October 31, 2025 • 19 mins
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
A Filbert is a nut by Rick Raphael. That the
gentleman in question was a nut was beyond question. He
was an institutionalized psychotic. He was nutty enough to think
that he could make an Adam Mom out of modeling Clay.
Miss Abercombie, the manual therapist, patted the old man on
(00:24):
the shoulder. You are doing just fine, mister Lieberman. Show
it to me when you have finished. The oldster in
the stained convalescent suit gave her a quick, shy smile
and went back to his aimless mirroring in the finger paints.
Miss Abercombie smooth or smocked down over trim hips and
(00:47):
surveyed the other patients working at the long tables. In
the hospital's arts and craft shop, two muscular and bored
attendants in spotless whites lounged beside the lock door and
chatted idly about the dodger's prospects for the pennant. Through
the barred windows of the workshop, rolling green hills were seen,
(01:09):
their trees studded flanks, making a pleasant setting for the
mental institution. The craft's building was a good mile away
from the main buildings of the hospital, and the hills
blocked the view of the austere complex of buildings that
housed the main wards. The therapist strolled down the lines
of tables, passing to give a word of advice here
(01:31):
and a suggestion there. She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient,
rapidly shaping blobs of clay into odd sized strips and forms.
As he finished each piece, he carefully placed it into
a hollow shell hemisphere of clay. And what are we
(01:51):
making today, mister Funston, Miss Abercrombie asked. The flying fingers
continued to whip out the bits of shape clay. As
the patient ignored the question, he hunched closer to his table,
as if to draw away from the woman. We mustn't
be antisocial, mister Funston, Miss Abercrombie said, lightly, but firmly.
(02:14):
You've been coming along famously, and you must remember to
answer when someone talks to you. Now, what are you making?
It looks very complicated. She stared professionally at the maze
of clay parts. Thaddeus Funston continued to mold the clay
bits and put them in place. Without looking up from
(02:35):
his bench, he muttered a reply, Adam baumb a puzzle
looked crossed the therapist's face. Pardon me, mister Funston, I
thought you said an adam baumb did, Funston muttered safely
behind the patient's back. Miss Abercrombie smiled ever so slightly.
(02:58):
Why that's very good, mister Hunston. That shows real creative thought.
I'm very pleased. She patted him on the shoulder and
moved down the line of patients. A few minutes later,
one of the attendants glanced at his watch, stood up
and stretched, all right, fellows, He called out, time to
(03:18):
go back, put up your things. There was a rustle
of paint boxes and papers being shuffled, and chairs being
moved back. A tall blonde patient with a flowing mustache
put one more dab of paint on his canvas and
stood back to survey the meaningless smears. He sighed happily
and laid down his pallet. At the clay table, Funston
(03:41):
feverishly fabricated the last odd shaped bit of clay and
slapped it into place. With a furtive glance around him,
He clapped the other half of the clay sphere over
the filled hemisphere, and then stood up. The patients lined
up at the door, waiting for the walk back across
the green hills to the main hospital. The attendants made
(04:03):
a quick count and then unlocked the door. The group
shuffled out into the warm afternoon sunlight, and the door
closed behind them. Miss Abercrombie gazed around the cluttered room
and picked up her chart book of patient progress. Moving
slowly down the line of benches, she made short, precise
notes on the day's work accomplished by each patient. At
(04:27):
the clay table, she carefully lifted the top half of
the clay ball and stared thoughtfully at the jumbled maze
of clay strips laced through the lower hemisphere. She placed
the lid back in place and jotted lengthily in her
chart book. When she had completed her round, she slipped
out of the smock, took the chart book under her arm,
(04:49):
and left the craft's building for the day. The late
afternoon sun felt warm and comfortable as she walked the
mile to the main administration building, where her car was parked.
As she drove out of the hospital grounds, Thaddeus Funstan
stood at the barred window of his locked ward and
stared vacantly over the hills toward the craft shop. He
(05:11):
stood there, unmoving until a ward attendant came and took
his arm an hour later to lead him off to
the patient's mess hall. The sun set, darkness fell over
the stilled hospital grounds, and the ward lights winked out
at nine o'clock, leaving just a single light burning in
each ward office. A quiet wind sighed over the still
(05:33):
warm hills. At three o one a m. Thaddeus Funston
stirred in his sleep and awakened. He sat up in
bed and looked around the dark ward. The quiet breathing
and occasional snores of thirty other sleeping patients filled the room.
