Socialization

Discontent with the increasingly structured regime was minimized by close social ties, by seminars and colloquia on wider subjects, and by the satisfaction of cooperative work toward an important objective unrealizable by a single individual. Morale stayed high. In 1934, before the expansion of the Laboratory and restraint on individual action, visitors praised Lawrence for "the wonderful spirit which you have allowed to develop among the men," "the 'pep' [you instill] into your students," "the splendid and enthusiastic group of physicists you have collected;" and Alvarez, shopping for a place for postdoctoral work, contrasted lackluster Caltech with "the enthusiasm which I liked so much at Berkeley." "The human energy concentrated there is wonderful."^[80]

The same and even more was said about the place by people who knew it in its organized state. Wilfrid Mann, a Commonwealth Fellow, 1936/38: "To know Ernest Lawrence is to know too why it is that the Berkeley cyclotrons give such incredible results. In the face of such irrepressible enthusiasm and such

joie de vivre difficulties hardly stand a chance." Otto Oldenberg, after spending a sabbatical from Harvard at Berkeley, advised readers of the Physical Review of "the spirit of cooperation among [Lawrence's] collaborators which makes the work at Berkeley so pleasant and profitable." "The Laboratory represents as fine a piece of cooperative effort as exists in the annals of science."^[81] Cooperativeness was the Laboratory's hallmark, and its test, "[being] capable of working well with the group," figured prominently in the recommendations for incoming postdocs.^[82] For those who liked the togetherness, "Berkeley was the greatest place in the world." As Kamen wrote many years later, and after a painful break with Lawrence: "It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm and zeal for accomplishment that pervaded the Radiation Laboratory in those magical years."^[83]

Tributes from short-term visitors were enough to make a strong man blush. Eugene P. Pendergast, M.D., radiologist, University of Pennsylvania: "I am writing to thank you for the greatest experience that I have ever had. A visit to your Department is just like a good tonic to an aging individual." Fred J. Hodges, M.D., roentgenologist, University of Michigan: "I have returned to Ann Arbor rested, considerably rejuvenated, and very deeply imbued with the enthusiasm and esprit de corps which pervades your entire organization." W.B. Bell, president, American Cyanimid: "The week which I spent with you, your brother, your associates and the cyclotron was one of the most thrilling in my experience." Marcus Oliphant, become professor of physics, University of Birmingham, and a tout for the cyclotron: "I know of no laboratory in the world at the present time which has so fine a spirit and so grand a tradition of hard work. While there I seemed to feel once again the spirit of the old Cavendish, and to find in you those fine qualities of a combined camaraderie and leadership which endeared Rutherford to all who worked with him. The essence of the Cavendish is now in Berkeley."^[84]

Camaraderie was promoted in many ways. The senior staff made clear the importance of the ordinary work by participating in it. Distinguished and appreciative visitors, including Niels Bohr and Arthur Compton; alumni who returned, almost by the dozen, during the summer; and organized tours, for inquisitive physicians, local schools, the National Congregationalists, the 4-H All-Stars, the Cheyenne Mountain Dancers; all this enforced the impression that the Laboratory was a special place and its members special people.^[85] Visiting scientists joined regulars at a Journal Club, which met every Monday evening, from 7:30 to 9:00, to discuss the latest letters to Nature and papers on nuclear physics, and at a seminar on nuclear physics, which met every Thursday afternoon at 5:00. The Journal Club existed as early as 1932. At first it discussed mainly work done in other laboratories, but as more people came to work in Berkeley, reports of their activities dominated the Monday meetings and constituted the chief source of scientific information of many of the participants.^[86] It was easy for Lawrence's students to conceive that the Laboratory occupied the center of the world of physics. In this connection we might construe Bethe's innuendo: "Quite generally the Rochester Ph.D.'s learn physics at the same time as cyclotronics, which distinguishes them favorably from their fellow cyclotronists."^[87]

