I immediately adopted Conant’s suggestion, for the soundness of his reasoning was obvious. He felt that this step would alleviate, at least in part, the resentment that some of the scientists felt about having a nonscientist control their work. I also knew that it would be invaluable to me to have two such distinguished able scientists to turn to for advice and assistance, particularly in dealing with scientific personnel. As soon as I secured Tolman’s acceptance, the dual appointment was announced to the various scientific groups with which we were involved. It had the helpful results predicted by Conant.
Nevertheless, there was still a small group of scientists, mostly, though not entirely, European born, who felt that they should be given complete control of the entire project. Long before the Army was brought into the picture, they had expressed dissatisfaction over the fact that Bush and Conant were in controlling positions. They seemed to feel that no one who was over forty years old, no matter how distinguished a scientist he might be, could possibly understand the intricacies of atomic energy. This was quite absurd, for it was not and is not extraordinarily difficult for anyone who will apply himself to learning them to understand the basic principles of atomic physics.
Later another angle developed that did not tend to ease matters. Several members of this group had filed patent claims on various phases of atomic energy.2 These did not seem to me or to our patent adviser, Captain R. A. Lavender, USN, Ret., to be valid under United States patent laws, since none of them had been reduced to practice and there was no certainty that they could be. Consequently we did not show any enthusiasm toward speedy financial adjustment for these claims. This could have provided a conscious or subconscious cause for irritation. In any event, I did not envy Compton’s having to contend with the problem on a day-to-day basis.
Much has been said since the war about friction within the Manhattan Project between its military and scientific members. Such friction is natural and to be expected when two groups with entirely different backgrounds and training are thrown together. At Chicago the situation was made a bit more difficult than usual because the unique array of scientific talent that had been collected there was imbued with an active dislike for any supervision imposed upon them and a genuine disbelief in the need for any outside assistance. I should emphasize that while some of these frictions were annoying, none of them interfered with the successful conclusion of the project. We were not engaged in a popularity contest, but in an extremely serious undertaking. At no time did I ever have reason to doubt the intense devotion to the accomplishment of our goal of the Chicago group—indeed, of the entire Manhattan Project—and to me that was all that ever mattered.
On October 30, I called Mr. Willis Harrington, a senior vice president of du Pont, and asked him to come to see me in Washington to discuss a highly secret matter of the utmost importance. I apologized for being unable to come to Wilmington, and asked him to say nothing about my call or his trip. He wanted to know whether he could bring with him Dr. Charles M. A. Stine, also a vice president of du Pont and a distinguished chemist; I assured him that this would be quite all right. The next day in my office in Washington, Conant and I explained to them the entire atomic situation as it then existed, giving our views on the major problems we faced and the urgency under which we were working. We made no effort to hide our uncertainty about the feasibility of the entire project. We ended by telling them that we needed and wanted the assistance of the du Pont Company in developing the plutonium processes.
We asked for their views on our chances of having a large-scale plant in operation within a reasonable time, assuming that the necessary technical data could be supplied by the scientists at the University of Chicago. We gave them only an absolute minimum of information about the other processes, the contemplated design of the bomb, and how the final product would be used in military operations; for those matters fell outside the job that we were asking them to do.
Harrington and Stine both protested vigorously that du Pont was experienced in chemistry not physics, had no knowledge or experience in this field, and that they were incompetent to render any opinion except that the entire project seemed beyond human capability. I replied that the stakes were high and while we were inclined to share their feeling, we were going ahead anyway, that we needed the best advice and help we could get, and that we thought we had come to the right place for it. In any event, until the process was conclusively proved to be unfeasible, the design, construction and operation of a plutonium plant must be initiated and carried through to the fullest extent of our ability.
I then asked them whether, in their opinion, there was any bar to du Pont’s undertaking the task. They replied that they did not think so, but that before they could give a firm answer, they would have to talk with Mr. Walter S. Carpenter, Jr., president of the company, and the other members of their Executive Committee, as well as with some of their chemists and engineers. I told them that, while the entire project was of the highest order of secrecy, they were authorized to discuss it with any member of the du Pont organization in whose integrity and discretion they had confidence. I asked that they keep the number of such persons to a minimum, cautioning them about security, and to keep a list of their names, to be sent to me in case du Pont did not eventually become associated with the project.
