Kai Bird & Martin J. Sherwin

by American Prometheus: The Triumph;Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer

  Lansdale was interviewed on December 16. But the day before, another of Groves’ wartime assistants, William Consodine (Allardice’s friend and therefore most likely his “reliable” informant), spoke to an FBI agent.

  The FBI summary, written on December 18, has Consodine telling the following story:

  The day after General Groves returned from Los Alamos, “where he had induced [Oppenheimer] to identify [Eltenton’s] intermediary,” he held a conference in his office with Lansdale and Consodine. After announcing to them “that the intermediary had been identified by Oppenheimer, General Groves pushed a yellow pad toward both Consodine and Lansdale and asked them to write down three guesses as to the identity of the intermediary. Lansdale wrote down three names which Consodine cannot now recall. Consodine stated he wrote down one name only, that of Frank Oppenheimer. General Groves expressed surprise at this guess and said it was correct. General Groves asked Consodine how he selected the name Frank Oppenheimer. Consodine said he explained to the general that he thought it was Frank Oppenheimer because J. Robert Oppenheimer would probably be more likely to be reluctant to involve his brother.

  “According to Consodine, General Groves then informed [them] that he had obtained the admission after J. Robert Oppenheimer exacted a promise that the general would not identify Frank Oppenheimer as the intermediary to the FBI. In concluding Consodine stated . . . that he had not been in communication with Lansdale concerning this matter but that he had discussed the matter on the telephone with General Groves during the past few days.”

  On December 16 Lansdale told a modified version of Consodine’s story to his FBI interviewer. He clearly had no recollection of Consodine’s “yellow pad” story (and neither did Groves). What Lansdale did recall was an impression he received from the general that after Groves asked Oppenheimer to fully disclose Eltenton’s contacts, “Oppenheimer told Groves that an approach had been made to Frank Oppenheimer by Haakon Chevalier.” In conclusion, however, “Lansdale stated that General Groves was of the opinion that an approach had been made directly to J. Robert Oppenheimer but Lansdale felt that the approach was made to Frank Oppenheimer. Lansdale advised that to his knowledge, only he and General Groves knew about the incident.” When Lansdale was asked point-blank by Garrison whether it was possible that Groves, “told you that he thought it was Frank—rather than it was Frank,” Lansdale conceded, “Yes, it is possible.”

  On December 21, 1953—the day on which Oppenheimer was informed that his security clearance was suspended—another FBI agent interviewed Groves in his Darien, Connecticut home.

  Until then, Groves had refused to talk with the FBI about Oppenheimer and the Chevalier affair. He had not even bothered to reply to the FBI’s initial queries on this topic in 1944. And then, in June 1946, as the Bureau was about to interview both Chevalier and Eltenton, FBI agents asked Groves what he knew about the affair. Groves brushed them off, saying he really couldn’t talk about it because Oppenheimer had talked to him in “strict confidence.” Groves said that “he could not break faith with ‘Oppie’ and tell us the name of the man that the Shell Development representative approached.” The FBI agents replied that they knew the Shell man was Eltenton and that they were about to interview him. In an extraordinary demonstration of his continuing loyalty to Oppenheimer, Groves said he “did not want us to confront Eltenton with this matter as it might get back to Oppenheimer and Oppenheimer would know Groves had broken confidence with him.” Groves bluntly told the FBI agents that he was “hesitant to furnish any further information.”

  Hoover must have been astonished to learn that an American army general was refusing to cooperate with an FBI investigation. On June 13, 1946, Hoover personally wrote Groves, asking him to reveal what Oppenheimer had told him about George Eltenton. Groves replied on June 21, politely declining to furnish this information, “as it would endanger” his relationship with Oppenheimer. Not many men in Washington defied a direct request from the director of the FBI, but in 1946 Groves had a lot of prestige and self-confidence.

