{"id":217,"date":"2024-08-09T06:20:54","date_gmt":"2024-08-09T10:20:54","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.don-mitchell.com\/?p=217"},"modified":"2025-03-08T12:41:20","modified_gmt":"2025-03-08T17:41:20","slug":"nuclear-families","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.don-mitchell.com\/?p=217","title":{"rendered":"Nuclear Families"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Seventy-nine years ago today (9 August 1945) the bomb known as \u201cFat Man\u201d fell away from the B-29 bomber \u201cBockscar,\u201d and detonated about 1,500 feet over Nagasaki. Fat Man exploded with the force of about 21 kilotons of TNT, immediately killing somewhere between 40,000 and 75,000 Japanese, mostly civilians.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was just over two years old, living in Hilo, Hawai\u2019i, and have no memory of that event, nor do I remember the Hiroshima bomb three days earlier. And I don\u2019t remember Japan\u2019s surrender, which took place only a few days later. My partner Ruth \u2013 who is just three months older than I am, and was living in Chicago \u2013 also remembers nothing about those explosions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t have any memories that center on what we used to call \u201cA-bombs\u201d until I was nine or ten years old \u2013 this would have been 1952 or 1953 \u2013 when at Riverside Elementary School, where we had already been taught to duck and cover in case of earthquakes, we were taught to use the same procedure in case of atomic attack. That there should be earthquakes on the island was predictable. They shook and rolled us regularly. As for atomic attacks \u2013 who knew what the Russians might do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember riding with a friend, being driven by his father. We were playing in the back seat with wooden swords that I had made. Between Waimea and Honoka\u2019a the father asked us, \u201cDo you boys know what to do if there\u2019s an atomic attack?\u201d We said that we did. I remember this because even at that age I recognized the irony of playing at swordfighting while talking about surviving atomic bombing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I certainly didn\u2019t know the word irony<\/em>, and I certainly didn\u2019t comprehend the difference between atomic bombs and conventional ones, but I was aware of how strange it was to be play-fighting with weapons no longer used in war, while declaring I knew how to deal with new weapons so fierce that a single one could destroy a city. And I believe that even then, I understood that no matter what our teachers told us, ducking and covering would not keep me safe if the Russians attacked us with atomic bombs, .<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had by then read Hersey\u2019s Hiroshima. <\/em>I found it fascinating, I remember that, and I remember being saddened, and I remember struggling with the scale of the thing. Many more people than lived in our town had died instantly. It was incomprehensible and yet it had happened. So I knew that it should be comprehensible in some way. I just didn\u2019t know what that way was. I can\u2019t say I was obsessed by it. It was something I stored away in memory and sometimes it would bubble up and I would think about it again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember the front page story in the Hilo Tribune-Herald, reporting that Stalin had died. This was March, 1953, and I remember asking my mother whether this meant the end of war, there would be no atomic war with Russia. I only remember the certainty I felt that Stalin\u2019s death fixed everything; for me, it was a rhetorical question. I don\u2019t remember my mother\u2019s response, but I am sure she told me that the threat of atomic war hadn\u2019t disappeared with Stalin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 7th<\/sup> grade I wanted to run for Student Council Vice-President. Election posters were allowed, and I remember laying out a large sheet of paper and, with crayons and watercolors, creating a mushroom cloud, all reds and yellows and browns, and lettering it \u201cVote Mitchell — The Atomic Candidate — for VEEP.\u201d I didn\u2019t win.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was only trying to attract attention. Certainly I didn\u2019t lose the election because of it; I never thought that. But I also never stopped to wonder whether linking my candidacy to mass destruction and death was a good tactic. I only thought that a mushroom cloud would be a great symbol.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On Friday, August 1st<\/sup>, 1958, about midnight, a Redstone ballistic missile carried a W39 thermonuclear device to about 50 miles above Johnston Island, where it detonated. This was the first missile-launched nuclear shot. The W39\u2019s yield was 3.8 megatons, or, putting it another way, it released about 1,800 times the destructive power that Fat Man had. We in the Hawaiian Islands, about 1,000 miles north-northeast of the shot, had not been warned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had just turned 15, and was home asleep because my mother did not let me stay out that late. Some of my friends were out in Hilo, and when the sky lit up and something like a mushroom cloud formed, they were amazed and shocked. Was it a volcanic eruption? But no eruption flashed like that, or created a fireball. Some of them went home, woke up their parents, and told them that World War III had started. There was no place to turn for information. The AM radio bands didn\u2019t seem to be working. Television was never on at that time of night. By the next morning everyone knew it had been only a test.