It was summer 1941. I had just completed my sophomore year at Lincoln Memorial University where I was enrolled in pre-engineering curriculum. I applied for a transfer to the University of Kentucky to complete my engineering degree. I didn’t have any money and was therefore hoping to find a summer job. I had little prospect of finding a job in my hometown until I found a notice in the local paper stating that the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) wanted to hire people for the summer.

“Hey Dad, did you see this? TVA is offering jobs for the summer. Maybe they’ll have a job for me. I could assist an engineer in his work. I had a course in mechanical drawing, and in calculus, and physics,” I said, having no idea what an engineer’s job was like. I imagined that I would help with the design of a new project such as the electric power plant at Norris Dam, or something just as grand, or perhaps help to survey a new route for a high voltage transmission line.

“Go ahead and apply and see what they offer you. You can use the money,” said Dad.

“I’ll do it today,” I said and went to work spelling out all the pertinent things I had learned in my two college years.

In about a week I got a reply to my application, directing me to report to work on Monday morning at seven o’clock. I was surprised that the job was local. I was further surprised that I was advised to dress in outdoor work clothes and to bring a lunch. I arrived on time along with three other guys to meet our new boss, who was not an engineer but the foreman of the work crew.

“We’ll be goin’ to the Kentucky Utilities power plant seven miles down the river,” said the foreman. “We’ll be puttin’ in a sub-station there for the TVA. I’ll pick you up near your home every mornin’ and drop you off there after work. The pay is fifty cents an hour. Hop in the pick-up and we’ll be on our way.”

Approaching the power plant we crossed a railroad track where, as I learned later, trains yield the right-of-way to the highway traffic. We soon turned off the highway and over a bridge spanning the Cumberland River to the plant. We stopped at a large green lawn beside the brick building housing the electric generators. The lawn was already stocked with building materials and tools ready to be applied to the project. It seemed a shame to carve up such a nice lawn, but progress frequently requires tearing down for building up to take place.

“Well boys, grab a shovel and follow me. I’ll show you what to do with ‘em,” the foreman instructed. Oh well, so much for my visions of learning what an engineer might do on a job. Half a college degree is not really worth much, but at least I had a summer job.

It turned out that while the job was real work it was not as hard as making hay on the farm on a hot day. A few weeks later however, I had second thoughts about this. Our worksite was a two-tiered landscape with the ground rising steeply about eight feet to the upper tier. We had dug a square hole about ten feet deep and nearly as wide in the ground of the upper tier and constructed a wooden ramp connecting the two ground levels.

“Today we’re goin’ to haul concrete up the ramp and dump into the big hole you dug. Be careful to pour it into the forms we set up. Save your strength; it will be a long day,” the foreman advised. Was he ever right about that! 

I took a wheelbarrow to the antique cement mixer for my first load and proceeded up the ramp. I had a good load, but not too burdensome I thought. I repeated this time and again, but was glad to sit down for lunch. All afternoon I repeated the trip until we must have been half done. They had brought some sandwiches and gave us another break to eat and rest, then back to work. By that time I was pretty tired but kept going, noting with each trip how far we still had to go. Each trip became more of a struggle as I noticed each load became heavier than the previous one and moved up the ramp slower and slower. Finally through ears numbed by fatigue I heard the blessed words, ”That’s enough.” 

Fifteen hours after picking me up there, the truck stopped to let me off near home. I dragged my spent body over the edge of the truck bed toward the sidewalk. My feet hit the walk and my legs collapsed under me. Somehow I managed to get upright and start toward home when I heard the agonizing words, ”See you in the morning at seven.”

After that day the rest of my time on the job was easy, and I wondered why was TVA buying power from private utilities companies. Obviously TVA couldn’t supply its customers. Was it expecting new customers? The answer to my question came a few years later when I realized that the atomic energy facility at Oak Ridge required much energy. Without knowing it I had contributed in a miniscule way to the development of atomic bombs that ended World War II.