Virtual Mirage brings us the story of Louis Slotin, a scientist at Los Alamos National Laboratory. Fiddling with Rufus
This was stolen from myself, from a few years back. I'm not sure if this should be remembered in August, or in May, but I tripped over it while revisiting the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki on the 6th and the 9th of August, 1945.
Gentleman, what we have here is the most powerful force ever created by mankind. Lets poke at it with a screwdriver.
— Louis Slotin, Los Alamos Laboratory
Godzilla is providing a nuclear-level facepalm for this one.
Rufus was a sphere of plutonium. It was originally supposed to be used in a nucler weapons test, but it ended up being used for criticallity experiments.
On August 21st, 1945 physicist Harry K. Daghlian Jr., was conducting a criticality experiment with Rufus when he accidentally dropped a tungsten carbide brick on the core. The core went supercritical, releasing a burst of neutron and gamma radiation while bathing the room in a bright blue light.
Daghlian died 25 days later. That was when Rufus was renamed as The Demon Core. You would think that would mean "Be Careful!" Not so much, as it turns out.
The new procedure involved the core sitting between two beryllium half spheres. A screwdriver was jammed in between the two half spheres, creating a gap through which neutrons could escape.
Several people had called the whole thing insane, including Enrico Fermi and Richard Feynman.
On May 26th, 1946 Slotin was conducting a criticality experiment with the demon core when he lost control of his screwdriver, causing the beryllium sphere to close. The incident is almost perfectly re-enacted in the 1989 film “Fat Man and Little Boy.”
Slotin was dead nine days later. Two other people in the room would die from cancer years later.
At least it caused the Powers That Be to institute new safety rules, build remote-controlled machines, and melt Rufus down for reuse.
If you haven't studied radiation, you are probably underestimating exactly how awful a death from acute radiation poisoning is. I would not stick around for that end.
There is this myth propagating in the 21st Century that Scientists are dispassionate geniuses that can tell you everything about everything, including how to run your life. And while some of them are geniuses in their field of study, others should not be let out of the house without a keeper. Slotin knew Daghlian, and was at his side when he died, and still, less than one year later, this happened.
So the next time someone quotes that myth at you, tell them the story of Rufus.
I had worked in labs as a QA/QC chemist. Two of my bosses came from the R&D side. The things they would say, how they said them, just their overall attitude quelled by long held desire to get into research. Arrogance is a huge turn off for me. Theirs knew no bridle.
ReplyDeleteYears later while finishing a degree in geology, I encountered very much of the same and worse. Pretty much everyone has heard of, 'publish or perish'. I came face to face with certain people who could stop cold the advancements of careers. For the simplest, juvenile and sophomoric reasons And they enjoyed that power. Sickening.
One of my advisors, an old field geologist who I liked very much, said in a dead pan voice that he was glad that his career was drawing to a close. This man held three PhDs in the field. He was respected across the globe.
The utter and trite garbage which infects academia is extremely distasteful. For the sake of a continued career, it's best to keep your trap shut and publish only in strict adherence to the party line. But one can only swallow so much.
I know, many do not see it that way. I only say my experience and that of others I have known.
Imagine being so full of yourself that safe guards are not needed nor would they apply to you. After all, you do not make mistakes. Therefore, you are quite comfortable in ignoring the expert advice of others. Indeed, you sneer at them.
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