The Last Man Who Knew Everything

by David N. Schwartz

  Lake Como was Fermi’s next stop. He had fond memories of the 1927 Como conference, so this was a particularly emotional way for Fermi to return to his native land. He was especially pleased to be greeted at the station by many of his old friends, some of whom he had not seen in a decade. The topic of the conference was cosmic-ray physics. Fifty-odd papers were presented. Major physicists from around the world were in attendance, and Fermi’s Italian colleagues were there in force: Amaldi, Segrè, Pontecorvo, Occhialini, Piccioni, Bernardini, and Wataghin were among the many Italian physicists who came to present work and renew their friendships with Fermi. A whole new generation of physicists came as well, eager to see their legendary compatriot in the flesh. It was a heady time for Enrico and Laura, who were delighted to see old friends. Fermi took on the challenge of playing Pontecorvo in tennis during breaks in the sessions. Segrè records pleasure in watching Fermi try hard, without success, to beat the athletic and handsome Pisan.

  The Fermis moved on to Rome, where a lecture series had been planned by the newly revitalized Accademia dei Lincei, under the directorship of Fermi’s old Roman mentor and promoter, the mathematician Guido Castelnuovo. Castelnuovo had arranged for Fermi to present six lectures in Rome and another three in Milan. The lectures covered a wide range of topics, at varying levels of sophistication.

  The time in Rome also provided an opportunity to see relatives. The Fermis visited the old Capon home in Via dei Villini, where Laura’s eleven-year-old nephew, Giorgio Capon, remembers meeting his illustrious uncle for the first and only time. Giorgio’s parents expected him to be “seen and not heard” in the presence of Enrico and Laura. Giorgio, who went on to become a respected physicist in his own right, found his famous uncle unpretentious and engaging. Fermi also met with his sister Maria, and the two presumably had some form of reconciliation over Enrico’s role in the Manhattan Project. When the lectures were finished at the end of October 1949, the Fermis departed for Chicago. Rome was no longer their home. They were, for better or worse, Americans, and upon their return they settled back into their normal life in Chicago.

  THE SECOND TRIP TO EUROPE, IN THE SUMMER OF 1954, COVERED slightly different territory. They traveled with Giulio, who had just finished a relatively happy year at Oberlin. Laura and Enrico decided to bring him along to see the sights and enjoy the fresh mountain air.

  Their first stop was Paris, where they met up with Stan Ulam and his wife, who happened to be spending the summer in Europe as well. The plan was to drive part of the way south with the Ulams in a plain, rented Fiat, but when the president of Fiat heard—how he heard is unclear—what Fermi was planning, he insisted on offering the use of a free vehicle for the trip, a very zippy eight-speed car that Fermi allowed Ulam to drive around the streets of Paris. Heading south, they stopped at a small inn near Avalon, some 150 miles southeast of Paris, where they had a meal Ulam remembered mainly for the ominous conversation he had with Fermi. They spoke at length about the impact of the Oppenheimer hearings, which, they agreed, would make Oppenheimer a martyr. Ulam knew Fermi had no particular respect for Oppenheimer as a physicist but believed Oppenheimer had been treated badly by the AEC and was irritated that Teller’s testimony had been particularly damaging. Ulam asked Fermi what he thought the future held for Oppenheimer, Teller, and the physics community more generally, and to his astonishment Fermi replied, “I don’t know, I’ll look at it from up there.” He pointed skyward. Later that evening they were discussing the future of particle physics, pion research, and the like, and once again Fermi pointed to the sky and said, “I’ll know from up there.” This struck Ulam as odd. Fermi was only fifty-three years old, and he knew Fermi to be particularly irreligious. It was, Ulam realized later, at least a premonition of impending doom and perhaps a sign that Fermi understood he was quite ill. The next day the two families went their separate ways, the Fermis to the Alps and the Ulams to the Riviera.

  Les Houches was a fairly Spartan physics summer school at the base of Mont Blanc in the French Alps. The invitation to lecture there was simply too attractive for Fermi to ignore, combining two of his favorite activities, teaching physics and hiking in the magnificent mountains above the village. When he was not lecturing on a range of advanced topics, he participated in strenuous outdoor activities with younger physicists, including Roy Glauber, a future Nobel Prize winner. Glauber recalls that Fermi was quite active while at Les Houches and was shocked to learn how weak and fatigued Fermi was at Varenna only a few weeks later. He also recalls that the group needed to buy hiking boots for their excursion. Glauber chose the sturdiest, most expensive ones he could find. Fermi, not surprisingly, bought the cheapest ones, of obviously inferior quality. When Glauber gently teased Fermi about this, Fermi replied that the young Glauber would be using his boots a lot longer than Fermi his.

