Page 12 of The Women of Oak Ridge
A woman about my age met my gaze across the space between us. I’d seen her in the pipe area that morning, polishing giant pipes. It seemed an odd thing to do, since everything in the plant looked pristine, including the concrete floors, but then I remembered what Mr. Colby said about the importance of cleanliness. I didn’t know what was being manufactured at K-25—I hadn’t seen any military tanks, guns, or things soldiers would use to fight the enemy as I biked around—but whatever the product was, the powers that be didn’t want it coated in dirt.
The woman offered a slight nod, then disappeared into a separate dining area.
I quickly downed a ham sandwich with a glass of water, then returned to the maintenance shop. By the end of my shift, I was exhausted. Along with hundreds of other employees, I left the building through Clock Alley, where we clocked in and out, then took a shuttle across the complex to the security portal and bus terminal. When it was finally my turn, I presented my badge to the armed guard and exited the secure area through a turnstile.
While I waited at the bus stop with a crowd of noisy people, I noticed the same woman I’d seen at the cafeteria standing on the fringe of the group. Other Black women stood with her. Again, we made eye contact. This time I gave a friendly nod. She inclined her head, a hint of a smile at the edges of her eyes.
A bus arrived and we piled on as many as would fit. I squeezed onto a bench seat with two other women, hoping I didn’t fall off the edge if we hit a bump. I glanced to the back of the bus andfound the Black woman sitting alone, with a bench to herself. I wished I could move to join her, but even in Kentucky that wasn’t allowed.
Instead of going directly to Townsite, as the buses I’d ridden thus far had done, this one went in a different direction. I feared I’d made a mistake and would need to ask for a transfer if it didn’t go to town.
The first stop was Happy Valley, a sprawling residential area not far from the plant, made up of small houses and khaki-colored trailer homes, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Hundreds of the miniature, bullet-shaped residences lined the streets, making me curious about what they looked like inside.
People poured off the bus, including the two women I’d shared the seat with. Others boarded but none asked to sit with me.
After another stop in Happy Valley, we drove to a separate housing area. Here, the dwellings were different. Instead of trailers or typical houses, dozens and dozens of identical, square huts filled the view. A fence and a ditch divided it into two sections, with a guard stationed at a gate to one of them. Wooden walkways and electrical poles with wires ran throughout, although there wasn’t much space between the huts. I was surprised to see that each one had wooden shutters instead of glass windowpanes, most of which were propped open to let in a breeze. The dwellings were even smaller than the shanties the coal company provided back home, and I couldn’t imagine who lived in such crude conditions.
It was then that I noticed every Black person—men and women alike—got off the bus.
As the bus pulled away, I saw the woman from the cafeteria. With her back straight and her chin held high, she walked with other women to the guarded entrance of the sad-looking housing area, while the men went in the opposite direction.
The driver announced the next stop was Townsite, and I settledback in the seat. However, some of the excitement I’d felt that day faded as I thought about the comfortable dorm room that awaited me.
My days were filled with office tasks and running errands for Mr. Colby. I enjoyed biking throughout the cavernous plant, carrying parts and tools used on enormous machines, huge holding tanks, and millions of miles of pipe, all located within the main building. There were smaller structures throughout the K-25 complex, too, and errands to them allowed me to go outside and get some fresh air. K-1101 housed big cylinders and smaller tubes. K-1201 held air compressors that powered many of the tools used in the machine shop. There was K this and K that, and I had to learn each of their locations. By the end of the week, however, I had no more knowledge of what was happening at K-25 than I’d had on my first day, a fact that annoyed my naturally curious nature.
Sissy was in the same boat as far as her job at Y-12.
“I know we aren’t s’posed to talk about what we do to anyone,” she said that night as we prepared for bed, “but I can’t figure how telling you that I sit in a chair all day long, turning dials and knobs, is gonna hurt a thing.”
I agreed. “I feel the same way. All I do is file papers or ride a bicycle here and there, delivering parts and tools. Whatever the big secret is that everyone is trying to keep, it hasn’t got anything to do with me.”
We settled on our beds, separated by a nightstand.
Sissy had her pale-yellow hair in rollers, ready to style in the morning. She was a pretty thing, with her deep-blue eyes and curvy figure, but I’d happily found her unassuming and sweet. We’d had tons of fun that evening at the tennis court, dancing withone fellow after the other. With so many single men and women working at CEW, flirting and romances were in abundance. I, however, was determined not to let myself get carried away by every charming man who asked for a dance. Even the military boys, looking so handsome in their uniforms, couldn’t sway me to take a walk in the woods with them, no doubt a place where more than one kiss was stolen.
Sissy fluffed her pillow. “Did you notice that older fella who kept asking me to dance?”
“Was he bothering you?” I was two years older than my roommate and already felt like a protective big sister.
“Oh no, he was very polite.” She giggled. “He’s kind of tall and skinny, with wire-rimmed glasses, but,” she paused, growing serious, “he’s nice.”
“What’s his name?”
“Clive. Clive Morrison. He works at K-25, like you.”
I frowned. “He shouldn’t have told you that. You just met.”
“I don’t see how it could make a difference. Besides, we talked about a lot of things that had nothin’ to do with this place. He’s from Massachusetts. His ancestors came over on the Mayflower.” Her wide eyes told me this tidbit of information had made an impression.
I scoffed. “I doubt that. I’m sure he was just trying to sound important so you’d go on a date with him.”
Her brow puckered. “He seemed like a respectable gentleman, Mae. I like him.”
It was clear I’d need to tread carefully on the subject of Clive Morrison, at least until another boy caught her attention. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply he lied to you. I just think it’s best to get better acquainted with him, that’s all.”
“I know I’m young and don’t have much experience with fellas.” Her slim shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Mama wouldn’t let medate any of the boys back home. She said I was destined for somethin’ bigger and better than being a farmer’s wife in rural Georgia.” A sheepish look crossed her face. “Mama says I’m pretty enough to be in movies, but I don’t know about that.”
“I would have to agree with your mother,” I said. “But pretty girls can do anything they put their minds to, same as anyone else. Look at you now.” I waved my hands in a dramatic way to indicate our austere dorm room. “Here you are inexcitingNowhere, Tennessee, sitting in a chair all day long, turning knobs and dials at a plant where they don’t make anything we can name. You stand in long lines, ride in crowded buses, and walk through mud every day. I don’t see how being in a Hollywood movie can even compare to this, do you?”
We laughed so hard, the girls in the room next door banged on the wall.
