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The "Atom" and American Life
Allan M. Winkler
Miami University of Ohio
"ATOM" HAS HAD A POWERFUL IMPACT on every phase of American life in the years since World War 11. The first atomic bomb, according to journalist Anne O'Hare McCormick, caused "an explosion in men's minds as shattering as the obliteration of Hiroshima," and in the decades that followed its dramatic appearance in 1945, the nation has operated within an altogether different framework in foreign and domestic affairs. The bomb has influenced military strategy and diplomacy, affected economic and political decisions, and conditioned the cultural climate of the United States. This paper describes that framework, and the special dialogue it promoted. Throughout the atomic era, scientists, policy makers, and social critics have engaged in a broadly based triangular conversation aimed at reconciling fears of cataclysmic destruction with hopes for a bright nuclear future. Dominated by government leaders, that three-way conversation has defined the boundaries of both public policy and popular culture and so shaped the structure of the postwar years.' The period that stretches from the Second World War to the present is marked by an unprecedented effort to balance atomic hopes and fears. Scientists working on the Manhattan Project to create an atomic bomb during the war were afraid of what the new weapon might do. Similarly, President Franklin D. Roosevelt perceived the catastrophic possibilities
The History Teacher Volume 26 Number 3
Allan M. Winkler
ahead. Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, overall director of the project, became increasingly aware of the bomb's potential impact on international diplomatic affairs. In 1947 he reflected that "with the release of atomic energy, man's ability to destroy himself is very nearly complete." As hydrogen weapons replaced atomic bombs in the 1950s and kilotons gave way to megatons in the decades that followed, such fear grew even more pronounced and speculation about a dismal or non-existent future became more common. Scientists in the 1970s and 1980s predicted deadly epidemics of radiation-related illness, devastating climatic adjustments, and the death of life as we know i t 2 Fear, of course, has always been muted by hope. With the advent of nuclear energy, a new age beckoned, and for years the possibilities appeared boundless. Atomic energy could "usher in a new day of peace and plenty," according to University of Chicago Chancellor Robert M. Hutchins in 1945. This wonderful new force, Walt Disney proclaimed a decade later in the popular children's book Our Friend the Atom, could "be put to use for creation, for the welfare of mankind." Despite the near-catastrophic accidents around the world, the administration of George Bush began at the end of the 1980s to dream of the advantages of nuclear power again3 In the effort to reconcile hopes and fears, scientists played a major part. They spoke out first as the experts who had unleashed the awesome new force and best understood how to deal with it. Though many had doubts from the start about the monster they might create, they set aside their anxieties in the interests of defeating Adolf Hitler and his Axis allies. "How Well We Meant," Nobel Prizewinner I. I. Rabi titled his speech to Los Alamos colleagues at a reunion several decades after their first success. Meanwhile, literary and artistic commentators began to explore the dramatic possibilities of atomic holocaust. "When the bomb was dropped," author Isaac Asimov noted, "atomic-doom science-fiction stories grew to be so numerous that editors began refusing them on sight." Novels, stories, comics, films, songs-all served as something of a safety valve, allowing fears to find expression as artists indulged their creative vision. But it was government officials, rather than scientists or cultural critics, who seized the initiative in shaping the public agenda. The scientists and intellectuals, policy makers felt, failed to understand political demands. As strategic and military planning came to dominate national discourse, they argued that they alone had the expertise to protect the nation from nuclear threat. Their reach extended in all directions. They helped promote public dreams about nuclear planes and ships, about the medical benefits of atomic isotopes, about the extravagant possibilities of nuclear power. And they made the final decisions about how development should p r ~ c e e d . ~
The "Atom" and American Life
These various groups operated in a series of intersecting circles. Members knew one another, spoke to one another, and sought to persuade one another as they interacted over time. Cultural commentators watched the scientists carefully as they devised ever more sophisticated weapons. But cultural criticism has only occasionally had an impact on American political life. Elected and appointed officials, who encouraged scientists to pursue nuclear research and funded their work, were cognizant of both cultural and scientific critiques, even when they found such complaints frivolous. Listening to criticism, they shifted course only when pressure became intense, and more often simply devised ways to pany nuclear fears. Frequently they used public relations to manipulate national response, as when Dwight Eisenhower's administration launched a campaign to discredit the end-of-the-world scenario in the book and film versions of On the Beach. Or they used limited agreements to launch even more sophisticated weapons research, as when John Kennedy allowed increased testing as long as it occurred underground and did not pollute the atmosphere. Successful in their efforts, they defused most challenges to their approach. Single-minded about promoting strategic security, whatever the cost, they maintained their own commitment to proceed with nuclear development, and thus avoided a searching reexamination of American policy. The dialogue I am describing began, in at least one form, during the Manhattan Project to create the first atomic bomb. Scientists plunged ahead in this huge enterprise, intent on harnessing nuclear fission before the Germans did, and succeeded beyond their fondest dreams. As they tested their nuclear device, and moved closer to actual wartime use, some scientists had serious misgivings about dropping the new weapon without warning, but were overruled by the policy makers who wanted to end the war as quickly as they could. The public, far more vocal in later years, was nowhere to be heard on this issue during the war, for the Manhattan Project unfolded in total secrecy. But public reaction would probably not have made much difference in this wartime setting. In many ways, use of the bomb was a foregone conclusion. President Harry S Truman would have been hard pressed to make any other decision. He inherited both advisers and policies from his predecessor and Franklin D. Roosevelt had intended to use the bomb. In office barely four months when the first nuclear weapons were ready, Truman would have had to exert tremendous force to overturn a decision that had effectively been made three years before. As Leslie Groves later observed, Truman's "decision was one of noninterference-basically a decision not to upset the existing plan^."^ But all parties became more closely intertwined in the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Now the public was very much engaged by the
Allan M. Winkler
bomb. Many Americans, unaware of the fearful devastation wrought by the new weapons, greeted news of the bombs with a light-hearted excitement. Almost immediately after the first detonation, the Washington Press Club prepared an "atomic cocktail," made from a combination of Pernod and gin. Los Angeles burlesque houses featured "Atom Bomb Dancers." The music industry seized upon a new subject for song. "When the Atom Bomb Fell," recorded in December 1945 by country and western singers Karl Davis and Harty Taylor, reflected a combination of awe and relief:
Smoke and fire it did flow through the land of Tokyo. There was brimstone and dust everywhere. When it all cleared away, there the cruel Japs did lay. The answer to our fighting boys prayer.
