Genius_ The Life and Science of Richard Feynman - James Gleick [109]
Escalation of the computation effort came in the fall of 1943 with an order to IBM for business machines to be delivered to an unknown location: three 601 multipliers, one 402 tabulator, one reproducer-summary punch, one verifier, one keypunch, one sorter, and one collator. Astronomers at Columbia had been experimenting with punch-card computing before the war. A multiplier, an appliance the size of a restaurant stove, could process calculations in large batches. Electrical probes found the holes in the cards, and operations could be configured by plugging groups of wires into a patchboard. Among the computation-minded at Los Alamos, the prospect of such machines caused excitement. Even before they arrived, one of the theorists, Stanley Frankel, set about devising improvements: for example, tripling the output by rearranging the plugs so that three sets of three- or four-digit numbers could be multiplied in a single pass. Having requisitioned the machines, the scientists now also requisitioned a maintenance man—an IBM employee who had been drafted into the army. They were gaining adroitness at military procurement. The crates arrived two days before the repairman; in those two days Feynman and his colleagues managed to get the machines unpacked and assembled, after a fashion, with the help of nothing but a set of wiring blueprints. So much more powerful were they that Feynman—sensitive to rhythms as always—rapidly discovered that he could program them to clatter out the cadence of well-known songs. The theorists began to organize something new in the annals of computation: a combination of the calculating machine and the factory assembly line. Even before the IBM machines arrived Feynman and Metropolis set up an array of people—mostly wives of scientists, working at three-eighths salary—who individually handled pieces of complex equations, one cubing a number and passing it on, another performing a subtraction, and so on. It was mass production married to numerical calculation. The banks of women wielding Marchants simulated the internal workings of a computer. As a later generation would discover, there was something mentally seductive in the act of breaking calculus into the algorithmic cogs needed for machine computation. It forced the mind back down into the essence of arithmetic. It also began a long transformation in the understanding of what kinds of equations were solvable. Stacks of punch cards could solve equations for a ball of fire rising through a suddenly turbulent atmosphere, by stepping through successive approximations for time 0:01, time 0:02, time 0:03 … though by the lights of traditional analysis those sharply nonlinear equations were unsolvable.
Of the many problems put to the Los Alamos computers, none better anticipated the coming age of massive scientific simulation than implosion itself: how to calculate the motion of an inward-flowing shock wave. An explosive charge wrapped around the bomb was to set the shock wave in motion, and the pressure would crush a nugget of plutonium into criticality. How should the bomb assembly be configured to assure a stable detonation? What kind of fireball would ensue? Such questions required a workable formula for the propagation of a spherical detonation wave in a compressible fluid, the “compressible fluid” in this case being the shotput-size piece of plutonium liquefied in the microseconds before it became a nuclear blast. The pressure would be more intense than at the earth’s center. The temperature would reach 50 million