It was my privIlege to be a participant in an event that made television history.  This was the first live televising of an atomic detonation which was brought to the living rooms of millions of Americans – thanks to the raw courage, physical endurance, and technical brilliance of a single individual who in turn inspired a great crew of engineers and reporters.

The event took place at a rocky butte on the Nevada Proving Grounds of the Atomic Energy Commission in Nevada which newsmen promptly dubbed “NEWS NOB, NEV.”  Some 200 representatives of all media covered this story on the morning of Tuesday, April 22, 1952, but no other medium had the heartaches and backaches packed into its story as did television.

Those who have read the masterful biography of Robert E. Lee by Dr. Douglas Freeman (who, incidentally, some 30 years ago tried to persuade me NOT to go into newspaper work) will recall his technique in handling the military episodes of the War Between the States.  In each battle chapter, you – the reader – never know any more than did General Lee at his field headquarters.  I shall try to use Freeman’s technique in telling you the story of a real milestone in television engineering and news coverage.

I had a ringside seat by virtue of the duties as Chief of Radio-Visual Branch of the Atomic Energy Commission’s Public Information Services and also – on this particular assignment – as assistant project officer for the joint AEC-Department of Defense info staff.  I was stationed at Camp Mercury, the modern AEC construction camp some 70 miles northwest of Las Vegas.  The rest of the staff was at Las Vegas and some of the boys thought I had an ideal situation up at the camp – there were none of the diversions so prominently associated with Las Vegas and its famous resort hotel “Strip!”

Our story really begins on June 1, 1951, when the AEC and the Department of Defense, at a joint news conference in Washington, gave out such news as could be released about the atomic tests held that spring at our Pacific Proving Grounds on Eniwetok atoll in the Marshall Islands.

Newsmen became insistent that they be let in on one of these detonations.  They said it was unfair that some members of Congress and of the Armed Services were allowed to see these “shots” – as we call them – and then have THEIR stories printed, broadcast, and televised.  The AEC recognized the persuasiveness of this argument.  Chairman Gordon Dean said on this June 13 that our agency and the Department of Defense would try to work out a solution.

The AEC Public Information Service tackled the job.  Many difficulties lay ahead, particularly for television, radio, newsreel, and still pictures.  If review for security was necessary, this could be handled fairly simply from the press angle.  The reporters would sign security agreements, go to a vantage point, see a detonation, and submit all copy for on the spot review.  But, such a plan would have made live TV and radio impossible and seriously handicapped fast handling of film and still pictures.

We took an affirmative approach.  The detonation was carefully planned.  Numerous tests were made and processed through the Classification and Security Divisions of the Atomic Energy Commission and through the proper sections of the Department of Defense.  We had to be absolutely certain that in allowing live coverage by all media, the AEC would not expose “restricted data” to the newsmen and thus run the risk of information of use to an unfriendly power being made available to that power.

Slowly, step by step, we were able to approach complete coverage.  Live television was the hardest of all.  Actual tests were made with various types of cameras.  (We use television extensively in our scientific work, especially for remote control operations in weaponeering).  At one time, TV was out – completely.  However, at the distance finally agreed upon – 10 to 11 miles from ground zero – and a study of previous filming done by all types of cameras set up in the Charleston Mountain Range, some 45 miles away, it was finally decided that live TV would be possible.  But all this took so much time that although we had decided it was possible, it would be a near miracle to accomplish in the time available.

There were no more delays.  Many other problems had to be solved.  Complete coordination between the three agencies involved – the Department of Defense, the Federal Civil Defense Administration, and the AEC – had to be worked out in detail.

Very late in the planning, it was found necessary – because of security and operational reasons – to change the date of the detonation to be covered to April 22nd.  We had been working toward a later deadline.  This necessary move further complicated the problems of our Public Information Service.

The stakes were high: It was to be the first big “production” of the small AEC information staff.  It had long been our hope of the AEC that a realistic presentation of an atomic detonation could be given to the American people.  This was our opportunity.

The Civil Defense people were going to have some 75 state and regional leaders on hand, and they hoped that the event would help them recruit the several million volunteers needed to put this nation on a realistic defense basis against atomic warfare.  The FDCA people were particularly anxious and hopeful that live TV would be possible.

