Water is enormously important to man—but the most important part of an ocean is the top ten thousandths of an inch!

FILM OF DEATH

by J. Scott Campbell

Text of an address delivered before the Thirty-fifth Anniversary Banquet of the Federation of American Scientists, December 6, 1980.

Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen:

We of the older generation hold somewhat of an advantage over most of the membership of this Association in that we have seen with our own eyes the tremendous events which transformed the world into what it is today. We recall as vivid reality what many of you know only as history. I am, therefore, sure that you are more interested in me as an eyewitness than as an astrophysicist of rather obscure reputation, and so I shall simply tell you, in my own words, and with the flavor of the times as far as I can, how these amazing and dramatic events took place.

It began, as you well know, in the winter of 1949-50. I find difficulty in remembering just what I was doing then, but you will agree, I am sure, that this was the year when the great worry over the plutonium bomb, then called simply the Atomic Bomb, began to subside. The Atomic Development Authority bad been finally set up; all bombs, and supplies of uranium, thorium and plutonium had been transferred to it, and all mines, piles and other dangerous facilities were oat of rationalistic hands. Even the Soviet Union was happy, although there were plenty of critics of our part in the Iranian affair.

In the United States production was at last under way. Inflation had been checked, and food and steel were plentiful again. Strikes were still occurring, but these were regarded more as “after shocks” from the great upset, than as portents of troubles to come. In fact, for the first time in many decades, there were no ominous clouds on the horizon.

And yet the danger was there, hidden, disguised even from the men most intimately connected with it. Schneider, working patiently with his mass spectograph in Chicago, laboriously piling up, atom by atom, the rare isotope 204 of lead. And Ordway, here at the Institute in the organic chemistry lab, mixing fatty acids and hydrocarbon chains, searching and searching.

Did he know what he was after? What would he have said, if someone had asked him? Well, I know, because I asked him.

It was during the Christmas recess of 1949. I had been doing some reading in the Chem Library, and dropped down to his lab to tempt him into a walk and a midnight cup of coffee. He wouldn’t go, but we did talk a little about his work.

“It’s an organic hydropolar acid,” he explained. “It forms chain molecules having a preferential orientation with respect to water.”

“What will you call it?” I asked.

“Well, it really can’t be named yet, because I haven’t actually found it,” he admitted. “But when I do, it’ll probably be”—he hesitated—”something like, well, zetylsulfonic acid.”

“I see,” I said hurriedly. “Z-acid for short, eh?”

Dr. Ordway nodded happily, evidently visualizing that monumental name as a title in Chemical Abstracts.

“But, what will it do?” I pursued. “That is, what are its properties?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I hope that it may have some practical value. You see, a hydropolar molecule attaches itself very closely to water. What I hope is, if I can get the structure just right, that it will form a thin film, a mono-molecular film, which will lie over a water surface like a tough skin and prevent gas absorption, or evaporation, or any other transfer to or from the water.”

I probably looked a little blank, for he hurried to explain further.

“That would lead to most important economic results. In chemical processes—oil refining or paper making, for example, or even on reservoirs and irrigation ditches to prevent evaporation------Why, there’s no limit to what it can do—that is, if I get it”

I thought he ended a little lamely, and so, as it was getting late, I said good night and headed for my own home and bed.

* * * *

I think it was a month later that Dr. Ordway at last succeeded in synthesizing Z-acid. I say “think” because it was only a few days after this, on January 5, 1950, that Schneider announced the fission of lead, and after that, of course, everything else was forgotten.

The sensation created by the little red-headed physicist’s discovery was simply beyond description. Of course, it could have been handled in a much less sensational way, but of all parties, Schneider was least to blame.

Dr. Schneider, you must understand, was both a cautious and reticent man. He may have guessed the consequences of his work, but he wasn’t going to go out on any limb until he was absolutely sure. He may also have been a little frightened by the notoriety which had plagued Oppenheimer since Los Alamos. And the ADA hog-tied by the absurd stipulation that fission could occur only in uranium, thorium and plutonium, did not check into his calculations at all.

