Even if Operation Argus had actually been “the greatest scientific experiment of all time” as it was breathlessly proclaimed, such hyperbole hardly holds up sixty years later, in a world with smart phones, molecular biology, and the Large Hadron Collider. But in its time, it was certainly one of the most secretive. As they all played their various parts to bring Argus to its successful conclusion, practically none of its direct participants were aware of the full picture. One telling example is the crew scrapbook of the Norton Sound’s 1958 summer cruise, titled The Horned Shellback. It features plenty of photos of the ship, its officers and crew, the initiation of pollywogs in the “crossing the line” ceremonies, icebergs and aircraft, even liberty in Rio—but nothing at all from the mysterious doings of the Sound during its weeks in the South Atlantic Ocean. It’s as if a whole chunk of pages has been torn out covering the time from the ship “rounding the Horn” until her arrival in Rio de Janeiro.
While the crew scrapbook wasn’t an official document and hence not formally redacted by upper echelons, it’s probable that the crew was under orders to avoid taking any snapshots of the highly secret Argus activities. Even official visual documentation of Task Force 88’s operations in late August and early September 1958 is almost nonexistent, save for some grainy and unedited 16mm footage that survives in the National Archives and the scenes included in the official (and formerly classified) film reports. The Norton Sound logbooks for that period simply list her cruise as beginning from Port Hueneme and ending at a “special project firing area, south Atlantic Ocean”—accompanied by a note from Captain Gralla that the commander of Task Force 88 “has directed all ship’s deck logs classified as Confidential for operations conducted south of latitude 20 S.”
Such missing pieces are quite familiar to researchers of previously classified history. It’s necessary to become something of a detective, hunting down evidence, piecing together clues, seeking connections, and engaging in educated, if reluctant, speculation where necessary—which leads to the frustrating realization that it’s virtually impossible to tell the entire story. Inevitably, those missing pieces, whether still classified or simply lost or destroyed over the years, leave some parts of the tale forever clouded, never to be fully known. As previously noted, this problem is particularly marked in the case of Argus, since the breakneck pace of the operation coupled with its intense secrecy meant that many important aspects weren’t formally recorded and chronicled in the usual manner of such undertakings.
I say all this not to excuse any inadequacies on my part in telling this story, but to point out that many similar tales remain lurking in the shadows of the Cold War, waiting to be discovered. I’ve done my best in this book to chronicle the histories of Argus and Fishbowl, but with the full awareness that there are likely more details and more secrets yet to be revealed, not only about these projects but many others. I hope that this volume may serve as a starting point for future efforts, and look forward to learning the secrets that I wasn’t able to uncover.
One fact that’s not at all secret is that no author can possibly create a book such as this one without the help and support of a great many people. I must first thank my agent, Michelle Tessler, who was the first to believe in this project and relentless in her efforts to place it. I’m also deeply grateful to my colleague Sharon Weinberger, who not only offered helpful guidance on research sources but also referred me to Michelle. At The Overlook Press, Tracy Carns and Chelsea Cutchens provided stalwart editorial guidance.
As every nonfiction author knows, libraries and librarians are among our greatest national resources. My thanks to the special collections staff of the University of Iowa Libraries, the University of Alabama Library, the library of Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, and the MIT Libraries. The archivists of the National Archives and Records Administration in College Park, Maryland, and Washington, DC, and the National Security Archive at George Washington University guided me to valuable material.
I wrote most of this book while at Massachusetts Institute of Technology on a Knight Science Journalism Fellowship from 2016–17. Aside from granting invaluable time for writing and research, the fellowship gifted me with the precious camaraderie, friendship, and guidance of Iván Carrillo, Sally Deneen, Chloé Hecketsweiler, Robert McClure, Maura O’Connor, Rosalia Omungo, Meera Subramanian, Bianca Vazquez Toness, Fabio Tur-one, and Lauren Whaley, along with fellowship director Deborah Blum and the rest of the Knight crew: David Corcoran, Tom Zeller, Bettina Urcuioli, and Jane Roberts. What an extraordinary group of people you all are, and how fortunate I am to have met and worked with you.
Several distinguished scholars provided valuable advice and perspectives, including Peter Galison of Harvard University; Michael D. Gordin of Princeton University; George Woodwell of Woods Hole Research Center; and David Kaiser, R. Scott Kemp, and Ted Postol of MIT.
While writers are by and large solitary creatures, most of us function best with the support and encouragement of friends and family, and I am no exception. So many thanks and undying appreciation to Cat Calhoun, Amy Chamberlain Fisher, Linda Chamberlain, Kristina Finan, Jeff Harris, Diana Kenney, Tarra Navarro, Tom Purdom, Zan Rosin, Denise Shubin, Sue Smith, and Judy Weightman.
Finally, special recognition must go to the Argus veterans who agreed to share their unique experiences with me: Malcolm Allen, Richard S. Culp, Henry R. Kizziah, Frederic P. Lamb, Keith P. Mayfield, Ken McMaster, Quintin Owens, William F. Reagan, and Bobby W. Terrell. Gentlemen, thank you all, and I hope I’ve done justice to your service and contributions in these pages.