Uncovering
the real story of Joe Ball's trowel required research at the Department
of Energy's archives, where I could get more information about the
AEC’s move from Washington, D.C., to Germantown, Md., in 1957. The AEC's
move was precipitated by the Soviet Union development of thermonuclear
weapons. To survive a 20 megaton blast over the capital mall, AEC
offices needed to be at least 20 miles away. Germantown was selected
over 50 other sites.
This
Cold-War move coincided with new initiatives by the AEC to promote
civilian nuclear power plant construction. Thus, the dedication ceremony
became a chance to highlight the atom's contribution to national
defense and its potential peaceful applications.
The
AEC created a ceremony heavy in symbolism. Electricity from batteries
charged by eight military and civilian power reactors lifted a curtain
on a commemorative plaque in the new building lobby. A time capsule was
placed behind the cornerstone packed with military and civilian
artifacts, such as pictures of the Nautilus and scraps of linen
wrappings for the Dead Sea scrolls dated by radiocarbon techniques.
As
I found out from the DOE archives, AEC Chairman Lewis Strauss wanted
even more symbols for the dedication ceremony. He asked for a trowel
with some historical significance and Argonne National Laboratory
obliged, including, as mentioned in Part I, creating a blade made from
uranium. AEC officials liked the trowel and planned on giving speeches
about its symbolism to local groups.
But there was a problem.
The
uranium metal had been reused for many years in other experimental
reactors, most likely in the CP-2. The uranium was still radioactive,
enough that an Argonne official told the AEC to use only the handle and
not touch the blade. Hoping to preclude objections from the White House,
the AEC medical staff reassured the Secret Service that the trowel was a
“unique opportunity” for Eisenhower “to demonstrate under completely
safe conditions the proper way to perform an operation involving
radioactive material.”
AEC
assurances didn't work. Ike's staff refused to allow the president to
touch anything radioactive. Stymied, the AEC substituted three
silver-plated trowels. The uranium trowel was dropped from the ceremony
and the silver-plated trowels that history records were used instead.
The fate of the symbolic trowels – of which there were either two or
three – were mostly lost to history, with one spending decades in
storage at Eisenhower College's old campus.
Joe
Ball's unusual auction win find reminds us why we love artifacts—their
stories are fun. They teach us about the society that made them. The
CP-1 trowel was born out of an optimism in the possibilities of the
atomic age, but even in the 1950s radiation concerns proved powerful.
Today most people likely sympathize with the White House's fear of
radiation, and the trowel probably seems like a questionable use of
radioactive material.
And
so Argonne's creation reminds us how the nation had changed in the last
half century in shifting to a more sober attitude toward nuclear
hazards.
Joe Ball has graciously agreed to loan the trowel to the NRC , where it is now displayed in our lobby.
Tom Wellock
NRC Historian
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