American Prometheus (91 page)

Groves appears to have been convinced of two things: first, that Chevalier had approached Robert on Eltenton’s behalf; second, that Robert had said something in 1943 designed to make it clear to him, Groves, that Frank had promptly reported to Robert some sort of inappropriate inquiry from Chevalier. Anything more specific is lost to history. After all, Groves himself said, “I was never certain as to just what he [Robert] was telling me.” And, in an earlier letter, “It was very difficult to tell how much Frank was involved and how much Robert was involved.” The most probable explanation of why Lansdale and Consodine believed that Frank was Chevalier’s contact is that Groves had told them about his conversation with Robert without making clear his doubts about Frank’s involvement.

No other explanation seems possible when all of the interviews and documents are read together. Frank simply could not have been either Eltenton’s or Chevalier’s contact in the “Chevalier affair.” By all accounts— Chevalier’s and Eltenton’s simultaneous FBI interviews in 1946, Barbara Chevalier’s unpublished memoirs, Kitty’s recollection to Verna Hobson, Frank’s statement to the FBI in early January 1954 and finally Robert’s statements to the FBI in 1946 and in his concluding testimony—it was Haakon who approached Robert.

Nevertheless, for having trusted in Oppenheimer’s “story”—and for having promised to keep it from the FBI—Groves now found himself personally compromised. The historian Gregg Herken makes a credible case that both Strauss and J. Edgar Hoover thought they could use the fact that Groves had implicated himself in a “cover-up” to exert pressure on the general to testify against Oppenheimer in the upcoming security hearing. One of Hoover’s key aides, Alan Belmont, implicitly suggested this when he wrote his boss that it was “readily apparent that Groves has attempted to withhold and conceal important information concerning espionage conspiracy violation from the FBI. Even now Groves is behaving with a certain amount of coyness in his dealings and admissions to the Bureau.”

While embarrassed by the FBI’s discovery, Groves was unapologetic about having promised Oppenheimer that he would not reveal Frank’s name to the Bureau. Moreover, it was a promise he still defended: “The General said he did not feel that he was violating the spirit of the promise to Oppenheimer in having the present interview with the Agent because the matter was already known to the authorities. He said he wanted this noted in the record, because it was possible that a friend of Oppenheimer might some day see this file and consider that ‘I had broken my promise after all.’ ” If Groves had at any time thought for a minute that Oppenheimer was actually protecting a spy, he would certainly have gone to the FBI. He obviously was confident of Oppenheimer’s loyalty.

This, of course, was not how Strauss saw things. What could have been interpreted as exculpatory evidence was ignored. Instead, Strauss pursued Groves, and asked him in February to come to Washington for another interview. By then, Groves understood that he would be asked to testify against Oppenheimer and, if he refused, he could be accused of participating in a coverup.

ASTONISHINGLY, Robb failed to follow-up on Groves’ speculations about Frank, no doubt because to do so would portray Robert as someone who was taking the fall for his brother. Neither did Robb reveal to the Gray Board, or to Oppenheimer’s lawyers, that Groves had promised not to reveal Frank’s name to the FBI. This too would have diverted the spotlight from Robert. This part of the story would remain classified in the FBI documents for twenty-five years. Under Robb’s cross-examination, Groves made it clear that while he still thought his decision to give Oppenheimer a clearance in 1943 was the right judgment then, today things might be different. When Robb asked him point-blank: “. . . would you clear Dr. Oppenheimer today?” Groves waffled. “I think before answering that I would like to give my interpretation of what the Atomic Energy Act requires.” Read literally, he said, the act specified that the AEC must determine that people given access to restricted data “will not endanger the common defense or security . . .” In Groves’s view, there was no wiggle room. “It is not a case of proving that a man is a danger,” he said. “It is a case of thinking, well, he might be a danger . . .” On this basis, and given Oppenheimer’s past associations, “I would not clear Dr. Oppenheimer today if I were a member of the Commission on the basis of this interpretation.” That’s all Robb wanted or needed the general to say. And why had Groves turned against the man he had hitherto defended so resolutely? Strauss knew. He had made it clear to the general, in a not so subtle fashion, that he, Strauss, would make certain that there would be grave consequences for Groves if he did not cooperate.