  The session at Les Houches ended in mid-July, and the Fermis returned to Italy, to the summer school at the beautiful Villa Monastero in the scenic village of Varenna on Lake Como. Fermi was a star guest at the conference, although other prominent physicists, notably Heisenberg, were there as well. Enrico and Laura stayed at the villa, in the master bedroom of the villa’s former owners. Fermi delivered his talks in a lecture hall now called the Sala Fermi and adorned with a bas-relief sculpture of him. Between sessions, attendees could take walks through the genteel gardens sloping down to the lake, take a refreshing dip in the cool lake, or ride by boat across the lake to Bellagio and elsewhere.

  Fermi’s lectures at Varenna focused on his recent pion experiments—their production, their scattering, and the analysis of these interactions within the nucleus. Several of the younger attendees took careful notes, supplemented with tape recordings and very short film clips. By this time, Fermi had spent a year or so digesting the results of his Chicago experiments and some of the questions raised by these results proved extremely fruitful in the years to come. This final paper is perhaps the best single summary of those years of high-energy pion experiments.

  FIGURE 25.1. Heisenberg and Fermi enjoy the sunshine at the Villa Monastero, Varenna, in September 1954. Photo by Juan G. Roederer. Courtesy of AIP Emilio Segrè Visual Archives, gift of Juan G. Roederer.

  At some point during the Varenna sessions, however, Fermi’s energy began to flag. It was uncharacteristic for him to avoid hikes and strenuous physical activity, but he did so now, noticeably fatigued after exertions that would have been easy for him just a few weeks earlier, climbing in the French Alps. He also began to have trouble swallowing and lost his appetite. The many photographs and film clips that survive from these sessions do not reveal his discomfort, but we can be sure that by the time the conference ended, he knew something was very wrong.

  AFTER VARENNA, THE FERMIS MET UP WITH THE AMALDIS AT THE small resort village of San Cristoforo, near Trento, in the Italian Alps, where the two families rented a villa for several weeks. Persico joined them there. Giulio Fermi and Ugo Amaldi, Edoardo and Ginestra’s son, met and got to know each other a bit. There were still walks and hikes, but it was increasingly apparent to everyone that Enrico was not well. There is a photo of Enrico on a tennis court at the villa with the Amaldis and Persico; Enrico worked hard to look well for the photo, but in fact they were only able to play a few minutes before he called it quits.

  Enrico may not have been at his best, but he still had the energy and enthusiasm to jump at the chance for informal teaching. Edoardo asked him about his current work and Enrico told him of the important research that was being done with some of the world’s first digital computers. Eduardo apparently showed interest, because over several evenings Enrico conducted an intimate seminar—for Edoardo, Giulio, and Ugo—on how to program these new computers in machine language. At the end of each evening, he would give everyone a problem to solve by the next session the following evening. Ugo, who fancied himself quite a strong mathematician, was frustrated to discover that his father took to programming much faster than did he. Ugo does not recall how Giulio fared, but by th
is point Giulio was a strong mathematician himself, so he probably did well. This informal seminar would be the last class Enrico Fermi would ever teach.

  Ugo recalls a dinner during that short vacation when everyone realized just how ill Fermi was. Sometime during the meal, Fermi started to gag. Rising abruptly, he scrambled to the bathroom, where he was sick. To Ugo and everyone else at the table, this was a clear sign that something was seriously wrong with Fermi.

  THE FERMIS RETURNED TO THE UNITED STATES THROUGH NEW YORK and dropped Giulio back at school for his sophomore year at Oberlin. While there, they met Giulio’s good friend Robert Fuller. Giulio had made light of his father’s importance and rarely if ever spoke about what it was like to be the son of such a great physicist. In fact, he avoided any discussions of his life prior to Oberlin. Fuller knew exactly who Enrico Fermi was, though, and although they met for only a few minutes, that meeting has stayed with him for more than sixty years. It was not apparent to Fuller that Fermi was ill, though Fuller had never met Fermi when the man was full of the energy and vigor that characterized him throughout most of his life. What Fuller noticed, though, were Fermi’s eyes—bright, piercing, darting this way and that, taking in everyone and everything. Fuller had the feeling that Fermi was looking right through him. Even in his increasingly serious condition, Fermi was engaging and engaged, intensely curious about this young man who was to become Giulio’s lifelong friend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  HOME TO DIE

  FERMI ARRIVED BACK IN CHICAGO IN SEPTEMBER 1954 IN TIME to celebrate his fifty-third birthday. Two months later he was dead.

