Editor’s note: This article first appeared at The American Spectator.
Much is being said right now about J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb. The reason, of course, is the new film on Oppenheimer by Christopher Nolan. The film has opened old debates and wounds about Oppenheimer’s communist sympathies and loyalties. That’s something that I know a good deal about and should write about separately. But for now, I thought I could relate something altogether more unique and perhaps more historically valuable. It involves a man who was very critical and suspicious of Oppenheimer’s politics, and for daring to voice those concerns, has been vilified by leftists in a way that Oppenheimer never was. This man, too, was a brilliant physicist and likewise a founder of the bomb, a fusion rather than fission bomb; that is, the hydrogen bomb.
His name was Edward Teller.
Meeting the Other Father of the Bomb
Coincidentally, it was this summer 20 years ago that I had a fascinating encounter with Teller. I spent an afternoon with him, on his deathbed, that I’ve certainly never forgotten.
It was July 15, 2003 — incidentally, eight days before President George W. Bush would award the legendary physicist the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian honor, in a ceremony that the 95-year-old Teller was too sick to attend. I was writing a book on Ronald Reagan and the Cold War, a book ultimately called The Crusader: Ronald Reagan and the Fall of Communism, published by HarperCollins in 2006. (The book is the basis for the upcoming film Reagan: The Movie, starring Dennis Quaid as Ronald Reagan.) A chapter of the book focused on President Reagan’s Strategic Defense Initiative, the genesis of which had involved Teller more than any other figure. Through a series of contacts begun by then-Grove City College President John Moore — who knew Teller through Moore’s cousin and through his and Teller’s shared association with the Hoover Institution — I had managed to secure an interview with the aged physicist.
I excitedly drove to Teller’s house on Gerona Road in Palo Alto, California, which was a two-minute drive from the Hoover Building on the campus of Stanford University, where, ironically, I had just completed an interview with Reagan Secretary of State George Shultz, who had once attacked Reagan’s and Teller’s Strategic Defense Initiative as the idea of a “blooming madman.” Dr. Teller’s house was technically a part of the expansive Stanford “campus.” It was perfect California weather — sunny, breezy, low 70s, no chance of rain.
I drove up the windy Gerona Road, passed some laborers doing yard work, and pulled into Teller’s driveway. His home was very modest, though given its location in Palo Alto, I suspected it was absurdly overvalued. Teller lived there alone, with two nurses. His beloved wife, Mici, whom he had been married to for over 60 years, had died three years earlier.
In the driveway, there was what appeared to be some kind of giant oxygen tank outside, and I nervously maneuvered my large, awkward conversion van in a way to avoid backing into the tank. I knocked on the door and heard a woman’s voice (a nurse, it turned out) invite me in. As I stood in the doorway, it all seemed too easy, too casual. This is the home of the father of the hydrogen bomb, the H bomb, the hell-bomb, the super-bomb, the “super,” I thought to myself, the most powerful weapon in all of human history, capable of vanishing millions of people. This man’s mind had contained the power to blow up the world. He had unlocked the secrets of the atom in the most destructive ways imaginable. S. Fred Singer rightly called Edward Teller “the most politically influential scientist of the 20th century.”
Into the House of the Father of the H Bomb
I expected security guards, or maybe even trumpets or something — anything but near silence. I paused in the entry way and pondered: Can anyone just show up and walk inside this house? Yes, anyone could have walked right in.
Yet, this was nothing compared to what I witnessed next. I was even more surprised — shocked — when I turned the corner and saw him lying there. The 95-year-old was almost completely horizontal in a light blue recliner, with the upper part of his body propped up slightly. A collection of classical-music CDs sat nearby, with Verdi’s Aida nearest. He was reading Men Who Play God by Norman Ross. A few other books rested nearby, which I would unexpectedly have time to record in my notebook: Sacred Secrets by Jerrold and Leona Schecter, The Great Republic by Churchill, James Michener’s Miracle in Seville, Michael Crichton’s Timeline, Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs, and Steel, a book by Mikhail Bulgakov, to name a few. Among these, Sacred Secrets deserves special mention. The authors ironically became the agents for my book on Reagan, The Crusader, and dear friends. That book terrifically exposed Oppenheimer’s communist sympathies. No wonder Teller was reading it.
Two framed certificates stood on the shelf: a “Lifetime of Scientific Achievement” award in “The Defense of Freedom,” granted by a group I could not decipher, and also a “Certificate of Appreciation” from the Military Order of World Wars.