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In those days teenage boys did not talk readily about their fears. But it was clear to me that my friends had been badly frightened. And yet they were excited, too, as I was. What a thing to have seen! An H-bomb!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The military denied that the failure of medium-frequency and high-frequency communications over much of the Pacific, lasting even into the next day, was related to the test. They promised to warn us before the next shot, which would be sometime in August.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Many years later it would be revealed that testing for the effects of the electromagnetic pulse (EMP) was an important goal of that shot, which was code-named Teak. The Teak shot observers failed to gather the data they wanted, because Hans Bethe had miscalculated the likely energy of the EMP, and all the instruments, set to record low levels, were instantly driven into overload and delivered no useful information.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They would do better with the next shot, code-named Orange, scheduled for the night of August 12th<\/sup>, a Tuesday. In Hawai\u2019i you can be licensed to drive at 15, and I was. A group of us planned to drive to Ka Lae (South Point) about 80 miles from Hilo, to see the H-bomb. I was surprised my parents let me drive the family car there, but they did. Perhaps my mother, a high school teacher, thought it would be educational. I had my sister \u2013 a little older than I was \u2013 and, I\u2019m almost certain, my girlfriend  C. Of course we drove our cars in a convoy, we had beer and cigarettes and radios tuned to mainland stations mainland stations and we were all excited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We went to Ka Lae because Ka Lae is the southernmost land in Hawai\u2019i, which meant that there was nothing but the Pacific Ocean between us and Johnston Island. We also went to Ka Lae because there was a tracking station there. I assumed that the tracking station had something to do with the Johnston Island tests, but none of us knew whose tracking station it was. In those days big dishes were rare. This one was surrounded by barbed wire. Its concrete pillar still stands and even now when I drive visitors to Ka Lae I wonder how many of the people who see it near the road know what it was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We sat in the cars, and outside on blankets, and kept looking where the dish was pointing. And there it was. A flash, a burst of static on the car radios, and the fireball, rising. This image was made closer to Johnston Island \u2013 I haven\u2019t found any images of Orange as seen from Hawai\u2019i \u2013 but from Ka Lae it was spectacular. Awesome. The fireball expanded and there seemed to be a cloud, perhaps even a mushroom cloud, around and above it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More than anything, I was intensely aware that I was seeing an H-bomb<\/em>. In those first few seconds I had no other thought, and no feeling other than excitement. As a Hawai\u2019i boy I knew the feeling of seeing for the first time things (television, for example) that people on the Mainland had already seen. My first thought was: so this is what an H-bomb is<\/em>. Everything I thought about it was subsumed by the rising, expanding fireball.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then the excitement. Did you see that? Amazing! We hugged each other and danced around, even though our radios played only static. We drank more of our beer. We waited \u2013 for what? I don\u2019t know. We knew there would not be another, but we didn\u2019t want to leave. Finally, early in the morning, we drove the 80 miles home. I told my parents it had been a sight worth seeing. I described it. I said nothing about what I\u2019d felt.