The Department of Defense planned to hoId actual tactical maneuvers, using this particular detonation as a tactical weapon. Some 1,500 troops were to be placed closer to ground zero – in foxholes – than troops had ever been before. Also the first paratroop jump was planned to help "capture" a theoretical enemy strong point that had been neutralized by the detonation.

Each day that passed until the "package plan" was all ready was one of frustration for the writer. Radio and TV had been making some vague probings although they had no word from us. For example, they had investigated for this and other types of coverage the possibility of using the stratovision equipment developed by Westinghouse. This now is with the Navy, but the Navy said it would take six months to put it in the shape to attempt this kind of coverage – to span 275 miles of mountains between the Nevada Proving Ground and the transmitters on Mt. Wilson, outside of Los Angeles, where the signal could be fed to the transcontinental coaxial cables and thus to the nation.

They didn't know the bad news I had waiting for them. Running one of these test,; is a big electronic operation. Many frequencies are used. One of the necessary requirements was that no frequency used by any media interfere With the Test Organization (designation of the joint AEC Defense unit that runs the tests). Careful check showed that this would eliminate some 75 per cent of all the commercial equipment licensed to radio and television.

Then the Test Organization would have to TEST FULLY WITH ALL MEDIA EQUIPMENT IN OPERATION. Our scientists remembered that an electric razor once almost delayed a shot for 20 minutes. That's how fine we slice our electronics out at the proving grounds. So – and all this before I could call the media – I’ve decided that all equipment would have to be in place and ready for a full "dry run" with the Test Organization by Sunday, April 20, two days before the scheduled "open shot" set for Tuesday, the 22nd.

Finally, in the afternoon of Friday, March 28, the green light was flashed, all approvals and concurrences were in, the President had been notified in Key West, and at 4.00 o'clock that afternoon, I got the four TV networks and one Klaus Landsberg – the "hero" of our story – on a conference call. Remember, now, this was JUST 21 DAYS BEFORE COMPLETE INSTALLATION AND "DRESS REHEARSAL" would be required,

Why Landsberg? We knew there were three independent stations in Los Angeles which regard the Nevada Proving Grounds as their "home" territory. In December, Landsberg had put cameras on top of Mt. Wilson and had opened his station – KTLA – to  televise the blob of light visible from that distance. It was estimated that more than 30,000 Los Angelenos got up that morning to see this event. So, Landsberg was included in the network call.

The ability of young Landsberg – he's only 35 – was so well recognized that, during that conference call, the four nets named him as technical director to deal with the telephone company, get prices, and investigate feasibility.

Well, five hours later, he got me at home in Washington. He had all seven Los Angeles stations lined up in a pool arrangement. He was full of questions. And he reported that the telephone company was pessimistic but would report on feasibility as soon as possible.

Noting this pessimism, Landsberg gathered up all the topographical and aviation maps available and began doing some plotting on his own. During the conference call, we agreed to meet Tuesday, April 1, in Chicago where all hands would be attending the National Association of Radio and Television Broadcasters convention.

We met practically all day Tuesday. The phone company was still hemming and hawing but had said it would require from 10 to 12 relays and cost between $60,000 and $70,000 for their end of the work. Since the AEC had turned down a request for sponsorship, this began to look like, a lot of money. The networks were hesitant. At the end of Tuesday, April 1 – just 18 DAYS BEFORE THE TEST DEADLINE – it was pretty much up to Landsberg. He, by the way, is vice-president and general manager of KTLA which is owned by Paramount Pictures.

I went on to Camp Mercury and next heard from him on Friday, April 4. The telephone company had definitely said "no" – in fact their experts and some from the television industry had said the job – the 275 to 300 mile relay – just could NOT BE SET UP IN THE 16 DAYS REMAINING BEFORE THE TEST DEADLINE.

At this point, what I choose to call the “Landsberg Saga” begins.

I talked to hirn almost every night on the telephone. The 3,000 people at Mercury – scientists, military people, technicians and all the rest quickly took an avid interest. We ate at a common mess hall – no private eating places for any brass at Camp Mercury – and I would be besieged at each meal for the "latest news" on the TV. "Is he going to make it?" was, the query on every lip.