Funstone turned toward the window and stared out across the
black hills that sheltered the deserted Crafts building. He gave
(05:56):
a quick cry, shut his eyes and clapped his hands
over his face. The brilliance of a hundred suns glared
in the night and threw stark shadows on the walls
of the suddenly illuminated ward. An instant later, the shattering
war and blast of the explosion struck the hospital buildings
in a wave of force, and the bursting crash of
(06:19):
a thousand windows was lost in the fury of the
explosion and the wild screams of the frightened and demented patience.
It was over in an instant and a stunned moment. Later,
recess ceiling lights began flashing on throughout the big institution.
Beyond the again silent hills, a great pillar of smoke,
(06:40):
topped by a small mushroom shaped cloud, rose above the
gaping hole that had been the Arts and Crafts building.
Thaddeus Funston took his hands from his face and lay
back in his bed with a small secret smile on
his lips. Attendants and nurses scurried through the hospital, seeing
how many had been injured in the explosion. None had.
(07:03):
The hills had absorbed most of the shock, and apart
from a welter of broken glass, the damage had been
surprisingly slight. The roar and flash of the explosion had
lighted and rocked the surrounding countryside. Soon, firemen and civil
defense disaster units from half a dozen neighboring communities had
gathered at the still smoking hole that marked the site
(07:27):
of the vanished Craft's building. Within fifteen minutes, the disaster
trained crews had detected heavy radiation emanating from the crater,
and there was a scurry of men and equipment back
to a safe distance a few hundred yards away. At
five thirty a m. A plane landed at a nearby airfield,
(07:47):
and a platoon of the Atomic Energy Commission experts, military
intelligence meant, four FBI agents and an army full colonel disembarked.
At five forty five a m. A horden was thrown
around both hospital and the blast crater in ward. Four
c Patdeus Funston slept peacefully and happily. It's impossible and unbelievable,
(08:12):
Colonel Thomas Thurgand said for the fifteenth time later that morning,
as he looked around the group of experts gathered in
the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. How
can an adam baumb go off in a nuthouse? It
was apparently a very small bomb, Colonel, one of the
haggard AEC men offered, timidly, not over three kilotons. I
(08:37):
don't care if it was the size of a peanut.
Thurbergood screamed, how did it get here? A military intelligence
agent spoke up. If we knew, sir, we wouldn't be
standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains
that it was an atomic explosion. Thurgood turned wearily to
(08:59):
the small haired man at his side. Let us go
over it once more, doctor Crane. Are you sure you
knew everything was in that building? Thurgud swept his hand
in the general direction of the blast crater. Colonel, I've
told you a dozen times, the hospital administration said, with exasperation.
(09:20):
This was our manual therapy room. We gave our patients artwork.
It was a means of getting it out of their
systems through the use of their hands. Some of the
frustrations and problems that led them to this hospital. They
worked with oil and water, paints and clay. If you
can make an atomic bomb from vermilion pigments, then Madame
Curie was a misguided scrub woman. All I know is
(09:46):
that you say this was a craft's building. Okay, so
it was thirgood side. I also know that an atomic
explosion at three zero two this morning blew it to
hell and gone, and I've got to find out how
it happened. Thurgood slumped into a field chair and gazed
(10:06):
tiredly up at the little doctor. Where's that girl you
said was in charge of this place. We've already called
for miss Abercrombie and she's on her way here now,
the doctor snapped. Outside the tent, a small army of
military men and AEC technicians moved about the perimeter of
the crater, scentillators in hand, examining every tiny scrap that
(10:31):
might have been a part of the building. At one time.
A jeep raced down the road from the hospital and
drew up in front of the tent. An armed m
P helped miss Abercrombie from the vehicle. She walked to
the edge of the hill and looked down with a
stunned expression. He did make an ad a bomb, she cried.
(10:52):
Colonel Thurgood, who had snapped from his chair at her words,
leaped forward to catch her as she collapsed in a faint.
At four o'clock p m. The argument was still raging
in the long, narrow staff room of the hospital administration building.
Colonel Thurgood, looking more like a patient every minute, sat
on the edge of his chair at the head of
(11:12):
a long table and pounded with his fist on the
wooden surface, making Miss Abercrombie's chart book bounce with every beat.
