A Nuclear Horror Story of Poor Management
I just finished reading a horror story, made all the worse because it is a true story involving failure to protect nuclear weapons secrets, lost management—and indirectly, me.
The story is told in a new book, Implosion at Los Alamos: How Crime, Corruption and Cover-Ups Jeopardize America’s Nuclear Weapons Secrets, by Glenn Walp, Ph.D. Walp’s credentials are impeccable: former head of the Pennsylvania State Police, a master’s in criminal psychology and doctorate in human services, national police awards, and national media appearances. The latter were mostly about one other job he held: Office Leader of the Office of Security Inquiries at Los Alamos National Laboratory, the home of the atomic bomb. Walp did not hold the job long. He did it too well.
The Lab hired him as part of an agreement with the U.S. Department of Energy, which oversees it, to professionalize the Lab’s criminal investigations. Almost immediately upon arriving, he began to uncover massive problems. Walp details how employees’ refusal to follow equipment management procedures left many items missing and untraceable, including computer equipment that might have held nuclear secrets. A mini-Mafia ran free at one facility, buying spy equipment with federal money and protected by a thug who threatened potential whistleblowers with violence. Walp describes rampant abuses of a system that allowed any Lab employee to purchase items at various stores by showing a Lab badge. From another source, I know that one year, more Leatherman tools were bought than there were employees at the Lab. Walp criticizes an internal delivery system that dropped off packages, including high-cost equipment, in open areas without anyone signing for them. He points out numerous lapses regarding both nuclear weapons information and “special nuclear materials,” raising the very real specter of terrorists getting at least enough of the latter to create a “dirty bomb”—a regular bomb that would irradiate people it didn’t kill outright.
The most shocking discovery was that upper managers had known about these problems for years. Furthermore, when Walp tried to do his job, those same managers began interfering with his investigations. When he tried to call in the FBI, he almost immediately received pushback from above. Eventually the chief lawyer at the Lab inserted himself between Walp and the FBI, to the point that Walp warned him of violating “obstruction of justice” laws. Every incident of missing computer memory devices brought the standard Lab refrain that no classified material was compromised, even though there was no way to be sure. The constant message was that Walp’s first loyalty must be to the Lab and the University of California, which had managed the Lab from the start, in 1943. Protecting the UC contract clearly was more important to top managers than protecting U.S. property or nuclear secrets. Walp and others had to resort to DOE’s formal whistleblower process. Despite the extra protections this gave them and outstanding written performance appraisals, Walp and an associate were fired because they “did not fit” with the Lab’s culture. They were quickly escorted off the property by armed guards. The “Mafia” don and his thug had only been placed on administrative leave initially (though they eventually went to prison).
All of this has been corroborated, by DOE and FBI investigators, many journalists, public interest groups, and the U.S. Congress. As a result, two Lab directors in a row and some managers were fired. Walp was rehired as a UC consultant and won a $1 million settlement for his firing, clearly retaliation for his whistleblowing.
I wish I could report things are much better, but they are not. The Lab was forced to team with defense contractor Bechtel and compete for the contract for the first time in 2005. Unbelievably, they won. No surprise, then, that Walp lays out yet more problems and continuing Lab denials through 2009.
One exchange in the book leapt out at me. Walp is talking to his boss. “Glenn, have you ever worked for a corporation before?, Falcon responded. It’s much different working for a corporation than it is for a government or for a governor, continued Falcon. The lab has a certain corporate philosophy and certain corporate rules that the employee must abide by…” Walp himself misses the massive problem with this statement. Los Alamos Lab is not a corporation! It is a federally owned facility managed at the time by a state government entity. This is the most egregious example of management denial I have ever read.
I was relieved the see, however, that Walp did not criticize the Lab’s written procedures for managing equipment (called “personal property”), but the failure to follow them. “Relieved” because, I wrote them.
The lab hired me as a contractor in 1994 to rewrite their equipment management manual. (I had my best-ever boss, Peggy Durbin, who sent me Implosion after I saw it in the world’s funniest business newsletter. She writes it for the bookstore in Los Alamos she co-owns now. You should sign up.) Realizing instantly the manual was an antiquated mess, I started over from scratch. When it became clear the only way to do this quickly was to get four groups of stakeholders working more efficiently, I requested permission to create self-directed work teams (SDWTs). It worked. Within a few months, we had a 350-page draft. In two years, these dedicated people had raised the property management system’s rating by outside auditors from failing to “Outstanding.” Four of the people I served are named, favorably, in Walp’s book.
However, I saw the rampant cultural problems he mentions, especially after I became a manager. My introduction of “management by walking around” was taken by many employees as micro-managing because they weren’t accustomed to any oversight. Most people in our group were treasures, but a significant number would have been fired by private industry years earlier. Upper managers gave little material support to best practices, clearly more interested in smooth sailing. The property SDWTs lost their empowerment. I heard the refrain about protecting the UC contract often. After three years in management I had enough, and I started TeamTrainers.
This post has been painful. I still love the Lab, both for many of the people and for much of the work it does. Walp praises the Lab’s science, which helps prevent the spread of nuclear materials, ensures U.S. weapons still serve as a deterrent, and has led research in a surprising array of topics from computer modeling to alternative energy sources to quantum physics.
I want to call the leaders in the book “blind,” but that would be an insult to blind people. “Lost managers” is a better term. They lost sight of who they really worked for. They lost sight of the real source of damage to the Lab, greater than PR problems. Some of them lost their jobs over it. If you as a manager make any effort to squelch reports of ethical violations, policy violations, and especially legal violations, you may be a lost manager. Let this book help you find your way, lest you destroy what you are trying to protect—even if it’s only your own backside.
Source: Walp, G. (2010) Implosion at Los Alamos: How Crime, Corruption and Cover-Ups Jeopardize America’s Nuclear Weapons Secrets. Justice Publishing, LLC: Gold Canyon, Ariz. (received from Otowi Station Bookstore).
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