Paul's first act was to instruct Gold that he was not to see Black again. He also prescribed in great detail the way in which he and Gold would make contact. He demanded a complete account of Gold's life and that of his parents. Finally, he told Gold that he wanted information about certain processes for which Pennsylvania Sugar was building new plants.

Despite misgivings based upon his disloyalty to his superiors in the company, Gold worked under "Paul Smith" from November 1935 to July or August, 1936. He was then turned over to another Soviet agent, whom he knew as "Steve Schwartz." The flow of information from Pennsylvania Sugar continued until it was literally exhausted, and Schwartz then urged him to find a job elsewhere. Late in 1937 or early in 1938, Gold was turned over to still another Soviet agent, an Amtorg employee whom he knew only as "Fred." "Fred" renewed his predecessors' proposal that Gold should find new employment, and specifically suggested the Philadelphia Navy Yard or the Baldwin Locomotive Works. However, Gold remained at Pennsylvania Sugar.

Soon the Russians had another assignment for him. Black, whom Gold had continued to meet in violation of his instructions, told him that he had canceled all industrial espionage activities and was trying to worm his way into the confidence of certain followers of Leon Trotsky. Gold performed small tasks in this connection on two occasionsonce checking on the movements of a Trotsky supporter who lived in Philadelphia, and once ascertaining when a certain drugstore in North Philadelphia closed for the evening. Thus gradually did the emphasis in Gold's career as a spy begin to shift away from industrial espionage and toward deeper waters.

In 1938, Gold testified, he went to Cincinnati in an effort to blackmail a certain Benjamin Smilg, a Government official, into giving him information from the Air Development Center at Wright Field in Dayton. Soviet agents had paid substantial sums of money to send Smilg through the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and were now cashing in; but Smilg adamantly refused to give Gold any information (pp. 1023, 1024).

By the latter part of 1943, Gold had been working for almost 4 years for a Soviet agent whom he knew only as "Sam," a mechanical engineer for Amtorg whom he has since identified as Semen Markovich Semenov. Gold was trying to get information concerning certain Eastman Kodak processes from Alfred Dean Slack, an employee of Holtland Ordnance Works at Kingsport, Tenn., who had previously worked for Kodak in Rochester, and also from one Abe Brothman in New York City. Gold's testimony continues:

At that time I met with Semenov, and he told me to completely drop these two contacts, to have absolutely nothing to do with them.

He said, "Forget them. Forget everything you ever knew about them. You are never to see them or meet them or have anything to do with them again."

He said, "Something has come up," he said, "and it is so big and so tremendous," he said "that you have got to exert your complete efforts to carrying it through successfully. * *

He told me there was a man recently come to this country from England. He said he was going to work with a group of American scientists in the New York City area, that this man would have information on the construction of a new type of weapon. I don't think he called it an atom bomb, but he did say it was a new type of weapon, a completely new and devastating type of weapon, and that I would meet with this man and would obtain information from him.

It was when I first met Klaus Fuchs that he explained to me just what the weapon was (p. 1025).

Fuchs was working at the time in the Manhattan Project, and some notion of the security of that important installation may be obtained from the following testimony of Harry Gold about their first meeting:

He gave me, as far as he knew verbally, the general overall picture of the setup, and told me that when he next met me, he would give me a complete written account of just who was working on the project and the general physical makeup of it, just how far it had progressed.

As much as he could possibly obtain and find out, he was
going to put on paper.

And at this next meeting with him in New York City,
I did obtain this information.

Mr. MORRIS. How did you obtain that information?

Mr. GOLD. It was merely handed to me in a large, oh, like this legal paper here, all folded up and in a very large bundle (p. 1027).

There followed many meetings between Gold and Fuchs, each as carefully planned as a military maneuver:

For instance, on one occasion he was walking down Lexington Avenue, going north. I came up behind him. He was walking deliberately at a slow rate. We both turned together into a side street. Or was it Park Avenue? I guess it would be Park Avenue, because we turned off on Fifth Avenue; yes.

We turned into a side street leading toward Fifth Avenue. He passed the information to me. There was no one on that side street. It was, we will say, around 8 or 9 o'clock in the evening, and still pretty cold.