It's ridiculous, thorgred Ward. We'll be the laughing stocks of
the world. If this ever gets out an atomic bomb
made out of clay, you all are nuts. You are
in the right place, but count me out. At his left,
(11:37):
Miss Abercrombie cringed deeper into her chair. At the broadside.
Down both sides of the long table, psychiatrist, physicist, strategist,
and radiologists sat in various stages of nerve, shattered weariness.
Miss Abercrombie, one of the physicists spoke up gently. You
say that after the patients had departed the building, you
(12:00):
looked again at Funstan's work. The therapist nodded unhappily, and
you say that, to the best of your knowledge. The
physicist continued, there was nothing inside that ball but other
pieces of clay. I'm positive that's all there was in it.
Missus Abercrombie cried. There was a renewed buzz of conversation
(12:22):
at the table, and the senior A E. C Man
present got their heads together with a senior intelligence man.
They conferred briefly, and then the intelligence officer spoke, that
seems to settle it. Colonel, We've got to give this
Funston another chance to repeat his bomb, but this time
under our supervision. Thurgood leaped to his feet, his face purpling.
(12:47):
Are you crazy, he screamed, You want to get us
all thrown into this Filbert factory. Do you know what
the newspapers would do to us if they ever got
wind of the fact that, for one tiny fraction of
a second, any one of us here entertained a notion
that a paranoidal idiot with the IQ of an ape
(13:09):
could make an atomic bomb out of kid's modeling clay.
They'd crucify us, That's what they do. At eight thirty
that night, Thaddeus Funstan, swathed in an army officer's greatcoat
that concealed his strait jacket binding him, and with an
officer's cap jammed far down over his face, was hustled
(13:32):
out of a small side door of the hospital and
into a waiting staff car. A few minutes later, the
car pulled into the flying field at the nearby community
and drove directly to the military transport plane that stood
at the end of the runway, with propellers turning. Two
military policemen and a brace of staff psychiatrists sworn to
(13:55):
secrecy under the National Atomic Secret Act, bundled Thaddeus award
the plane. They plopped him into a seat directly in
front of Miss Abercrombie, and with a roar, the plane
raced down the runway and into the night skies. The
plane landed the next morning at the AECs Atomic Testing
Grounds in the Nevada Desert, and two hours later, in
(14:18):
a small hot wooden shack miles up the barren desert wastelands,
a cluster of scientists and military men huddled around a
small wooden table. There was nothing on the table but
a bowl of water and a great lump of modeling clay.
While the psychiatrists were taking the strait jacket of Thaddeus
(14:39):
in the staff car outside, Colonel Thurgood spoke to the
weary Miss Abercrombie. Now you're positive this is just about
the same amount and same kind of clay he used before.
I brought it along from the same batch we had
in the storeroom at the hospital. She replied, and it's
the same amount. Thurgood signaled to the doctor's and they
(15:02):
entered the shack with Thaddeus Funston between them. The colonel
nudged Miss Abercrombie. She smiled at Funstone. Now isn't this nice,
mister Funstone? She said, These nice men have brought us
way out here just to see if you can make
another Adam bum jest like the one you made for
me yesterday. A flicker of interest lightened Thaddeus's face. He
(15:26):
looked around the shack, and then he spotted the clay
on the table. Without hesitation, he walked to the table
and sat down. His fingers began working the damp clay,
making first the hollow half round shell, while the nation's
top atomic scientist watched in fascination. His busy fingers flew
through the clay, shaping odd flat bits and clay parts
(15:50):
that were dropped almost aimlessly into the open hemisphere in
front of him. Miss Abercrombie stood at his shoulder as
Thaddeus hunched over the table, just as he had done
the previous day. From time to time she glanced at
her watch. The maze of clay's strips grew, and as
Funston finished shaping the other half hemisphere of clay, she
(16:11):
broke the tense silence. Time to go back, now, mister Funstan,
you can work some more tomorrow. She looked at the
men and nodded her head. The two psychiatrists went to
Thaddeus's side As he put the upper lid of clay
carefully in place, Funston stood up and the doctors escorted
him from the shack. There was a moment of hush silence,
(16:35):
and then pandemonium burst. The experts converged on the clay,
ball instruments blossoming from nowhere and cameras clicking. For two hours,
they studied and gently probed the mass of Child's clay,
and photographed it from every angle. Then they left it
for the concrete observatory bunker several miles down range, where
(16:57):
Thaddeus and the psychiatrist waited inside a ring of stony
faced military policemen. I told you this whole thing was asinine.