"This Friday night, Klaus reported his first start. He had found a spot on San Antonio Mountain – above Wrightwood, Calif. – with a cabin handy. It took snow shoes to reach the place and the snow pack was some eight feet, but he had put up his parabola – the big dish – and had hauled up the rest of the equipment and was in contact with Mt. Wilson.

Landsberg turned up at the Site – as they call the proving ground – Saturday afternoon. He was stumped for his next relay. The maps showed that if he could get above 6500 feet, he could try a daring thing – something never before done in TV. He could span the California desert country with a single 140-mile relay.  The books said this was not feasible.  Equipment was guaranteed to boost a signal only 40 miles. Well, that Saturday, we picked out a location for the mobile unit on “News Nob” for his initial relay and sited some locations for this first big jump – from a spot on the Site we call Control Point – the nerve center of all weapon testing – to a 9,000 foot peak on Spring Mountain in the Charleston Range. This was going to be tricky. KTLA had only one frequency it could use – 7,000 – and the beam had to go through two small “saddles” – one of them only 150 feet wide. But this didn’t seem to worry Landsberg. What he needed on that date – just 14 days before testing – was the northern end of that 140-mile relay.

I shall never forget Sunday. We took a heavy power truck and drove 285 miles around Clark Mountain – elevation 10,000 feet – looking for a shelf on that mountain where we might put a relay. Riding in this truck was like being in the cockpit of an old DC-3. Our ears rang for an hour after our 12-mile search. And it was fruitless. Sunday night, April 6 – we had no location. I was to try aerial reconnaissance in a liaison plane or helicopter on Monday, but 80-mile winds “scrubbed it out” as they say in the airport operations rooms.

Landsberg took his black big Chrysler and drove around mountain after mountain. At his side was an amazing enduring 55-year-old man, Raymond “Pappy” Moore, the chief engineer of KTLA. I was out of touch with them for two days and wondering if they had given up the whole thing as a bad dream.

Then Landsberg called me on Wednesday, April 9. It is now only NINE DAYS BEFORE TEST HOUR. He had found a shelf on an unnamed mountain; it could only be reached by helicopter; it was 8,000 feet up. He hooked up with the U.S. Marines at El Toro base in California: they had two big Sikorsky whirleys and, although they had never been higher than 5,000 feet, the Marine general in charge was willing to take the chance! What they needed was okay from the Pentagon in Washington. And a very special okay, since this was a special unit and they were – frankly – taking chances.

I got Leo Hargus, deputy Department of Defense information director, on the phone in Washington. The challenge of this venture aroused his sporting blood as it had mine. We got the necessary permissions. Within minutes after those all important teletype messages arrived at El Toro, the Marines flew into action. And that is no figure of speech.

KTLA trucked its equipment to Valley Well, a tiny mining settlement at the base of Clark Mountain. The Marines set up a temporary helicopter operating base – complete with jeep and gasoline truck, at this point.

The huge Sikorsky HRS-L whirleys landed 12,000 pounds of equipment, food, gasoline, and supplies – six tons – plus four men, including Landsberg. They wore parachutes. The big eight-foot dish could not be gotten into a ‘copter and had to be tied on with rope.

The Marines saved the day. The only other way to reach this stop would have been by mule train, and a burro could take only 100 pounds up the steep trail. It would have taken 120 mule trips. The Marine helicopters lifted all the equipment and the engineers in 24 trips. Great credit goes to the four pilots who alternated on the trips. The delicate receiving and transmitting gear was deposited safely on the top of Mountain X, as we called it – it wasn’t shown on the maps.

Landsberg called me jubilantly on the night of April 11 – to tell me of the story of the success of the Marines – and to announce that he had a signal – although not strong enough – on his 140-mile jump from Mountain X to Mt. San Antonio. He was also able to use powerful walkie-talkie equipment and talk between the two points. This was Friday – JUST SEVEN DAYS BEFORE TEST DEADLINE. Then came Saturday – April 12 – Black Saturday we might call it. Landsberg worked all night on Mountain X, got his signal up to strength, and it faded out at shortly after sunrise.