We separated, he went one way; I went another way; 10 or 15 minutes later, I met a Russian for about 10 or 15 seconds. I turned the information over to him, also on a side street, and again I went my way (p. 1027).

Thus furtively did America's atomic secrets pass into the hands of the agents of the Soviet Union. The Russian recipient was a man whom Gold knew as "John," subsequently identified as Anatoli Antonovich Yakovlev. It is interesting, in the light of recent testimony before the subcommittee on the illegal activities of Soviet consular and diplomatic officials in the United States, to note that Yakovlev at this time held the rank of vice consul in the Soviet consulate in New York.

In the latter part of 1944, Gold lost contact with Fuchs. In December of that year, Yakovlev told Gold that Fuchs was now in Cam

bridge, Mass. Gold proceeded to Cambridge, met Fuchs, and learned that Fuchs had disappeared because he had been transferred unexpectedly from the Manhattan Project in New York to "a place known as Los Alamos, a place I had never heard of." Fuchs gave Gold "a huge bundle of information," which he had obtained at Los Alamos and which Gold promptly turned over to the Soviets (p. 1032).

Gold now arranged to see Fuchs again in June 1945, this time in Santa Fe, N. Mex. On this occasion Fuchs gave him from 50 to 100 pages of closely written notes. Gold testified:

It not only contained a tremendous amount of theoretical mathematics, but it contained the practical setup. I think that as much as any one man knew about the progress of the atom bomb, except possibly those at the very top of the project, Fuchs knew, and was in position to give (p. 1033).

Upon leaving Santa Fe, Gold proceeded to Albuquerque as instructed by Yakovlev, and there met yet another member of the Red espionage network:

I walked up this steep flight of steps and I knocked at the door, and this young man answered, a dark-haired young man. And I almost fell down the steps, because I was shocked. He was wearing Army pants, and I could see behind him on the wall there hanging an Army sergeant's uniform, or a noncom's uniform anyway. It may not have been a sergeant's uniform. I had expected a civilian. I had never dealt with an Army man or a military man before.

But I went through with the recognition plan, the recognition signal.

Senator WELKER. What was the recognition signal?

Mr. GOLD. It was, "I bring greetings from Julius" (p. 1034).

The Army sergeant whom Gold now met was David Greenglass, whose sister Ethel was married to Julius Rosenberg. (The Rosenbergs subsequently died in the electric chair at Sing Sing prison in Ossining, N. Y., in June 1953, for violation of the Espionage Act of 1917.)

As a further means of identification, Gold and Greenglass matched the two parts of a Jello boxtop, which their superiors had given them. Gold thereupon gave Greenglass approximately $500 which he had received from Yakovlev, and picked up "a number of sheets containing at least 2 or 3 sketches and a few pages of explanatory material. Both this material and the notes he had received from Fuchs were duly turned over by Gold to Yakovlev near a cemetery in a deserted area of Queens County, N. Y. (pp. 1035, 1036).

On September 19, 1945, Gold had a last rendezvous with Fuchs, meeting him again in Santa Fe, N. Mex. The espionage mill was still grinding out great quantities of information:

It was a very substantial quantity again. Fuchs very rarely gave me meager material. I mean, they were all bulky sheaves (p. 1036).

Although Gold had several further contacts with his Russian superiors, this transmission of America's atomic secrets to the Soviets seems to have been not only the climax but the conclusion of his

career as a spy. To his understandable alarm he was compelled to testify before a grand jury in 1947 in connection with its inquiry into Abe Brothman, another espionage agent, but for 3 years more he himself remained untouched. In May 1950 he was visited by agents of the FBI, and within a matter of months the tangled skein of his life had been unraveled. In the subsequent trial of the Rosenbergs he was a Government witness and (as already noted) he has cooperated fully with the subcommittee.

But now it is time to hear the story of the second witness who steps forward from the shadows of Lewisburg Penitentiary.

THE STORY OF DAVID GREENGLASS

David Greenglass was born in New York City in 1922, and for a time attended Haaren Aviation High School at 59th Street and 10th Avenue. Subsequently he also attended Brooklyn Polytechnic, but left to go to work.

