Living in Los Alamos
My experiences growing up in Los Alamos, New Mexico, home of the Manhattan Project.
With the release of the recent Oppenheimer movie, I couldn’t help but get a little nostalgic about growing up in Los Alamos, New Mexico. I spent most of my childhood there and returned during college to work at Los Alamos National Lab.
The history of J. Robert Oppenheimer and the bomb is multifaceted. The movie does a good job of exploring the technical and moral complexities surrounding the development and dropping of the bombs, so I won’t delve into those topics here. Instead, I’ll simply share what it was like growing in a secluded mountainous “lab town.”
If there’s one take away from this writing, it’s that you should take a trip to northern New Mexico and see the town that became famous. It’s out of the way, for sure, but it’s beautiful, part of history, and one of many remarkable places you can see in the area.
A Beautiful Town, If You Can Find It
Los Alamos is perched on a plateau nestled on the side of a dormant volcano in the Jemez mountains of northern New Mexico. Due to years of erosion, the plateau was carved into long mesas separated by canyons. If the mesas were fingers, then the palm would be the volcano’s center, a massive 13-mile-wide depression. Technically, geologists call the depression a “caldera,” which formed when a magma chamber underground erupted, after which the ground collapsed creating a bowl. It’s the same thing that happened at Crater Lake in Oregon and Yellowstone in Wyoming. Much like Yellowstone, beautiful grass valleys formed within the caldera, and so it was given the name Valles Caldera.
Los Alamos is out of the way—it’s not a place you go through, as much as it is a place you go to. If you did happen to drive through Los Alamos, perhaps to see the majestic beauty of the Valles Caldera, you’d likely just turn around and go back the direction from which you came…which was probably Santa Fe, a place most people have heard of.
As you might’ve seen in the movie, it was because of this remote location that Oppenheimer chose the area of Los Alamos for the Manhattan Project.
About 10 miles from Los Alamos is the town of White Rock, which was initially built to be a place for additional employees of the lab to live. Though the two towns are different, and each have their own character, they are close siblings and really part of the same community.
Compared to Los Alamos, the town of White Rock is like the younger brother who tends to get hand-me-downs. Los Alamos always gets the cooler stuff—the area high school and the area middle school, a bigger grocery store, a movie theater, and a few more restaurants.
When people say they’re from Los Alamos, sometimes they mean they’re from White Rock, because some outsiders have heard of Los Alamos, but no one has heard of White Rock. Even the sign welcoming you to White Rock feels like a hand-me-down.
To add insult to injury, some people don’t know where New Mexico is located. As a kid, whenever I’d travel to a different state with my family I’d meet other kids and tell them I was from New Mexico. In return, I’d get confused looks and I’d have to explain that I was not from Mexico, the country, but New Mexico, a state in The United States. New Mexico Magazine has an entire category dedicated to this topic.
Reference the map below if you're confused.
A Boom Town
Though there are mine shafts dotted around the mountains near Los Alamos, it wasn’t mining that led to a boom in population. When the Manhattan Project kicked off in 1943, the town of Los Alamos grew from a little Ranch School to a town of about 6,000 people. However, since that time, the combined population of White Rock and Los Alamos has only risen to 20,000 people.
Between the two towns, and surrounding them, are Technical Areas (TAs) that belong to Los Alamos National Lab. Because of this, and the National Preserves, National Forests, American Indian land, and geography (namely, canyons), there’s really no place for the towns to expand—thus the community is small and confined. Though the towns have gone through periodic spurts of development, the economy in the community, with its foundation in the lab and government funding, is rather restricted, resulting in a stasis that doesn’t seem to allow for much new growth, be it economic or residential.
In one of the nearby Technical Areas, lab personnel would test explosives—the shock of which, though miles away and separated by canyons, would shake our homes and rattle pictures on, and sometimes off of, the walls. This all just seemed very normal for a lab town.
Not to be outdone by man, nature showed its own force. The summer lightning storms there are intense. The weather patterns coming off the mountains resulted in fantastic afternoon thunderstorms that would absolutely rock the house as well. Nowhere else have I lived where the power of nature was so readily apparent. The lightning, cold rain, and the smell of ozone from powerful mountain thunderstorms are things you never forget.