Thurgoods snarled. As the scientific teams trooped into the bunker.
Thaddeus Funston stared out over the heads of the impiece
through the open door, looking up range over the heat
(17:18):
shimmering desert. He gave a sudden cry, shut his eyes
and clapped his hands over his face. A brilliance a
hundred times brighter than the glaring Nevada sun lit the
dim interior of the bunker, and the pneumatically operated door
slam shut just before the wave of the blast hit
the structure. Six hours in a jet plane trip later, Thaddeus,
(17:43):
once again in his strait jacket, sat between his armed
escorts in a small room and the Pentagon. Through the
window he could see the hurried bustle of traffic over
the Potomac and beyond the domed roof of the Capitol.
In the conference room next door, the Joint chiefs of
Staff were closeted with a gray faced and bone weary
(18:04):
Colonel Thurgood and his baker's dozen of aac brains. Scraps
of the hot scornful talk drifted across the half open
transom into the room where Thaddeus Funston sat in a
neatly tied bundle. In the conference room, a red faced
four star general cast a chilling glance at the rumpled
(18:25):
figure of Colonel Thurgood. I've listened to some silly stories
in my life, colonel, the general said coldly, but this
takes the cake. You come here with an insane asylum
inmate in a strait jacket, and you have the colossal
gall to sit there and tell me that this poor
soul has made not one, but two atomic devices out
(18:47):
of modeling clay. And then has detonated them. The General paused,
why don't you tell me, Colonel, that he can also
make space ships out of sponge rubber, The General added bitingly.
In the next room, Thaddeus Funston stared out over the
sweeping panorama of the Washington landscape. He stared hard. In
(19:09):
the distance, a white cloud began billowing up from the
base of the Washington Monument, and with an ear shattering,
glass splintering roar, the Great Shaft rose majestically from its
base and vanished into space on a tail of flame.
End of a Filbert is a nut by Rick Raphael
A Filbert is a nut by Rick Raphael. That the
gentleman in question was a nut was beyond question. He
was an institutionalized psychotic. He was nutty enough to think
that he could make an Adam Mom out of modeling Clay.
Miss Abercombie, the manual therapist, patted the old man on
(00:24):
the shoulder. You are doing just fine, mister Lieberman. Show
it to me when you have finished. The oldster in
the stained convalescent suit gave her a quick, shy smile
and went back to his aimless mirroring in the finger paints.
Miss Abercombie smooth or smocked down over trim hips and
(00:47):
surveyed the other patients working at the long tables. In
the hospital's arts and craft shop, two muscular and bored
attendants in spotless whites lounged beside the lock door and
chatted idly about the dodger's prospects for the pennant. Through
the barred windows of the workshop, rolling green hills were seen,
(01:09):
their trees studded flanks, making a pleasant setting for the
mental institution. The craft's building was a good mile away
from the main buildings of the hospital, and the hills
blocked the view of the austere complex of buildings that
housed the main wards. The therapist strolled down the lines
of tables, passing to give a word of advice here
(01:31):
and a suggestion there. She stopped behind a frowning, intense patient,
rapidly shaping blobs of clay into odd sized strips and forms.
As he finished each piece, he carefully placed it into
a hollow shell hemisphere of clay. And what are we
(01:51):
making today, mister Funston, Miss Abercrombie asked. The flying fingers
continued to whip out the bits of shape clay. As
the patient ignored the question, he hunched closer to his table,
as if to draw away from the woman. We mustn't
be antisocial, mister Funston, Miss Abercrombie said, lightly, but firmly.
(02:14):
You've been coming along famously, and you must remember to
answer when someone talks to you. Now, what are you making?
It looks very complicated. She stared professionally at the maze
of clay parts. Thaddeus Funston continued to mold the clay
bits and put them in place. Without looking up from
(02:35):
his bench, he muttered a reply, Adam baumb a puzzle
looked crossed the therapist's face. Pardon me, mister Funston, I
thought you said an adam baumb did, Funston muttered safely
behind the patient's back. Miss Abercrombie smiled ever so slightly.
