separation of U-235. It was an extremely slow, complicated, and expensive
way to produce fissionable material for a bomb. By February 1942 the Rad Lab had produced three samples of U-235 weighing
all of seventy-five micro-grams each. A microgram was a speck barely big enough for the eye to see, and each sample contained
only 30 percent “enriched” U-235. Lawrence had a long way to go—how was he going to separate
kilograms
of pure fissionable U-235? Lawrence had committed himself to the goal, however, and was absolutely determined to see it through.
“That was just the beginning,” he said with great assurance. 21 He told his contacts in Washington that the project should be expanded to bring in more scientists and to build the infrastructure
necessary to accomplish the task.
Driven by a determination that Hitler not get the bomb first, Lawrence drove himself and his staff relentlessly. He demanded
complete dedication to the task at hand. He worked long hours and expected others to do the same. When delays occurred or
things went wrong, he bawled people out unmercifully, though he never asked others to do anything he would not do himself
and he showed appreciation for results. He led by example and maintained his leadership through the intensity with which he
followed the isotope-separation work. He believed that if you wanted something to come true, you made it come true by pushing
like hell. Somehow a way could be found, and he had faith that he would get there. With such effort, he thought, nothing was
impossible.
Lawrence met the Rad Lab staff every morning at eight. People took pains to be already in their seats. The Maestro made a
grand and lordly appearance, stomping in, slowly striding the length of the room, pounding the floor with his feet. Beaming
at the assembled staff, he took his seat in a big red leather armchair facing sideways between a blackboard and the audience.
The thing to do, he would then announce, was
to get the job done
—he expected everyone to share his sense of urgency. Later in the day he would walk unannounced through the lab and query
people about their work. He did not say much. Often it was simply, “What are you doing? Why are you doing that?” If they answered
hesitantly or pessimistically, Lawrence frowned. If they went into detail, he looked impatient. Above all, he hated idleness;
there was an important job to be done and no time to waste in doing it. “The esprit has perked up considerably with everybody
conscious of the necessity to work like the devil,” wrote one Rad Lab staffer after a surprise visit by the director. 22
The fast pace, constant work, and self-imposed stress took its toll on Lawrence. His full head of blond hair began to recede.
His thin, muscular face grew puffier and pastier. Once remarkably energetic, he now was slowed by frequent and severe colds
and a chronic backache. On those rare occasions when he went home early for an evening with his family, he usually tired after
a few minutes of hugging and tossing around his children. Neighborhood kids, used to congregating noisily at the sprawling
Lawrence home in the afternoon, frayed his taut nerves and were abruptly ordered out. He found it much more difficult to relax
than to wrestle with the atomic project.
Lawrence felt in his bones that an atomic bomb could be made. He was confident that America possessed the ability and resources
to do it. He insisted that prudence required stepping up research, if only because of what the Nazis might be doing. Szilard
and Teller had said much the same before, but as refugees they were not trusted by close-minded government bureaucrats. They
also lacked Lawrence’s dogged optimism.
But although Lawrence’s hard sell worked with many people, it did not with Vannevar Bush. A fit man of fifty-two, Bush was
a shrewd Yankee who was also an astute administrator with distinguished accomplishments: endless
way to produce fissionable material for a bomb. By February 1942 the Rad Lab had produced three samples of U-235 weighing
all of seventy-five micro-grams each. A microgram was a speck barely big enough for the eye to see, and each sample contained
only 30 percent “enriched” U-235. Lawrence had a long way to go—how was he going to separate
kilograms
of pure fissionable U-235? Lawrence had committed himself to the goal, however, and was absolutely determined to see it through.
“That was just the beginning,” he said with great assurance. 21 He told his contacts in Washington that the project should be expanded to bring in more scientists and to build the infrastructure
necessary to accomplish the task.
Driven by a determination that Hitler not get the bomb first, Lawrence drove himself and his staff relentlessly. He demanded
complete dedication to the task at hand. He worked long hours and expected others to do the same. When delays occurred or
things went wrong, he bawled people out unmercifully, though he never asked others to do anything he would not do himself
and he showed appreciation for results. He led by example and maintained his leadership through the intensity with which he
followed the isotope-separation work. He believed that if you wanted something to come true, you made it come true by pushing
like hell. Somehow a way could be found, and he had faith that he would get there. With such effort, he thought, nothing was
impossible.
Lawrence met the Rad Lab staff every morning at eight. People took pains to be already in their seats. The Maestro made a
grand and lordly appearance, stomping in, slowly striding the length of the room, pounding the floor with his feet. Beaming
at the assembled staff, he took his seat in a big red leather armchair facing sideways between a blackboard and the audience.
The thing to do, he would then announce, was
to get the job done
—he expected everyone to share his sense of urgency. Later in the day he would walk unannounced through the lab and query
people about their work. He did not say much. Often it was simply, “What are you doing? Why are you doing that?” If they answered
hesitantly or pessimistically, Lawrence frowned. If they went into detail, he looked impatient. Above all, he hated idleness;
there was an important job to be done and no time to waste in doing it. “The esprit has perked up considerably with everybody
conscious of the necessity to work like the devil,” wrote one Rad Lab staffer after a surprise visit by the director. 22
The fast pace, constant work, and self-imposed stress took its toll on Lawrence. His full head of blond hair began to recede.
His thin, muscular face grew puffier and pastier. Once remarkably energetic, he now was slowed by frequent and severe colds
and a chronic backache. On those rare occasions when he went home early for an evening with his family, he usually tired after
a few minutes of hugging and tossing around his children. Neighborhood kids, used to congregating noisily at the sprawling
Lawrence home in the afternoon, frayed his taut nerves and were abruptly ordered out. He found it much more difficult to relax
than to wrestle with the atomic project.
Lawrence felt in his bones that an atomic bomb could be made. He was confident that America possessed the ability and resources
to do it. He insisted that prudence required stepping up research, if only because of what the Nazis might be doing. Szilard
and Teller had said much the same before, but as refugees they were not trusted by close-minded government bureaucrats. They
also lacked Lawrence’s dogged optimism.
But although Lawrence’s hard sell worked with many people, it did not with Vannevar Bush. A fit man of fifty-two, Bush was
a shrewd Yankee who was also an astute administrator with distinguished accomplishments: endless
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