  Soon after returning, Fermi determined to find out what was wrong with him. He made an appointment with Laura to visit doctors at the university’s Billings Hospital on campus. The illness must have been brewing for a long time. Ulam notes that Fermi developed a nervous tic of “swallowing hard,” which Ulam noticed during summer work. He later regretted not urging his friend to see a doctor. Fermi’s illness was otherwise completely asymptomatic until the Varenna conference and by that time it was far too late to do anything about it.

  At Billings, the first doctor who saw Fermi suggested a series of X-rays. He examined them, saw nothing of importance, and told him to come back in a month. The chief of medicine, who was on vacation when Fermi was examined, was concerned when he returned and heard that someone had examined the legendary professor in his absence. Reviewing the X-rays, he decided that Fermi should see the senior surgeon, a well-known thoracic specialist named Lester Dragstedt. Dr. Dragstedt explained to Fermi that the symptoms pointed either to “congestion of the esophagus” or metastatic cancer. Exploratory surgery was necessary. If it turned out to be the former, surgery would be long and complicated, but Fermi would recover. If Dragstedt found metastatic cancer of the esophagus or stomach, he would close Fermi up quickly; nothing could be done to save him.

  According to Chandrasekhar, Fermi went into surgery, awoke, and realized that the surgery was shorter than expected. He asked the doctor if there were metastases and the doctor confirmed this, telling him that, in his view, Fermi had some six months to live. With that, says Chandrasekhar, Fermi went back to sleep.

  Leona Libby writes that she was in Fermi’s hospital room when Laura returned from the postoperative meeting with Dragstedt. Laura did not have to speak. Libby read the bad news on Laura’s face.

  FERMI RETURNED HOME SHORTLY AFTER THE SURGERY. TOLD HE HAD six months, he began to dictate a book on nuclear physics he had long been planning, but the illness sapped him of strength and after a desultory start he gave up.*

  The children were informed. Giulio came back from Oberlin. Nella, who was living in Chicago, helped her mother during the next few weeks as Fermi’s condition grew worse. Herb Anderson and Sam Allison knew, as did other close colleagues at the institute. Outside of Chicago, the tragic news was initially restricted to a very small circle. Laura wrote letters to the Amaldis, Persico, and other close Italian friends, keeping them abreast of developments. Others found out slowly through the physics grapevine. At Cornell, Hans Bethe knew, and word got to MIT, where Bruno Rossi had found a position after the war. Rossi wrote in anguish to Allison for advice on how to proceed, because he suspected he was not supposed to know. Segrè found out in an uncharacteristically incoherent phone call from Allison.

  The day after surgery, Anderson and Chandrasekhar were among the first to visit. Chandrasekhar has written movingly about that moment:

  It was of course very difficult for us to know what to say or how to open a conversation when all of us knew what the surgery had shown. Fermi resolved the gloom by turning to me and saying, “For a man past fifty, nothing essentially new can happen and the loss is not as great as one might think. Now you tell me, will I be an elephant next time?”

  Chandrasekhar recalled years later that Fermi showed discomfort only once, snapping at Laura, who was wondering when Segrè would arrive at the airport and who should go pick him up. A weary Fermi, clearly in pain, barked, “Do we have to discuss this here?”

  Yang wrote later of the visit he and Gell-Mann paid to Fermi shortly after the operation. According to Yang, Fermi was reading a collection of inspirational stories of men who had overcome overwhelming challenges and misfortunes. He explained that he intended to write a book on nuclear physics. “Gell-Mann and I were so overcome by his simple determination and his devotion to physics that we were afraid for a few moments to look into his face.”