(02:58):
Why that's very good, mister Hunston. That shows real creative thought.
I'm very pleased. She patted him on the shoulder and
moved down the line of patients. A few minutes later,
one of the attendants glanced at his watch, stood up
and stretched, all right, fellows, He called out, time to
(03:18):
go back, put up your things. There was a rustle
of paint boxes and papers being shuffled, and chairs being
moved back. A tall blonde patient with a flowing mustache
put one more dab of paint on his canvas and
stood back to survey the meaningless smears. He sighed happily
and laid down his pallet. At the clay table, Funston
(03:41):
feverishly fabricated the last odd shaped bit of clay and
slapped it into place. With a furtive glance around him,
He clapped the other half of the clay sphere over
the filled hemisphere, and then stood up. The patients lined
up at the door, waiting for the walk back across
the green hills to the main hospital. The attendants made
(04:03):
a quick count and then unlocked the door. The group
shuffled out into the warm afternoon sunlight, and the door
closed behind them. Miss Abercrombie gazed around the cluttered room
and picked up her chart book of patient progress. Moving
slowly down the line of benches, she made short, precise
notes on the day's work accomplished by each patient. At
(04:27):
the clay table, she carefully lifted the top half of
the clay ball and stared thoughtfully at the jumbled maze
of clay strips laced through the lower hemisphere. She placed
the lid back in place and jotted lengthily in her
chart book. When she had completed her round, she slipped
out of the smock, took the chart book under her arm,
(04:49):
and left the craft's building for the day. The late
afternoon sun felt warm and comfortable as she walked the
mile to the main administration building, where her car was parked.
As she drove out of the hospital grounds, Thaddeus Funstan
stood at the barred window of his locked ward and
stared vacantly over the hills toward the craft shop. He
(05:11):
stood there, unmoving until a ward attendant came and took
his arm an hour later to lead him off to
the patient's mess hall. The sun set, darkness fell over
the stilled hospital grounds, and the ward lights winked out
at nine o'clock, leaving just a single light burning in
each ward office. A quiet wind sighed over the still
(05:33):
warm hills. At three o one a m. Thaddeus Funston
stirred in his sleep and awakened. He sat up in
bed and looked around the dark ward. The quiet breathing
and occasional snores of thirty other sleeping patients filled the room.
Funstone turned toward the window and stared out across the
black hills that sheltered the deserted Crafts building. He gave
(05:56):
a quick cry, shut his eyes and clapped his hands
over his face. The brilliance of a hundred suns glared
in the night and threw stark shadows on the walls
of the suddenly illuminated ward. An instant later, the shattering
war and blast of the explosion struck the hospital buildings
in a wave of force, and the bursting crash of
(06:19):
a thousand windows was lost in the fury of the
explosion and the wild screams of the frightened and demented patience.
It was over in an instant and a stunned moment. Later,
recess ceiling lights began flashing on throughout the big institution.
Beyond the again silent hills, a great pillar of smoke,
(06:40):
topped by a small mushroom shaped cloud, rose above the
gaping hole that had been the Arts and Crafts building.
Thaddeus Funston took his hands from his face and lay
back in his bed with a small secret smile on
his lips. Attendants and nurses scurried through the hospital, seeing
how many had been injured in the explosion. None had.
(07:03):
The hills had absorbed most of the shock, and apart
from a welter of broken glass, the damage had been
surprisingly slight. The roar and flash of the explosion had
lighted and rocked the surrounding countryside. Soon, firemen and civil
defense disaster units from half a dozen neighboring communities had
gathered at the still smoking hole that marked the site
(07:27):
of the vanished Craft's building. Within fifteen minutes, the disaster
trained crews had detected heavy radiation emanating from the crater,
and there was a scurry of men and equipment back
to a safe distance a few hundred yards away. At
five thirty a m. A plane landed at a nearby airfield,
(07:47):
and a platoon of the Atomic Energy Commission experts, military
intelligence meant, four FBI agents and an army full colonel disembarked.
At five forty five a m. A horden was thrown
around both hospital and the blast crater in ward. Four
c Patdeus Funston slept peacefully and happily. It's impossible and unbelievable,
(08:12):
Colonel Thomas Thurgand said for the fifteenth time later that morning,
as he looked around the group of experts gathered in
the tent erected on the hill overlooking the crater. How
can an adam baumb go off in a nuthouse? It
was apparently a very small bomb, Colonel, one of the
haggard AEC men offered, timidly, not over three kilotons. I
(08:37):
don't care if it was the size of a peanut.