This was the procedure we generally followed in bringing new organizations into the picture. We talked to one or two responsible officials, preferably men already known to us, whose judgment and security-mindedness we had no reason to doubt. During the preliminary conversations they were given only a minimum of information. If the opening moves did not develop as we had anticipated, the matter was dropped and they were asked to forget that anything had ever been said. Otherwise, they were requested to explore the situation within their company as prudently as possible, giving adequate warning to those with whom they talked. The urgency of the project did not allow time for us to conduct any detailed security checks in advance of negotiations; instead, we relied upon the discretion and patriotism of American industry. We considered this a good risk and we were never disappointed.
During the following week the top officials of du Pont discussed our proposal, and at their request eight of their key employees were permitted to visit the Chicago laboratory, where they went over the status and plans of the project with Compton and his associates, and received all available theoretical and experimental data.
On November 10, I went to Wilmington to see Carpenter. My purpose was to convince him that du Pont must take over the entire plutonium project. When I entered his office I knew that I had a staggering proposal to put up to him. I knew that I was asking du Pont to embark upon a hazardous, difficult and perhaps impossible undertaking, at a time when it was already straining under the terrific war burden it was carrying. I knew, too, as Harrington and Stine had emphasized, that the work lay in a general area in which du Pont was entirely without experience. Also, I recognized that I was too new to the project to feel completely at home in discussing its many ramifications with a highly experienced chemical executive, even though he would not admit to any knowledge of nuclear physics or radioactive chemistry.
The du Pont Company was not the least bit anxious to accept the grave responsibilities it would have to carry under a contract for the entire plutonium project. Its reasons were sound: the evident physical operating hazards, the company’s inexperience in the field of nuclear physics, the many doubts about the feasibility of the process, the paucity of proven theory, and the complete lack of essential technical design data. To these there were added the extreme difficulties involved in designing, constructing and operating a full-scale plant without prior laboratory or semi-works plant experience.3 Moreover, du Pont’s existing military commitments were already producing shortages among the engineering and operating personnel whom we so sorely needed.
I had made it very clear both to Harrington and Stine that the government considered the project to be of the utmost national urgency, and that this opinion was shared by President Roosevelt, Secretary Stimson and General Marshall. When I repeated this to Mr. Carpenter, he suddenly asked if I personally agreed. Unhesitatingly, I told him that I did, and without any reservation.
I said that there were three basic military considerations involved in our work. First, the Axis Powers could very easily soon be in a position to produce either plutonium or U-235, or both. There was no evidence to indicate that they were not striving to do so; therefore we had to assume that they were. To have concluded otherwise would have been foolhardy. Second, there was no known defense against the military use of nuclear weapons except the fear of their counterem-ployment. Third, if we were successful in time, we would shorten the war and thus save tens of thousands of American casualties. (I have always believed it was for these reasons, and particularly the last, that Carpenter and his colleagues on the du Pont Executive Committee agreed to undertake the work in spite of all the hazards it entailed for their company.)
I went on to point out that these considerations required that the plutonium project get under way at the earliest possible moment on a crash basis and without regard to normal procedures. As our discussion drew to a close, I told him that we recognized fully the chances of failure and, particularly, the unknown dangers that might be involved in the operation of the completed plant. While most courteous and interested throughout, he remained noncommittal.
Later that morning, we joined the du Pont Executive Committee. Others present included Nichols, Compton, Hilberry, and some of the group from du Pont who had visited the Chicago laboratory.
I repeated to the Executive Committee the points I had previously made in talking with Carpenter. The du Pont representatives again emphasized their company’s inexperience in the field of physics, particularly in nuclear physics. They pointed out that even in one of their own fields of specialization they would not attempt to design a large-scale plant without the necessary data that could be accumulated only by a long period of laboratory research, followed by semi-works operation: for example, it had taken them many years to get nylon into mass production; yet the nylon process was simple compared to what we were asking of them. They added that, regardless of any assumption of responsibility by the government, du Pont’s moral obligation to its own employees might well preclude their going into any project that involved such extraordinary and unpredictable health hazards as the operation of a plutonium plant.