A Working Town
Per capita, Los Alamos has more people with PhDs than anywhere else in the nation; the rate is nearly double that of the second city on the list, Ithaca, New York, home of Cornell University. Roughly 1 in 5 people in Los Alamos have a PhD, which means, if you swing a cat in a crowd there, you’ll likely hit someone with a Doctorate…and then get a lecture on how the cat reminds them of Schrödinger’s theories on quantum mechanics.
But, for all the PhDs in Los Alamos, it also takes a team of blue-collar workers to keep the entire machine working. Behind the buildings, experiments, and contraptions that are imagined, there are numerous laborers—carpenters, electricians, ironworkers, pipefitters, heavy machine operators, and more—working hard to bring ideas to reality.
When I grew up there in the 1980’s, the public schools gave us a healthy dose of everything—rigorous academics, cultural exposure, and experience with the trades. School trips included visits to Bradbury Science Museum, Indian Pueblos, and the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta. We still had auto shop, wood shop, home economics, and art in school back then.
These classes not only taught us a few trade skills, but also life skills,
if we were paying attention.
Our wood shop had a metal grinder with a plastic shield that prevented sparks from going into our eyes. There were red splotches on the underside of that plastic shield to remind us to never put our hands against the spinning wheels themselves. I’m not sure if the splotches were blood or red paint, but our shop teacher wasn’t exactly the type of person you questioned about those type of things. You just followed his rules…or learned the hard way.
One day, he told us the story of a student who received severe burns after moving an acetylene torch across his arm “real quick” to see if the torch was “really that hot.” The shop teacher told us that story, sparked his welding torch, adjusted the flame, then flipped his welding mask down and stared at us. It was a menacing image that reinforced the seriousness of the task.
We also had home economics classes where we learned to cook and sew. I made a fanny pack that I threw away years ago--too bad, since I think they’re coming back in fashion. I also managed to cook a pot of spaghetti, which, to this day marks the height of my cooking skills. It was in the same class, if memory serves me correctly, that a classmate accidentally ran a sewing machine needle through his thumb.
Then there was art class where I made an ashtray for my dad—maybe even two of them—and a beer mug, on the side of which I etched “BEAR,” an accidental misspelling. It was a brown lumpy mug that said to everyone around, “my kid made this.” I doubt it was watertight, or beer tight, and definitely not bear tight.
I'm sure these type of classes were taught in schools across the U.S. back then, so my experiences were likely not unique. Sadly, I'm not sure you'll find many of them offered in schools now. These classes not only taught us a few trade skills, but also life skills, if we were paying attention.
A Steven Spielberg Type-Town
In hindsight, I realize that growing up there was a quintessential Steven Spielberg movie-like experience that evoked the qualities of Goonies, E.T., and Indiana Jones. Even movies and shows like WarGames, Eureka, and Stranger Things make me feel some nostalgia for growing up in a “lab town.” No doubt the writers of these shows base the setting on Los Alamos or somewhere similar.
Here’s a quick checklist of things you’d find in those movies and Los Alamos:
Small town – Yep.
Kids riding bikes everywhere – Check.
Local arcade - Of course...well, at least for a little while.
Nearby mountains and forests - Yes, with untold adventures and mysteries.
National Lab – Yes. With specific rules on where you could, and could not, go.
Aliens and government conspiracy - No comment.
It was a special day when the Gordon family moved into town and opened a record store and arcade in White Rock. For kids, this was like Walt Disney moving into town and building a theme park. Gordon's became THE place to hang out. I have no idea how much time or how many quarters I spent there—but can you put a price on building memories? My parents probably thought I should've based on my depleting piggy bank. This is the place I played Golden Axe, Double Dragon, and other arcade games, which I mention in another series of posts.
But, as happens when you have an older brother who's more popular, Gordon's moved up to Los Alamos, and we were once again left with nothing catering to the kids in White Rock. Throughout the years, the Gordon family continued to invest in the larger community, bringing a summer concert series to town, something they continued for 27 years before turning over the reins to new management.
Sometimes, after school my friends and I would go into the local canyons to play a mash-up of hide-and-seek and tag. We would jump off giant rocks into deep piles of snow and squeeze under rock overhangs to outrun and hide from chasers.
