Genius_ The Life and Science of Richard Feynman - James Gleick [47]
The machinery of experimental physics was just beginning to move beyond the capabilities of a few men in a shop. In Rome, as the 1930s began, Enrico Fermi made his own tiny radiation counters from lipstick-size aluminum tubes at his institute above the Via Panisperna. He methodically brought one element after another into contact with free neutrons streaming from samples of radioactive radon. By his hands were created a succession of new radioactive isotopes, substances never seen in nature, some with half-lives so short that Fermi had to race his samples down the corridor to test them before they decayed to immeasurability. He found a nameless new element heavier than any found in nature. By hand he placed lead barriers across the neutron stream, and then, in a moment of mysterious inspiration, he tried a barrier of paraffin. Something in paraffin—hydrogen?—seemed to slow the neutrons. Unexpectedly, the slow neutrons had a far more powerful effect on some of the bombarded elements. Because the neutrons were electrically neutral, they floated transparently through the knots of electric charge around the target atoms. At speeds barely faster than a batted baseball they had more time to work nuclear havoc. As Fermi tried to understand this, it seemed to him that the essence of the process was a kind of diffusion, analogous to the slow invasion of the still air of a room by the scent of perfume. He imagined the path they must be taking through the paraffin, colliding one, two, three, a hundred times with atoms of hydrogen, losing energy with each collision, bouncing this way and that according to laws of probability.
The neutron, the chargeless particle in the atom’s core, had not even been discovered until 1932. Until then physicists supposed that the nucleus was a mixture of electrically negative and positive particles, electrons and protons. The evidence taken from ordinary chemical and electrical experiments shed little light on the nucleus. Physicists knew only that this core contained nearly all the atom’s mass and whatever positive charge was needed to balance the outer electrons. It was the electrons—floating or whirling in their shells, orbits, or clouds—that seemed to matter in chemistry. Only by bombarding substances with particles and measuring the particles’ deflection could scientists begin to penetrate the nucleus. They also began to split it. By the spring of 1938 not just dozens but hundreds of physics professors and students were