..starting days after August Sixth 1945--not even in the gaggle of movies-about:
people might recall Dr. Louis Slotin. whose screwdriver-slip killed him--as he stopped everyone {just after) In. Place.
so that he can calculate Their doses. While fucking-Knowing: He. Is. Toast. fer-Damn-shure.
That sane, quiet heroism quite trumps the Oops. At very least.

(By now any serious-geek has peeped Feynman's books for-the-masses ..for a few other anecdotes, I guess)
I looked-up, in the Lab's library: the saga re the Idaho ('SL-1', IIRC) reactor meltdown with explosion.
So Much material as never makes it into the Pop-press {{sigh}}
[as per Your Sig, a qed again]. :-/

You've been keeping up; Nice :-)

Had just bought from a pyramid of these, NYC-bookstore: it had just come out. Synchronicity, again!
and fodder later on aeroplane flight West, to boot.

(Old Greenwich CT--a haven for the über-rich of any age]. This was about the recent demise of my name-sake Uncle,
who had taught me/tyke swimming tips,
in Long Island Sound--all this pre-Web natch, or I might have checked* for some of Rhodes' Appendix connections.
An O.G. phone just might have got the phone answered at least, I wot :-þ
* with 20/20 hindsight--believe that thought would have made it to jelloware. IF.

('Course best that I rent a Jaguar, in that happenstance). Oh. Well.
Life is like a box of candy ... sayeth a smarter 'Murican, I heard.