Page 53 - WTP Vol. IX #2

ing—the stick figures of family and pets, an oval sun whose beams strafe house and yard. Near Santa’s hardback throne, consequence lifts like tentative fog; the children form lines from the left and right, loud but orderly. The mothers retreat. Cameras taboo, they memorize the scene as if it were poetry: The bright marathon of wishful thinking, footballs and bicycles, dolls and board games, roller skates and air-rifles and all those perfectly detailed model air force planes.
Oak Ridge trivia: In 1902, John Hendrix, a local mystic, prophesied the construction of Oak Ridge.
My father-in-law had fought in World War II but, like my father’s brothers, never spoke of it. In fact, he seldom spoke at all. All I ever knew about his silence came from his wife. “He was different before all that war business,” she said from time to time. “He was
a fun guy.” My wife, once, told me she learned how much her father hated the Japanese when he became
“Talking about the war seemed more
private than sex. ”
enraged upon learning she had been invited to the senior prom by a boy who was “half-Japanese.” She already had a dress; the event was less than two weeks away. Her father, without ever meeting the boy, told her “absolutely not.” He had fought in the European theater, but never expressed an opinion to her about my German heritage.
beauty shops and two bakeries in Oak Ridge. They were never counted, but the estimate is there were tens of thousands of ashtrays.
Westcott Photo #3: The Midtown Fires, 1944
During the invasion of January, the year begins with the flickering firefights of uncertain outcome. Trailer flames, hutment blazes—every neighborhood in Oak Ridge lights up during that epidemic year, nearly a thousand alarms despite the trained caution of every resident. An hour or more, each night, some lie awake like watchmen for the burglary of fire. Children are slapped, sometimes, for carelessness. Out of love. Out of inevitability. Someone’s hands always shake over kerosene, the fuel so necessary, the inexperienced are forced to defuse. As if daily sacrifice was required by the American version of God. As if the trailers were set on altars fashioned by faith, the temporary tri- umph of flame across a street or distant as an acci- dental Passover, the fortunate rising to reignite before walking to incomprehensible work with discipline, resignation, and yes, with joy.
Oak Ridge Trivia: During the war, the secret city had its own symphony orchestra.
The air-force manual my uncle studied declared, “The navigator’s primary duty is navigating his airplane with a high degree of accuracy. But as a member of the team, he must also have a general knowledge of the entire operation of the airplane. He has a .50-cal. machine gun at his station, and he must be able to use it skillfully and to service it in emergencies. He must be familiar with the oxygen system, know how to operate the turrets, radio equipment, and fuel trans- fer system. He must know the location of all fuses and spare fuses, lights and spare lights, affecting naviga- tion. He must be familiar with emergency procedures, such as the manual operation of landing gear, bomb bay doors and flaps, and the proper procedures for crash landings, ditching, bailout, etc.”
Dutch
Theodore “Dutch” VanKirk, the navigator on the Enola Gay, attended Susquehanna University for a year, and yet I worked at Susquehanna for more than thirty- five years without hearing anyone mention “Dutch” VanKirk. When I asked a colleague who had written a history of the university what he knew about VanKirk, he said he’d mentioned him in his book, one that I’d bought five years before, skimming until I arrived at the years just before I’d been hired.
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“There will be worse and more of it” was my naviga- tor uncle’s annual Thanksgiving reunion observation when the future was discussed. As if he expected the antecedent, measured in kilotons, to be remembered for decades, he never elaborated.
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Oak Ridge Tour Fact: During the war, there were six
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