The Sharecropper Prodigy (28 page)

             
Mr. Winston had Clay Childers, his new foreman, take his truck and follow us. Between the two trucks, we managed to get most of the things Rachel wanted to carry. Me and Ben, of course, had always traveled light and didn’t require much space. Ben had been temporarily reunited with us since the trial had ended a few days earlier. He was going to have to put his pursuit of a doctorate from Harvard, something he was so close to, on hold for a while. His time spent in the Jones County jail awaiting trial, and the trial itself, had put him so far behind it was going to take him another full year. Ben was also in desperate need of funds since he hadn’t been able to work. I told him the most sensible thing he could do was to go with me and Rachel to Tennessee. I was sure Max McGee would find a place for Ben, and the wages were so good that he would be able to save enough to finish his education later and not have to hold down a job at the same time.

             
We rolled into Oak Ridge on the fifteenth of July, 1943. I had called Max from a telephone about thirty miles from our destination to let him know we would be arriving in an hour or so and he gave me directions on where to meet him. He told me he already had a brand new two-bedroom house saved for us. I found out that the housing for the workers were designated as
A
through
F
and were pre-fabricated homes that had been quickly constructed.
A
was the smallest and
F
the largest. We would be living in a
B
, which was two bedrooms. Ben had argued that he refused to live in the same house with us because we were newlyweds, and because of him, we had been denied a honeymoon.

             
“You two need time alone,” Ben said. “You don’t need a grown, adopted child to start off your marriage.”

             
Rachel wouldn’t budge, though. She told Ben that as soon as he had managed to put back some money, he could get his own little one-bedroom, or “A” house. The argument was solved soon after we arrived. We found out that all the housing was segregated and Ben would have to live in an area known as Gamble Valley in a one room shack that the residents called
hutments.
I told Max that it was a sad state of affairs when the federal government forced people into substandard housing, who were doing the same work, because of their skin color.

             
“I’ll bet there are precious few, if any of the houses in the white district occupied by men with a masters degree and very soon a doctorate from Harvard,” I said to Max.

             
Max agreed, but said it would take time and a lot of people raising enough hell for things to change.

*****

              After we went through the necessary screening, Max took us to the construction site to introduce the ironworkers to their new foreman. Needless to say, a lot of the men who had been hanging steel for several months at break-neck rate were more than a little put out by the fact their new boss had just now shown up. I had never done any type of steel erection in my life, but building was building as far as I was concerned. All that would be different was that I’d be building with steel instead of lumber. Instead of using nails, we would be bolting, riveting and welding. How difficult could it be to figure out? I was just glad Ben was with me. Ben could figure out anything in a hurry and it turned out steel fabrication and erection were no exception. He quickly mastered reading the blueprints and could make calculations in his head on connection points where steel girder beams connected to columns. Because the project was on such a tight schedule, the contractors had pushed the architects and engineers hard to produce drawings. Of course, that resulted in errors that was putting the fabricators and erectors behind schedule. Ben would run calculations on every connection on every drawing sheet and then tell me if there were any discrepancies. I got credit and pats on the back for saving time and money. The ironworkers also loved me because it saved them a lot of unnecessary work. I resented the accolades because it was Ben and not me who was responsible for my good fortune. I finally told everybody on the job one day that it was Ben, not me, who was the genius.

             
“I know some of you might have some prejudice against negroes,” I said. “But I’ve known Ben almost all my life. He’s always been a genius at everything he’s ever done. In fact, he almost has a doctorate from Harvard and is top in his class.”

             
I don’t think a lot of the men believed me, so I had to prove it to them. I had Ben run several strings of dimensions in feet and inches in his head. He would have the dimensions totaled just seconds after I called out the last one. The men were dumbfounded.

             
“I ain’t never seen nobody that could add more than three or four dimensions that had feet
and
inches in their head. That boy added fifteen as fast as you could call ’em out,” one of the men who had been working construction for twenty-five years exclaimed. “He ain’t got no business workin’ out here with us. He needs to be workin’ with the engineers checkin’ drawings. He could save the government a ton of time and money.”

             
“I agree,” Max said, “but he’s too damn valuable out here in the field.”

*****

              After we had been at work about two weeks, we were sent to assemble some components on the inside of the main building. Up until now, we had been working on one of the service buildings. When we got our first look at what was known as the Y-12 building, our jaws dropped to our feet. The building was colossal, with two sides running parallel with each other that measured 2,600 feet long, by 1,000 feet wide. Another building that ran perpendicular connected the two, giving the colossal structure a U-shape. Ben quickly did the math in his head. “This building is over two and a half million square feet,” he said, “and that’s only half of it. This has to be one of the biggest buildings in the United States.”

             
We still hadn’t found anybody who had any idea what the purpose of the building was, or any of the rest of the project, for that matter. It was top secret, but by the amazing speed that it was progressing, it didn’t take a genius to figure out it had something to do with the war effort. Were they going to use it to manufacture some kind of new weapon? Maybe some new airplane, or maybe tanks? The building was big enough to build an aircraft carrier, but I was pretty sure they weren’t going to be building ships in the hills of Tennessee.

