“Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman”: Adventures of a Curious Character

Of course I was able to open the safe because of my perpetual habit of taking the last two numbers off. While in Oak Ridge the month before, I was in the same office when the safe was open and I took the numbers off in an absentminded way—I was always practicing my obsession. Although I hadn’t written them down, I was able to vaguely remember what they were. First I tried 40-15, then 15-40, but neither of those worked. Then I tried 10-45 with all the first numbers, and it opened.

A similar thing happened on another weekend when I was visiting Oak Ridge. I had written a report that had to be OKed by a colonel, and it was in his safe. Everybody else keeps documents in filing cabinets like the ones at Los Alamos, but he was a colonel, so he had a much fancier, two-door safe with big handles that pull four ѕ-inch-thick steel bolts from the frame. The great brass doors swung open and he took out my report to read.

Not having had an opportunity to see any really good safes, I said to him, “Would you mind, while you’re reading my report, if I looked at your safe?”

“Go right ahead,” he said, convinced that there was nothing I could do. I looked at the back of one of the solid brass doors, and I discovered that the combination wheel was connected to a little lock that looked exactly the same as the little unit that was on my filing cabinet at Los Alamos. Same company, same little bolt, except that when the bolt came down, the big handles on the safe could then move some rods sideways, and with a hunch of levers you could pull back all those ѕ-inch steel rods. The whole lever system, it appeared, depends on the same little bolt that locks filing cabinets.

Just for the sake of professional perfection, to make sure it was the same, I took the two numbers off the same way I did with the filing cabinet safes.

Meanwhile, he was reading the report. When he’d finished he said, “All right, it’s fine.” He put the report in the safe, grabbed the big handles, and swung the great brass doors together. It sounds so good when they close, but I know it’s all psychological, because it’s nothing but the same damn lock.

I couldn’t help but needle him a little bit (I always had a thing about military guys, in such wonderful uniforms) so I said, “The way you close that safe, I get the idea that you think things are safe in there.”

“Of course.”

“The only reason you think they’re safe in there is because civilians call it a ‘safe.’” (I put the word “civilians” in there to make it sound as if he’d been had by civilians.)

He got very angry. “What do you mean—it’s not safe?”

“A good safecracker could open it in thirty minutes.”

“Can you open it in thirty minutes?”

“I said a good safecracker. It would take me about forty-five.”

“Well!” he said. “My wife is waiting at home for me with supper, but I’m gonna stay here and watch you, and you’re gonna sit down there and work on that damn thing for forty-five minutes and not open it!” He sat down in his big leather chair, put his feet up on his desk, and read.

With complete confidence I picked up a chair, carried it over to the safe and sat down in front of it. I began to turn the wheel at random, just to make some action.

After about five minutes, which is quite a long time when you’re just sitting and waiting, he lost some patience: “Well, are you making any progress?”

“With a thing like this, you either open it or you don’t.”

I figured one or two more minutes would be about time, so I began to work in earnest and two minutes later, CLINK—it opened.

The colonel’s jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out.

“Colonel,” I said, in a serious tone, “let me tell you something about these locks: When the door to the safe or the top drawer of the filing cabinet is left open, it’s very easy for someone to get the combination. That’s what I did while you were reading my report, just to demonstrate the danger. You should insist that everybody keep their filing cabinet drawers locked while they’re working, because when they’re open, they’re very, very vulnerable.”

“Yeah! I see what you mean! That’s very interesting!” We were on the same side after that.

The next time I went to Oak Ridge, all the secretaries and people who knew who I was were telling me, “Don’t come through here! Don’t come through here!”

The colonel had sent a note around to everyone in the plant which said, “During his last visit, was Mr. Feynman at any time in your office, near your office, or walking through your office?” Some people answered yes; others said no. The ones who said yes got another note: “Please change the combination of your safe.”

That was his solution: I was the danger. So they all had to change their combinations on account of me. It’s a pain in the neck to change a combination and remember the new one, so they were all mad at me and didn’t want me to come near them: they might have to change their combination once again. Of course, their filing cabinets were still left open while they were working!