  But now, in 1953, forewarned by Consodine and Lansdale of their having informed the FBI that Frank was the contact in the Eltenton-Chevalier incident, Groves felt compelled to incorporate their recollections into his own account. The problem was that he himself couldn’t remember what exactly Oppenheimer had told him in 1943–44. But, prompted by his former assistants, Groves now told his interviewer that late in 1943 he had finally ordered Oppenheimer to “make a full disclosure” about who had approached him for information about the project. To encourage Robert to be forthcoming, Groves had assured him that he would not make a formal report on the incident, or “to put it very bluntly, it would not get to the FBI.” With that promise, Groves reported that Robert told him that “Chevalier had made the approach to Frank Oppenheimer,” and that Frank had asked Robert what he should do. According to Groves, Robert had told his brother “to have nothing to do” with Eltenton, and he had also spoken directly to Chevalier and given him his “comeuppance.” Groves further explained that “it was Eltenton who wanted the information and that the intermediaries [Chevalier and Frank] were innocent of the intent to commit espionage.”21

  Groves said further that he thought “it was natural and proper for Frank Oppenheimer to do what he did despite the fact that he should have notified the local security officers.” The Oppenheimer brothers were very close, and it only made sense that the younger brother—“much perturbed about the visit” from Chevalier—would immediately contact the older brother and tell him about the incident. “He [Groves] said it was a technical violation of security to have handled it the way he [Frank] did, but that he had in fact done all that could be reasonably expected. . . . The General said it was obvious that the subject [Oppenheimer] wanted to protect his brother, Chevalier and the subject [Robert himself].”

  But then Groves went on to “speculate” whether Robert had “invented Frank as a party in order to justify his delay in reporting the original approach or whether Frank had, in fact, been involved.” In other words, while Groves clearly had said something in 1943 about Frank which led Lansdale and Consodine to believe that Chevalier had contacted Frank, Groves himself had serious doubts on this point. Groves’ confusion about Frank’s role never abated. As late as 1968, he confessed to a historian, “Of course, I wasn’t sure just who the man was he [Oppenheimer] was protecting. Today I would guess it was probably his brother. He didn’t want his brother involved.”

  Groves appears to have been convinced of two things: first, that Chevalier had approached Robert on Eltenton’s behalf; second, that Robert had said something in 1943 designed to make it clear to him, Groves, that Frank had promptly reported to Robert some sort of inappropriate inquiry from Chevalier. Anything more specific is lost to history. After all, Groves himself said, “I was never certain as to just what he [Robert] was telling me.” And, in an earlier letter, “It was very difficult to tell how much Frank was involved and how much Robert was involved.” The most probable explanation of why Lansdale and Consodine believed that Frank was Chevalier’s contact is that Groves had told them about his conversation with Robert without making clear his doubts about Frank’s involvement.

  No other explanation seems possible when all of the interviews and documents are read together. Frank simply could not have been either Eltenton’s or Chevalier’s contact in the “Chevalier affair.” By all accounts— Chevalier’s and Eltenton’s simultaneous FBI interviews in 1946, Barbara Chevalier’s unpublished memoirs, Kitty’s recollection to Verna Hobson, Frank’s statement to the FBI in early January 1954 and finally Robert’s statements to the FBI in 1946 and in his concluding testimony—it was Haakon who approached Robert.

  Nevertheless, for having trusted in Oppenheimer’s “story”—and for having promised to keep it from the FBI—Groves now found himself personally compromised. The historian Gregg Herken makes a credible case that both Strauss and J. Edgar Hoover thought they could use the fact that Groves had impli
cated himself in a “cover-up” to exert pressure on the general to testify against Oppenheimer in the upcoming security hearing. One of Hoover’s key aides, Alan Belmont, implicitly suggested this when he wrote his boss that it was “readily apparent that Groves has attempted to withhold and conceal important information concerning espionage conspiracy violation from the FBI. Even now Groves is behaving with a certain amount of coyness in his dealings and admissions to the Bureau.”