Throughout the testimony of Greenglass, the recurrent theme is the powerful influence exercised over him by his older sister, Ethel, and particularly by her husband, Julius Rosenberg. Time and again, the characteristic phrase appears "Julius said ***" or "Julius told me ***". The net impression is of a young and malleable personality dominated by an older sister, behind whom in turn loomed the highly competent and grimly forbidding personality of Julius Rosenberg-the dedicated Communist, the tireless spy.

Greenglass had joined the Young Communist League at the age of 16 and remained in it for a year and a half, ultimately dropping out from sheer boredom. Like Harry Gold, he never actually joined the Communist Party proper. However, as he testified,

Philosophically, I was a Communist. Everything they stood for, I identified myself with (p. 1091).

Rosenberg, on the other hand, was a dedicated member of the Communist Party. Greenglass explained:

My mentor, Julius Rosenberg, never considered anybody a
Communist unless he was a member of the Communist Party
and subjected himself to the discipline of the Communist
Party. He didn't even consider a Young Communist League
member as a Communist Party member, you see.
He was very

specific about that. He was derisive of people who called
themselves sympathizers (p. 1091).

Greenglass' introduction to atomic espionage occurred after his induction into the Army in April 1943. After his basic training he was transferred to the Army ordnance center at Aberdeen, Md.; then to a General Motors plant in South Gate, Calif., where tanks were being made; then to various ordnance bases; and finally to the atomic installation at Oak Ridge, Tenn. From Oak Ridge he was transferred in July or August 1944 to Los Alamos, N. Mex., where he was assigned to the instrument shop which made components for various types of experimental apparatus.

At this time he did not know the ultimate purpose of the devices he helped to make. In November 1944, however, Greenglass received a visit from his wife. Julius and Ethel Rosenberg had visited her a

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few days previously, and had told her that her husband was working on an atom bomb. Rosenberg quite bluntly told Mrs. Greenglass that he wanted her husband to give him information on the atomic bomb to be transmitted to the Russians. Finally, when Rosenberg offered to put up the money for Mrs. Greenglass to visit her husband, she agreed to transmit the proposal to him. Greenglass readily consented:

Now, it seems a strange reason to do a serious thing of this nature, because you want to have the goodwill of some other man. But we do strange things, especially since it would be very difficult to explain our relationship without going into a lot of background of how I was the younger, he was the older, he was the graduate engineer, I was the young apprentice, the tyro. It was a strange relationship, and yet one where I genuinely liked this man. And I wanted to have his approbation (p. 1094).

Greenglass thereupon proceded to tell Rosenberg all he knew about the significance of the work he was doing at Los Alamos. Rosenberg expressed great interest in a certain device called a "high explosive lens mold," and arranged for Greenglass to meet an unidentified Russian and give this information to him:

Well, some time later, I borrowed a car and I was told to meet him. As a matter of fact, it was at the place where the U. N. is now. On First Avenue in New York City there was a very large section of slaughterhouses, and generally at the late hours of night it was quite dull and quiet. There was a dingy bar and grill located in a kind of stepdown, cellar affair, and I was told to meet him in front of that, just about between 42d and 49th, some place in that neighborhood.

I pulled up the car and somebody approached me from across the street, and it turned out to be Julius Rosenberg. He told me to pull up to a more dimly lit section than I was already, and he said, "Wait here," and he came back with another man whom he introduced to me by some first name which I am not certain of.

When he got into the car, he said, "Drive." His hat was pulled down low

Mr. MORRIS. When you say, "his hat," whose hat do you mean?

Mr. GREENGLASS. This gentleman sitting beside me.

Mr. MORRIS. Did Julius Rosenberg accompany you on that trip?

Mr. GREENGLASS. No. He stayed behind.

Mr. MORRIS. He just introduced you?

Mr. GREENGLASS. He just introduced us and stayed behind. Oh, yes. Later, after this meeting, Julius told me that this was a Russian I was speaking to. What Russian? All I knew is that he was some kind of technical man, this particular Russian.

Well, in the course of the trip, he kept asking me questions about this lens mold, and in driving in a New York street, trying to watch the road and at the same time expounding on a scientific subject, it was very difficult to get anything across to him. But he milked it dry, I suppose.