THE NEXT DAY, Friday, April 16, Robb resumed his cross-examination of Oppenheimer. He grilled him about his relationships with the Serbers, David Bohm and Joe Weinberg, and late in the day he got around to asking the physicist about his opposition to the development of the hydrogen bomb. After nearly five full days of intense interrogation, Oppenheimer must have been physically and mentally exhausted. But on this day—his last in the witness chair—he nevertheless mustered his razor-sharp wit. Wary from experience at being ambushed, and crystal clear about the issue, he was more adept at parrying Robb’s questions.

Robb: “Did you subsequent to the President’s decision in January 1950 ever express any opposition to the production of the hydrogen bomb on moral grounds?”

Oppenheimer: “I would think that I could very well have said this is a dreadful weapon, or something like that. I have no specific recollection and would prefer it, if you would ask me or remind me of the context or conversation that you have in mind.”

Robb: “Why do you think you could very well have said that?”

Oppenheimer: “Because I have always thought it was a dreadful weapon. Even [though] from a technical point of view it was a sweet and lovely and beautiful job, I have still thought it was a dreadful weapon.”

Robb: “And have said so?”

Oppenheimer: “I would assume that I have said so, yes.”

Robb: “You mean you had a moral revulsion against the production of such a dreadful weapon?”

Oppenheimer: “This is too strong.”

Robb: “Beg pardon?”

Oppenheimer: “That is too strong.”

Robb: “Which is too strong, the weapon or my expression?”

Oppenheimer: “Your expression. I had a grave concern and anxiety.”

Robb: “You had moral qualms about it, is that accurate?”

Oppenheimer: “Let us leave the word ‘moral’ out of it.”

Robb: “You had qualms about it.”

Oppenheimer: “How could one not have qualms about it? I know no one who doesn’t have qualms about it.”

Later in the day, Robb produced a letter written by Oppenheimer to James Conant dated October 21, 1949. The document came from Oppenheimer’s own files—papers confiscated by the FBI the previous December. Addressed to “Dear Uncle Jim,” the letter complained that “two experienced promoters have been at work, i.e. Ernest Lawrence and Edward Teller,” lobbying on behalf of the hydrogen bomb. In a testy exchange, Robb asked Oppenheimer, “Would you agree, Doctor, that your references to Dr. Lawrence and Dr. Teller . . . are a little bit belittling?”

Oppenheimer: “Dr. Lawrence came to Washington. He did not talk to the Commission. He went and talked to the joint congressional committee and to members of the Military Establishment. I think that deserves some belittling.”

Robb: “So you would agree that your references to those men in this letter were belittling?”

Oppenheimer: “No. I pay my great respects to them as promoters. I don’t think I did them justice.”

Robb: “You used the word ‘promoters’ in an invidious sense, didn’t you?”

Oppenheimer: “I have no idea.”

Robb: “When you use the word now with reference to Lawrence and Teller, don’t you intend it to be invidious?”

Oppenheimer: “No.”

Robb: “You think that their work of promotion was admirable, is that right?”

Oppenheimer: “I think they did an admirable job of promotion.”

BY FRIDAY, it was clear to everyone that Robb and Oppenheimer despised each other. “My feeling was,” Robb recalled, “that he was just a brain and as cold as a fish, and he had the iciest pair of blue eyes I ever saw.” Oppenheimer felt only revulsion in Robb’s presence. During a brief recess one day, the two men happened to be standing near each other when Oppenheimer suddenly had one of his coughing spells. As Robb indicated his concern, Oppenheimer cut him off angrily and said something that caused Robb to turn on his heel and walk away.

At the end of each day, Robb closeted himself with Strauss and took stock of the day’s events. They had little doubt about the outcome. Strauss told an FBI agent that he was “convinced that in view of the testimony to date the board could take no other action but to recommend the revoking of Oppenheimer’s clearance.”

Oppenheimer’s lawyers felt much the same way. To escape the scrutiny of the press corps, the Oppenheimers were now spending each night in the Georgetown home of Randolph Paul, a law partner of Garrison’s. The press did not discover their location for a week, but FBI agents staked out the house and reported that Oppenheimer was staying up late and pacing the room.