Then there was the time a buddy and I hiked down to the Rio Grande River. It was a beautiful summer day, and hot from hiking, we channeled our inner Huckleberry Finn and decided to cool off by swimming in the river. Not wanting to hike back out in wet clothes, we stripped down butt naked and jumped in the water. All was well and good until another group of hikers came along. We eventually made it back with our clothes and dignity intact.
Another time, that same buddy and I decided to ride our mountain bikes from the top of the Los Alamos ski hill to the lowest point in White Rock—the local sports fields that sit at the end of a mesa. It was an elevation drop from 10,400 feet down to 6,200 feet. His mom followed us in her car in case one of us became injured, which neither of us did.
It was epic.
Those sports fields were a staple of life growing up. Sitting along cliffs that overlook the Rio Grande, they provide views of distant mountains, thus the name, Overlook Park. The scene is unparalleled. From playing soccer and baseball, to watching my dad play softball, I spent a lot of time at these fields. Even if I wasn’t playing sports, or my dad wasn’t playing, I was sure to find a friend or family member somewhere around there.
Later, the area expanded to include a Remote Controlled (RC) Car track and even a BMX track. Did I mention it was the 1980’s? Though the BMX track is no longer there, the RC track still exists and has been improved upon.
For about a year, I lived in a home that bordered the National Forest, which allowed easy access to explore the woods after school. One day, during the winter, I went out for a hike in the snow and climbed down into a canyon. I got to a point where I could go no further down, and due to the wet rocks, I could not climb back up. For the first time in my life, I thought I might die.
Eventually, I calmed down and thought my way out of the problem, but I gained a keen awareness of how I could easily get hurt and no one would find me. It brought a poignant realization of my need to take responsibility for myself, and to plan accordingly.
There’s a reason they call it Hell’s Hole.
When the nearby volcano erupted thousands of years ago, it threw rocks everywhere. These piles of rock settled, and in one place the gaps between the rocks formed a path (if you can call it that) leading to a cave.
Don’t misunderstand me—this is not like Carlsbad Caverns where you leisurely stroll along a trail while admiring the stalactites—here you must crawl through gaps between rocks, weaving your body, on your stomach, then on your back. At times you must lower your body into a hole you can’t see into. Ten feet in, it’s pitch black. After about 30 minutes of worming your way down, you finally reach a larger cave area where you can stand, turn off your flashlight, and contemplate the fact that at any moment the rocks you just wiggled through could shift, and you could die down there. There’s a reason they call it Hell’s Hole.
As kids, we knew we had to be careful, so we brought flashlights, back-up batteries, candles, lighters, and string (to track our path back out in case any of these other devices failed). It was another one of those times in life where I gained a strong understanding of my own mortality and the need to take responsibility for myself. It is for that reason, and because I'm physically bigger now than I was as a kid, that I will not go back into that cave.
The list of stories doesn’t end there. There was also the haunted Peggy Sue Bridge, the White Witch of the Guaje Pines Cemetery, and the secret tunnels under Los Alamos (they exist), among other tales.
A Tough Town
There is a darker side to living in Los Alamos, and no, I'm not talking about "The Upside Down," aliens, or top secret laboratory work.
I moved away from Los Alamos in the middle of high school, and some of my friends considered me lucky to "escape." Though Los Alamos and White Rock were full of adventures, it can be difficult to live there if you don't like the outdoors or enjoy some level of solitude.
The lack of “fun” things to do meant we had to create our own fun, and as mentioned earlier, nature provided that setting for us. To pass the time, we would explore the nearby canyons, play in arroyos, climb trees, build forts, and catch horny toads. However, at the time I didn’t really appreciate those things and was disappointed with the lack of things to do in town—most of us were.
As kids grew older, their interests changed and they’d find other ways to have fun, to include going up into the mountains to party and drink. Occasionally, the cops would find out and bust up the shenanigans. As in many small towns, the cops knew most of the parents, and by default, their kids—which was both good and bad—but it attempted to ensure everyone was watching out for everyone else. As they say, it takes a village to raise a child…especially when the village is highly educated and hard working.