In any case, he took some Lead 204, and a small amount of ordinary lead in a launch, anchored his experiment twenty miles out in Lake Michigan with a time clock, and then prudently retired near the shore to await results.

They were not long in coming. Schneider had never seen a plutonium bomb go off, but when he saw the enormous fireball, and the cloud of smoke and vapor which soon towered fifteen miles into the sky, he knew what he had.

He came fairly close to not knowing it for long, because his boat was nearly swamped by the tidal wave which presently came rolling over the horizon. The same wave crashed all along Chicago’s waterfront, piling yachts in Grant Park, and inundating much of the loop district. Schneider, unable to find any trace of his own anchorage, waded ashore near the Planetarium and hailed a taxi.

By the time he reached his laboratory he was famous. The press met him at the front door, with an interview which is historic.

“Tell us, Dr. Schneider, was that a U-235, or a plutonium bomb?”

“Neither. It was lead.”

“Lead? But lead is stable!” This from a graduate student in physics.

“It is stable,” agreed the scientist, wet and confused, “until it is activated by emissions from Lead 204.”

Pencils were going fast now. Perhaps Schneider thought it was a class, taking lecture notes.

“My bomb, if you so choose to call it, consisted of five hundred grams of ordinary lead. A half centimeter diameter hole was drilled into it, and in this was placed two milligrams of Lead 204, separated by means of a mass spectrograph from a sample enriched in the lighter isotopes by the diffusion process. The Lead 204 was brought to a high temperature by means of an electric spark, starting a thermonuclear disintegration. Emission from this process, whose exact nature is rather complex, at once caused fission in the whole mass of lead------”

It was out, the damage had been done. The Chicago ADA representative, who was doing some fishing off the Florida coast, read about it in the Miami paper. What he said has not been recorded.

Within a day it was common knowledge throughout the world. At first the headlines were boasting: AMERICA DOES IT AGAIN. OUR LEADERSHIP IN NUCLEAR PHYSICS NOW UNQUESTIONED. Then the tone became frightened. ATOMIC WAR AGAIN A POSSIBILITY. LEAD BOMBS TERRIFY WORLD. And inaccurately, EVERY LEAD PENCIL A MENACE.

* * * *

The Atomic Development Authority, and then the UN Security Council hurriedly met. Dr. Schneider was hauled on the carpet, where he dissolved into tears and remorse. The Council was at first in favor of trying him for international treason, and then it realized that more serious problems were at hand. The Soviet and Argentine representatives were called home for consultation. The headlines died down, but now throughout the world there was a mounting undercurrent of terror.

Uranium bombs had been bad enough, but they were nothing like this. Lead was plentiful, lead was cheap, and the deadly isotope could be extracted in sufficient quantities in any one of a hundred laboratories. No massive piles, no billion dollar factories were needed; just a pound or so of common lead, and a few months production from a mass spectrograph. Anyone could produce Lead 204, and with the process explained so lucidly by Dr. Schneider, anybody could, after a few months, start producing bombs. Big countries, little countries, political factions, crackpots, all were on a common footing now. The laboriously created balance of power, the careful treaties between nations, the endless compromises that had gone into the ADA, all were now futile.

Only a faint concept of the world’s state of mind can be obtained by reading the old papers. Confusion, anger, fear seemed in the very air. The Russian press denounced America for loosing the devil. The American press accused the Soviets of turning a great peaceful discovery toward the path of war. And, at the same time, the press of both nations united in denouncing Schneider as a traitor to humanity. The poor physicist, crushed, was spirited away by some of his colleagues and for a time vanished from the sight of the world.

By the first of February the excitement had reached a crescendo of debate and accusation. Congress was in continuous session, the UN Security Council was deadlocked over control measures, and the American people were taking matters into their own hands, and moving out into the country.

It was about this time, I believe, that I met Dr. Ordway in front of the Chemistry Building. He seemed very pleased, which was enough, in those days, to startle me.

“Well, Ordway, what brings you out looking so satisfied?”

Tempers and courtesy were both a bit short at that time, but Ordway didn’t seem to mind.

“Isn’t it wonderful,” he cried happily. “It’s so easy to manufacture, we’ll have tons of it in a few months!”

I blinked, completely off the track.