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Did I later stop to think about the enormous destructive power contained in that fireball I witnessed. Not that I remember. Did I relate it to Hiroshima or Nagasaki. No, I didn\u2019t, for all that it was August. I knew I wasn\u2019t likely to forget what I saw that night because it was so extraordinary, but teenage life went on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few weeks later I began my junior year at Hilo High. I was involved in amateur radio, the Civil Air Patrol, and the local Civil Defense, which as an organization was much more engaged in lava flows and tsunamis than in fallout shelters. Even so, Civil Defense was supposed to be concerned with atomic warfare, and so I learned about radiation and how to measure it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 1960 I was a freshman in college, and thought I wanted to be an electrical engineer. That didn\u2019t last long, but before I discovered Anthropology I signed up for a 1-credit course called \u201cRadiological Health,\u201d which was actually a PE course. We learned how to operate Geiger and other radiation counters (which I already knew, thus figuring the course for an easy A), we learned about rads and millirads and shielding and radiation contours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the evening of our final exam, the instructor laid out a dozen yellow Geiger counters and sheets of graph paper and said, \u201cI\u2019ve hidden a few dozen sources in the building. Go find them. Map the radiation levels.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I thought nothing of it beyond admiring it as a clever exam. I made an excellent map \u2013 in three dimensions, thanks to having studied Mechanical Drawing at Hilo High \u2013 and got a good grade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 1964 I met Ruth, who took me home to meet her father Stan. She introduced him as her father, not as Stanley G. Thompson, the nuclear chemist he was, although I am sure that she mentioned it. Ruth is as modest as her father was, but it\u2019s likely that she told me that he was a co-discoverer of three of the transuranic elements: Berkelium, Californium, and Mendelevium. Neither she nor I can remember.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If she did, it didn\u2019t stick with me. I only met him the one time. I remembered what a good time we\u2019d had fishing from his boat, in the Sacramento River delta, nothing more. Over the forty years I spent apart from Ruth \u2013 years during which the only chemistry I encountered had to do with archaeological dating \u2013 I remembered her father only as a man who knew Willard Libby, the developer of radiocarbon (C14) dating. I believed (wrongly, as I discovered) that they had been colleagues.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And every time I lectured to my classes about C14 I told them I had known someone who had known Libby, and I thought of Ruth and how foolish I had been to have allowed myself to drift away from her when I went East in 1964. And I thought that someday I might find her again, but during those forty years I never even looked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And when, as always, I had to talk about other radioactive materials and half-lives, and would use plutonium as an example, I would tell my students about having witnessed an H-bomb explosion, although by then I was properly calling it a thermonuclear explosion. I meant to tell them about how casually nuclear explosions and nuclear materials were handled, even in my lifetime. I told them about the shoe-fitting_fluoroscope operated by the salesmen, devices through which I\u2019d been shown my little toes wiggling inside shoes \u2013 yes, he has enough room \u2013 while the salesman, all unknowing, was receiving a blast of radiation in his crotch. I always told them my Radiological Health story and asked them how long they thought I\u2019d keep my job, tenure or no tenure, if I hid radioactive materials in the Classroom Building at Buffalo State College and sent them out to find them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But every time I talked about my H-bomb I knew that part of me had never left the you can\u2019t believe what I saw<\/em> amazement of August, 1958. I never failed to talk about it in Part II, Isotopic Dating Methods, and I think my story had a good effect on the students, but I always knew my story had a showing-off component I could admit to myself, but not to anyone else. I told my nuke stories twice a semester, four times a year, for more than thirty years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 2004 I found Ruth again, 40 years after I\u2019d lost her. As we were getting reacquainted, I asked about her father. She told me he had died of cancer at 62, and she had always thought it likely that the cancer was because of his work with radioactive materials. What they were doing was very exciting, and they had all been careless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had my fluoroscope story. She had her cooling pond story, one that she had not told me in 1964, because at the time she thought nothing of it. In the mid-fifties the Thompson family was in Sweden, where Stan was at the Nobel Institute for a year. Sweden. Cold. So where were people around the Institute to swim? Where were pools of warm water to be found?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you know what a cooling pond is you already know the answer. No, they didn\u2019t swim in the actual pond where the spent reactor rods were cooling. But they swam in what must have been secondary or overflow ponds. Indeed it may well be that radiation levels in cooling pond overflow are not great. I don\u2019t know, but as in the fluoroscope example, no one seemed concerned about it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then Ruth told me something about her father that I had not known. The Hiroshima bomb was a uranium bomb, but the first nuclear bomb (the \u201cGadget,\u201d detonated at Almogordo) was a plutonium bomb, and so was the one dropped on Nagasaki sixty-five years ago today. And so was the W39 device I saw from Ka Lae.