Thurbergood screamed, how did it get here? A military intelligence
agent spoke up. If we knew, sir, we wouldn't be
standing around here. We don't know, but the fact remains
that it was an atomic explosion. Thurgood turned wearily to
(08:59):
the small haired man at his side. Let us go
over it once more, doctor Crane. Are you sure you
knew everything was in that building? Thurgud swept his hand
in the general direction of the blast crater. Colonel, I've
told you a dozen times, the hospital administration said, with exasperation.
(09:20):
This was our manual therapy room. We gave our patients artwork.
It was a means of getting it out of their
systems through the use of their hands. Some of the
frustrations and problems that led them to this hospital. They
worked with oil and water, paints and clay. If you
can make an atomic bomb from vermilion pigments, then Madame
Curie was a misguided scrub woman. All I know is
(09:46):
that you say this was a craft's building. Okay, so
it was thirgood side. I also know that an atomic
explosion at three zero two this morning blew it to
hell and gone, and I've got to find out how
it happened. Thurgood slumped into a field chair and gazed
(10:06):
tiredly up at the little doctor. Where's that girl you
said was in charge of this place. We've already called
for miss Abercrombie and she's on her way here now,
the doctor snapped. Outside the tent, a small army of
military men and AEC technicians moved about the perimeter of
the crater, scentillators in hand, examining every tiny scrap that
(10:31):
might have been a part of the building. At one time.
A jeep raced down the road from the hospital and
drew up in front of the tent. An armed m
P helped miss Abercrombie from the vehicle. She walked to
the edge of the hill and looked down with a
stunned expression. He did make an ad a bomb, she cried.
(10:52):
Colonel Thurgood, who had snapped from his chair at her words,
leaped forward to catch her as she collapsed in a faint.
At four o'clock p m. The argument was still raging
in the long, narrow staff room of the hospital administration building.
Colonel Thurgood, looking more like a patient every minute, sat
on the edge of his chair at the head of
(11:12):
a long table and pounded with his fist on the
wooden surface, making Miss Abercrombie's chart book bounce with every beat.
It's ridiculous, thorgred Ward. We'll be the laughing stocks of
the world. If this ever gets out an atomic bomb
made out of clay, you all are nuts. You are
in the right place, but count me out. At his left,
(11:37):
Miss Abercrombie cringed deeper into her chair. At the broadside.
Down both sides of the long table, psychiatrist, physicist, strategist,
and radiologists sat in various stages of nerve, shattered weariness.
Miss Abercrombie, one of the physicists spoke up gently. You
say that after the patients had departed the building, you
(12:00):
looked again at Funstan's work. The therapist nodded unhappily, and
you say that, to the best of your knowledge. The
physicist continued, there was nothing inside that ball but other
pieces of clay. I'm positive that's all there was in it.
Missus Abercrombie cried. There was a renewed buzz of conversation
(12:22):
at the table, and the senior A E. C Man
present got their heads together with a senior intelligence man.
They conferred briefly, and then the intelligence officer spoke, that
seems to settle it. Colonel, We've got to give this
Funston another chance to repeat his bomb, but this time
under our supervision. Thurgood leaped to his feet, his face purpling.
(12:47):
Are you crazy, he screamed, You want to get us
all thrown into this Filbert factory. Do you know what
the newspapers would do to us if they ever got
wind of the fact that, for one tiny fraction of
a second, any one of us here entertained a notion
that a paranoidal idiot with the IQ of an ape
(13:09):
could make an atomic bomb out of kid's modeling clay.
They'd crucify us, That's what they do. At eight thirty
that night, Thaddeus Funstan, swathed in an army officer's greatcoat
that concealed his strait jacket binding him, and with an
officer's cap jammed far down over his face, was hustled
(13:32):
out of a small side door of the hospital and
into a waiting staff car. A few minutes later, the
car pulled into the flying field at the nearby community
and drove directly to the military transport plane that stood
at the end of the runway, with propellers turning. Two
military policemen and a brace of staff psychiatrists sworn to
(13:55):
secrecy under the National Atomic Secret Act, bundled Thaddeus award
the plane. They plopped him into a seat directly in
front of Miss Abercrombie, and with a roar, the plane
raced down the runway and into the night skies. The
plane landed the next morning at the AECs Atomic Testing
Grounds in the Nevada Desert, and two hours later, in
(14:18):
a small hot wooden shack miles up the barren desert wastelands,
a cluster of scientists and military men huddled around a
small wooden table. There was nothing on the table but
a bowl of water and a great lump of modeling clay.