"Atomic Power," written the day after Hiroshima by cowboy singer Fred Kirby and recorded in its most popular version six months later by the Buchanan Brothers, asserted the divine origins of the bomb: "Atomic power, atomic power, was given by the mighty hand of God." Even before the second bomb fell on Nagasaki, The New York Times considered future civilian applications including an atomic a i r ~ l a n e . ~ Fears surfaced as the public became better informed. Some religious leaders contended soon after Hiroshima that the new bomb was an unnecessary experiment with genocide, and their criticisms continued in the months that followed. Other Americans, coming from all social classes, tempered their gratitude that the war was over with a growing revulsion as they became aware of the human consequences of the new weapon. In a pre-television age, before Americans came to expect grisly pictures on the nightly news, print journalism conveyed best of all the suffering caused by the bomb. John Hersey, thirty-one-year-old author of a number of popular wartime pieces, turned his attention to Hiroshima after the bomb fell. His account, published in the August 31, 1946 issue of The New Yorker, overwhelmed readers. Newspapers ran the entire text and radio stations read it aloud. The book version, distributed free to many Book-of-the-Month Club members, became a best-seller and enjoyed a vast popular audience. Through dispassionate but detailed descriptions of six residents of Hiroshima, Hersey conveyed a vivid sense of the unprecedented crisis. As reviewer Charles Poore declared of the book in The New York Times, "It speaks for itself, and, in an unforgettable way, for h~rnanity."~ Meanwhile, many scientists were troubled by what they had done. Fears circulated after the war that larger bombs might ignite a cataclysmic chain reaction in the atmosphere, the earth, or the sea. Not until early
The "Atom" and American Life
1946 did physicist Hans Bethe ease anxieties with calculations proving that such a reaction was impossible, but other fears proved more difficult to exorcise. "In the summer of 1945," biochemist Eugene Rabinowitch later recalled, "some of us walked the streets of Chicago vividly imagining the sky suddenly lit by a giant fireball, the steel skeletons of skyscrapers bending into grotesque shapes and their masonry raining into the streets below, until a great cloud of dust rose and settled over the crumbling city." Some scientists felt guilt; others felt regret. Virtually all feared the future they had helped create. As Robert Oppenheimer declared a few years later, "In some sort of crude sense which no vulgarity, no humor, no over-statement can quite extinguish, the physicists have known sin, and this is a knowledge which they cannot 10se."~ At the war's end, scientists vocally proclaimed the need for international control of atomic energy. They gave lectures to members of Congress, established the Federation of Atomic Scientists (later the Federation of American Scientists) in November 1945, and founded The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists to help convey the bomb's dangers and examine its social and political implications for scientists and nonscientists alike. Editor Eugene Rabinowitch was committed to "fight to prevent science from becoming an executioner of mankind."9 Administrative officials took a different position on the possibility of sharing the secret of atomic energy. Some--departing Secretary of War Stimson, incoming Secretary of War Robert P. Patterson, and Secretary of Commerce Henry A. Wallace among others-favored approaching the Soviet Union in an attempt at accommodation. More were vehemently opposed to such a course. Secretary of State James F. Byrnes hoped to rely on the bomb as a diplomatic bargaining chip. Military officials favored maintaining the American monopoly. A survey of Congress showed even more resistance to a cooperative approach: thirty-nine Republicans and thirty-seven Democrats preferred to hold on to the secret, while only five Democrats were willing to turn it over to the new United Nations organization. A Gallup Poll in September 1945 revealed that the public held the same view; seventy-three percent of the respondents wanted the United States to retain control of the bomb, while only fourteen percent wanted to place it in the hands of the UN.1° Truman was clearly sympathetic to the majority stance. While he underscored the need for some form of international control in a message to Congress and sought to appear conciliatory, he understood the public mood and did not intend to give too much away. He had his Secretary of State appoint a committee, with Dean Acheson, second-ranking diplomatic official, as chair to look into the problem. Drawing on the expertise of such figures as David Lilienthal, head of the Tennessee Valley Author-
ity, and Robert Oppenheimer, the committee drafted a proposal, known as the Acheson-Lilienthal report, that outlined a series of stages that would begin with a survey of materials and culminate with the surrender of weapons. Truman then appointed financier Bernard Baruch as ambassador to the new UN Atomic Energy Commission to present the plan. Arrogant and egocentric, Baruch altered the report to include firm penalties for violations and to specify that no Security Council veto was possible on questions of punishment. Despite apocalyptic rhetoric about making a choice "between the quick and the dead," he made no progress at the UN. The Russians rejected the American proposal, and offered one of their own that the United States refused to consider. At an impasse, the two nations went their individual ways and gave up on the prospect of international control at the time when it might have had its greatest chance for success. Despite the efforts of the scientific community, government leaders committed themselves to a more aggressive, and ultimately more dangerous, course.ll A similar debate occurred over the decision to create a new weapona hydrogen bomb. Simulating the fusion reaction taking place on the surface of the sun, a thermonuclear bomb promised to be far more powerful and thereby preserve the American lead in the now-joined nuclear race. Of the scientists who speculated about the possibility of creating such a weapon, Edward Teller, a refugee physicist from Hungary, was the most passionately interested. While working on the Manhattan Project, he devoted most of his attention to what was called the "Super." "I'm making an alarm clock," he said after the war, "one that will wake up the world." Persistent in his efforts to move the nation ahead, Teller found a more receptive audience after the explosion of a Russian atomic bomb. Several members of the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC), created in 1946 when the United States decided to proceed alone in nuclear affairs, were sympathetic. The chairman of the Congress's Joint Committee on Atomic Energy was another supporter. General Omar Bradley, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, concluded that if a thermonuclear bomb was possible, the Soviet Union should not be permitted to build it first. Industrialists who had been involved in the Manhattan Project were eager to maintain that association with the government and to continue to build bigger and better bombs.12 Yet supporters faced formidable opposition. A number of scientists insisted as they had before that the United States should behave more responsibly in the nuclear arena. Oppenheimer, still the major spokesman for the scientific community, had been troubled by continuing atomic tests in the Pacific and at a new site in Nevada. He felt that a decision to develop the "Super" could spark an irreversible arms race and that only a
The "Atom" and American Life