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ruth\u2019s father Stan was brought into the Manhattan Project to invent a process that could produce plutonium on a massive scale. No one had ever produced more than a few micrograms, but the bomb-makers needed kilograms of it. Glenn Seaborg thought that his high school buddy Stan Thompson could do it if anyone could, and he did. All the plutonium in Gadget and Fat Boy was produced by the process Ruth\u2019s father invented and oversaw. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without his work, there would have been no plutonium-fueled bomb. He didn\u2019t design the bomb. He didn\u2019t assemble it. He didn\u2019t open the bomb bay doors and he didn\u2019t detonate it. Even so, the tens of thousands of people who died at Nagasaki in part died because of what Stan, the father of the woman I love, did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Ruth told me about her father, it excited me. I admit it. Sometimes I am ashamed of what I let it do to me if I\u2019m not careful. Sometimes I have the urge to tell people who are getting to know Ruth \u2013  Do you know what Ruth\u2019s father did? He discovered elements and he made the plutonium for the Nagasaki bomb. Is that amazing, or what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is that trivializing his work \u2013 and him \u2013 or what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The small man I met behind Berkeley in July 1964, the man who took me fishing, handed me beers, looked the other way when I kissed his daughter \u2013 this was a man who had done something of consequence, and I had not known it. And when I did learn it, I didn\u2019t know what to do with it. As we say these days, I didn\u2019t know how to process it. I still don\u2019t, not really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the Orange shot I was excited by an extraordinary event and for years did not go beyond that excitement. It wasn\u2019t that I couldn\u2019t. I simply felt no need to try. It was something I\u2019d witnessed, and I\u2019d witnessed it because people were casual about thermonuclear shots in those days. I had compartmentalized my experiences; my H-bomb was disconnected from what I knew \u2013 had known even before 1958 \u2013 about what happened when nuclear weapons were used in war. Neither Teak nor Orange was detonated in anger, and neither did any serious harm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 And yet . . . what was it, then? A simulacrum of the deadly strikes at Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Saying so is far too facile. If I could return to Ka Lae and inject meaning into that boy\u2019s simple perception of that awe-inspiring, exciting, beautiful fireball. . . what would that meaning be? Everything I can think of seems too simple to an old man, too complicated for a boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And what of Ruth, and her father, and whatever of her father lies within her and is part of her song? She has written of him in his deafness, pressed up against speakers, listening to Beethoven. She tells of him sitting in his chair, thinking, doing the kind of chemistry-of-the-mind that preceded his making it manifest in the lab. For that, he needed no equipment. He only needed a place to sit, and time to think.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I am wondering, today, August 9th<\/sup>, 2024, how often and in what ways he thought about the process he conceived, gestated, gave birth to, and then released to those who made of it fiery destruction as never before seen in the world. It is impossible that he did not think of Nagasaki.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is said that upon Gadget\u2019s explosion Oppenheimer recited from the Bhagavad Gita, \u201cNow I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds<\/em>.\u201d Ruth does not know where her father was on that day, except that he was not at Alamogordo, nor does she know where he was on August 9th<\/sup>, 1945.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He might have been in Chicago. He might have been at Hanford. He might have had his first daughter, now my life\u2019s partner, in his arms. Perhaps he sang to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(a version of Nuclear Families was originally published on The Nervous Breakdown, August 9, 2010)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Seventy-nine years ago today (9 August 1945) the bomb known as \u201cFat Man\u201d fell away from the B-29 bomber \u201cBockscar,\u201d and detonated about 1,500 feet over Nagasaki. Fat Man exploded with the force of about 21 kilotons of TNT, immediately killing somewhere between 40,000 and 75,000 Japanese, mostly civilians. I was just over two years… <\/p>\n

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