I should make it clear that reactor theory at this time did not overlook the possibility that once a chain reaction was started, it could, under some conditions, get out of control and increase progressively to the point where the reactor would explode. If highly radioactive materials were blown into the atmosphere and spread by winds over a wide area, the results could be catastrophic. We knew, too, that in the separation of the plutonium we might release into the atmosphere radioactive and other highly toxic fumes which would constitute a distinct hazard for operating personnel. It was not surprising, therefore, that du Pont should entertain grave doubts about the desirability of joining us in our work.
However, they went on, because of the extreme importance and the urgency of the work—and here they recapitulated my arguments—they felt that they could not refuse to undertake it if the government asked for their company’s assistance. They stressed, however, that this was only their opinion as members of the Executive Committee, and that any final commitment by the du Pont Company on a matter of such importance could be made only by its Board of Directors.
The du Pont officers then presented their estimate of the situation regarding the plutonium process. This estimate was based on the impressions of their employees who had just spent three days in our Chicago laboratories. In essence it said:
There was no positive assurance of success for the following reasons:
A self-sustaining reaction had not yet been demonstrated.
Nothing conclusive was known about the thermal stability of such a reaction.
None of the pile designs under consideration at that time was believed to be workable.
The feasibility of recovering plutonium from a highly radioactive medium had not been demonstrated.
Making every possible favorable assumption concerning the various stages in the development of the process, production would be limited to a few grams of plutonium in 1943 and not much more in 1944. Given a workable plant, not until sometime in 1945 could production possibly reach the planned rate, and there were many doubts whether this rate could ever be achieved on any basis.
No valid opinion on the practicability of the process under investigation in the Chicago laboratories could be reached without comparing it with the Uranium-235 processes under investigation at Columbia and Berkeley.4 For the same reasons that had led the Army to seek a critical appraisal of the Chicago process, there should be an examination and comparison of the alternative processes.
In all this we concurred. Two days later Carpenter informed me that du Pont would take the job. He said the decision of the Executive Committee, subject of course to the approval of the Board of Directors, was unanimous.
As the directors entered the room at their next Board meeting, they were asked not to look at the faced-down papers on the table in front of them. Carpenter explained that the Executive Committee was recommending that du Pont accept a contract from the government for a project in a previously unexplored field so large and so difficult that it would strain the capacity of the company to the utmost. He added that there were elements of hazard in it that under certain conditions could very well seriously damage if not well-nigh destroy du Pont. He said that the highest officials in the government, as well as those who knew the most about it, considered it to be of the highest military importance. Even its purpose was held in extreme secrecy, although if any Board member wished to he was free to read the faced-down papers before voting. Not a single man, and they were all heavy stockholders, turned them over before voting approval—or afterwards—a true display of real patriotism.
The successful accomplishment which followed was due to the tremendous capacity and determination of the entire du Pont organization which had been built up through many years of intelligent management.
On November 18, Conant and I had a thorough discussion with Stine and Crawford H. Greenewalt, then one of du Pont’s experienced chemical engineers, now its president. As Stine occasionally had before, they expressed a fear that we were asking them to take the most difficult of the processes under consideration—a process that would be unlikely to succeed. When I told them that we were assigning them the one that we thought was the most likely to succeed, their faces and their words reflected their disbelief. Stine commented, “If that is the case, you have even more nerve than we thought, and that is saying something.”
To allay their misgivings, Conant and I told them that we would appoint a reviewing committee to investigate and compare the various processes for the production of fissionable material. Furthermore, we would be happy to have, in fact we would insist on having, some du Pont men on the committee, and we would want these men to inform the du Pont management of their findings.
The committee was a well-balanced and competent group,5 thoroughly capable individually and collectively of understanding the very complex proposals and arriving at sound conclusions. Conant and I considered its mission to be twofold: first, to give us the benefits of their judgment; and second, to give du Pont assurance that we had not misled them in any way, either intentionally or inadvertently.
