Read Online The Girls of Atomic City by Denise Kiernan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denise Kiernan
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there?” the official said, gesturing to a professor Jane would soon learn was one Dr. Paul Barnett. “He’s a statistician. You can study statistics.”
And just like that, all her hard work, all the course choices and the studying and the stellar grades she’d earned at the junior college didn’t matter. No engineering, no matter what. She was going to study statistics. Jane finished her two years in the Department of Business Administration with a degree in governmental economics, after taking all the statistics courses they had, and some math and physics to boot—the first woman ever to do so at the University of Tennessee. The work had paid off. The job offers that came her way were certainly good ones, and there was some dismay, especially on the part of George Washington University in Washington, DC, as to why she decided to accept a job in the sticks outside Knoxville. GWU had even offered to bring her up to Washington, show her around.
“I find it a little hard . . . to decide exactly upon what basis you have made your decision to accept the offer of the Clinton Engineering Works but I have a feeling that you have decided largely upon the basis that you will be able to stay near to home,” the GWU official wrote snippily. “Yet I seem to gather from your letter that the type of work which you will be doing for them is not entirely to your liking, and what you actually would prefer would be to have aproject like ours located where the Clinton Engineering Works now stands.”
She did want to be near home, but not because she didn’t want to travel. Not Jane: She had always been ready to pack a bag, see the world. But her father, who had his own transfer and storage business in Paris, Tennessee, was a widower now. It was still hard to believe her mother had already been dead several years. If she had the opportunity to use her degree to help the war and stay nearby home, she was obligated to do that. Obligated to her daddy and to her deceased mother, Hattie Newell.
Once in Knoxville, Jane received her pass—No. 2449—and had plenty of papers to sign, lots of fine print to read. Her agreement stated that she would not “at any time disclose either orally or in writing, or otherwise, to any person except such as shall be designated in writing by the general manager of Tennessee Eastman Corporation, any knowledge or information which I may have acquired while in the employ of Tennessee Eastman Corporation, or elsewhere, or which I may hereafter acquire while in such employ, pertaining to any of said work done directly or indirectly for the United States Government . . .”
Boy, those government folks sure could blather on.
She signed without hesitation, like most everyone else. She took a bus to the Clinton Engineer Works, where an old college friend, Doris, met her. Doris had accepted a similar position and had moved in, expecting to room with Jane. But limited space had already forced Doris to take in someone else. Housing employees were continually shuffling people around, converting single rooms into doubles, improvising in the face of an ever expanding workforce. There wasn’t a spot for Jane yet, so she would have to stay temporarily at the Site’s one “hotel” of sorts, the Guest House. It was a long, two-story building with two wings that extended out in either direction from a central entrance marked by four large white columns. It was right in the middle of Townsite, near the bus depot and cafeteria.
But when Doris showed up to gather Jane and take her to the Guest House, she wasn’t alone. She had brought along the fellow shehad been dating, a man named Jim, whom Doris said she had met on the bus. Exiting the car at the Guest House, Jane stepped onto what she believed to be solid ground, only to find herself sinking fast, like so many women before her. Doris and Jim didn’t seem at all surprised. Jim helped her get her footing and retrieve her shoe, and Jane watched as he carried her
And just like that, all her hard work, all the course choices and the studying and the stellar grades she’d earned at the junior college didn’t matter. No engineering, no matter what. She was going to study statistics. Jane finished her two years in the Department of Business Administration with a degree in governmental economics, after taking all the statistics courses they had, and some math and physics to boot—the first woman ever to do so at the University of Tennessee. The work had paid off. The job offers that came her way were certainly good ones, and there was some dismay, especially on the part of George Washington University in Washington, DC, as to why she decided to accept a job in the sticks outside Knoxville. GWU had even offered to bring her up to Washington, show her around.
“I find it a little hard . . . to decide exactly upon what basis you have made your decision to accept the offer of the Clinton Engineering Works but I have a feeling that you have decided largely upon the basis that you will be able to stay near to home,” the GWU official wrote snippily. “Yet I seem to gather from your letter that the type of work which you will be doing for them is not entirely to your liking, and what you actually would prefer would be to have aproject like ours located where the Clinton Engineering Works now stands.”
She did want to be near home, but not because she didn’t want to travel. Not Jane: She had always been ready to pack a bag, see the world. But her father, who had his own transfer and storage business in Paris, Tennessee, was a widower now. It was still hard to believe her mother had already been dead several years. If she had the opportunity to use her degree to help the war and stay nearby home, she was obligated to do that. Obligated to her daddy and to her deceased mother, Hattie Newell.
Once in Knoxville, Jane received her pass—No. 2449—and had plenty of papers to sign, lots of fine print to read. Her agreement stated that she would not “at any time disclose either orally or in writing, or otherwise, to any person except such as shall be designated in writing by the general manager of Tennessee Eastman Corporation, any knowledge or information which I may have acquired while in the employ of Tennessee Eastman Corporation, or elsewhere, or which I may hereafter acquire while in such employ, pertaining to any of said work done directly or indirectly for the United States Government . . .”
Boy, those government folks sure could blather on.
She signed without hesitation, like most everyone else. She took a bus to the Clinton Engineer Works, where an old college friend, Doris, met her. Doris had accepted a similar position and had moved in, expecting to room with Jane. But limited space had already forced Doris to take in someone else. Housing employees were continually shuffling people around, converting single rooms into doubles, improvising in the face of an ever expanding workforce. There wasn’t a spot for Jane yet, so she would have to stay temporarily at the Site’s one “hotel” of sorts, the Guest House. It was a long, two-story building with two wings that extended out in either direction from a central entrance marked by four large white columns. It was right in the middle of Townsite, near the bus depot and cafeteria.
But when Doris showed up to gather Jane and take her to the Guest House, she wasn’t alone. She had brought along the fellow shehad been dating, a man named Jim, whom Doris said she had met on the bus. Exiting the car at the Guest House, Jane stepped onto what she believed to be solid ground, only to find herself sinking fast, like so many women before her. Doris and Jim didn’t seem at all surprised. Jim helped her get her footing and retrieve her shoe, and Jane watched as he carried her
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