“Zetylsulfonic acid, of course,” he explained. “It can be synthesized from oil refinery by-products. The Coast Oil Company is going to manufacture it for me, and we already have orders. Dear me, I fear that I am about to become rich! You know, they want to use it in Arizona and New Mexico to coat the water in irrigation reservoirs. It’s very durable. If it isn’t allowed to run off, it’ll last for ten years. Why, it’s even going abroad. The Iranian Soviet Republic had an order in for eight thousand tons, for evaporation control.”

“Eight thousand tons,” I started, still half thinking of lead.

“That’s right. It’s an enormous amount—thousands of times more than they need, but perhaps, with all this uncertainty in the world, they want to be provident.”

I blinked a few times, and then steered the conversation to the subject of the bomb. Ordway knew very little about physics, and contented himself with a few generalized remarks to the effect that maybe scientists should take over the government.

* * * *

During the next few months I lost track of Dr. Ordway and his marvelous Z-acid. Momentous things were happening in the world, and what time I had free from my own research and teaching was mostly consumed in speaking and writing in behalf of the Federation of Scientists. We were making a last desperate effort to convince people that reason could prevail, and that even this terrible danger could be averted if men of good will got together and reasoned. I think we all knew, inwardly, that it was hopeless, but we kept it up during that long spring, while the lead stockpiles grew.

By June, when the clear sunny weather came to Southern California, and the beaches were crowded, a sort of uneasy hush descended over the press. Congress adjourned, with major accomplishment, while the members of the Security Council watched each other like wary dogs. Something was up, everyone knew, but what, or where, could not be guessed. There was an unusual number of summer visitors to the mountain areas around Los Angeles; everyone, it seemed, wanted to get away from the congested cities.

Even the faculty seemed infected by the fever. I was standing in my office counting days on the calendar until the end of finals, when the door opened to admit Dr. Ordway.

I turned to him with relief, for his pleasant disposition was very cheering, and then I gasped with surprise. It wasn’t the same Ordway. Gone was the smile. Instead his countenance was as haggard as that of a Security Council member. He appeared to have gone without sleep for days. Guiding him to a chair, I asked in amazement: “Fred, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

In reply, he mutely handed me a paper, and pointed to a small paragraph near the bottom of the front page. I read:

“Typhoon sinks tanker. The new Soviet Tanker Vladimir Stuloff reported by radio that it was broken in two and sinking five hundred miles east of Hokkaido, in the season’s worst typhoon. The ship, normally used for gasoline transport, carried an eight-thousand-ton cargo of Z-acid, a new evaporation inhibitor developed by Dr. Frederick Ordway, well known chemist of ...”

I looked up with understanding.

“Why, that’s terrible, Fred. That must be your whole production. I suppose they won’t pay for it, unless there’s insurance.”

“Pay------” Ordway looked blank. “Pay— Don’t you realize what this means? I never should have allowed it. Eight thousand tons of Z-acid------”

With a shiver of premonition, I began to grasp what Ordway was driving at.

“Do you know how much Z-acid it takes to cover an acre of water?” he asked abruptly, and then answered the question himself. “It takes 0.0018 ounce. That means that one ounce will cover 556 acres, one pound will cover 13.9 square miles, one ton will cover 27,800 square miles. Eight thousand tons is enough to cover all the oceans of the world almost twice over. It will stop all evaporation, don’t you see? The rivers and lakes will dry up, all vegetation will wither. It doesn’t matter now whether we blow each other up or not. We’ll all be dead anyway in three or four years.”

I sat heavily on my chair, trying to reorient my thoughts. It was no use asking Fred if he had checked his figures. The black circles under his eyes attested to the time he had spent in that. And there was no use in asking whether his fundamental theory was sound. I knew Fred too well for that. He was a careful and thorough worker, and when he said that Z-acid would do certain things, that was final.

I think I just sat quietly for a minute and stared at him. Then------

“Have you told anyone else?”

He shook his head.

“Good. Above all, we don’t want to repeat Schneider’s performance. But we must notify the authorities. Z-acid is not permanent. If we start saving water and food right now------”

Ordway shook his head. “A single layer is good for ten years. With this dose, no one knows how long the sea will will be covered—fifteen years, maybe twenty ... I don’t know.”