Undaunted, he asked the AEC if we could drop the “gadget” at 7 a.m. He had a signal until 7:15. We considered it seriously. I happened to be up at the Control Point when he called and Dr. Jack Clark, deputy scientific director of the tests, summoned his top men. We batted the idea around. But scientific requirements and logistics were against a favorable decision. Reluctantly, I had to call Landsberg and tell him that we could not make the drop at 7 a.m. And how do you suppose he reacted?

After a long silence, he simply said: “Well, Charter, if that is the way it has to be, I will have to some more figuring.” Do you wonder that by now – particularly after I relayed this to the scientists and the military people – that this TV gamble became second only to the test itself in popular interest at the Proving Ground. And that this excitement spread to our staff assembling at Las Vegas, and to AEC and Defense quarters back in Washington?

No word on Sunday or Monday. But on Tuesday night, April 15 – just three full days before testing time – Klaus had solved his technical troubles. He was ready to line up the Spring Mountain site with a relay he had put on Stone Mountain – just below Las Vegas. The boys on Sloan Mountain were to start flashing a light five times a minute at 10 p.m., and we were to pick it out from the 9,000 foot perch on Spring Mountain,

We reached the peak about 10:30. There was a beautiful, starlit sky above and clear moon lighted up the terrain for a hundred miles or more. We could see every light in Las Vegas – even pick out the gambling clubs and hotels with a glass and all the lights at Nellis Air Force Base, northeast of Vegas. We could spot lonely ranch houses – but in all these tens of thousands of lights, NO LIGHT FROM STONE MOUNTAIN.

A ranger with us figured out the answer. A ridge – NOT SHOWN ON THE MAP – was blocking line of sight. And only three days remaining to complete the relay. I was praying for a postponement. But the preceding shot had gone off on schedule that morning and the "open" shot was on the books for April 22 – with that all important test set for early Sunday morning – the 20th. This still meant that the TV relay had to be working by Saturday night.

Klaus went back into the radio shack on top of Spring Mountain just before midnight, He studied the lights of Las Vegas and Nellis Air Force. He thought that his Sloan Mountain relay had line of sight to Nellis Air Base.

Wednesday, about 11 a.m., he called and asked if we could get permission for him to set up at Nellis. Again Lee Hargus came to bat, and, in exactly 11 minutes, we had all the necessary okay. Landsberg was worried now, however, because this meant two additional relays and KTLA equipment and manpower were running thin. And his men were tired.

The next thing I knew was a phone call shortly after midnight on Wednesday, April 15. It was on the radio-telephone that the AEC operates to Spring Mountain where we have a big radio station. (The radio setup used at the Nevada Proving Grounds is equivalent to a network with 200 affiliates and could be used to operate a fleet of 1000 taxicabs in a city 10 times the size of Washington, D. C.)

The voice on the radiophone was "Pappy" Moore announcing proudly – but wearily – that they had a signal all the way from Spring mountain to Los Angeles and would start trying to send pictures on Thursday.

What happened next, I do not know. Only that Landsberg called me Friday morning – ONE DAY before the "rehearsal of frequencies" to say he had found a "hole" in the foreboding 11,000 ft. Charleston Range, got line of sight from the 9,000 ft. peak in this range to Mountain X and thus cut out two relays. He now was planning to set up at Las Vegas for a buildup show on Monday night and had started a mobile unit and two trucks to the Site.

They arrived late Friday but ran into trouble with that narrow 150-foot saddle. They worked all Friday night. Saturday morning, I worked with them. They couldn't use their walkie-talkie because the frequency interfered. So I acted as a human relay, sitting in the radio room of the control building – calling out numbers received over the AEC radiophone and speaking them into a little walkie-talkie that covered the three-tenths of a mile down to where Landsberg was trying to get his last relay in tune with Spring Mountain. Other weary but still enthusiastic engineers were hooking up the mobile unit. We had put in a 60 kilowatt generator to give power and put a 50kw beside it as a spare. MORE ABOUT THAT LATER – IT’S THE KEY TO THE NEAR FAILURE OF THE ENTIRE GAMBLE.