Teller’s small, hunched body was covered in a brown suit. The scientist wore a tie decorated with illustrations of planets. The tie had a clip featuring the presidential seal, perhaps a gift from Ronald Reagan, I thought, the subject for which I had come to interview him. Teller’s jacket collar had a pin on each side. Oddly, he wore black cowboy boots. Basically, Teller was dressed as if he were at the office. This was his business attire. He was working, not convalescing. Besides, it was afternoon, still within 9:00 to 5:00.
A Sharp Mind
His eyes were closed and watery. His left hand trembled slightly, while his steady right hand held a controller to alert his nurse. His belt and pants were pulled up high, above his belly button, leaving about eight inches of white-buttoned shirt showing. I thought of the wisdom of Nancy Reagan not allowing her husband (then still alive) to be seen, let alone interviewed, in his final years. There was an important difference, though: Teller’s mind (unlike Reagan’s) had not been damaged by a terrible disease, and remained sharp.
I began with my first of only three or four questions, which I had quickly pared down on the spot, thinking I would have a few minutes at best with this ailing man. I asked about when he and Ronald Reagan first met and talked about the prospect of missile defense. He paused and then murmured, with traces of that distinctive Hungarian accent: “We have no time.” He stopped the interview from the start. That was okay, I immediately told him. I did not want to make him any more uncomfortable. I felt guilty, like I was robbing him of his precious time for my own selfish purpose. It seemed that it literally pained him to talk.
Yet, after that pause, Teller turned the key and revved up, suddenly recalling the time in 1967 when he invited the new governor of California, Ronald Reagan, to come to his office at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory to discuss Teller’s early thinking about the possibility of defending the United States from a Soviet nuclear attack. Reagan became fascinated at the prospect, and his meeting with Teller was an early seed in the development of his Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI). Teller said of Reagan and the meeting: “He knew nothing about it [Teller’s idea for missile defense] but asked a number of very intelligent questions. That he was interested was clear. Whether he came to any conclusions then, I don’t know.”
Reykjavik
Many of Teller’s words were not discernible, which was the case throughout much of the interview. Abruptly, however, out of nowhere, he instructed me to tell him what I knew about Reykjavik, the October 1986 summit between Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev in Iceland. As I started, he mumbled something and then gave a long pause. He then said, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well.” I replied: “Okay, do you want me to let you go?” He said yes. I asked him if he wanted me to call for the nurse. He again said yes. I looked for her but couldn’t find her. When I reentered the room to report my lack of success, he quickly returned to “Reykjavik.” He badly wanted to talk about Reykjavik.
Reagan became fascinated at the prospect, and his meeting with Teller was an early seed in the development of his Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI).
Reykjavik became a historic juncture in the end of the Cold War. Mikhail Gorbachev himself, not to mention astute observers like Zbigniew Brzezinski and George Shultz, the latter of whom was in that Reykjavik negotiating room, later said that the Cold War ended in that final, dramatic session in Iceland. And yet, at the time Reykjavik was reported by the press as a massive failure because Reagan would not give in to Gorbachev’s demand that SDI be abolished. Teller told me that he agreed that the Cold War ended there, and was thrilled that Reagan had stuck to his guns, not compromised SDI, and would manage to still get arms cuts anyway, and an end to the Cold War. Throughout the interview, he kept returning to Reykjavik.
In between our exchanges on Reykjavik, we bounced in and out of other topics. Teller was especially occupied with correcting what he judged was an unfair slight against Ronald Reagan: the perception of critics that the 40th president was “stupid.” Quite the contrary, said Teller, he had estimated from the outset that not only was Reagan underestimated but that he had been “very bright.” “I think that Reagan was an exceptionally intelligent individual,” said Teller.
A Cycle of Questions
I was not receiving a lot of material for my book, which was fine, since this man’s condition was much more important than my questions. So, again, I thought I should allow him to rest. Roughly 20 minutes had passed since I walked through that door, already more than I initially expected to get from him. “Well, sir,” I offered, “that’s all I wanted to ask you.” I thanked him for his time. He replied that I hadn’t asked much and began his first of numerous apologies about not being “very helpful.” I insisted he had been helpful and that I appreciated his time. He refused to believe me and continued to apologize. He then started to push me repeatedly to ask him more questions.