I was struck by an idea. “Maybe we have some grace. You know, it can’t cover the whole ocean instantly.”

“It spreads fast. In a month it’ll be all over the Pacific. By October it will reach the Cape of Good Hope, and by early next summer all of the Atlantic will be covered. No, we can’t get away from it.”

* * * *

Well, as you know, Dr. Ordway and I notified the authorities. We started at what we consider to be the proper level, the Secretary General of the United Nations. We were unable to contact him. We tried the President, with the same results. Then, alarmed, we visited the President of the Institute, whom we convinced in short order. He telephoned the Army Chief of Staff, but the General was out of town. He told his story to a subordinate officer, who promised that it would be brought to the General’s attention. We urged the utmost secrecy, but somehow the story leaked out. We had called Washington on a Friday. On Sunday the local paper carried an AP dispatch datelined Washington:

“Scientist states that the oceans will dry up as a result of the loss of a shipload of mysterious Z-acid------”

Sunday night Ordway was aboard a plane for Washington. I stayed home; I still had my examinations to give.

The transition of mass hysteria from one object to another which occurred in the next few days will probably occupy psychologists for many years. I was in a unique position. I knew in advance what was coming, and I started a clipping collection with that write-up of our first efforts as a warning.

At first the news was vague. I knew that Ordway was active, because his name kept appearing in news items connected with certain secret experiments and demonstrations. Once an army courier came to the Institute, and I arranged for him to secure a fifty-five gallon drum of Z-acid. I commenced watching the weather maps for the north Pacific, but saw nothing dramatic, such as a lifting of the Aleutian fogs.

Then, on June 22, 1950, a carefully worded announcement was carried by all papers:

“The President announced at 4:40 a.m. today that an unavoidable accident on the high seas has presented this nation and the world with a new situation holding the gravest dangers. There is no immediate risk, but the general public is urged to co-operate with the authorities in action directed toward the conservation of water------”

There followed a clear resume of what had happened, in the unmistakable style of Dr. Ordway. It was pointed out that there would be no immediate change in climate. Billions of tons of water were already air-borne, and it would be many months before this vast burden would be squeezed from the atmosphere in the form of rain. Meanwhile conservation measures were put into effect. The spillways of the great irrigation dams were closed, and coffer dams were hurriedly erected along their crests to retain excess floodwater. The rapids above Niagara and at Sioux were blocked to retain the waters of the Great Lakes, the largest reservoir of fresh water in the world. Earth dams were thrown across a thousand rivers and creeks, and even strings of empty tank cars were filled with water.

The public reacted with gusto. Here was no vague and distant threat about which they could do nothing, but a simple and real emergency, into which every man, woman and child could pitch. Cisterns, ponds, tanks, barrels and even kitchen utensils were filled with water and stored away. Z-acid itself was suddenly in tremendous demand, as a protective cover for the precious fresh water.

Abroad the reaction was the same. The foreign press thundered against American meddling, but all governments, large and small, went to work on the conservation program. The bomb vanished from papers and conversation, and with it went the war fever. Humanity bucked up its challenge, united as it had never been before.

* * * *

As preparations for the drought continued during the summer, the first weather changes made themselves felt. At first they were merely statistical, and noted only by the meteorologists. A decrease in the percentage of foggy days along the southeast Alaska coast. An unseasonable cold dry wind blowing over Canada. In late August, a two-Week period of clear weather at normally foggy Cape Flattery. Then, as the film spread over the whole north Pacific, the drought came. Over the Pacific Northwest there spread a blue sky of incredible depth and clarity. Daily through September the sun grew warmer and the nights colder. Water vapor, the great heat regulator, was gone. At noon the merciless rays of the sun were unscreened, but after nightfall, there was no vapor blanket to hold the warmth in, and the temperature dropped as it formerly did only in deserts and on mountain-tops.

The situation was soon mitigated in the northwest by the smoke from forest fires, which restored some of the temperature regulation.