decision to renounce such a development could offer real hope for world peace. Five of the six scientists on the AEC's General Advisory Committee agreed, as did three of the five AEC commissioners, including chairman David Lilienthal. The public was largely uninformed about the debate being waged within the government. A disclosure during a television interview with a member of the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy in the fall of 1949 hinted at the effort to create a far more powerful bomb, and stories in The Washington Post and The New York Times elaborated on that revelation. But the public still had no voice in the deliberations and the leak only made top officials eager to resolve the matter of whether to proceed with the new weapon as quickly as possible.13 Despite a recommendation from the General Advisory Committee and then from the AEC itself not to push ahead, Truman only wanted to know, "Can the Russians do it?" When told that they could, his response was, "We have no choice. We'll go ahead," and he authorized a crash program to create a hydrogen bomb. Without the full support of the scientific community or the full knowledge of the public at large, the nation moved ahead in the atomic realm.14 The development of the hydrogen bomb created problems with radioactive fallout that became the next major issue debated by scientists, concerned citizens, and government officials. For years, researchers around the world had been aware of the dangers of radiation, though they had disagreed about the critical levels that had to be avoided. The Manhattan Project made the issue more pressing, as radiation lingered after the Trinity test and the detonations in Japan. Public concern mounted in response to the postwar American nuclear weapons testing program. In the Bikini tests, particles of fallout, residual radioactive droplets of water or dust, contaminated everything they touched. Physician David Bradley, a member of the radiological monitoring team, warned in his book No Place to Hide of "the invisible poison of radioactivity" that lingered after a blast and noted its possible persistence for centuries to come.15 The public became even more worried about fallout as a result of tests conducted at the Nevada site. One shot in mid-1953 blanketed residents of St. George, Utah with as much radiation as nuclear workers were allowed in a year. People in a town further east became ill, and 4,200 sheep grazing north of the test site died of mysterious causes. When ranchers claimed that fallout was responsible for the animals' deaths, an AEC investigation concluded that radiation was not at fault. In 1956, the government won a suit filed by the ranchers on the grounds that the sheep-owners had not provided scientific testimony to support their claim. Still, adverse publicity from the episode caused continued anxiety
about the tests themselves, and twenty-five years later, critics were vindicated when a federal judge called for a new trial in ruling that the government had deliberately suppressed critical results and misrepresented the facts.I6 As criticism of domestic testing increased, an accident in the Pacific dramatized further the problems with fallout. In March 1954, the Bravo test of a first operational hydrogen bomb showered radioactive ash over crewmen of a Japanese fishing vessel, the Fukuryu Maru or Lucky Dragon, anchored well beyond the danger zone. Though the ship left the area quickly, crewmen began to complain of radiation sickness symptoms-headache, fatigue, nausea, diarrhea-and suffered from skin irritation and loss of hair. Even after medical treatment on their arrival in Japan, many remained ill. Seven months after the explosion, Aikichi Kuboyama, the ship's radio operator, died of jaundice, complicated by heart trouble and inflammation of the lungs, and became the first known postwar victim of the nuclear age." Some scientists in the 1950s were quick to highlight the growing dangers of radiation. The American testing program, they suggested, harmed present and future generations and created an unacceptable human risk. A. H. Sturtevant, a prominent geneticist at the California Institute of Technology, charged that radiation harmed both the exposed individual and his or her descendents. Chemist Linus Pauling, winner of a Nobel Prize, estimated that 10,000 persons were either dead or dying of leukemia caused by nuclear tests and predicted that continued testing would lead to the birth of 200,000 physically or mentally defective children in each of the next twenty generations. Physicist Ralph Lapp declared that radiation from fallout "cannot be felt and possesses all the terror of the unknown. It is something which evokes revulsion and helplessness-like a bubonic plague."ls Popular culture reflected the scientific critique. Science fiction stories described the horrible effects of fallout. Movies like Them!, which appeared in 1954, featured mutant ants the size of buses crawling out of a New Mexico atomic test site. The mutation, according to a scientist in the film, was "probably caused by lingering radiation from the first atomic bomb." Songwriter Tom Lehrer caricatured the domestic testing program better than anyone else:
Along the trail you'll find me lopin'
Where the spaces are wide open,
In the land of the old A.E.C.
Where the scenery's attractive,
And the air is radioactive,
Oh, the wild west is where I want to be.
The "Atom" and American Life
The editors of Playboy voiced serious concern about strontium-90, one of the radioactive elements in fallout, which threatened their version of the good life. l9 A Consumers Union study of strontium-90 reached an even larger audience. Applying its product-testing procedure to fallout, the organization surveyed milk samples in fifty different areas over a one-month period in 1958, and published the results in the March 1959 issue of Consumer Reports. "The Milk We Drink" was restrained but still frightening and ended on a pessimistic note: "No doubt the Best Buy is milk without Sr-90, air without fallout, and adequate medical care without diagnostic X-rays. But none of these solutions are to be had, ..." The Consumer Reports study reached Americans otherwise oblivious to the nuclear danger. Despite their preoccupation with the pursuit of material gain, they too now had to consider the consequences of nuclear tests.20 Fears were focused by the best-known protest group, SANE-the Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy. Organized in mid-1957 by prominent figures like Norman Cousins, Saturday Review editor, and Clarence Pickett, secretary emeritus of the American Friends Service Committee, the organization attracted pacifists and non-pacifists alike in the effort, in psychologist Eric Fromm's phrase, "to bring the voice of sanity to the people." It ran newspaper advertisements and TV spots publicizing the danger from both nuclear blast and fallout. One of the most effective was a full-page ad featuring world-famous pediatrician Benjamin Spock. Dressed in a suit with a vest, he looked down at a little girl with a frown on his face. "Dr. Spock is worried," the caption read. "I am worried," he said in the text that followed. "Not so much about the effect of past tests but at the prospect of endless future ones. As the tests multiply, so will the danger to children-here and around the world."21 Another group carried the message still further. In 1961, five women who had been active in SANE grew restless at the male-led organization's stress on political lobbying rather than direct action. Meeting in the home of Dagmar Wilson, housewife, mother, and illustrator of children's books, they wanted to focus on "mothers' issues" like the radioactive contamination of milk. They called for women all over the United States to suspend normal activities for a day and strike for peace. On November 1, an estimated 50,000 women marched and mobilized in sixty communities around the country, with slogans like "Let the Children Grow" and "End the Arms Race-Not the Human Race."22 Faced with a growing public outcry, the AEC and the rest of the government fought back. Officials in Dwight D. Eisenhower's administration argued, without apparent contradiction, first that fallout was harmless, then that any possible danger was offset by knowledge gained from the tests.