This started a cycle: I would offer to stop, would say I had finished my questions, and then Teller would apologize and demand more questions. Instead of interviewing Dr. Edward Teller for the 15 minutes I had hoped for, I spoke with him for almost an hour and a half. During that time, he warmed up, becoming increasingly alert and responsive, though he was still obviously a dying man. He struggled.
He called once more for the nurse: this time he asked her to fetch a copy of his memoirs. He wanted to refer me there.
God and Edward Teller
As the nurse looked for the book, I felt compelled to ask Teller a question I had not intended: If he didn’t mind, I asked, could he tell me about his spiritual views? The situation begged the question; this was a man near death, after all, and his views on the hereafter not only constituted a side of him I never heard about but the only side of him that at that point seemed to matter. I fumbled an inquiry about whether he was “an atheist or a Christian or …” He interrupted, saying that that he was Jewish, which I hadn’t known. “I’ve been Jewish all these years,” he wryly deadpanned to his ignorant interviewer, with a slight laugh. As I embarrassingly confessed my stupidity, I pressed: “Do you believe in God, a Creator … or if not, maybe evolution?” Dr. Teller told me emphatically: “I strongly believe that I should not talk about things I don’t understand.” The scientist within came rushing forth: Teller said he did not have adequate “information” to make a determination about God’s existence. He added, in a short, matter of fact but not mean or rude way: “I don’t think I should tell you anything more.”
When the nurse brought his memoirs, I flipped through the index (as he had ordered) in search of the word, “Reykjavik.” Instead, I first came across “religion.” When I later that evening consulted that single reference to religion, I found that Teller had been raised in a family in which, as he put it, “religion was not an issue” and “was never discussed,” though his father had said prayers on Saturdays and during all Jewish holidays. Teller wrote on page 32: “The idea of God that I absorbed was that it would be wonderful if He existed: We needed Him desperately but had not seen Him in many thousands of years.”
Stopping Communism in Russia
I eventually found Reykjavik listed under “Gorbachev.” Teller asked me to read from his entry on Reykjavik, which I did. He followed with this succinct appraisal, presumably linked directly to Ronald Reagan’s actions in Iceland: “I believed then and I believe now that Reagan made a great contribution to stopping communism in Russia.” The Soviets, insisted Teller, “could not match” the U.S. missile-defense effort. He obviously believed that the pursuit of SDI helped bring the Soviets to the negotiating table and contributed to the demise of the USSR. “Without Reagan,” said Teller, “there would be communism now [in Russia].” Once again, he praised Reagan for his “great contribution” to this end.
As we talked more, he continued to apologize for, in his view, not being helpful and for what he claimed was a “poor” memory, which clearly was not the case. The nurse and I joked with him about that. She and I both told him his memory was excellent. That brilliant mind, now into its tenth decade, fully retained its capacity for recall. I was impressed that he remembered my unusual last name throughout the interview (without being able to read it), having heard it only once.
Taking Secrets to the Grave
He also told me cryptically that he had much he would like to share with me but was not permitted to do so. He said this was also true for his memoirs. Edward Teller, at 95, still had a bunch of secrets, which he was about to take with him to the grave.
Just then, the phone rang. It was Judith Shoolery, Teller’s assistant — and Dr. John Moore’s cousin — saying that she was on her way to the house. Teller and I chatted about the books on his nightstand nearby and on a small shelf. He insisted I stay and wait for Shoolery. I asked if there were particular books he would recommend that I read, though he had no strong suggestions at the moment.
Into the 20th Century
Then, the conversation became lively. We chatted about the 20th century. I asked him if he thought the end of the Cold War was the most important event of the 20th century. He replied that too many different things had happened in the 20th century: it would be impossible to rank their importance. We talked about the Cold War, the advent of nuclear weapons, DNA, Watson and Crick, the double-helix, SDI again, science and technology. He suggested that the discovery of DNA might have been the century’s most important development. Fittingly, the scientist steered my search for greatness and impact away from politics and toward science.
As Teller spoke of the complexity of a strand of DNA, I followed by asking him if a single strand of DNA was so complex as to suggest design, or a Designer, or a Creator; in other words, if it was too complex to have merely evolved. Teller said it might suggest an evolution, or “equally suggest” a Creator, or even a “co-Creator.” He said he personally didn’t know. He then caught himself and retreated to his earlier position: “You asked me about God, and I will say, ‘I don’t know.’ And if I don’t know, I won’t talk about it.” I chuckled and told him I wouldn’t bother to try again.