Berkeley cyclotroneers enjoyed the consciousness of braving together other dangers than ignorance. During their working hours they basked in high-power radio waves. They shared quarters with John Lawrence's rats until the stink threatened to drive them from the building. They breathed natural gas used to detect leaks and had the satisfaction, when successful, of giving their names to newly found cracks, whose locations and eponyms accompanied the old 27-inch chamber when the Laboratory gave

it to a cyclotroneer at Yale. "There is one gruesome spot directly over a wheel bracket known as 'Luis's Hole' which you doubtless would never find;" it was the grand discovery of Luis Alvarez, who took in a lot of gas finding it.^[88]

Flying objects made more hazards: the boss himself was surprised by pliers jumping from his pocket to the cyclotron magnet, and by a loose piece of metal, which "nipped off the end of [his] finger."^[89] Then there was the constant risk of electrocution. Two Berkeley men, Coates ("[one of the] most cautious and careful workers we have ever had") and Walke, working elsewhere on Berkeley-style machines, were killed; Abelson came close to serious injury; and Jack Livingood received "a jolt that took him within an inch of oblivion," a 10,000-volt spark that jumped fourteen inches from the high-frequency generator to his head and thence, lucky for him, out his feet without crossing his chest. "It isn't possible to make the equipment foolproof when it is being rapidly altered," Lawrence said. The University ordered a thorough review, together with instruction in first aid. Gradually the Laboratory introduced interlocks and other electrical safety devices.^[90]

Perhaps the most satisfactory hazard for creating a feeling of community was neutron radiation, which, by 1938, had made almost all the metal in the Laboratory radioactive.^[91] Lawrence began to worry about its effects on bodies around the Laboratory in the fall of 1933; in 1934 he asked a professor of physiology to study the problem; in 1935 his brother John came to town and showed that "we have been giving ourselves undesirably great exposures to neutrons."^[92] Meanwhile the cyclotron had been

improved to yield 20 µA of deuterons at 4.3 MeV; they "all got the jitters," as did residents of the nearby chemistry building, and moved the cyclotron controls thirty feet from the beryllium target.^[93] We shall describe later the precautions taken after 1935 and the radiological research and therapy to which study of the danger gave rise. The Laboratory had good luck. The blood counts taken now and again during the late 1930s show evidences of overexposure only in the case of Robert Cornog, who inadvertently stuck his hand in the deuteron beam. No delayed effects of radiation unambiguously attributable to exposure at the Laboratory had been identified by 1947, when Dean Cowie came down with cataracts, apparently caused by neutrons during the running in of the 60-inch cyclotron at the Carnegie Institution in 1943/44.^[94] Although in 1939 Lawrence rated the Laboratory as safe as his own home, the Aetna Life Insurance Company, to whom he adressed this extraordinary statement, preferred to treat members of the Laboratory as uncommon risks.^[95]

Morale was kept up by pleasure as well as by danger, by lunches, picnics, parties, joint vacations, and other collaborative amusements. The men who lived for years at the Faculty Club (Cooksey, McMillan, John Lawrence, Seaborg, Snell, and Van Voorhis) necessarily saw one another socially. Lawrence presided over a daily lunch at the club and set an example of wholesomeness as well as of accessibility by a diet of cornflakes, milk, and strawberries.^[96] An annual dinner at DiBiasi's Capri Italian restaurant gave opportunity for cracks and charades at the expense of the boss in imitation, perhaps, of similar fun at the Cavendish and at Bohr's institute in Copenhagen (plate 5.3). An excerpt from

one of these entertainments will indicate the spirit, the gripes, and the affection felt by the staff:^[97]

I means intensity—our first main objective. . . .
M must mean mice whose smell makes us moan,
N stands for neutrons, of moment unknown. . . .
S now is store-room, a creation of Jack's—
T can't be tidyness, for this the lab lacks. . . .
W is for wax, which we smear on like fools;
X hides the unknown location of tools.