  Segrè, too, arrived before Fermi left the hospital. He found Fermi sitting quietly, Laura at his side. His old friend was absorbed in measuring the amount of fluids he was consuming by counting off the drops of his intravenous drip while observing a stopwatch. Segrè recalls that Fermi discussed his imminent demise with “Socratic serenity.” Fermi asked Segrè to summon Teller to Chicago: “What nobler deed for a dying man than to try and save a soul?” he quipped with a smile, clearly referring to Teller’s performance six months previously at the Oppenheimer hearings. The hearings were still very much on Fermi’s mind and he wanted to confront Teller, his old friend and intellectual sparring partner, about his reprehensible behavior, which was splitting the scientific community. Fermi wanted to convince Teller to “shut up and disappear from the public eye for a long time.” He also told Segrè that a priest, a pastor, and a rabbi had come by his hospital room, offering blessings that Fermi did not reject: “It pleased them and it did not harm me.” Fermi also spoke to Segrè of his pleasure with Laura Fermi’s newly published memoir of their marriage, Atoms in the Family, which he hoped would get a commercial boost with his death. Segrè recounts with some emotion how this visit left him:

  At the end of the afternoon I left. When I got out of the hospital, I felt ill; the emotional upheaval produced in me by the visit was too much for my constitution. I could scarcely stand, and I remember going into the first bar I came across to fortify myself with cognac, something exceedingly rare, perhaps even unique, in my life.

  TELLER ARRIVED A FEW DAYS LATER. KNOWING OF FERMI’S unhappiness with the book by Shepley and Blair, Teller may have expected a scolding. In preparation for his bedside meeting with Fermi, he drafted a paper, “The Work of Many People,” which was intended to give credit to the work of Los Alamos and repudiate the Shepley-Blair book. According to Teller’s biographers, Fermi read the manuscript and told Teller to publish without delay. Teller seemed to think the promise of quick publication cleared the air, that “what happened had not disturbed our friendship.”

  Though Teller’s biographers do not mention any discussion of Oppenheimer, it seems likely that the subject arose. Teller’s attack on Oppenheimer at the hearings in April was a significant element in a controversy that Fermi feared would split the physics world. Teller’s testimony alone did not doom Oppenheimer, but it hurt him and enraged Oppenheimer’s supporters. Whether Fermi actually gave Teller absolution for the way he treated Oppenheimer will never be known.

  Teller’s biographers correctly point
out that Fermi’s death had a double impact on Teller. Teller lost a dear friend, someone with whom he truly enjoyed working during the Manhattan Project and beyond. Shortly after Fermi’s death Teller recalled with affection how Fermi played with his five-year-old son, Paul. Laura confirmed in later years that Fermi always considered Teller one of his closest friends. As Teller’s biographers note, the loss was compounded by the fact that Fermi was the one person with sufficient influence to bridge the gap between Teller and his detractors and curtail Teller’s banishment from the community. Now there was no one to do so and the rift embittered Teller until his death in 2003.

  BACK HOME, LAURA TENDED TO ENRICO, WITH HELP FROM GIULIO and Nella. Leona Libby was a frequent visitor, helping out when she could. She reported later that he received visits from priests, more as insurance than out of any belief in the afterlife:

  He spoke of his approaching death as a great experience, but he asked wistfully if I thought there was anything valid in the idea of an afterlife. He was really cross about dying. I came out after each visit and drove home with tears streaming down my face.

  The APS was having a November meeting in Chicago, and by that time Fermi’s condition had weakened considerably. Many of his old friends came to visit. Wigner described Fermi as “so composed by death’s approach he seemed superhuman. Ten days before his death he told me ‘I hope it won’t take too long.’ He reconciled himself perfectly to his fate.” Others had the same impression and remarked on his stoicism. Back from his summer in France, Ulam visited Fermi several times, once with fellow Los Alamos colleague Nick Metropolis. On one of these occasions Fermi discussed his impending death with scientific detachment. True to his essential character, Fermi calculated the odds of surviving long enough for doctors to discover a cure for him at 100:1, extrapolating from his belief that doctors would certainly discover a cure within twenty years. Ulam and Fermi turned to the idea that future generations, possessed with the cure for many fatal illnesses, might use genetic material to resurrect the dead and cure them. Fermi objected that such techniques would not be able to re-create the memories of former lives. After the final visit with Metropolis, Ulam was moved to tears and recalls quoting Plato’s simple eulogy of Socrates to Metropolis: “That now is the death of one of the wisest men known.”