Allan M. Winkler
They took on the promotional task of reassuring Americans that past and present detonations were safe while at the same time persuading them that there was nothing to fear from talung reasonable risks. Yet the public remained concerned, and anxiety over fallout led in turn to renewed interest in civil defense that involved the same three groupsscientists, policy makers, and public critics. In the immediate postwar years, before fallout became an issue, scientists and planners recommended the dispersion of the nation's urban and industrial capacity. A shelter program had some advocates in the public sector, but the estimates of a cost of between sixteen and thirty-two billion dollars over a five-year period discouraged government leaders. Instead, they participated in a program of cajoling the public to learn how to cope with an atomic attack. The "Duck and Cover" campaign targeted school children. In three million comic books distributed nationwide, Bert the Turtle stressed the need to take cover from flying glass and other debris in case of a raid. A series of frames told young readers that in the face of danger "Bert ducks and covers. He's smart, but he has his shelter on his back. You must learn to find shelter. In a bus or auto, duck down behind or under the seats." A final one concluded, "Do it instantly.. . .Don't stand and look. Duck and cover!" Bert the Turtle also starred in an animated film that brought the same message to children who may have missed the After the development of the hydrogen bomb, Val Peterson, head of the Federal Civil Defense Administration between 1953 and 1957, noted the new dilemma: "The alternatives are to dig, die, or get out; and certainly we don't want to die." Digging seemed far too costly in the face of more potent bombs, and so the new approach became one of evacuation if attacked. The orientation changed, according to The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists "from 'Duck and Cover' to 'Run Like Hell."' But evacuation required an adequate system of roads. The 1956 act creating an interstate highway system provided easier automobile access to the suburbs, and, at the same time, an expeditious means of exit from the cities in case of nuclear war.24 But that approach likewise became suspect with the spread of fallout. The creeping radioactive cloud that accompanied any nuclear blast minimized the value of running away, for the insidious dust remained deadly without some shield. While blast shelters were useless to safeguard people from a bomb's impact, less substantial and less costly fallout shelters might nonetheless save them from the poisonous side effects of an attack. As scientists and government officials debated the merits of civil defense, the public became fascinated with fallout shelters. In the mid1950s, Life magazine featured an "H-Bomb Hideaway" for $3,000. At
The "Atom" and American Life
the end of the decade, a Miami firm reported numerous inquiries about shelters that sold for between $1,795 and $3,895, depending on capacity, and planned 900 franchises. Interest became even more intense in the administration of John F. Kennedy, particularly after his Cold War confrontations with the Soviet Union over Berlin and Cuba. "At cocktail parties and P.T.A. meetings and family dinners, on buses and commuter trains and around office coolers," Time magazine noted, "talk turns to shelters." Senator Richard Russell summed up widespread popular sentiment when he declared: "If we have to start over again with another Adam and Eve, then I want them to be Americans and not Russians, and I want them on this continent and not in E ~ r o p e . " ~ ~ Yet none of those efforts was ever really effective. Opponents like SANE argued that "fallout shelters are pitifully inadequate protection against nuclear attack," and proclaimed that they tended "to obscure the unprecedented catastrophe that nuclear war would bring, and the efforts that must be made to avoid it." Some critics demanded that the government and public explore serious questions of human purpose instead of becoming preoccupied with haphazard efforts to hide from the effects of nuclear attack. Others claimed that the very existence of a shelter program increased the likelihood of war by demonstrating that the nation thought it could survive such a conflict. Although a fair number of Americans were intrigued with the possibilities of protection, government officials were never willing to allocate the funds for a full-fledged program and rebuffed all efforts to plan a more extensive civil defense effort.26 The same three groups-scientists, government officials, and public critics-were similarly involved with the question of atomic power. Soon after the first bombs fell in Japan, Americans dreamed of a nuclear utopia, with electricity generated at virtually no cost, with cars and planes and ships fueled by an inexhaustible energy source, with isotopes readily available for industrial and medical use. AEC officials speculated about the glorious age that lay ahead and encouraged similar speculation in the country at large. The ubiquitous propaganda helped romanticize the atom and created a sense of expectation as scientists and engineers made the technical breakthroughs that led to increasing orders for reactors in the 1960s and 1970s. The government played a major role in the promotion and development of nuclear power. The Atomic Energy Act of 1946 that established the AEC mandated a government monopoly over all nuclear materials, facilities, and experimental projects, and that policy effectively squelched private initiative in the first postwar years. Though an experimental reactor built by the government became the first atomic power plant ever
Allan M. Winkler
to produce small amounts of electricity in 1951, progress was slow until Eisenhower pushed successfully three years later for revision of the 1946 act to allow the AEC to issue licenses to private firms to build and operate commercial nuclear power plants.27 Atomic power became a realistic possibility as a result of the efforts of Navy Captain Hyman G. Rickover. He had been interested in the problem of nuclear propulsion since 1946 and his single-minded effort to build a nuclear-powered submarine laid the groundwork for the creation of reactor-generated power on land. An ambitious, tireless administrator who refused to cut comers and demanded high standards from the contractors he employed, he forced both the Navy and the AEC to accept his dream as a priority. In 1954, he achieved his goal as he oversaw the launch of the Nautilus, which operated with a small reactor in its hull. Because of his success in dealing with Westinghouse, the company most involved in building the Nautilus, the AEC asked Rickover to work with the firm in constructing the nation's first nuclear power plant for the Duquesne Light Company in Shippingport, Pennsylvania. Using the same technology and parrying charges that he was "an egotistical SOB," Rickover succeeded in bringing the plant on line at its full power rating just before the end of 1957. While the electricity it produced was expensive-sixty-four mills compared to six mills per kilowatt for conventional plants-the design and data derived from its construction were enormously valuable for future c o n ~ t r u c t i o n . ~ ~ In the next decade, the private sector assumed the lead in promoting nuclear power, as large corporations