Earlier in November, we had been faced with a serious problem involving the location of the first experimental test pile. The original plan had been to place it in the Argonne Forest, some fifteen miles out of Chicago, where special facilities were being built to accommodate the pile and its accompanying laboratories. The already insufficient time available for this construction was cut even further by some labor difficulties which, while not particularly serious, led to delays.
In the meantime, work had begun on a small pile under the West Stands of Stagg Field at the University of Chicago. This pile was to be used to perform exponential experiments to determine the feasibility of the larger test pile. An exponential experiment, as its name indicates, is one from which, using measurements of the results obtained under varying conditions, the results to be expected under vastly different conditions can be calculated. When the supply of pure graphite necessary for the construction of a self-sustaining pile became available somewhat sooner than had been anticipated, Compton raised the question: “Why wait for Argonne?”
There was no reason to wait, except for our uncertainty about whether the planned experiment might not prove hazardous to the surrounding community. If the pile should explode, no one knew just how far the danger would extend. Stagg Field lies in the heart of a populous area, while the Argonne site was well isolated. Because of this, I had serious misgivings about the wisdom of Compton’s suggestion. I went over the situation with him, and told him of my feelings, but I did not interfere with his plans, nor did I display outwardly my concern by being present during the initial test. I learned then that nothing is harder for the man carrying the ultimate responsibility, in this case myself, than to sit back and appear calm and confident while all his hopes can easily be destroyed in a moment by some unexpected event over which he has no direct control.
At this time, the exact status of responsibility for the operations of the Chicago laboratory was still a bit hazy to some, but not to Bush, Compton and me. Compton was in direct charge. The over-all responsibility was now mine. Chicago was still under contract to the OSRD, although we were rapidly taking over all the supervisory responsibilities, and there was still a feeling among the scientific personnel that their first loyalty was to the OSRD. This was perfectly understandable, and it never caused any trouble beyond a few irritations to the MED representatives in the various laboratories.
Several experiments carried out while the pile was under construction indicated that the chances of any untoward happening were very slight. With these results in hand, Compton obtained the agreement of his senior men in Chicago that it would be safe to carry on the self-sustaining reactor experiment at Stagg Field. These same preliminary results led most of them to expect that the reaction would be self-sustaining.
It did not seem possible that, with the control system to be used, there could be an accident. For that reason, I did not interpose any further objection, although through our area engineer at the laboratory, Captain A. V. Peterson, I kept in close touch with the research efforts there to be certain that I would be promptly informed if any adverse developments should arise that might make it advisable for me to stop the work.
The building of the West Stands pile went ahead full tilt. Compton was very anxious to demonstrate the chain reaction to the reviewing committee we had appointed before it completed its study and report, feeling this might greatly influence du Pont’s decision about entering the project. I was not too much concerned about this, however, for we already had the agreement of Walter Carpenter and the company’s Executive Committee; yet I did recognize, of course, that a successful demonstration of the pile would make the final conclusion of our negotiations easier.
Although the committee was in the Chicago laboratories on December 2, 1942, when the Fermi experimental atomic pile was first placed in oper: tion, the only committee member to witness the actual demonstration was Greenewalt. He was invited by Compton on the ground that he was the youngest and would be able to talk about it for the most years. I was en route east from the Pacific Coast at that time, so Compton could not even inform me of their success. He did telephone Conant at Harvard to pass on the now famous message: “The Italian navigator [Fermi] has just landed in the new world. The natives are friendly.”
The December 2 test proved that a controlled chain reaction could be achieved, but it gave no assurance that it could be used to produce plutonium on a large scale. Neither did it give us any assurance that a bomb using plutonium or U-235 would explode. In the reactor the chain reaction was based on slow neutrons, i.e., ones slowed down by graphite or other means. In the bomb, the neutrons would be fast, for because of technical limitations there could be no moderators. Nevertheless, the committee, basing its opinion on what it had seen and heard during its inspections, reported favorably on the plutonium process. Although it did not come up with anything that Conant and I did not already believe, its work did have a reassuring effect upon us as well as upon du Pont. From that time on, whatever doubts that company may have had about its prospects of success were kept within the family. Yet this same normal evaluative process had the unexpected result of causing our most steadfast supporter in the Chicago laboratories to waver momentarily.