  While embarrassed by the FBI’s discovery, Groves was unapologetic about having promised Oppenheimer that he would not reveal Frank’s name to the Bureau. Moreover, it was a promise he still defended: “The General said he did not feel that he was violating the spirit of the promise to Oppenheimer in having the present interview with the Agent because the matter was already known to the authorities. He said he wanted this noted in the record, because it was possible that a friend of Oppenheimer might some day see this file and consider that ‘I had broken my promise after all.’ ” If Groves had at any time thought for a minute that Oppenheimer was actually protecting a spy, he would certainly have gone to the FBI. He obviously was confident of Oppenheimer’s loyalty.

  This, of course, was not how Strauss saw things. What could have been interpreted as exculpatory evidence was ignored. Instead, Strauss pursued Groves, and asked him in February to come to Washington for another interview. By then, Groves understood that he would be asked to testify against Oppenheimer and, if he refused, he could be accused of participating in a coverup.

  ASTONISHINGLY, Robb failed to follow-up on Groves’ speculations about Frank, no doubt because to do so would portray Robert as someone who was taking the fall for his brother. Neither did Robb reveal to the Gray Board, or to Oppenheimer’s lawyers, that Groves had promised not to reveal Frank’s name to the FBI. This too would have diverted the spotlight from Robert. This part of the story would remain classified in the FBI documents for twenty-five years. Under Robb’s cross-examination, Groves made it clear that while he still thought his decision to give Oppenheimer a clearance in 1943 was the right judgment then, today things might be different. When Robb asked him point-blank: “. . . would you clear Dr. Oppenheimer today?” Groves waffled. “I think before answering that I would like to give my interpretation of what the Atomic Energy Act requires.” Read literally, he said, the act specified that the AEC must determine that people given access to restricted data “will not endanger the common defense or security . . .” In Groves’s view, there was no wiggle room. “It is not a case of proving that a man is a danger,” he said. “It is a case of thinking, well, he might be a danger . . .” On this basis, and given Oppenheimer’s past associations, “I would not clear Dr. Oppenheimer today if I were a member of the Commission on the basis of this interpretation.” That’s all Robb wanted or needed the general to say. And why had Groves turned against the man he had hitherto defended so resolutely? Strauss knew. He had made it clear to the general, in a not so subtle fashion, that he, Strauss, would make certain that there would be grave consequences for Groves if he did not cooperate.

  THE NEXT DAY, Friday, April 16, Robb resumed his cross-examination of Oppenheimer. He grilled him about his relationships with the Serbers, David Bohm and Joe Weinberg, and late in the day he got around to asking the physicist about his opposition to the development of the hydrogen bomb. After nearly five full days of intense interrogation, Oppenheimer must have been physically and mentally exhausted. But on this day—his last in the witness chair—he nevertheless mustered his razor-sharp wit. Wary from experience at being ambushed, and crystal clear about the issue, he was more adept at parrying Robb’s questions.

  Robb: “Did you subsequent to the President’s decision in January 1950 ever express any opposition to the production of the hydrogen bomb on moral grounds?”

  Oppenheimer: “I would think that I could very well have said this is a dreadful weapon, or something like that. I have no specific recollection and would prefer it, if you would ask me or remind me of the context or conversation that you have in mind.”

  Robb: “Why do you think you could very well have said that?”

  Oppenheimer: “Because I have always thought it was a dreadful weapon. Even [though] from a technical point of view it was a sweet and lovely and beautiful job, I have still thought it was a dreadful weapon.”

  Robb: “And have said so?”

  Oppenheimer: “I would assume that I have said so, yes.”

  Robb: “You mean you had a moral revulsion against the production of such a dreadful weapon?”

  Oppenheimer: “This is too strong.”

  Robb: “Beg pardon?”

  Oppenheimer: “That is too strong.”

  Robb: “Which is too strong, the weapon or my expression?”

  Oppenheimer: “Your expression. I had a grave concern and anxiety.”

  Robb: “You had moral qualms about it, is that accurate?”

  Oppenheimer: “Let us leave the word ‘moral’ out of it.”