recognized the potential profits that beckoned. In 1963, General Electric and Westinghouse embarked on a series of "turnkey" projects, in which they assumed all risks for building plants the utilities could take over. GE constructed a plant at Oyster Creek for the Jersey Central Power and Light Company and charged the utility an estimated thirty million dollars less than the unit cost, with the expectation that it would be a "loss leader" to demonstrate the feasibility of nuclear power to other customers. The strategy worked. In 1966 and 1967, utilities ordered about fifty plants. Between 1970 and 1974, they contracted for more than one hundred.29 Then a series of dramatic accidents heightened public concern about safety and shattered the dream of a peaceful nuclear world once and for all. Accidents-in Idaho in 1961, in Michigan in 1966, in Alabama in 1975-had been troubling, but paled against the mishap at Three Mile Island near Harrisburg, Pennsylvania in 1979. Human error and mechanical malfunction led the reactor to overheat and almost caused a meltdown of the radioactive core. As reporters flocked to the region and covered the story for the world, nearly 150,000 residents fled their homes. Though
The "Atom" and American Life
disaster was averted, the episode revealed serious flaws in the safetymonitoring system. Mad magazine's Alfred E. Newman posed in front of the famous cooling towers and said, "Yes, me worry!" An even worse accident at a Soviet plant at Chernobyl in 1986 underscored still-smoldering American fears. Though government officials insisted that nuclear power was harmless, scientists and other critics began to ask whether even the most complex safety features could be trusted and to question whether nuclear power was worth the risk. Activists, drawing on the lessons of the civil rights movement, argued that catastrophes were not just possible but likely and launched direct action protest campaigns to close down old plants and stop the building of new ones. Environmentalists, charging that nuclear power was a needless source of pollution, joined the fight. New orders for reactors dried up, construction of already planned plants ceased, and a Forbes magazine cover story in 1985 called the nuclear industry "the largest managerial disaster in business hisFinally, our same three groups-scientists, policy makers, and public activists-struggled with the question of how to reduce the risks of nuclear war. Agitated over the danger of fallout, public opinion took the lead this time in demanding a moratorium on testing and a concerted effort to control the arms race. Creative commentators, accustomed to giving their imagination free rein, played a major role in drawing attention to the possibility of holocaust. Some, like poet Robert Lowell, offered sober warnings of impending disaster, as when he wrote in Fall 1961, "All autumn, the chafe and jar / of nuclear war; 1we have talked our extinction to death." Others used satire to confront the problems more directly. Once again song-writer Tom Lehrer was a biting critic of American policy and its implications as he provided his own personal scenario for the next war:
So long, Mom I'm off to drop the bomb, So don't wait up for me, But while you swelter Down there in your shelter, You can see me On your T.V. While we're attacking frontally, Watch Brinkally and Huntally, Describing contrapuntally The cities we have lost. No need for you to miss a minute of the agonizing holo~aust.~'
Artists, too, shared their anxiety about the nuclear threat. In 1980, Alex Grey painted Nuclear Crucijixion, which showed Jesus crucified in a mushroom cloud and conveyed a haunting message about the means of death. The following year, Robert Moms created a huge work called J o d o del Muerto, or Journey of the Dead Man (sic), after the New Mexico site of the Trinity test. Housed in the Hirshhom Museum in Washington, DC, it included a drawing of a Hiroshima bridge and photographs of Oppenheimer and Albert Einstein, father of relativity, juxtaposed with a photo of a badly burned boy. Far simpler was Erika Rothenberg's acrylic the next year called Pushing the Right Buttons. It pictured nothing but two circular buttons, the top one labeled "Launch," the bottom one "Lunch," and dramatized fears caused by the casual conversation at the top levels of government about the possibility of nuclear war.32 Equally engaging was the black humor of Stanley Kubrick's brilliant film Dr. Strangelove Or: How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. It was a vivid and absurd tale of a world become prisoner to its monstrous machines, with outrageous characters like General Turgidson, General Jack D. Ripper, President Muffley, Premier Kisoff, and Dr. Strangelove himself giving a wry, often ridiculous touch to unfolding scenes. The movie ended with the triumph of the Doomsday Machinethe ultimate but unsuccessful deterrent-as the camera panned across a series of mushroom clouds spreading through the sky.33 Public pressure, generated by artists and authors on the one hand and citizens groups like SANE on the other, helped encourage the government to seek accommodation with the Soviet Union. In the spring of 1963, in a commencement address at American University in Washington, DC, John Kennedy declared that in the nuclear age "total war makes no sense" and called for a treaty outlawing nuclear tests. The Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963 was the result. It banned nuclear tests in the atmosphere, or in any environment where detectable radioactive debris might be spewed beyond e territorial borders. While some scientists l ~ k Edward Teller were outspoken in their opposition and a number of military officials and defense contractors were equally hostile to the agreement, it enjoyed overwhelming public support and secured the necessary Senate ratification. A decade later, in 1972, the SALT I Treaty, stemming from Strategic Arms Limitation Talks, limited the number of anti-ballistic missile systems the superpowers could construct and, in a five-year "interim agreement," specified ceilings on 1 intercontinental and other ballistic missiles. A SALT 1 Treaty in 1979 capped the number of warheads that could be placed on missiles, limited the number of multiple-warhead missiles, and froze the number of delivery systems permitted, but it became tangled up with American opposition to a Soviet invasion of Afghanistan and was never ratified.34
The "Atom" and American Life