On December 23, Compton sent me a copy of a letter he had written, on which was inscribed in his hand: “This letter is addressed to Conant, but I am equally anxious that you give it immediate and careful attention.” In his letter, Compton was quite positive. He stated that the production of plutonium following the procedure then in hand was feasible; that there was a 99 per cent probability that it would be successful; that the probability of a successful bomb was 90 per cent; and that the time schedule, assuming continued full support, would see delivery of the first bomb in 1944 and a production rate of one bomb per month in 1945. This was by far the most optimistic estimate that I ever received prior to the explosion of the first bomb some thirty months later; and it was not at all justified by the existing knowledge. As it turned out, he was way off as to the time required, but then this was before all our difficulties were fully understood and before our scientific people came to realize that we were playing for blue chips and that they had to produce.
Compton pointed out that his opinion was in sharp contrast to that of the du Pont engineers. He implied that Stine saw only about a one per cent probability that the production process was feasible. From what Stine had told me on several occasions, I knew that Compton was mistaken. Compton went on to say that assuming success there, Stine’s forecast of the production schedule was approximately one year behind what Compton predicted.6 Compton said that his people had taken into account all the factors considered by du Pont and felt that their own appraisal was correct. He then went on to give a very spirited pitch about the quality of his own people.
He mentioned that he had originally favored du Pont for engineering and operating the process because of its extensive experience, excellent engineering organization and reputation for co-operation with other research organizations. In all of his subsequent dealings with the company he had found no reason to change his initial opinion. However, since du Pont seemed skeptical of the outcome, it would be handicapped from the start, and on that basis Compton preferred not to have it brought any further into the picture.
He closed by proposing that, if du Pont had doubts about the job, we call in General Electric and Westinghouse to engineer and build the power units, keeping du Pont only for the extraction process and for operating the power units after they were built and functioning smoothly. As a Westinghouse engineer for three years, and a G.E. consultant for seventeen, he felt that if he went to these organizations with confidence, they would accept his judgment of the feasibility of the process; and further, that if convinced of its high military importance, they would do everything in their power to see the project through. In his opinion, a co-operative engineering enterprise by these two companies could be arranged, which would be preferable to similar work undertaken by a skeptical and reluctant du Pont. I was not at all impressed by Compton’s letter. I knew it did not truly represent the du Pont attitude or Stine’s position. I knew that Compton’s proposal with respect to the combination of Westinghouse, General Electric and du Pont was entirely impractical if not impossible. I knew, too, that no matter how big the odds were against success, Stine and all of his associates would go all out to achieve it.
Moreover, by this time we had the review committee’s report in hand and Conant and I were confident that du Pont was securely in the fold. Conant’s reassurance on this score removed Compton’s misgivings as quickly as they had arisen and so we finally achieved the close and wholehearted co-operation between the Chicago scientists and the du Pont engineers upon which our eventual success was so dependent.
In our agreement with du Pont, as in all war work where time was of transcendent importance, we made use of the letter of intent. Once the contractor acknowledged its acceptance, it became a binding agreement. The letter contract with du Pont covered the design, construction and operation of a large-scale plutonium plant. It was understood that all du Pont’s work would be based on technical information to be furnished by the Metallurgical Laboratory, and that the government assumed all responsibility for the results of the endeavor, as well as for any damages that might be incurred in the course of the work. This last provision was necessary because of the nature of the entirely unpredictable and unprecedented hazards involved.
Normal insurance coverage was impossible because of the need to maintain security. While we could have disclosed the normal risks involved to a single insurance representative, there would have been little point in it, for reinsurance on large risks requires that adequate knowledge be in the hands of many groups, which would seriously have endangered our security. Moreover, the unusual hazards were such that no group of insurance companies could possibly have written the coverage, even after complete disclosure. First, no one had any reasonable idea of what the hazards might be or the likelihood of their occurring. Second, no one could predict the duration of the effects of the hazard, or, in many instances, even when the effects might first appear. Third, no one could possibly predict the extent of the damage if a major catastrophe occurred.