Though the community has gone through periodic spurts of development, the economy, with its foundation in the lab and government funding, is rather confined, resulting in a stasis that doesn’t seem to allow for much new economic growth, be it commercial or residential. When I grew up there 40 years ago, the nearest mall was in Santa Fe—it's still that way today.
The biggest scars to this beautiful landscape have been the numerous fires to burn the surrounding area. There was the La Mesa Fire in 1977, the Dome Fire in 1996, the devastating Cerro Grande Fire in 2000, the Las Conchas Fire in 2011, and the Cerro Pelado Fire of 2022. Each of those wreaked havoc on the surrounding beauty. But, as happens, the trees grew back and things are returning to their former splendor...until the next fire burns.
And, much like the forests, the Los Alamos community is resilient. You have to be hearty to live there, and self-reliant. Yet at the same time, you also have to find ways to plug into the community, invest in relationships, and bond with others.
Many people say that there’s not a lot to do in Los Alamos, but I think there is if you enjoy nature, have an imagination, and know where to look. Much adventure can be found—or made—in the Los Alamos area.
A Home Town
A few years ago, I took my family to Los Alamos to celebrate a wedding —we made it a road trip and visited Carlsbad Caverns, Roswell, the Very Large Array (from the movie Contact), and Santa Fe along the way. It was fun, at least for me, to head back to a place I once called home. The trip from southern to northern New Mexico gave us an opportunity to experience the changes in temperature, terrain, and vegetation.
Driving from Santa Fe to Los Alamos, you pass Camel Rock, the Tesuque and San Ildefonso Indian Reservations, and the looming Black Mesa. As you get closer to Los Alamos, you’re confronted by a fleet of mesas that look like giant battleships riding on a sea of piñon trees.
Continuing your drive, you wind along State Road 502 up a mesa, then pop out on top and see the historic Los Alamos Project Main Gate and the gorgeous Jemez Mountains forming a backdrop to the town.
As you approach the heart of the town, you reach Ashley Pond (which is really Ashley Pond Pond) and the historic Fuller Lodge, which was once a dining hall for the Los Alamos Ranch School and then a community center during the Manhattan Project. You might recognize Fuller Lodge from the "crowd stomping" scene in the Oppenheimer movie.
The wedding we were in town for was held at Fuller Lodge, and as I walked the grounds, I was reminded of the arts and crafts shows held there when I was a kid. On craft fair days, we'd get up early as a family to help my mom set up her booth of hand-made goods, then we'd come back at the end of the day to help tear down and clean up. The best part: she took the family out to eat at a restaurant afterwards, which was a rarity growing up, especially in Los Alamos. Those arts and crafts fairs at Fuller Lodge continue to this day.
After the wedding, I gathered with extended family at Bathtub Row Brewing Co-op, which sits across from Oppenheimer's house. While enjoying craft beer, we recalled memories of growing up in Los Alamos and working at the lab. At one point or another, each of us around the table had worked at the lab, in a lineage that traced back to my grandfather, who was stationed in Los Alamos while in the Army in World War II. We were also reminded of an old family friend, Roger Rasmussen, who was there at the original Trinity test (you can hear his story here).
As I reconnected with those around the table and we regaled one another with memories, some of which I've shared with you here, I was grateful for the bond we all had to each other as family, but also to this town.
Though most of my family has moved away from the area, I still have a fondness that draws me back—maybe it's the childhood memories, maybe it's the beauty, maybe it's the remoteness, or maybe it's the mystery of the town. Who knows, and I'm not even sure it matters.
So, give Los Alamos a visit. Tour the town, stop by the Bradbury Science Museum and historic Fuller Lodge, drive up to the Valles Caldera, definitely go to Bandelier National Monument, and be sure to hike some of the mesas or mountain trails. No trip is complete without visiting one, or more, of the pueblos of the Native American Tribes. And, if you have time, head north and visit Taos, Red River, and Angel Fire. Also, don't forget about White Rock. However, I'd recommend steering clear of Hell's Hole.
If you end up making the drive to Los Alamos, I think you’ll quickly fall in love with the surrounding beauty, and you’ll likely see why Oppenheimer found solace there during some of his most challenging times.