The dialogue about how to avoid nuclear war continued into the 1980s. Scientists and their counterparts in the world of cultural affairs maintained their pressure on the government to take meaningful steps toward peace. They were particularly alarmed at positions voiced by Ronald Reagan, who assumed the presidency in 1981. Taking a militant approach toward the Soviet Union, which Reagan termed an "evil empire" in a casual reference to the popular Star Wars film, the administration slowed efforts in the arms control arena and sought an unprecedented one and one-half trillion dollars over a five-year period to support a massive military buildup. That spending, critics argued, promised to bring the world even closer to nuclear war.35 Scientists stepped up their attack. Some described the consequences of an atomic struggle in such journals as Ambio.Others like astronomer Carl Sagan and four colleagues speculated, both in a scientific paper and in Sunday-supplement Parade magazine, about the prospect of a nuclear winter, caused by dust and smoke from bombs exploding in the atmosphere, which could "generate an epoch of cold and dark" and possibly lead to the extinction of the human race.36 Even more influential were authors who picked up on the arguments of worried scientists. By far the most compelling was Jonathan Schell, who published an eloquent series of articles first in The New Yorker,then in book form in 1982 as The Fate of the Earth. Schell wrote about "A Republic of Insects and Grass," which might well result from a nuclear war. In terms a layman could understand, he began with the basic principles of radiation and summarized the immediate and long-range effects of a blast. "What happened at Hiroshima," he observed, "was less than a millionth part of a holocaust at present levels of world nuclear armament." He also contemplated "The Second Death," in which "every person on earth would die; but in addition to that, and distinct from it, ...unborn generations would be prevented from ever e~isting."~' A number of organizations focused the arguments of critics. Physicians for Social Responsibility, founded twenty years before by Bernard Lown, a Boston cardiologist and professor at Haward's School of Public Health, revived in the 1980s after a period of hibernation. Another equally active group was the Union of Concerned Scientists. Henry W. Kendall, and MIT physicist and former consultant to the Defense Department, had founded the organization in 1969 to oppose the drift toward anti-ballistic missile systems. After winning that battle with the ratification of the SALT I Treaty, the group had concentrated on the dangers of nuclear power. Now it returned to the arms race.38 These groups supported the notion of a nuclear freeze. The idea came from Randall Forsberg, head of her own Institute for Defense and
Allan M. Winkler
Disarmanent Studies in Brookline, Massachusetts. When the superpowers failed to reach a comprehensive test ban settlement in the 1960s, she argued, experts simply accepted the concept of a permanent arms race and dedicated themselves to keeping things equal. "The buzz word," she said, "was stability." Then, as Reagan launched a massive military buildup, the United States seemed to reject even that limited goal. In response, Forsberg proposed a mutual and verifiable freeze. It was a simple enough concept for the public to accept easily, and, if adopted, could limit the ever-increasing supply of nuclear arms.39 In early 1980, the Fellowship of Reconciliation organized a meeting of several dozen peace groups to consider the idea. Word reached Vermont, and as a result of the efforts of the American Friends Service Committee, the Forsberg proposal received a favorable hearing at town meetings throughout the state. Such discussions spread elsewhere and were soon occurring around the country. Ground Zero Week in the spring of that year provided further support as thousands of people in one hundred fifty cities and five hundred communities portrayed the devastating effects of a nuclear war.40 The protest effort, so much a part of American culture in the 1980s, dramatized concerns and mobilized opinion more effectively than ever before. Scientists and non-scientists alike were able to force institutional leaders to listen and to persuade a reluctant administration to resume the process of negotiation it had chosen to ignore. Results came slowly, to be sure. But, as Bernard Lown noted after watching public concern develop over several decades, "It's like boiling water. Nothing happens, nothing happens, nothing happens, and then finally there's steam"41 The nuclear age has been a period of painful struggle. Hopes for a dazzling nuclear future have been tempered by fears of an atomic holocaust, as Americans have grappled over the decades since 1945 with the same basic question: how to maintain an increasingly fragile national and international balance in the face of ever more powerful bombs. In the triangular conversation including scientists, social critics, and policy makers, the government leaders have long had the upper hand. The dialogue generated by opponents of nuclear development has been vigorous and vociferous, but has triggered no mechanism that might automatically force a response or alter the government's course. Critics have constantly found that those charged with making national decisions had priorities of their own. Bureaucratic inertia, coupled with a powerful and unchanging commitment to building bigger and better bombs, has kept administration after administration on the course defined as the nuclear age began. The bomb, physicist Alvin C. Graves once noted, was a fact of life, like a heart condition, that simply had to be lived with. Government
The "Atom" and American Life
officials were willing to live with it, and to take modest ameliorative steps, but not to alter their fundamental approach. Occasionally, though, protesters from a variety of camps within this framework have managed to shift America's nuclear approach. Once a decade the nation has gingerly backed away from the most truculent national positions and sought accommodation with adversaries in a joint effort to mute the global threat. At those points when critics were able to focus on prickly political problems and cause enough of a public scare they managed to attract the attention of top officials. In response, government policy shifted just a bit and for a time the world became a marginally safer place. A voluntary moratorium on testing in the late 1950s paved the way for the Limited Test Ban Treaty several years later. Good faith negotiating in the 1970s produced several more accords. Pressure in the 1980s generated still another agreement. Then interest waned, old positions revived, and the cycle of protest and counter-protest began anew.42 Despite repeated discouragement, activists pressed on. "We are but transient passengers on the planet Earth," Bernard Lown told audiences in the 1980s. "It does not belong to us. We are not free to doom generations yet unborn. We are not at liberty to erase humanity's past or dim its future." That message underscored the underlying theme in the continuing effort to come to terms with atomic energy throughout the postwar years.43
1. Anne O'Hare McCormick quoted in Paul Boyer, By the Bomb's Early Light: American Thought and Culture at the Dawn of the Atomic Age (New York: Pantheon Books, 1985), p. xix. 2. Henry L. Stimson, "The Decision to Use the Atomic Bomb," Harper's Magazine, February 1947, p. 107. Robert M. Hutchins, quoted in Boyer, p. 112; Heinz Haber, The Walt Disney 3. Story of Our Friend the Atom (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1956), p. 13. I. I. Rabi quoted in Roger Rosenblatt, "The Atomic Age," Time, 29 July 1985, 4. p. 33; Isaac Asimov, Opus 100 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1969), p. 105. 5. Leslie R. Groves, Now It Can Be Told: The Story of the Manhattan Project (New York: Harper &Row, Publishers, 1962), p. 265. 6. Boyer, p. 10; Joseph C. Goulden, The Best Years, 1945-1950 (New York: Atheneum, 1976), p. 261; "Atomic Cafe: Radioactive Rock'n Roll, Blues, Country & Gospel," Rounder Records, n.d.; The New York Times, 8 August 1945. 7. John Hersey, Hiroshima (New York: Bantam Books, 1966); Charles Poore, "'The Most Spectacular Explosion in the Time of Man,"' The New York Times Book Review, 10 November 1946, p. 56.