In the dry southwest of the United States, the change was not serious until far into the winter. To be sure, San Francisco was for the first time without her famous fogs, but California, used to long dry summers, did not feel the pinch until the spring of 1951, when the snow run-off failed because there was no snow.

By this time the catastrophe had become world-wide. With the covering of the Indian Ocean, the torrential rains of the monsoon failed, and the jungles of southeast Asia sweltered and turned brown. Rivers and swamps vanished, and fierce head-hunters, in terror as elemental as that of the jungle animals, came down the dry stream beds until they reached the salty ocean.

The exact courses of the meterological changes have been amply documented, and I shall not even attempt to trace their general outline. The western shores of the oceans were affected first, with the failure of the moist trade winds and cyclones. Oddly, normal rainfall continued in the eastern United States for months; only later was it realized how much water could be taken up from supposedly dry land.

During all of this time, of course, the program of conservation and utilization of water went forward. In the United States, the Great Lakes were the key source. Pumping stations were established to supply an intensive irrigation project for the raising of food. Had only the population of the central states been involved, this reservoir would have lasted for twenty years, but unfortunately, the Great Lakes were unique on earth. In Europe and Asia, and even in the American west, the local water supplies were nowhere near sufficient.

The first blow to the west came with the shutting off of all hydroelectric power. Overnight, Los Angeles was back in the gaslight era, with the closing down of Boulder Dam. The power output of available steam-generating plants was diverted to vital industrial uses. In a week, after a vain appeal for voluntary rationing of city water, the mains were shut off and water was delivered by tank truck. But, even with these desperate measures in force, people would slip out at night with a pail in the vain hope of keeping lawn or flowers alive. Illegal watering became a serious crime throughout the United States.

From the very start people were assured that they would not die of thirst. If drinking water was the only requirement, humanity could exist for centuries on the available fresh water. The fatal lack was food—food which could only be raised with the aid of water.

I will not bore you with figures on the water consumption of various crops, nor with an account of the frantic research which was put under way to determine which crops required the least water. No matter how the figures were juggled, the answer always came out the same—death for most of the race in five years, by slow starvation.

* * * *

It was at this point that the secret conferences began. No word of these was ever released to the press, but it got around. Humanity was doomed, but some might be saved. If the population were reduced to a tenth, that tenth could survive. But only if the reduction was made quickly. And so the fear of the bomb—Schneider’s terrible discovery which had been completely forgotten—revived. Rumors spread malignantly through the hot dry spring of 1951. Soviet Russia was preparing to wipe out the population of America in one super raid, and then seize control of the Great Lakes. Meetings were called in Washington, under a tropic sun which raised day temperatures to 110 degrees, and in the depths of arctic nights which saw ponds frozen over in a few hours. Several times Dr. Schneider was seen hurrying in and out of the Pentagon. Obviously, something was up. America would strike first, would save herself by stopping the aggressor before he could strike.

And then the incredible happened. The President announced that a broadcast of “historic importance” would be made at 9 p.m. Eastern time, June 10, 1951. At that hour the greatest radio audience of all time assembled. Magically the lights of Los Angeles and other coast cities came on—under orders from Washington, the penstocks of Boulder Dam had been opened, and the great generators were again turning. Wondering, the people listened.

The broadcast proceeded without the formality and fanfare usual on such occasions. Obviously everyone in Washington was too tired for ceremony. An announcer stated: “Ladies and gentlemen, the President,” and then the tired, familiar voice began, without even the usual “Fellow citizens.”

“You have been very patient with us in these difficult times, and I am happy to say that a solution has been reached which will give all of us a good fighting chance to survive. This solution is not war. The heads of the governments of Britain, France, China and the Soviet Union are with me here today to co-ordinate work in their countries with us. The real hero of the occasion is also here today, and I shall let him explain the proposal he brought to us four weeks ago. I present Dr. Alexander Schneider.” Ordway and I were listening over the small radio in my office. I suppose our reaction was typical, for I recall that he exclaimed: “What, mass suicide by the lead bomb?” Then we listened. It was the first time I had ever heard the physicist. His voice was high-pitched, uncertain, and seemed at times about to break altogether. His delivery was slow and hesitating at first, but became more confident as he went along.