I haven't met a good communications man yet who didn't have a spare circuit up his sleeve or in his watch pocket. Our AEC people were no exception so we fitted up KTLA with communication between the last relay at Control Point and Spring Mountain. It had one big drawback. All AEC networks shut down 15 minutes before shot time. This was a phone and radio relay and would have to be out for that period.

Also, we warned Landsberg repeatedly about the shock wave. His last relay was on top of a truck perched precariously on a concrete apron outside of a building we use to decontaminate vehicles used by the radiation monitors.

So, Landsberg placed two cameras on the Spring Mountain peak in the Charletston Range with orders – and these proved to be ALL IMPORTANT – to feed the relay whenever there was no signal from the Proving Ground. This was a precaution against the shock wave from the atomic blast putting his dishes on the Site out of line.

The telephone lines – cut and voice circuit land lines – from News Nob to Los Angeles were tested and by 6 p.m., Saturday, April 19th, KTLA was sending through a picture all the way to News Nob. Landsberg was ready – he thought – for the big test the next morning when all the AEC electronic gear would be revved up. The test was to be run from 9:30 to 10:30 a.m.

But, within 3 hours, three things happened. A sandstorm came up on the Site – the worst while I was there. A blizzard swept in over Spring Mountain. It began snowing heavily at Wrightwood. By 10 p.m. the entire relay system was useless. It meant another night of patient toil, lining up the parabolas again.

Well, the blizzard subsided, and they got the big antenna on Spring Mountain lined up about 1 a.m. Sunday. The boys on San Antonio Mountain shoveled off a foot of snow and got in line. By 5 a.m., the shaky relay was again operating and the picture was good. The weary men dropped almost in their tracks for a few hours sleep. I arrived at 3:30 a.m. and set up communications with Dr. Jack Clark at the Control Center. Of course, it was EQUALLY IMPORTANT to Landsberg that the complete array of AEC high and ultra-high frequencies did NOT mess up his picture. 9:30 a.m. Jack Clark phoned down on a ring-down crank phone: “Here we go.”

The next hour seemed like a day. The silence was deafening although I knew that hundreds of radio waves were bouncing around in all directions and on a hundred frequencies. Finally – at 10:35 a.m. – came Jack Clark's laconic verdict. "O.K. on Television."

After ordering his engineers to stand by and keep the system operating, we went into Las Vegas to plan the program set for Monday night. The Los Angeles pool had asked for an hour "buildup" show from Las Vegas. The last KTLA mobile unit left Los Angeles for Vegas. I suspected that by now KTLA in Los Angeles was being run with a telephone operator and an office boy.

Monday night, at the El Cortez Hotel, AEC headquarters, a completely un-rehearsed 60-minute show kicked off on the nose at 10 p.m. Pacific Time. Los Angeles raved that the pictures were studio quality, I had to leave before the telecast was over and reach the Camp – 70 miles away – about midnight.

I had just gotten into my barracks bunk and really sound asleep when one of the AEC Security Inspectors was flashing a light in my face. I thought I had taken care of all the necessary passes. But on shot day, special orders are in effect at the second gate – the one opening directly to the firing ground. Landsberg and his entire crew, who were to attempt the telecast, were blocked there. Their passes weren't good until 7:00 a.m. It was 1:15 a.m. I put a top coat over my pajamas, sped five miles to the guard gate and personally vouched for the nine tired men, some of them growing respectable beards by now.

Finally, came the Zero hour. KTLA started feeding pictures at 8:45 a.m. PST to Los Angeles. The network took the program at 9:05. The shot was set for 9:30 a.m. Things were going fine.

Remember that Landsberg's communication with his vital Spring Mountain Relay went silent at 9:15 as per orders. But his instructions to his cameras on Spring Mountain were to feed the picture at any time there was no feed from the Site Observation Point – News Nob.

Well, at 9:16 – the AEC power failed. When the news was relayed to me, I felt that awful sick feeling in the stomach. I couldn’t leave my communications post for I was operating the loud speaker for the 200 newsmen and 100 assorted civil defense and other invited guests. I did not know then how long the power was off. The power failure led to rumors that there had been a general failure and that the test might be delayed. I corrected this over the loud speaker. The power for TV was off long enough for the delicate tubes and other apparatus to cool off. Landsberg worked frantically to get back on the air from News Nob. The cameras 40 miles away on Spring Mountain got the fireball.