Allan M. Winkler
8. Eugene Rabinowitch, "Five Years After," Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 7 (January 1951), 3; J. Robert Oppenheimer, "Physics in the Contemporary World," Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 4 (March 1948), 66. Eugene Rabinowitch quoted in Len Ackland, "Fighting for Time," Chicago 9. Tribune Magazine, 11 March 1984. 10. Barton J. Bernstein, "The Quest for Security: American Foreign Policy and International Control of Atomic Energy, 1942-1946," The Journal of American History 60 (March 1974), 1010; Gregg Herken, The Winning Weapon: The Atomic Bomb in the Cold War, 1945-1950 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1980), p. 32; George H. Gallup, The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935-1971, Volume One, 1935-1948 (New York: Random House, 1972), pp. 525,536. 11. Bernard Baruch quoted in Alice Kimball Smith, A Peril and a Hope: The Scientists' Movement in America, 1945-1947 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1965), p. 475. 12. Edward Teller quoted in Gregg Herken, Counsels of War (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985), p. 57. 13. The Washington Post, 18November 1949; The New York Times, 17 January 1950. 14. Harry Truman quoted in David E. Lilienthal, The Journals ofDavid E. Lilienthal: Volume Two: The Atomic Energy Years, 1945-1950 (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1964), p. 633. 15. David Bradley, No Place to Hide, 1946/1984 (Hanover, NH: University Press of New England, 1983), p. xvii. 16. The New York Times, 20 May 1953,19 September 1982; Salt Lake City Tribune, 20 May 1953; San Francisco Examiner, 20 May 1953; AEC Press Release-Study Shows Radioactivity from Atomic Tests Did Not Cause Sheep Deaths, 13 January 1954, Document 14045, Records of the Department of Energy, Coordination and Information Center, Reynolds Electrical & Engineering Co., Inc., Las Vegas, NV; Lewis L. Strauss to Douglas R. Stringfellow, 9 March 1954, RG 326, US Atomic Energy Commission, Secretariat Collection, 4928 - MH & S 3 Radiation, US Department of Energy Archives, Germantown, MD; Edward Diamond, Memorandum on Bulloch et al. v. United States, 30 November 1956, Energy History Collection, US Department of Energy Archives; R. Jeffrey Smith, "Scientists Implicated in Atom Test Deception," Science 218 (5 November 1982), 545. 17. Fallout (pamphlet), pp. 20-21, Box 20, Records of the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy, Swarthmore College Library, Swarthmore, PA; "Radiation: 'Glimpse Into Hell,"' Newsweek, 13 January 1958, p. 78; Ralph E. Lapp, The Voyage of the Lucky Dragon (New York: Harper &Brothers Publishers, 1958); Richard Hudson and Ben Shahn, Kuboyama and the Saga of the Lucky Dragon (New York: Thomas Yoseloff, Publisher, 1965). 18. Carolyn Kopp, "The Origins of the American Scientific Debate over Fallout Hazards," Social Studies of Science 9 )1979), 405-407; Steven M. Spencer, "Fallout: The Silent Killer, Part One," The Saturday Evening Post, 29 August 1959, p. 89; Linus Pauling, Every Test Kills (pamphlet), Box B-14, Records of the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy; "The Atom: Political Fallout," Newsweek, 17 June 1957, p. 38; Ralph E. Lapp, "Civil Defense Faces New Peril," Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 10 (November 1954), 350. 19. Boyer, p. 354; Spencer Weart, Nuclear Fear: A History of Images (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 191; Tom Lehrer, Too Many Songs by Tom Lehrer (New York: Pantheon Books, 1981), pp. 20-23; 'The Contaminators: A Statement by the Editors of Playboy," in Fallout-Nuclear Testing, 1959 folder, Box 18, Papers of Sidney R. Yates, Harry S. Truman Library, Independence, MO.
The "Atom" and American Life
20. "The Milk We Drink," Consumer Reports 24 (March 1959), cover, 102-1 11; Norman Isaac Silber, Test and Protest: The Influence of Consumers Union (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1983), p. 103-1 10. 21. "A Short History of SANE [typescript]," n.d., Box 1, Folder: Histories of SANE; and SANE is Ten: 1957-1967 [typescript]," n.d., Box 5, Folder: Speeches & Articles-Donald Keys-both documents in Records of the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy; The New York Times, 15 November 1957,16 April 1962; Lawrence S. Wittner, Rebels Against War: The American Peace Movement, 1941-1960 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1969), pp. 242-245; Godfrey Hodgson, America in Our Time (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Company, Inc., 1976), p. 277. 22. Amy Swerdlow, "Ladies Day at the Capitol: Women Strike for Peace Versus HUAC," Feminist Studies 8 (Fall 1982), 493-520; Sara Evans, Born for Liberty: A History of Women in America (New York: The Free Press, 1989), pp. 263-264,268. 23. Bert the Turtle Says Duck and Cover, Box 1, Files of Spencer R. Quick, Harry S.Truman Library, Independence, MP; JoAnne Brown, "A Is for Atom, B Is for Bomb: Civil Defense in American Public Education, 1948-1963, The Joumal of American History 75 (June 1988), 83-84; Mary E. Meade, "What Programs of Civil Defense Are Needed in Our Schools?" The Bulletin of the National Association of Secondary-School Principals 36 (April 1952), 183; Grace Storm, "Civil Defense Film for Schools," Elementary School Joumal 52 (September 12, 1952), 12. 24. Val Peterson quoted in Herbert Roback, "Civil Defense and National Defense," in Eugene P. Wigner, ed., Who Speaks for Civil Defense? (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1968), p. 89; Mary M. Simpson, "A Long Hard Look at Civil Defense," Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 12 (November 1956), 346. 25. "H-Bomb Hideaway, Life, 23 May 1955, pp. 169-170; Editorial Comments on Shelter, Box 15, White House Office Staff Research Group Series, Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower, Dwight D.Eisenhower Library, Abilene, KS; Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization, Information Bulletin, 10 January 1961, RG 326, US Atomic Energy Commission Secretariat, Box 1433, S & I 15--Civil Defense Folder, US Department of Energy Archives; Civil Defense: The Sheltered Life," Time, 20 October 1961, p. 21; Richard Russell quoted in The New York Times, 22 January 1971. 26. The Effects of Nuclear War [A Report from the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy], n.d., Box 10, Folder-Literature, 1957-1962; How Sane Are Fallout Shelters? Box 20-both documents in Records of the National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy; Federation of American Scientists, Press Release, 4 December 1961, Box 75, Papers of Sidney R. Yates; Gerard Piel, The Illusion of Civil Defense, 10 November 1961, p. 21, Box 75, Papers of Sidney R. Yates. 27. George T. Mazuzan and J. Samuel Walker, Controlling the Atom: The Beginnings of Nuclear Regulation, 1946-1962 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1984), pp. 3-4; George T. Mazuzan and Roger R. Trask, "An Outline History of Nuclear Regulation and Licensing, 1946-1979," April 1979, p. 8, Historical Office, Office of the Secretary, Nuclear Regulatory Commission, Washington, DC; Steven L. Del Sesto, Science, Politics, and Controversy: Civilian Nuclear Power in the United States, 1946-1974 (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1979), pp. 17-24; EBR-I and Self Guided Tour of ERB-1 [pamphlets distributed at the reactor site]; Jack M. Holl, Roger M. Anders, and Alice L. Buck, United States Civilian Nuclear Power Policy, 1954-1984: A Summary History (Washington, DC: US Department of Energy, February 1986), p. 2. 28. Richard G. Hewlett and Francis Duncan, Nuclear Navy, 1946-1962 (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 32-35,97-100, 109-117; Richard G. Hewlett and Francis Duncan, Atomic Shield, 1947-1952, Volume 11: A History of the United States
