Page 30 of The Women of Oak Ridge
CHAPTER ELEVEN:LAUREL
THE WHITE BRICK CHURCHsat on a corner, not far from the Scarboro Community Center. Across the street were long, narrow houses that looked like they’d been there a while. Jonas had pointed out similar structures during our tour yesterday, indicating the multifamily units had been built by the Army Corps of Engineers during the war. I wondered if I was now looking at homes where workers of the Manhattan Project once lived.
I parked the Camaro next to the only vehicle in the lot. A glance at my wristwatch told me I was a little early for my meeting with Velvet and Roonie, but I was anxious to hear what the couple had to say about their time in Oak Ridge.
Last night over supper, Aunt Mae told me life was different in Oak Ridge for Black employees during the war.
“It was the 1940s. Everything was segregated,” she’d said, a frown creasing her brow. “Housing, cafeterias, recreation areas. Legal racism prevented Velvet, Roonie, and the others from having access to the same goods, services, and work opportunities available to the rest of us.” She’d shaken her head. “It wasn’t right.”
I’d sat silent, letting the truth of her words sink in.
I hadn’t considered that the wrongs done under mandated segregation extended to the Secret City during the war. Surely Black citizens willing to work under the unusual circumstances the Manhattan Project forced upon its employees deserved the same treatment as their white counterparts. Their work contributed to the success of the mission too.
Yet Aunt Mae’s disclosure revealed that hadn’t been the case.
As I studied the church’s plain exterior, I thought back to the civil rights rallies I’d attended at Boston University when I was a student. Although I believed in liberty and freedom for everyone, I didn’t have firsthand experience with the prejudices people in the South dealt with. Growing up in Massachusetts, segregation and its lasting effects was known as aSouthern issue.Most of my Black friends never even spoke about it.
Yet hearing that theSouthern issuehad been prevalent in Oak Ridge during World War II made me wonder if segregation had taken place at the other Manhattan Project facilities as well. Had Black employees been treated differently at Los Alamos and Hanford?
I entered the church through a set of double doors. Everything was quiet. After some moments, however, the murmur of voices came from an open doorway at the front of the sanctuary. I quietly walked in that direction.
I’d just reached the entrance when a man with short, graying hair exited. We were both startled.
“Land sakes, you ’bout gave me a heart attack.” He chuckled. “You must be Mae’s niece. I’m Roonie, Velvet’s better half.”
As we shook hands, Velvet herself appeared in the entryway. “I heard that. Don’t go telling falsehoods to Laurel from the very beginning. She won’t believe a word you say later on.”
I smiled, enjoying the teasing banter between the couple. “I appreciate you both being willing to talk with me today.”
“I’m always glad to hear of young folks furthering their education,” Roonie said, “’specially if they intend to do good in the world with all that book learnin’. If our stories about those long-ago days in Oak Ridge can help you, I’m happy to tell ’em.”
“Let’s sit in the sanctuary.” Velvet motioned to the rows of wooden benches I’d passed. “This office is barely big enough for the two of us.”
We moved to the front pew, although Roonie sat on the step to the platform, facing Velvet and me.
“Thing is,” Velvet said as I readied my notebook and pencil, “we don’t talk much about our early years here.”
“That’s actually not unusual, from what I’ve learned.” I glanced between the two. “Many of the people I’ve interviewed admit they don’t revisit those days very often. Whether that’s due to the secrecy that was a constant concern or simply a result of passing time is something I’m interested in discovering.”
Roonie gave a slow nod. “I suspect it’s a bit of both. From the moment we stepped a toe on the Reservation, keepin’ our mouths shut about everything we saw and heard was drilled into us.”
“Daily,” added Velvet. “Everywhere you went in Oak Ridge, there were signs posted about keeping mum about this or that. The enemy was always watchin’, they said. I didn’t figure I had much to talk about, but I still never spoke out of turn to anyone. Roonie”—she glanced his way—“is the only person I trusted.”
“Did you meet here in Oak Ridge?” I asked.
Roonie grinned and looked at his wife. “I saw her for the first time when she was seventeen years old, workin’ behind the counter at a drugstore as a soda jerk in Montgomery, Alabama. Prettiest thing I ever did see, I tell ya. I knew right then I’d marry that gal.”
I stifled a chuckle when Velvet snorted and rolled her eyes.
“As I recall, there were quite a few ‘prettiest things’ you were interested in back then.”
“Now, that ain’t true and you know it.” He met my gaze. “I haven’t looked at another woman since I met Vel. Been married thirty-seven years next month. Raised five children and started this church. I thank the good Lord every day for blessing me with the perfect helpmate.”
Velvet sent her husband a warm look, then said to me, “We’ve had a good life here in Oak Ridge. Lots of friends and family live here. Your aunt is one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
I was certain Velvet knew of Aunt Mae’s reticence to talk about her life at Oak Ridge during the war. I hoped she would be able to help me understand the reasoning behind it.
“You mentioned that you both worked at K-25.”