“Ladies and gentlemen: On May 14th I contacted the President with regard to a suggestion concerning the present . . . ah . . . difficulty in which . . . ah . . . many of us find ourselves. Calculation indicates that the fission of lead liberates two billion electron volts of energy, or, in more familiar terms, one pound of lead will produce 3.96 X 10¹¹ British Thermal Units. This process, in contrast to the fission of plutonium, may be caused to proceed at a moderate rate. The expenditure of a pound of lead is sufficient to evaporate forty-four million gallons of water. Since the annual production of lead is just short of a million tons per year, it is not difficult to see that a very large quantity of water may be evaporated. The technological problems are not of a too serious nature. I thank you.” The voice ended abruptly. Fred and I looked at each other blankly for an instant, and then the President’s voice broke in, quite obviously extemporaneously.

“What Dr. Schneider means,” he said a bit testily, “is that we may use atomic energy from lead to distill fresh water from the ocean for irrigation, until the Z-acid is gone from the ocean and normal evaporation can commence again.”

Well, that was it. Fred and I literally jumped from our chairs, with most unacademic howls of joy, and completely missed the similar announcements made in French, Russian, Chinese and all the other languages of the globe. The public reaction throughout the world was, as you well know from history, a riot almost as devastating as a lead bomb. The relief was simply tremendous. For a couple of days nothing could be done toward implementing Schneider’s proposal, because there was no labor available. Then everyone went to work.

The work was divided into two phases. The first job was the locating of tremendous stills along the coast adjacent to arable land, with pipe lines connecting them to the fields. The first system in operation, as I recall, was at San Luis Obispo, and opened the whole Salinas Valley to cultivation. The second was at Bombay. After that stills were set up by the thousands, until the inevitable bottleneck was reached in the manufacture of pumps and pipe lines.

When this point was reached, the second planned phase of the project began. Evaporation plants were set up at coastal locations where onshore winds prevailed, and immense jets of steam were simply shot into the air, to be carried inland. The first plants had little effect on the weather, but at last, after almost a thousand stations had been established along the California coast, the first dividends came, in the form of a cloud—a white, natural cloud—over the Sierra Nevada range.

People drove hundreds of miles to see that first cloud, and the others which soon followed. And then, on the day the six thousandth evaporation plant was set up, there was a thunderstorm in the mountains. As the precipitation moved to the valleys, people rushed from their homes to feel the raindrops. Men and women threw themselves into the gutters to soak up the first muddy water, and churches held open-air services in the rain.

The showers really weren’t much, according to present-day standards. They were scattered and light; at its best, our artificial weather was very close to desert climate. But it made dry farming possible, and along with the irrigation stills and rigorous evaporation control, it brought back food production, first to normal, and then to a level beyond anything the world had ever seen before. For there was now a new factor present, which had never existed before, even in the lushest pre-drought years. That was the factor of world-wide human co-operation. For the first time in all history, everyone was working for the common benefit of humanity. For the first time thought and energy were directed away from war, and toward a constructive project. Where all the efforts of diplomats had failed, the grim necessity of survival succeeded. The heads of the States gathered to save themselves, and then, by a miracle, stayed together.

Well, there is little more for me to say tonight. You all know how the world has been transformed. Doctors Schneider and Ordway were both proclaimed heroes, and both created a sensation by being most embarrassed about the whole thing. I doubt if the public ever did understand the view which they took of the matter, although I believe that most scientists had some appreciation of the amazing way in which Providence, or at least something resembling that agency, stepped in, particularly with regard to the timing.

I think that there is no better way for me to close, than to quote a statement made by Schneider a few years ago, upon his retirement from the directorship of the ADA, which is, as you know, strictly honorary, as the ADA has little to do. He said earnestly:

“Dr. Ordway and I have always maintained that we are fraudulent heroes. Either of our discoveries, by itself, would have destroyed humanity. If they had been made at different times—even so little as a year apart—the end would have been disaster. The fact that they came together, and in such a way that their application could cause so much good, must remain in my mind the most wonderful coincidence in history. Either that, or we must assume that it was all the result of the conscious effort of some superhuman power. Which it was, I am not prepared to state.”