  Robb: “You had qualms about it.”

  Oppenheimer: “How could one not have qualms about it? I know no one who doesn’t have qualms about it.”

  Later in the day, Robb produced a letter written by Oppenheimer to James Conant dated October 21, 1949. The document came from Oppenheimer’s own files—papers confiscated by the FBI the previous December. Addressed to “Dear Uncle Jim,” the letter complained that “two experienced promoters have been at work, i.e. Ernest Lawrence and Edward Teller,” lobbying on behalf of the hydrogen bomb. In a testy exchange, Robb asked Oppenheimer, “Would you agree, Doctor, that your references to Dr. Lawrence and Dr. Teller . . . are a little bit belittling?”

  Oppenheimer: “Dr. Lawrence came to Washington. He did not talk to the Commission. He went and talked to the joint congressional committee and to members of the Military Establishment. I think that deserves some belittling.”

  Robb: “So you would agree that your references to those men in this letter were belittling?”

  Oppenheimer: “No. I pay my great respects to them as promoters. I don’t think I did them justice.”

  Robb: “You used the word ‘promoters’ in an invidious sense, didn’t you?”

  Oppenheimer: “I have no idea.”

  Robb: “When you use the word now with reference to Lawrence and Teller, don’t you intend it to be invidious?”

  Oppenheimer: “No.”

  Robb: “You think that their work of promotion was admirable, is that right?”

  Oppenheimer: “I think they did an admirable job of promotion.”

  BY FRIDAY, it was clear to everyone that Robb and Oppenheimer despised each other. “My feeling was,” Robb recalled, “that he was just a brain and as cold as a fish, and he had the iciest pair of blue eyes I ever saw.” Oppenheimer felt only revulsion in Robb’s presence. During a brief recess one day, the two men happened to be standing near each other when Oppenheimer suddenly had one of his coughing spells. As Robb indicated his concern, Oppenheimer cut him off angrily and said something that caused Robb to turn on his heel and walk away.

  At the end of each day, Robb closeted himself with Strauss and took stock of the day’s events. They had little doubt about the outcome. Strauss told an FBI agent that he was “convinced that in view of the testimony to date the board could take no other action but to recommend the revoking of Oppenheimer’s clearance.”

  Oppenheimer’s lawyers felt much the same way. To escape the scrutiny of the press corps, the Oppenheimers were now spending each night in the Georgetown home of Randolph Paul, a law partner of Garrison’s. The press did not discover their location for a week, but FBI agents staked out the house and reported that Oppenheimer was staying up late and pacing the room.

  Garrison and Marks spent several hours most evenings in Paul’s home, planning the next day’s strategy. “All we had the energy for was preparation,” Garrison said, “we were too weary to do much post-morteming. Of course, Robert was in the most overwrought state imaginable—so was K
itty—but Robert even more so.”

  Paul listened with growing unease as the Oppenheimers described each day’s events to him. Their recounting sounded a lot more like a trial than an administrative hearing. So on the evening of Easter Sunday, April 18, Paul invited Garrison and Marks to his home for a consultation with Joe Volpe. After drinks were served, Oppenheimer turned to the AEC’s former general counsel and said, “Joe, I would like to have these fellows describe to you what’s going on in the hearing.” Over the next hour, Volpe listened with rising outrage as Marks and Garrison summarized Robb’s adversarial tactics and the general tone of Oppie’s daily ordeal. Finally, he turned to Oppenheimer and said, “Robert, tell them to shove it, leave it, don’t go on with it because I don’t think you can win.”

  Oppenheimer had heard this advice before, from Einstein among others. But this time it came from an experienced attorney who had helped write the rules for AEC hearings, and in whose opinion both the spirit and the letter of those rules were being outrageously violated. Even so, Oppenheimer decided he had no choice now but to see the process through to a conclusion. It was a stoical and rather passive reaction, not unlike his quiet acceptance all those years before when as a young boy he had been locked in the camp icehouse.