The Christmas jokes were carried through the year in a special argot that distinguished cyclotroneers from the rest of mankind. An example of this "lingo (one could hardly dignify it with the term nomenclature)": "spilling soup into the can made a few mikes," which, translated, signifies that putting power into the dees caused a beam of a few microamps.^[98]

Serious attachments arose with the easing of social barriers. Cooksey and Seaborg competed for Helen Griggs, who chose Seaborg; Cooksey rebounded to Millicent Sperry, a secretary in the Physics Department. Several other cyclotroneers married women in or close to the Laboratory. Lyman picked a fellow graduate student, a spectroscopist; Aebersold took "a very sweet little girl from the Purchasing Department;" Laslett ran off with Barbara Bridgeford, a graduate student in social welfare, who preceded Griggs as Lawrence's part-time secretary; and, a masterpiece of intermarriage, McMillan won Molly Lawrence's sister Elsie.^[99] Perhaps the most important mechanism for the socialization of the researchers was Donald Cooksey, who not only was kindly to all on the job, lent money to people in need, and acted as gracious host to visitors, but also operated his own rest and recreation facility at his country retreat in Northern California. When he deemed a vacation to be in order, he would send the sufferer up to camp, where he also entertained visiting cyclotroneers. His surviving guest book, which begins in 1939, shows very few people

not connected with the Laboratory. The most frequent guest was Helen Griggs; others who visited twice or more were Aebersold, Brobeck, Kamen, the Lawrence brothers, McMillan, Segrè, Thornton, and Robert Wilson.^[100] A final reason for high morale, no doubt, was the excellent prospect for a permanent position outside Berkeley enjoyed by anyone who won Lawrence's support.

The camaraderie and solidarity had a negative aspect that struck that oversensitive detector Nahmias. He found that although most of the workers in the Laboratory were informative and agreeable, a few weeds, watered by the stream of visitors, had developed "a superiority complex that makes them insufferable even to some of their colleagues." They ridiculed French work and laughed at the difficulty Joliot was having in setting up a cyclotron; against which lèse-majesté Nahmias retorted that it was not a Berkeley man but Joliot, working without a cyclotron and in a contaminated laboratory, who had discovered the artificial radioactivity on which the Laboratory had come to flourish.

Furthermore—always according to Nahmias—more jealousy and animosity afflicted the staff than he had noticed in any other university in Europe or America. These unpleasant qualities are not necessarily expunged by cooperation and solidarity. Jealousy readily arises in the sacrifice of the individual to the group, which was necessary, in the opinion of the loyal Franz Kurie, to the health of the Laboratory: organization into disciplined interdisciplinary teams made possible the prompt exploitation of "byproducts of the elucidation [of the nucleus that] have shown themselves to be of untold value to other sciences."^[101] But working for others and receiving little credit for it do not bring satisfaction to everyone. Team research always has the potential of arousing the sorts of feelings that Nahmias detected.

As for animosity, Nahmias perhaps responded to an undercurrent of xenophobia that may be regarded as the negative side of the feeling of pride and community for which the Laboratory was conspicuous. During the 1930s the Laboratory's reception of

foreigners who were neither distinguished nor British was not exemplary. Here many obscure forces were at play: a wish in the nation as a whole to have nothing to do with European affairs; a strong feeling against aliens in California, which expressed itself in, among other things, a state law prohibiting the employment of noncitizens by state institutions except under special conditions;^[102] and the diffuse anti-Semitism, exacerbated by job shortages during the Depression, found in many American universities in the 1930s.^[103]

