Before the MED very little effort had been devoted to the design of an actual bomb, for until the problems presented by the separation of U-235 and the production of plutonium were well on the way to solution, it was felt that there was no pressing need to initiate detailed work on the mechanics of an atomic explosion. All that had been done by the middle of 1942 was to demonstrate theoretically the possible feasibility and effectiveness of an atomic bomb. Its probable design and size were unknown.
In addition to his other work, Arthur Compton had been assigned over-all responsibility for the physics of bomb development. As a first step in June, 1942, he had appointed Dr. J. Robert Oppenheimer to take charge of this particular phase of the project. Oppenheimer was then at the University of California at Berkeley. He began work on the problem with a small group of theoretical physicists.
As I grew familiar with the project and having, as I did, the advantage of a fresh point of view, I became acutely aware of the need to push this particular phase of the work. A number of people disagreed, feeling that the bomb could be designed and fabricated in a very short time by a relatively small number of competent men. One extremist even went so far as to tell me that twenty capable scientists could produce a workable bomb in three months. Discussions with Arthur Compton, Conant and Bush made it clear to me that these estimates were dangerously overoptimistic and that the work should be started at once in order that one part of our operation, at any rate, could progress at what I hoped would be a comfortable pace.
During our numerous talks about the organization of Project Y, as this work was later called, a difficult question arose: Who should be the head of it? I had not before been confronted with this special problem, for the directors of the other laboratories connected with the project had been appointed before my arrival upon the scene.
Although Oppenheimer headed the study group at Berkeley, neither Bush, Conant nor I felt that we were in any way committed to his appointment as director of Project Y. I did not know Oppenheimer more than casually at that time. Our first meeting had been on October 8 at the University of California, when we had discussed at some length the results of his study and the methods by which he had reached his conclusions. Shortly afterward, I asked him to come to Washington and together we had explored the problem of exactly what would be needed to develop the actual bomb.
In the meantime I was searching for the best man to take charge of this work. I reviewed with everyone to whom I felt free to talk the qualifications its director should have, and asked for nominations. Today, Oppenheimer would be considered a natural choice because he proved to be successful. Having been in charge of this particular field under Compton, he knew everything that was then known about it. Yet all his work had been purely theoretical and had not taken him much beyond the point of being able to make an educated guess at the force an atomic fission bomb could exert. Nothing had been done on such down-to-earth problems as how to detonate the bomb, or how to design it so that it could be detonated. Adding to my cause for doubt, no one with whom I talked showed any great enthusiasm about Oppenheimer as a possible director of the project.
My own feeling was that he was well qualified to handle the theoretical aspects of the work, but how he would do on the practical experimentation, or how he would handle the administrative responsibilities, I had no idea. I knew, of course, that he was a man of tremendous intellectual capacity, that he had a brilliant background in theoretical physics, and that he was well respected in the academic world. I thought he could do the job. In all my inquiries, I was unable to find anyone else who was available who I felt would do as well.
Of the men within our organization I had no doubt that Ernest Lawrence could handle it. He was an outstanding experimental physicist, and this was a job for an experimental physicist. However, he could not be spared from his work on the electromagnetic process; in fact, without him we would have had to drop it, for it was far too difficult and complex for anyone else. I knew of no one then and I know of no one now, besides Ernest Lawrence, who could unquestionably have carried that development through to a successful conclusion.
Compton had a thorough background in physics, and he had had considerable administrative experience. But he could not be spared from Chicago.
Urey was a chemist and, though an outstanding one, was not qualified technically to head up this particular job. Outside the project there may have been other suitable people, but they were all fully occupied on essential work, and none of those suggested appeared to be the equal of Oppenheimer.
Oppenheimer had two major disadvantages—he had had almost no administrative experience of any kind, and he was not a Nobel Prize winner. Because of the latter lack, he did not then have the prestige among his fellow scientists that I would have liked the project leader to possess. The heads of our three major laboratories—Lawrence at Berkeley, Urey at Columbia, and Compton at Chicago—were all Nobel Prize winners, and Compton had several Nobel Prize winners working under him. There was a strong feeling among most of the scientific people with whom I discussed this matter that the head of Project Y should also be one.