While the psychiatrists were taking the strait jacket of Thaddeus
(14:39):
in the staff car outside, Colonel Thurgood spoke to the
weary Miss Abercrombie. Now you're positive this is just about
the same amount and same kind of clay he used before.
I brought it along from the same batch we had
in the storeroom at the hospital. She replied, and it's
the same amount. Thurgood signaled to the doctor's and they
(15:02):
entered the shack with Thaddeus Funston between them. The colonel
nudged Miss Abercrombie. She smiled at Funstone. Now isn't this nice,
mister Funstone? She said, These nice men have brought us
way out here just to see if you can make
another Adam bum jest like the one you made for
me yesterday. A flicker of interest lightened Thaddeus's face. He
(15:26):
looked around the shack, and then he spotted the clay
on the table. Without hesitation, he walked to the table
and sat down. His fingers began working the damp clay,
making first the hollow half round shell, while the nation's
top atomic scientist watched in fascination. His busy fingers flew
through the clay, shaping odd flat bits and clay parts
(15:50):
that were dropped almost aimlessly into the open hemisphere in
front of him. Miss Abercrombie stood at his shoulder as
Thaddeus hunched over the table, just as he had done
the previous day. From time to time she glanced at
her watch. The maze of clay's strips grew, and as
Funston finished shaping the other half hemisphere of clay, she
(16:11):
broke the tense silence. Time to go back, now, mister Funstan,
you can work some more tomorrow. She looked at the
men and nodded her head. The two psychiatrists went to
Thaddeus's side As he put the upper lid of clay
carefully in place, Funston stood up and the doctors escorted
him from the shack. There was a moment of hush silence,
(16:35):
and then pandemonium burst. The experts converged on the clay,
ball instruments blossoming from nowhere and cameras clicking. For two hours,
they studied and gently probed the mass of Child's clay,
and photographed it from every angle. Then they left it
for the concrete observatory bunker several miles down range, where
(16:57):
Thaddeus and the psychiatrist waited inside a ring of stony
faced military policemen. I told you this whole thing was asinine.
Thurgoods snarled. As the scientific teams trooped into the bunker.
Thaddeus Funston stared out over the heads of the impiece
through the open door, looking up range over the heat
(17:18):
shimmering desert. He gave a sudden cry, shut his eyes
and clapped his hands over his face. A brilliance a
hundred times brighter than the glaring Nevada sun lit the
dim interior of the bunker, and the pneumatically operated door
slam shut just before the wave of the blast hit
the structure. Six hours in a jet plane trip later, Thaddeus,
(17:43):
once again in his strait jacket, sat between his armed
escorts in a small room and the Pentagon. Through the
window he could see the hurried bustle of traffic over
the Potomac and beyond the domed roof of the Capitol.
In the conference room next door, the Joint chiefs of
Staff were closeted with a gray faced and bone weary
(18:04):
Colonel Thurgood and his baker's dozen of aac brains. Scraps
of the hot scornful talk drifted across the half open
transom into the room where Thaddeus Funston sat in a
neatly tied bundle. In the conference room, a red faced
four star general cast a chilling glance at the rumpled
(18:25):
figure of Colonel Thurgood. I've listened to some silly stories
in my life, colonel, the general said coldly, but this
takes the cake. You come here with an insane asylum
inmate in a strait jacket, and you have the colossal
gall to sit there and tell me that this poor
soul has made not one, but two atomic devices out
(18:47):
of modeling clay. And then has detonated them. The General paused,
why don't you tell me, Colonel, that he can also
make space ships out of sponge rubber, The General added bitingly.
In the next room, Thaddeus Funston stared out over the
sweeping panorama of the Washington landscape. He stared hard. In
(19:09):
the distance, a white cloud began billowing up from the
base of the Washington Monument, and with an ear shattering,
glass splintering roar, the Great Shaft rose majestically from its
base and vanished into space on a tail of flame.
End of a Filbert is a nut by Rick Raphael
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