             
We found out we were going to be assembling chambers called
calutrons,
that had giant electronic magnets embedded into the walls. One system of chambers had already been completed and contained ninety-six tanks. It had an oval shape, kind of like a race track. We learned that plans were to have five-hundred tanks installed by the end of the year. When I saw the complexity and scale of the first structure, I thought there was no way possible this could be done.

             
Ben was looking at the huge magnets and all the insulators and switches and other complex devices that were a complete mystery to me. He had a look on his face like I had never seen before. He examined the different gadgets as if he somehow understood what they were, which wouldn’t have surprised me in the least.

             
“They are gonna try to enrich uranium here,” Ben said, as if he were telling me it might rain sometime that evening.

             
“They’re gonna try to extract uranium-235.”

             
“What the hell is uranium-235?” I asked. Whatever it was it sounded dangerous to me.

             
“It’s an isotope extracted from uranium-238,” Ben answered.

             
“Oh, yeah, Ben. We studied that in first grade at Collinwood School. It’s all comin’ back to me now. I have no idea what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

             
I had noticed a man wearing what looked like a lab coat and carrying a clip-board moving closer to us, slowly, as if he didn’t want us to notice.

             
“My professor took me to a meetin’ with him a while back. A fellow named Alfred Loomis, who’s a millionaire genius from New York was there. Earnest Lawrence from the University of California was there, too. Mr. Lawrence had been makin’ a lot of progress with his cyclotron, seperatin’ uranium-235 from uranium-238. You see, uranium-238 makes up about 99% of the uranium that is available to be mined. But you need uranium-235 to create fission that is capable of makin’ an atomic chain reaction, resulting in an explosion…..A big explosion”

             
“Like a bomb?” I asked incredulously.

             
“Yeah, a bomb. A bomb like nobody’s ever seen before.”

             
“Well what in…..”

             
I was interrupted by the man who had surreptitiously moved up right beside me and Ben. The man leaned in close to Ben and whispered something in his ear. Ben shook his head and told me he would be back later and he and the man walked away quickly.

*****

              Ben followed the stranger the length of the gigantic building and up a flight of steel stairs. At the top, on the second floor, they entered an office that had drafting tables with blueprints and other various drawings all around the outside wall. The man told Ben to have a seat and walked through a door into another large room. He was back in just a few minutes with a man, also wearing a white lab coat, who was accompanied by two armed men wearing army uniforms. The man walked over to Ben and offered his hand.

             
“My name is Miles Anderson,” he said. “Mr. Peppers tells me he overheard you telling one of your co-workers you thought you knew what the purpose of this building was.”

             
“Yes, sir.” Not knowing what to expect with the two military men holding rifles, Ben’s answer was short.

             
“Well, who gave you the information?” Anderson asked.

             
“Nobody,” Ben answered. “I just figured it out from the electromagnets and other devices I saw. My professor and I met with Alfred Loomis and Dr. Lawrence from the University of California a while back to discuss the success Dr. Lawrence was having with his cyclotron, separatin’ U-235. Dr. Goldstein, my professor, and I had been conducting some experiments with our own centrifuge and had stayed in contact with Dr. Lawrence.”

             
“Your professor is Dr. Abraham Goldstein? At Harvard?” Anderson asked, disbelief in his tone.

             
“Yes, sir,” Ben answered.

             
“How old are you?” Anderson asked.

             
“I’ll be eighteen in October,” Ben said, thinking that sounded better than saying seventeen.

             
“I find it hard to believe Dr. Goldstein would have such high regard for a freshman,” Anderson said. “How did you come to be enrolled at Harvard?”

             
“I’m actually almost finished with my post-graduate studies, sir. I was on schedule to receive by doctorate in physics in about a year until I had some personal issues and had to put my studies on hold for a while to earn some money. As far as how I came to be at Harvard, I’m there on scholarship. I got my bachelor’s degree at Morehouse.”

             
“How old were you when you were enrolled at Morehouse?” Anderson asked incredulously.

             
“Fourteen, sir.”

             
“How many times were you double promoted in grade school?”

             
“I only attended seven years,” Ben said, not elaborating on how little formal education he had really had prior to Morehouse.

             
Anderson shook his head slowly. He could not believe what he had just heard. In fact he was determined not to believe it until he heard it from Dr. Goldstein himself.

             
Peppers looked at Ben, his chin resting in his hand. “Where were you ranked in your class, Mr….er…”

             
“Evans, sir. My name is Ben Evans. And I was first in my class at Harvard as well as Morehouse.”

             
Anderson let out a stifled laugh. “That’s just great,” he said. “We have a seventeen year old who almost has a doctorate, from Harvard no less, was top in his class, and we find him working on the construction crew. There’s no doubt this is a government project. Maybe Mr. Evans here can help us solve our conductor problem, Dr. Peppers,” Anderson said with a laugh.

             
“What conductor problem, sir?” Ben asked.

             
“That was a joke, Mr. Evans. I mean, it’s no joke we have a problem, but I meant it as a joke that you could solve it for us.”

             
“But, what kind of problems are you havin’?” Ben asked again.

             
“Well, Mr. Evans. It is going to take far more copper than we can get our hands on to complete all the electrical coils needed to finish this project. Almost all the available copper is being used to make bullets for the military. We have to come up with an alternative, and we just don’t know which way to turn.”