I think that the general attitude toward these laureates has since changed. They no longer are looked up to quite so much as they were then, primarily because so many men have produced remarkable results recently without receiving prizes. However, because of the prevailing sentiment at that time, coupled with the feeling of a number of people that Oppenheimer would not succeed, there was considerable opposition to my naming him.
Nor was he unanimously favored when I first brought the question before the Military Policy Committee. After much discussion I asked each member to give me the name of a man who would be a better choice. In a few weeks it became apparent that we were not going to find a better man; so Oppenheimer was asked to undertake the task.
But there was still a snag. His background included much that was not to our liking by any means. The security organization, which was not yet under my complete control, was unwilling to clear him because of certain of his associations, particularly in the past. I was thoroughly familiar with everything that had been reported about Oppenheimer. As always in security matters of such importance, I had read all the available original evidence; I did not depend upon the conclusions of the security officers.
Finally, because I felt that his potential value outweighed any security risk, and to remove the matter from further discussion, I personally wrote and signed the following instructions to the District Engineer on July 20, 1943:
In accordance with my verbal directions of July 15, it is desired that clearance be issued for the employment of Julius Robert Oppenheimer without delay, irrespective of the information which you have concerning Mr. Oppenheimer. He is absolutely essential to the project.
I have never felt that it was a mistake to have selected and cleared Oppenheimer for his wartime post. He accomplished his assigned mission and he did it well. We will never know whether anyone else could have done it better or even as well. I do not think so, and this opinion is almost universal among those who were familiar with the wartime operations at Los Alamos.
Toward the end of 1944, because of his far from rugged constitution and the vital character of his job, I had to consider what I would do if anything happened to him and I had to select a successor. I talked over the problem with Tolman and Conant, but could arrive at no good solution. There was none that was evident.
As to his loyalty, I have repeatedly stated in recent years—in print, on TV, on radio, and before the Personnel Security Board, headed by Dr. Gordon Gray—that I would be greatly surprised if Oppenheimer had ever consciously committed a disloyal act against the United States.
Once his appointment was settled, and Oppenheimer started to consider the setup of his organization, we were faced with the problem of choosing a site for his laboratory. In considering suitable areas, we had to take into account a number of factors that did not apply to the location of our other sites, although outwardly the requirements for Project Y appeared quite similar to theirs. We needed good transportation, by air and rail, adequate water, a reasonable availability of labor, a temperate climate, to permit year-round construction and out-of-doors experimental work, and all the other things that make for an efficient operation. As before, we sought an isolated area so that near-by communities would not be adversely affected by any unforeseen results from our activities. Yet this installation would be different, because here we were faced with the necessity of importing a group of highly talented specialists, some of whom would be prima donnas, and of keeping them satisfied with their working and living conditions.
In view of our requirements, we concentrated our search on the southwestern part of the United States. Major J. H. Dudley, who made an extensive field search over the whole Southwest for us, confirmed our preliminary views that there were only two general areas that might be satisfactory. One would lie somewhere along the Santa Fe Railroad, in New Mexico or Arizona, while the other would be in California. The Navy was already interested in the most promising California site, which did not have suitable living conditions from our point of view, and which would have been extremely expensive to develop adequately. While shielded by surrounding mountains against the chance of an accidental explosion, the teeming millions of Los Angeles County were too near for us to maintain the security we deemed necessary. I gave more than the usual amount of weight to this consideration because our work there would be such that its purpose might easily be suspected from a considerable distance. A general barrier around the entire property, such as we had at Han-ford and Oak Ridge, would not be practicable because of the tremendous population in the immediate vicinity. I was also certain that it would be extremely difficult and unpleasant to try to keep our scientific personnel from mixing socially with the faculty of the California Institute of Technology. Inevitably, we would have had security breaches, and there would have been just too many people knowing what we were trying to do.