Garrison and Marks spent several hours most evenings in Paul’s home, planning the next day’s strategy. “All we had the energy for was preparation,” Garrison said, “we were too weary to do much post-morteming. Of course, Robert was in the most overwrought state imaginable—so was Kitty—but Robert even more so.”

Paul listened with growing unease as the Oppenheimers described each day’s events to him. Their recounting sounded a lot more like a trial than an administrative hearing. So on the evening of Easter Sunday, April 18, Paul invited Garrison and Marks to his home for a consultation with Joe Volpe. After drinks were served, Oppenheimer turned to the AEC’s former general counsel and said, “Joe, I would like to have these fellows describe to you what’s going on in the hearing.” Over the next hour, Volpe listened with rising outrage as Marks and Garrison summarized Robb’s adversarial tactics and the general tone of Oppie’s daily ordeal. Finally, he turned to Oppenheimer and said, “Robert, tell them to shove it, leave it, don’t go on with it because I don’t think you can win.”

Oppenheimer had heard this advice before, from Einstein among others. But this time it came from an experienced attorney who had helped write the rules for AEC hearings, and in whose opinion both the spirit and the letter of those rules were being outrageously violated. Even so, Oppenheimer decided he had no choice now but to see the process through to a conclusion. It was a stoical and rather passive reaction, not unlike his quiet acceptance all those years before when as a young boy he had been locked in the camp icehouse.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“A Manifestation of Hysteria”

I am very distressed, as I assume you are, over the Oppenheimer matter. I feel that it is somewhat like inquiring into
the security risk of a Newton or a Galileo.

JOHN J. MCCLOY to President Dwight D. Eisenhower

AFTER OPPENHEIMER WAS EXCUSED from the witness chair on Friday, Garrison was allowed to call a parade of more than two dozen defense witnesses to vouch for Oppenheimer’s character and loyalty. They included Hans Bethe, George Kennan, John J. McCloy, Gordon Dean, Vannevar Bush and James Conant, among other eminent figures from the worlds of science, politics and business. By far one of the most interesting of these was John Lansdale, the Manhattan Project’s former chief of security, and now a partner in a Cleveland law firm. That the Army’s key security officer during the Los Alamos years was testifying for the defense should have carried great weight with the hearing panel. Moreover, unlike Oppenheimer, Lansdale immediately knew how to fend off Robb’s aggressive tactics. Under cross-examination, Lansdale said he “strongly” felt Oppenheimer to be a loyal citizen. And then he added, “I am extremely disturbed by the current hysteria of the times, [of] which this seems to be a manifestation.”

Robb could not possibly let this pass, and asked him, “You think this inquiry is a manifestation of hysteria?”

Lansdale: “I think—”

Robb: “Yes or no?”

Lansdale: “I won’t answer that question ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ If you are tending to be that way—if you will let me continue, I will be glad to answer your question.”

Robb: “All right.”

Lansdale: “I think the hysteria of the times over communism is extremely dangerous.” He then explained that at the same time in 1943 when he was handling Oppenheimer’s security clearance, he had also been grappling with the sensitive question of whether to commission as Army officers known communists who had volunteered to fight the Spanish fascists in Republican Spain. Because he had “dared to stop the commissioning” of a group of fifteen or twenty such communists, Lansdale said he had been “vilified” by his superiors. His decision was overruled by the White House—and Lansdale said he blamed Mrs. Roosevelt “and those around her in the White House” for creating an atmosphere in which communists were given officer commissions.

Having thus established his anticommunist credentials, Lansdale went on to say that, “We are going through today the other extreme of the pendulum, which is in my judgment equally dangerous. . . . Now, do I think this inquiry is a manifestation of hysteria? No. I think the fact that so much doubt and so much—let me put it this way. I think the fact that associations in 1940 are regarded with the same seriousness that similar associations would be regarded today is a manifestation of hysteria.”

JOHN J. MCCLOY, now chairman of Chase National Bank, agreed with Lansdale. A member of Eisenhower’s private “kitchen cabinet,” McCloy was also chairman of the Council on Foreign Relations, and he sat on the boards of the Ford Foundation and a half dozen of the richest corporations in the country. On the morning of April 13, 1954, when McCloy read Reston’s story about the Oppenheimer case, he found the news profoundly “disturbing.” “I didn’t give a damn if he was sleeping with a mistress who was a communist,” he recalled later.