He made it – just a few seconds after burst which was on the nose at 9:30. It was a great achievement. It made television history. It was a miracle that it happened at all. Reaction over the country was mixed. Reception was mixed. And here is a puzzler for the engineers. The response in those precious seconds of the burst and formation of the fireball apparently depended on individual sets. Two newspapers in Los Angeles got good pictures all the way through. The sets in the other two newspaper offices got only a black flicker and then the picture tore up for almost a minute – the most important minute in the telecast.

At AEC headquarters in Washington, the same thing happened. One set got the picture right on through. The other blacked out.

For the several million school children across the country who saw it, the telecast apparently is one they will remember to tell their grandchildren about. I talked to a group of some 30 teenagers from Chicago who were Washington-bound on the same train with me. They were starry-eyed in telling their impressions.

I checked the children in our own suburban neighborhood. Same reaction. And I've heard similar reports elsewhere. The professional critics could find much to criticize. The program production could have been better but I think by now you know the men who had battled heartaches and backaches for 16 days might not have been as alert as a fresh crew on a simple remote.

The FIRST pictures that most newspapers had were taken from the TV sets in their newsrooms. The Chicago Sun-Times' first banner headline read: "BOOM! MILLIONS SEE A BOMB ON TV." I've watched editorial comment from the trade press, the weeklies, and even the Daily Worker, which as you may surmise, took a sour view of the whole affair. Perhaps an editorial in the Dayton (Ohio) News titled "A-Bomb on Our Doorstep," summed up the event best:

"The movie films of earlier atomic test were better by far than the telecast of the super blast on the Yucca Flat. In this area, at least, reception was hazy and erratic.

"Yet there was something about being in the physical, momentary presence of the explosion that made the scene, dim as it was, more impressive than any viewing of any A-bomb after the fact.

"Here was the atom bomb going off right before our eyes. It was not a historical document. It was a living event. We were watching happen, at the moment it happened, what could happen in Dayton, Ohio, any day the Russians decide to launch atomic aggression. It hits us in our living rooms. . . .

“No one could have left his television set without a redoubled conviction that somehow, through still untapped resources of human wisdom and moral strength, this force must be made to work for constructive and not for destructive ends.”

EDITOR’S NOTE. – In addition to the dramatic story which he tells here, Mr. Heslep, as a newspaper, press association, radio, and public relations man, has been close to much other important history in the making.  Born and reared in Richmond, Virginia, a graduate of Richmond College, he was for 20 years a newsman in Washington – 12 of them with the Washington Daily News.  He covered several New Deal Congresses, including the stormy battle over utility regulation; the bonus riots in 1932; the visit of Britain’s King and Queen; and national political conventions.  He was successively city editor, news editor, and managing editor.

As night news editor of the National Broadcasting Company in New York (1940-41), Mr. Heslep reorganized network foreign broadcast monitor service in time to score a 17-minute beat over CBS (and two hours ahead of wire services) on Hitler’s invasion of.  As Chief Radio News Censor under Byron Price of the Office of Censorship, 1942-44, he read more than 25,000 scripts of radio news and commentary.  As Washington Manager, Mutual Broadcasting System, until 1948, he directed the coverage of Roosevelt’s death, V-J Day, and supervised network operations at the birth of the United Nations Organization in San Francisco in 1945.  He was network election editor in 1944 and 1946.

Mr. Heslep has been Executive Editor, Congressional Quarterly News Features, a specialized news syndicate giving detailed coverage of Congress.  As Mutual correspondent, he traveled 26,000 miles with the Truman 1948 election caravan.  He collaborated with Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy on his memoirs, “I Was There”, and with Senator Estes Kefauver on “20th Century Congress.”  Mr. Heslep writes for magazines and has lectured on radio and television writing at American University.  His present duties as Chief, Radio-Visual Information Service, U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, involve editorial consultation on television, motion picture, and radio programs dealing with atomic energy.  He is a member of the National Association of Radio News Directors, National Press Club, Inquirendo, and President’s Committee on Aid to the Physically Handicapped.