Back to Religion
After a pause, he then ordered: “Tell me a little more about yourself.” He asked me what, specifically, I was writing about. I mentioned two books on Ronald Reagan: One focused on Reagan’s attempt to undermine the Soviet empire, for which I was interviewing him. I briefly mentioned some of the chapter themes. When I mentioned I had two chapters on Poland in the 1980s, he chimed in: “very important.” The other book, I informed Teller, was on Reagan’s religious faith (that book became God and Ronald Reagan, published the following year, in 2004), to which he immediately interrupted, “What about it?” That is, what about Reagan’s religious faith?
I told Teller succinctly, in one sentence, that Reagan’s faith was the one aspect of the man that received the least attention, was not taken seriously, and yet was a very important factor in his life and presidency. He replied inquisitively: “Is that right? I don’t know about it. Can you tell me about it?” There it was: religion again.
I told Teller, again in one (slightly longer) sentence, that Reagan’s mother Nelle raised him to believe in God and taught him that everything happens for a reason and that God is in control, that God guides events, God plays a role, and God picks certain people at certain moments in history. I noted that Reagan seemed to sense that he was one of those people, and most notably believed that God had spared him from death during the March 1981 assassination attempt for a special reason relating to ending the Cold War. Teller was interested. He responded with an unclear statement about Reagan winning the Cold War. For the first time, it seemed possible (though, in retrospect, probably unlikely) that the religious questions might have gone deeper, but the nurse came back in and Judith Shoolery arrived and the conversation took a different course.
From then on, Teller, Judith, and I talked. She was very friendly and kind and loving toward Teller, who she obviously cared about and cared for, as if he were a close member of her family. She told Teller he looked “beautiful.” Shoolery, a native of Grand Rapids, Michigan who had transplanted to California 40 years earlier, had helped Teller write his memoirs, as well as several other books. She jogged his memory on certain stories concerning Ronald Reagan. She made sure that I got a signed copy of Teller’s memoirs, which he inscribed on the spot.
God is not Unemployed
Shoolery’s arrival brought more life into Teller than anything up to that moment. He even smiled a few times. As we talked about Reagan, I told Shoolery in front of Teller that he kept apologizing for his alleged poor memory, which I found to be quite strong. She laughed and agreed. I also told Shoolery that I had asked him about religion and that he said that that was one topic he would not discuss. She noted that for many decades he had cleverly stated that Werner Heisenberg, the legendary physicist under whom Teller had received his doctoral training, “proved that God is not unemployed.” Teller grinned and then briefly mused over the notion that God had created the world and quipped about God being busy and employed all the time. It was his longest answer on the subject all afternoon, but, unfortunately, his response was too unclear for me to understand. Judith admitted that she, too, could not get Teller to talk about God. She said they occasionally had “interesting discussions” on the subject but these discussions tended to go nowhere, just as I had experienced. “He’s keeping it to himself,” we agreed. Until literally the very end.
At last, I told Dr. Teller it was time for me to go. He seemed at last willing to relent. He bid me farewell by saying simply, “Go write a good book.” Holding up my signed copy of his memoirs, I told him I would return the gesture by sending him a signed copy of my book once it was published. As I knew, I would never get the chance. Shortly after I returned to Grove City, Edward Teller died on September 9, 2003 at the age of 95.
To my knowledge, I was the last person to interview him before he passed away.
A Question without Adequate Information
My interview with Teller was at times surreal. As he gave slow responses, I found myself looking around the room, trying to take in everything. Many times during the interview I asked myself, Why me? Why was I the one to do this? Of all the people who knew or ever met or worked with or wrote about Teller — all the scientists, politicians, presidents, Pulitzer-prize winners, New York Times reporters — why was I, a 36-year-old unknown, a rube raised in Butler, Pennsylvania, a professor at a small Christian college 3,000 miles away, sitting at his side recording some of his final thoughts during his final interview, and saying the things that were being said?
Who knows the answer to that mystery? Only God knows, I suppose. Or, perhaps, to borrow from Teller, that is a question for which I do not have adequate information.
This much I do know: America is fondly remembering J. Robert Oppenheimer right now. I submit that we likewise ought to fondly remember Edward Teller. Teller and his extraordinary life merit a movie, too. But I doubt Hollywood would ever so honor him.
Dr. Edward Teller, rest in peace. Hopefully in the comfort of the Creator.