For all these hazards the government assumed full responsibility. To facilitate the handling of claims not resulting from a major catastrophe a special fund was established. This fund was placed under the control of du Pont so that it could continue to be available for many years. All claims were to be approved by the government before payment.
Ever-present in our thinking was the sad example of the luminous watch-dial painters of World War I. Here the effects did not become apparent for many years. The delayed reaction to excessive radiation also hit many of the original researchers and users of X-rays. How could we be certain that radiation exposure in our installations might not have similar effects despite all our efforts to prevent them?
Du Pont refused to accept our first letter of intent because it contained the standard proviso that, in addition to being reimbursed for costs, it would receive a fixed fee to be computed in accordance with the usual governmental procedures. Mr. Carpenter said that du Pont did not want any fee or profit of any kind for this work, and wanted furthermore to be certain that the company would receive no patent rights. A new letter of intent incorporating provisions to this effect was prepared and was immediately accepted.
As the preparation of the detailed contract proceeded, du Pont expressed a desire to have it approved by the Comptroller General, particularly with respect to the provisions covering reimbursement and indemnifications, in order to make certain that the basic intent of the contract to provide full reimbursement of expenses without profit would not at some later date be upset by his office. I felt this was only fair and that it would also be to the government’s advantage. Accordingly, I called on the Comptroller General, Lindsay C. Warren, and asked him to review the proposed contract. Although such a procedure was entirely contrary to the long-established practices of his office, he agreed to conduct the review.
One of his principal assistants, who was then called in to handle its details, opposed the idea very strongly, pointing out that it was contrary to all existing procedures, that it would open the door to similar requests in the future and thus would completely upset the orderly conduct of business in the office, which theretofore had consisted exclusively of passing upon the legality of payments for work already accomplished. Without further ado, Mr. Warren replied: “I promised General Groves to do it and I see every reason why we should and none why we should not.”
At du Pont’s request, Dr. Bush forwarded a letter to the President outlining the circumstances surrounding the assumption by the United States of all responsibility for the unusual hazards involved in this work. Mr. Roosevelt initialed his approval on the letter and a photostatic copy of it was given du Pont.
Despite all these protective steps, there was never any question in any of our minds but that du Pont would suffer staggering losses if a major disaster should ever occur. The damage that it would have sustained could not have been measured in dollars lost; all such losses were to be borne by the government. But the damage to its reputation and, consequently, to its future welfare, would have been untold, and the directors and the members of the Executive Committee who had agreed to undertake the work would have been completely discredited.
We encountered one other snag in making sure that, though du Pont was doing the job without profit, it would not be subject to any direct financial losses. For purely legal reasons, provision was made for a fee of one dollar.
Although the expected duration of the contract was stated, as is usual, soon after V-J Day du Pont was paid the entire fee of one dollar. This resulted in a disallowance by government auditors, since the entire time of the contract had not run out. Consequently, du Pont was asked to return thirty-three cents to the United States. Fortunately, the officers of du Pont had retained their sense of humor throughout their many years of association with the government, and were able to derive considerable amusement from this ruling.
1 Before the Hanford works were finished, du Pont employed over ten thousand subcontractors.
2 See Appendix in, page 418.
3 Normally the development of any vast industrial process extends over a period of years. Its usual sequence is, first, laboratory research, followed by the design, construction and operation of a semi-works. Only after the semi-works plant is in successful operation is the design of the commercial plant begun.
4 At Columbia, scientists under Harold C. Urey were working on a gaseous diffusion method of separating U-235 from U-238; in the laboratory at the University of California, under Ernest O. Lawrence, another group was trying to do the same thing by an electromagnetic process.
5 The committee consisted of: Dr. W. K. Lewis of MIT, Chairman; Roger Williams, T. C. Gary and C. H. Greenewalt of du Pont; and, originally, Dr. E. V. Murphree of Standard Oil Development Corporation. Unfortunately, owing to a subsequent illness, Dr. Murphree was unable to take part in the review.
6 Stine was right, as events proved.