Free The Girls of Atomic City by Denise Kiernan Page A

smack-dab in themiddle, its stovepipe heading out through the low roof. There were no real windows, no glass, only shutters. And she would be sharing the 256-square-foot space with three other women, not with Willie. Despite their marriage license and four children, black couples were not permitted to live as man and wife on the Reservation.
    Kattie got to work settling in. She had packed quickly, bringing only one bag and one trunk full of khakis and shirts. It was getting to be that you couldn’t tell the women from the men anymore, Kattie thought, what with the way women were dressing when they went to work these days. She had also brought along something for church, just in case. She sure hoped there would be somewhere to go to church. But despite her meager belongings, there was barely enough room in the hutment to store what she had. It was rickety, it was small, but it would do. And it would only cost her $1.50 a week to live there. Here, she would earn better pay than she had ever known. What was left after she covered her basics would go back to Alabama, to her children.
    Whatever this place was, she would find a way to make it home.
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    Despite great effort, the Project was facing stiff competition for labor. Men had volunteered to fight, others were drafted. Patriotic duty called for every able-bodied individual left at home to work in war-related industries. Skilled tradesmen such as electricians and plumbers were in such high and constant demand that they were often brought down to Tennessee from cities in the Northeast. But secrecy was a hindrance and advertising a challenge for the Project as it competed with other wartime industries for workers. While other outfits could advertise exactly the type of jobs that were available— “Build bombers in Tacoma! Munitions plant in Chicago seeks pipe-fitters!” —the Project had to pull its punches. Job notices were necessarily vague, describing posts in the most basic terms: carpentry, drivers, plumbers. The work was of vital need for the war effort. Full stop. Contractors rarely mentioned the specific location or additional details regarding specific tasks.
    There was, however, on-site housing, a free bus system, and for white workers with families, there were even schools. The federal restrictions put in place to prevent employers from snatching workers from other jobs forbade offering better wages, for fear of inflation. But at times the Project did just that, enticing workers with excellent pay, dorms, cafeterias, and low rent. The advertisements could not mention, however, that workers were being hired to help create a device the military hoped would decisively end the war.
    There were some perks that the Army could offer that other companies could not, not the least of which was deferment of military service. And as individual contractors like DuPont pulled employees from other locations to come to work at the Clinton Engineer Works, the government was pilfering labor from its own ranks as well, sometimes zeroing in on boys as they were preparing to be shipped overseas, only to suddenly find themselves reassigned to a completely unexpected post.
    Formed in May of 1943, the Special Engineer Detachment was one way that the Project dealt with a lack of technically trained labor. Army men with special skills—a background in chemistry perhaps, or engineering experience—could be directly assigned to the Project. The program’s initial roster contained 334 names, but that wasn’t nearly enough. As fall neared, the SED’s search expanded into the realm of academia as potential draftees with the right skill set were recruited. Then the Army expanded its reach still further to include the Replacement Training Centers and the Army Specialized Training Program. Many of these recruits still wore their uniforms in and around Clinton Engineer Works and lived in specially designated barracks.
    The Project pulled out all stops in an effort to locate educated