Page 42 of The Women of Oak Ridge
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:LAUREL
FIRST THING MONDAY MORNING,I took Jonas’s advice and headed to the Oak Ridge library. I hoped to spend a good chunk of time digging through old newspapers and other historical records that might help me get a feel for what life was like in Oak Ridge during the war.
Aunt Mae left the house too, assuring me she didn’t have far to go when I expressed concern about her eyesight impairing her driving. I’d helped her load the back seat of her car with colorful Tupperware containers filled with the six dozen cookies we’d baked yesterday afternoon when we returned from the church service. While I’d rolled out dough for sugar cookies and she mixed up a batch of snickerdoodles, Aunt Mae filled me in on her volunteer work.
On Mondays she helped in the church nursery while a group of young mothers met for Bible study in the fellowship hall. Moms, children, and even the pastor were treated to home-baked goodies. When she left there, she spent the afternoon at the nursing homewhere she wrote letters, washed hair, or simply played cards with the residents, leaving the remaining cookies for them to enjoy. On Wednesdays she helped at the elementary school, and on Fridays she visited church members who were under the weather, often taking them a casserole or soup. Before her eyesight became an issue, she’d also sewed and knit items to send to missionaries overseas.
“Dad told me you kept busy with volunteer work,” I’d said, impressed by her full schedule, “but I had no idea how much you accomplished each week. You must have more energy than most people half your age, including me.”
Her face had remained serious despite my offhanded joke. “I admit I’m worn out by the end of the week, but,” she’d paused, her brow tugged, “it’s my responsibility.”
Her choice of words puzzled me. “I’m sure they all appreciate your hard work, Aunt Mae, but you don’t want to overdo it. It wouldn’t hurt to cut back somewhere.”
She’d shaken her head. “I don’t want to let anyone down. You mustn’t worry about me, dear. I’m fine.”
I didn’t pursue the subject further. If she was happy with her volunteer work, who was I to say otherwise? We agreed we’d have a simple dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup that evening, since we both planned to be away from the house most of the day. I’d stuffed an apple in my purse to tide me over.
Now, after obtaining assistance from a very helpful librarian, I was parked in front of a microfilm machine loaded with images from theOak Ridge Journal, beginning in 1943.
Anticipation swirled through me.
Although I didn’t know exactly what I hoped to discover by reading the old newspapers, I couldn’t help but feel they would lead me to a better understanding of life in Oak Ridge during the days of the Manhattan Project. Because I’d gotten to know someof the people who actually lived through the war, I found myself interested in them and what they experienced on a personal level that had nothing to do with research for my dissertation. Reading through old news articles was an opportunity to go back in time through the written words of people living behind the fences of the Secret City, experiencing day-to-day life there and not just retelling about events that took place many years ago. I would especially like to find new information that hadn’t already been shared by the residents I’d interviewed. Some nugget of historical significance that was fresh and exciting.
While the machine warmed up, I couldn’t help but smile, thinking back to the telephone conversation I’d had with Jonas yesterday evening. He’d called, just as he’d promised, to see if I’d like to join him for dinner tomorrow night. Of course I’d said yes, and he offered to pick me up at six o’clock. After I hung up the telephone, I decided a trip to the department store downtown was in order. The clothes I’d packed for the trip weren’t first-date worthy.
I tapped the table with my index finger, a bad habit whenever I became nervous.
It had been a while since I’d gone on a date. Scotty Gurley and I had been sweet on each other since the seventh grade, but once he became a game-winning high school quarterback, he dropped me for the head cheerleader. Although I hadn’t been heartbroken, my hurt feelings were assuaged when I heard she dumped him right after graduation. She was bound for New York City, with dreams of breaking into modeling, and didn’t want a boyfriend to spoil her plans. I’d thrown myself into my studies in college, much to the dismay of friends who continually tried to set me up with guys they thought would pique my interest.
What about Jonas?I wondered. Did he date much? I was only in town for a week, two at the most, so there wasn’t any fear ofthings turning serious. We’d simply connected over the history of Oak Ridge. We would have a nice meal and share some laughs. Nothing to be nervous about.