We considered another site in California on the eastern side of the Sierra Nevadas, not too distant from Reno. Although it was on a line of the Southern Pacific Railroad, it would not have been easily accessible by commercial airlines, nor would the passenger service on the railroad have been satisfactory; and the heavy snows would have impeded our operations in winter.
After Oppenheimer and I had gone over the possibilities at some length, we agreed that there seemed to be nothing that suited our purposes as well as the general vicinity of Albuquerque. There was good rail service between that city and Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco and Washington, and all TWA flights to the Coast stopped there. Its climate was excellent, it was well isolated, and had the additional advantage of being far inland, which appealed to me because of the ever-present threat of Japanese interference along the Coast.
Because a New Mexico National Guard regiment had been captured in the Philippines we could count on a population and a state government intensely interested in furthering the war effort. The support we received was superb.
Oppenheimer owned a ranch in the near-by Sangre de Cristo Range, so we could draw upon a firsthand source of information on the general character of the country in judging whether our scientific people might find working there to their liking.
In October, 1942, I met Oppenheimer, Dudley and several others in Albuquerque to look at a site which had been selected by one of my officers. As we went along the road to the north, we drove by many small Indian farms, and I began to have misgivings about the troubles we would have in dispossessing the owners. When we reached the site itself, we found it well isolated and possessed of a fine supply of water, which was most unusual in that area. However, it was hemmed in by cliffs on three sides. Oppenheimer felt that this might have a depressing effect upon the laboratory workers, and I recognized that we would have a number of insurmountable problems if we should ever have to expand. After inspecting the site, I told Oppenheimer that, while I preferred the general area of Albuquerque, this particular property was not satisfactory for our purposes and cited my reasons. He did not argue the point, and his associates were openly pleased with my disapproval, since they had not liked the location.
In the hope of finding something more suitable, we drove over the mountains toward Sante Fe, to look at a possibility suggested by Oppenheimer. As we approached Los Alamos, we came upon a boys’ boarding school that occupied part of the area. It was quite evident that this would be an isolated site, with plenty of room for expansion. In fact, I could see only two potential sources of difficulty in its physical layout. One was the access road to the hill on which Los Alamos was located. It was poorly laid out, going up the side of a gulch, and could not possibly carry the heavy traffic that would have to pass over it. A careful personal inspection led me to believe that it would not be too difficult to relocate the road and make it passable, but it was obvious that we could not quickly improve it to the point where it would be completely safe for normal driving. Its use would always involve risk, both to people and equipment.
The other problem was water. It seemed that there would be an ample supply, provided we exerted care in its use. As it turned out, we had considerable trouble because the population at Los Alamos grew far beyond what we had anticipated. We also found—which did not surprise me—that it was almost impossible to control the use of water by the residents. This was not so much because they were not under military discipline as because they were twentieth-century Americans and they are always prodigal in their use of water.
The fact that there were already a number of buildings at Los Alamos, though nowhere nearly as many as we would ultimately require, meant that we could move in our first people at once and expand on that base. This would save us months in getting started.
From the standpoint of security, Los Alamos was quite satisfactory. It was far removed from any large center of population, and was reasonably inaccessible from the outside. There were only a few roads and canyons by which it could be approached. Also, the geographically enforced isolation of the people working there lessened the ever-present danger of their inadvertently diffusing secret information among social or professional friends outside.
The only major problem left was whether the school’s owners would object to its being taken over. It was a private school with students from all over the country and, had they chosen to do so, its owners could have made considerable trouble for us, not so much by making us take the condemnation proceedings into court as by causing too many people to talk about what we were doing. When the initial overtures were made to them, I was most relieved to find that they were anxious to get rid of the school, for they had been experiencing great difficulty in obtaining suitable instructors since America had entered the war, and were very happy indeed to sell out to us and close down for the duration—and, as it turned out, forever.