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Atomic Energy Commission (Washington, DC: US Atomic Energy Commission, 1972), p. 75; Richard G. Hewlett and Jack M. Holl, Atoms for Peace and War: Eisenhower and the Atomic Energy Commission (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1989), pp. 186-188, 192, 196-197, 227-228,419-422; Daniel Ford, The Cult of the Atom: The Secret Papers of the Atomic Energy Commission (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982), pp. 53,58, 61, 66; Mazuzan and Walker, p. 21. 29. Allan M. Winkler, "The Nuclear Question," in Robert H. Bremner, Gary W. Reichard and Richard J. Hopkins, eds., American Choices: Social Dilemmas & Public Policy Since 1960 (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1986), pp. 141-145; Del Sesto, pp. 85-86; Ford, pp. 62-63. 30. Dwight A. Ink to Christopher H. Russell, 10 January 1961, Box 2, White House Office, Staff Research Group, Papers of Dwight D. Eisenhower; Walter C. Patterson, Nuclear Power (New York: Penguin Books, 1976), pp. 175-176, 180-182; Sheldon Novick, The Careless Atom (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1969), pp. 159-160; McKinley C. Olson, Unacceptable Risk: The Nuclear Power Controversy (New York: Bantam Books, Inc., 1976), pp. 21, 62-64; John G. Fuller, "We Almost Lost Detroit," in Peter Faulkner, ed., The Silent Bomb: A Guide to the Nuclear Energy Controversy (New York: Vintage Books, A Division of Random House, 1977), pp. 45-59; J. Samuel Walker, "Reactor Safety: Growing Concern over Larger Reactors," draft chapter in a forthcoming book on nuclear regulation in the 1960s, pp. 49-50; Stephen Hilgartner, Richard C. Bell, and R o y O'Connor, Nukespeak: The Selling of Nuclear Technologyin America (New York: Penguin Books, 1982), p. 140; Report of the President's Commission On the Accident at Three Mile Island-The Need for Change: The Legacy of TMI (Washington, DC: US Government Printing Office, 1979), pp. 101-161; Charles Perrow, Normal Accidents: Living with High-Risk Technologies (New York: Basic Books, Inc., Publishers, 1984), pp. 15-31; "A Nuclear Nightmare," Time, 9 April 1979, pp. 8, 11-12, 15-16, 19; "Nuclear Accident," Newsweek, 9 April 1979, pp. 24-30,33; Cynthia Bullock Flym, "Reactions of Local Residents to the Accident at Three Mile Island," in David L. Sills, C. P. Wolf, and Vivien B. Shelanski, eds., Accident at Three Mile Island: The Human Dimensions (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1982), pp. 49-56; Lonna Malmsheimer, "Three Mile Island: Fact, Frame and Fiction," American Quarterly 38 (Spring 1986), 37-38, 42-49; James Cook, "Nuclear Follies," Forbes, 11 February 1985, cover. 31. "Fall 1961" in Robert Lowell, Selected Poems (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976), p. 105; Lehrer, pp. 156-157. 32. Roger Rosenblatt, "The Atomic Age," Time, 29 July 1985, pp. 46,48. 33. George W. Linden, "Dr. Strangelove Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb," in Jack G. Shaheen, ed., Nuclear War Films (Carbondale and Edwardsville, IL: Southern Illinois University Press), pp. 60, 62-65. 34. John F. Kennedy, "Commencement Address at American University in Washington," 10 June 1963, in Public Papers of the Presidents: John F. Kennedy: Containing the Public Messages, Speeches, and Statements of the President, 1963 (Washington, DC: US Government Printing Office, 1964), pp. 460-464; The Harvard Nuclear Study Group (Albert Carnesale, Paul Doty, Stanley Hoffman, Samuel P. Huntington, Joseph S. Nye, Scott D. Sagan), Living with Nuclear Weapons (New York: Bantam Books, 1983), pp. 9299; The Stanford Arms Control Group (Coit D. Blacker and Gloria Duffy, eds.), International Arms Control: Issues and Agreements (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1984), pp. 413-476. 35. Allan M. Winkler, Modem America: The United States from World War II to the Present (New York: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1986), pp. 207-208; The Intemational Herald Tribune, 27-28 July, 1985.
The "Atom" and American Life
36. R. P. Turco, 0 . B. Toon, T. P. Ackerman, J. B. Pollack, Carl Sagan, "Nuclear Winter: Global Consequences of Multiple Nuclear Explosions," Science 222 (23 December 1983), 1,282-1290; Summary of Conference Findings, The World After Nuclear War, Conference on the Long-Term Worldwide Biological Consequences of Nuclear War, 31 October-1 November 1983,1735 New York Avenue, N.W., Suite400, Washington, DC 20006; Carl Sagan, "The Nuclear Winter," Parade, 30 October 1983, pp. 4-5, 7. 37. Jonathan Schell, The Fate of the Earth (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1982), pp. 45, 172. 38. Jonathan A. Leonard, "Danger: Nuclear War," Harvard Magazine, NovemberDecember 1980, pp. 21-22; Bernard Lown quoted in Fox Butterfield, "Anatomy of the Nuclear Protest," The New York Times Magazine, 11 July 1982, p. 17; Winkler, "The Nuclear Question," p. 149. 39. Butterfield, pp. 32, 34. 40. "A Matter of Life and Death," Newsweek, 26 April 1982, pp. 21-22; Michael Mandelbaum, "Disarming Proposals," The New York Times Book Review, 18 July 1982, p. 10; Physicians for Social Responsibility Memorandum from Wendy Silverman to Chapters and Chapters-in-Formation, Washington Office, 236 Massachusetts Avenue, N.E., Room 301, Washington, DC 20002, 12 August 1983; Edward M. Kennedy and Mark 0 . Hatfield, Freeze! How You Can Help Prevent Nuclear War (New York: Bantam Books, 1982), p. 132, 136, 169-170. 41. Bernard Lown quoted in Ellen Goodman, "Nobel Laureate Prescribes Test Ban," Eugene [Oregon] Register-Guard, 4 April 1986. 42. Alvin C. Graves cited in Daniel Lang, "Our Far-Flung Correspondents: Bombs Away!" The New Yorker, 10 May 1952, p. 76. 43. Bernard Lown quoted in the Eugene [Oregon] Register-Guard, 9 September 1982.
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