Stimson had told Truman almost nothing. There had been no mention of an atomic bomb. The secretary of war knew that Truman was not satisfied, but he was buying time for the project.
Recently, Roosevelt had asked him to conduct a review of the current situation.
Late in the afternoon of March 2, the two men met in Roosevelt’s office. Stimson saw that the president, only days back from the taxing Yalta Conference, looked more gaunt than ever. He was one of the few men who knew about the small box of green tablets Roosevelt kept in a desk drawer for treatment of his hypertension and failing cardiovascular system.
Anxious not to tire Roosevelt with a detailed summary, Stimson put the situation simply. Production of the weapon was on schedule. The bomb would be ready by August, as Groves had promised. The weapon could save the million American lives Stimson believed would be lost before Japan would surrender.
Roosevelt seemed pleased. But Stimson wondered whether the president would live to see those million soldiers return home safely.
The Deficiency Subcommittee of the House Committee on Appropriations—congressional watchdog on how public money is spent—was not placated by the prepared statement Under Secretary of War Robert Patterson had given them.
In secret hearings, the subcommittee had tried to obtain further details of how almost two billion dollars had been spent on a project they could discover nothing about. Patterson had doggedly refused to say. He pleaded security considerations.
Committee chairman Clarence Cannon of Missouri warned that “as soon as the war is over Congress will conduct a most thorough inquiry into the project.”
Patterson was himself unaware of most of the Manhattan Project’s ramifications. But his political instincts sensed trouble. He knew that an essential rule for survival in Washington was to write a memo. He returned to his office and dictated one to an aide, General W. D. Styer. It was remarkable for its political expediency:
At the beginning of the project I told General Groves that the greatest care should be taken in keeping thorough records, with detailed entries of decisions made, of conferences with persons concerned in the project, of all progress made and of all financial transactions and expenditures. From time to time I have repeated these instructions and have been assured by General Groves that he and his assistants were keeping complete records. I have told him that the most exacting accounting would be demanded by Congress at some time in the future.
The size of the project, its secrecy, and the large sums of money being expended make it necessary that the utmost pains be taken in keeping records, to the end that a complete and detailed history of the project will at all times be available. This should cover fiscal, scientific and industrial phases of the work.
While I have no reason to doubt that General Groves is giving thorough attention to this matter, the importance of keeping full, accurate and intelligible records is so great that I want you personally to examine into the matter and let me have your conclusions. I want you to take any corrective measures, to make sure that a complete current history of the project is being set down on paper by competent personnel.
Patterson had covered himself.
Increasingly, Groves saw himself as a strategist, and because the use of the atomic bomb raised important political questions, also as a statesman. Recently, he had taken steps to work against his government’s policy of collaborating with the British on all matters to do with atomic research. Churchill had raised the subject privately with Roosevelt at Yalta, and the president had agreed that Britain should be kept more fully informed on the project. That did not please Groves; he didn’t trust the British to keep the atomic secrets away from the Russians. He had decided that America’s Allies should get as little information as possible.
He knew more about the weapon than almost anyone else. His performance had been herculean. Factories he controlled were among the largest in the United States. He had authorized the patenting of many thousands of new inventions which accrued from the atomic research. Yet the entire project was being threatened by some of the very scientists whose pioneering work had been invaluable. Groves could not understand them.
Now, another voice had joined the dissidents. On his desk as he talked on the scrambler phone with General George C. Marshall in early March was a memo written the day before to Roosevelt by James F. Byrnes, director of the Office of War Mobilization. Byrnes had an office in the White House and virtually ran the nation’s economic affairs while Roosevelt and Stimson concentrated on foreign and military policy. Byrnes was known as “the assistant president.”
A copy of Byrnes’s memo had been sent over from the White House to Groves for comment. That alone should have reassured him of the strength of his position. The memo was a sensible reminder to the president that there would be a momentous political row if the project failed.
For a man used totally to having his own way, the memorandum’s words were chilling.
…expenditures approaching two billion dollars with no definite assurance yet of production… if the project proves to be a failure, it will then be subjected to relentless investigation and criticism… even eminent scientists may continue a project rather than concede its failure. Also it may be feasible to continue the experiment on a reduced scale. In any event, no harm could come from an impartial investigation and review by a small group of scientists not already identified with the project. Such a review might hurt the feelings of those now engaged in the project. Still, two billion dollars is enough money to risk such hurt.
In Groves’s mind, the suggestion of an outside review placed Byrnes firmly in the opposition camp. Groves did not believe there was anybody competent enough to carry out such an investigation. It looked like another attempt to stop the project.
Groves finished briefing Marshall without mentioning the Byrnes memo. He was about to hang up when the army chief of staff asked if he had given any thought to how the bomb could be used to best advantage.
Groves had, but he kept his ideas to himself. He told Marshall he thought it was time for the planners to prepare preliminary studies of suitable targets.
There was a moment’s silence. Then Marshall spoke. “I don’t like to bring too many people into this matter. Is there any reason why you can’t take over this and do it yourself?”
Groves eagerly accepted the offer. In his most optimistic moment he had never expected he would have the opportunity to choose atomic objectives.
He could consult, he could heed advice, but in the end he would have the responsibility for recommending which Japanese city would serve as the first target for the atomic bomb.
Secretary Stimson’s advice to Groves was clear; Groves should advise Roosevelt to reject Byrnes’s proposal for an independent inquiry. Maintaining secrecy was all-important. Congress and the Senate should be given the minimum information needed to secure appropriations. In the past two days, members of both houses had begun asking further questions about the Manhattan Project, following leakages about Under Secretary of War Patterson’s appearance before the Deficiency Subcommittee.
Groves was delighted with Stimson’s support; it enabled him to dismiss, almost defiantly, Byrnes’s mild suggestion of a review.
Next, Groves dealt with Congress and the Senate. He set about the task in cavalier fashion. He was prepared, he wrote Stimson, to allow two senators and two representatives to take a peep at the project.