The University of California prided itself, rightly, on being relatively free from anti-Semitism. Its vice president, Monroe Deutsch, himself a Jew, told the campus Hillel Foundation, "There is less prejudice at this university than at any other institution in the country," and the foundation agreed. Berkeley was "a student's paradise . . . , [where] Jewish scholars, the world over, will always find a place for themselves." And yet, it allowed, its members found discrimination and intolerance enough.^[104] There was open exclusion from some campus social groups and from organizations to which faculty belonged, like the tony Bohemian Club of San Francisco, to whose retreat Lawrence liked to take visiting dignitaries like Poillon.^[105] The Laboratory was not the Bohemian Club: it had two productive and appreciated Jews on its staff, "our chemist" Kamen and Segrè; but it certainly did not seek to multiply their number. Except for Segrè, who came as a visitor, not as a refugee, the Laboratory reaped no benefit from the pool of émigré physicists, and apart from help to transients marooned by outbreak of war, it did not devote any of its substan-

tial resources to assisting displaced European scientists. It did not "profit by the stupidity and brutality of the German government," as Deutsch had urged. In this respect the Laboratory and the departments of Physics and Chemistry behaved quite differently from the Mathematics Department and Stanford's Physics Department, where "there [was] a phantastically high density of physicists of European extraction."^[106]

This is not to say that the Laboratory was openly or consciously discriminatory. On the contrary: Lawrence invited Lise Meitner to come for a visit, if she could pay her travel expenses, when the Nazis began to threaten her.^[107] (She escaped via Holland and found refuge in Sweden.) That appears to be the only instance where Lawrence took the initiative. The usual situation may be illustrated by the case of Stanislaw Mrosowski, a spectroscopist from the University of Warsaw who planned to spend a sabbatical in the Laboratory learning cyclotronics. Mrosowski was en route in Chicago when the Germans invaded Poland. Anticipating that the Polish government would not be able to pay his salary, he asked for a small stipend from the Laboratory to tide him over. Lawrence and a colleague in the Physics Department, F.A. Jenkins, generously undertook to supply something for six months or so: "All of us [Lawrence wrote] are deeply sympathetic with the tragic misfortune that has befallen Poland." Meanwhile, Jenkins had telegraphed Robert Mulliken at Chicago for an "objective description" of Mrosowski. Mulliken knew perfectly well what that meant and wired back: "In doubt whether Jewish. Tall thin about 40. . . . Nice wife not Jewish." And again, after applying to the party concerned: "Himself says he is not Jewish but entirely Slavic. Our impressions generally favorable."^[108] Here is another

subtle indicator of the general situation. A physician wishing to work with John Lawrence thought it useful to gloss his previous employment at leading Jewish hospitals. "Because of [this] experience . . . , I am sometimes considered Jewish. This, I can assure you, is not true."^[109]

The implied bias obtruded occasionally in the correspondence of Lawrence and Cooksey, both alumni of Yale, where, as Lawrence well knew, Jews were "under a handicap." The kindly Cooksey thus recommended a cyclotroneer for election to an Eastern club: "His name would indicate that he is not Jewish. . . . I am quite confident that he is not Jewish. . . . I am quite confident that he would be perfectly all right at the Club." And here is Lawrence in praise of Kamen: "He is Jewish and in some quarters, of course, that would be held against him, but in his case it should not be, as he has none of the characteristics that some non-Aryans have. He is really a very nice fellow."^[110] But again, as this forked evaluation shows, Lawrence did not withhold support or friendship from a Jew who had shown himself to be a very nice fellow. He liked Otto Stern, "a very jolly, pleasing personality," and also Isidor Rabi, "a very fine person," both of whom he supported for the Nobel prize in physics; he professed "the highest regard for [Kamen's collaborator Ruben], both as a scientist and a man," when advancing Ruben for a prize from the American Chemical Society; and he regarded Segrè as "an extremely good man," although not one he intended to retain at the Laboratory for any length of time.^[111]

No doubt Nahmias, a Jew who did not rise to the rank of fine fellow, felt as antagonism the diffuse and subtle bias just described. There was another component to the Laboratory's xenophobia that Nahmias, who had had a good, solid European

education, also experienced. The culture of many members of the Laboratory was parochial. They knew no languages (the Laboratory kept a WPA worker translating articles from French and German) and little history or literature; they had small basis, apart from openness and goodwill, for sympathy with people from backgrounds much different from their own; and they were busy getting on in the world.^[112]