Images of theJournalsoon filled the small screen in front of me. All thoughts of boys and dating gave way to life during the Manhattan Project and World War II.
The first issues were typed and printed on what appeared to be regular sheets of typewriter paper, beginning with a letter from Lieutenant Colonel Crenshaw of the Corps of Engineers dated September4, 1943. He encouraged residents of the new community of Oak Ridge to put their best foot forward so that “the war effort may go on at full pace.” Considering the extraordinary secret work that would take place in Oak Ridge—work that eventually resulted in an atomic bomb—it seemed a bit dishonest of the area engineer to refer to it simply as “the project.” Folks like Aunt Mae could never have imagined what the project truly entailed.
I clicked to the next page, a letter from Town Manager Captain Samuel Baxter, repeating the previous encouragement to residents to give their best and have a bit of a “Pollyanna” attitude regarding the limitations of a brand-new town still under construction.
By January 1944, issues of theOak Ridge Journalincluded a line at the top that read “Published for Oak Ridge – keep it here, please.” Obviously, secrecy was of utmost importance. While I didn’t think the newspaper would be allowed to print information the enemy could use to discover the secret work taking place, Oak Ridge remained hidden from the world in 1944. A newspaper from a town that didn’t exist on any map could alert a savvy spy that something was amiss.
I paused as I considered the reality of life in Oak Ridge back then.
What crazy times those were. The world at war. Hitler and Mussolini determined to spread their evil. The Allies just as determined to stop them. That was the sole reason the Manhattan Project was created. The reason Oak Ridge existed.
I spent the next hours reading news articles and taking notes. While everything I read fascinated the history nerd in me, I didn’t find anything revelatory. I did notice that sometime in 1944 the newspaper switched from being printed on regular paper to what looked like actual newsprint. Articles were arranged in columns with headlines, and the warning on the front page changed to “Keep this copy here please.”
At noon, I took a short break and went outside to eat my apple. The air was warm but clouds filled the sky. It appeared we were in for a rain shower soon. I hoped Aunt Mae made it home before the storm broke. Now that I was aware of her eye problems, I worried about her driving around town.
Back at the microfilm machine, I whipped through pages filled with stories about town events, upcoming dances, and building and construction updates. In June 1944, the front page held news about the successful D-Day bond drive, complete with a black-and-white photograph of dozens of young women gathered around a table where bonds were sold.
By August 1944, the warning at the top had changed yet again, this time reading “Not to be taken or mailed from the area.” Stories followed the same pattern you’d find in any newspaper across the country, with local tales as well as updates on the war. Photographs of recent high school graduates, summaries of town hall meetings, and even a story about a group of nurses’ aides receiving their caps found their way onto the pages.
As though Oak Ridge was simply a town like any other.
As though the secret made no difference in the lives of the residents.
I considered their unique situation. Despite the vital, clandestine work of enriching uranium for a bomb that took place right under their noses, most of the residents of Oak Ridge had no idea why the town existed. Why they’d been brought in from across the country to live in a place founded on and embroiled in secrecy. Held together by that very secrecy, even. If not for the project, none of the people I’d read about today would have been in Oak Ridge, because Oak Ridge would not have existed. The East Tennessee land General Groves appropriated for the enormous plants and the quaint town would still be farmland. The communities of Wheat, Scarboro, Edgemoor, and others would’ve remained where they’d been for decades. Farmhouses commandeered for residents of the Reservation would instead be passed down through the generations, as had happened long before buildings with names like K-25 and Y-12 sprang up instead of crops.
The story of Oak Ridge got even stranger when I came across an article that told the bizarre tale about a man named John Hendrix and a prophecy he made decades before the Manhattan Project came to Tennessee. According to the newspaper, Hendrix was born in 1865 and died in 1915, twenty-eight years before General Groves began buying up land with the intention of building an enormous uranium enrichment facility. An odd fellow, Hendrix often disappeared into the woods where he remained for weeks. Once, after spending forty nights in the hills, he returned with a wild prediction. “A huge factory will be built in Bear Creek Valley,” he told folks at the general store, “that will help win the greatest war there will ever be.” He predicted there would be a city on Black Oak Ridge, railroads, and thousands of people running to and fro.
