The Code-Breaker and the G-Man
Meredith Gardner and Joseph Sullivan used their UW education to expose Soviet spies and bring criminals to justice.
By Candice Gaukel Andrews '77
Spies, secret codes, and a highly protected anonymity: it's the stuff of a John Le Carré novel. Although there are no movies that chronicle the intriguing career of Meredith Knox Gardner MAx'40, he pulled off one of the greatest U.S. counterintelligence coups of the last century.
A native of Okolona, Mississippi, Gardner attended graduate classes in the German department at the University of Wisconsin and was a TA between 1938 and 1940. An exceptional linguist, he was fluent in German, Old High German, Middle High German, Sanskrit, Latin, Greek, Lithuanian, Slavonic, Spanish, French, Italian, and Russian. He moved to Washington, D.C., early in World War II to work as a civilian for the Army Signal Intelligence Service (ASIS), a predecessor of the National Security Agency (NSA). He was first assigned to decode intercepted German telegrams, but then amazed his colleagues when he also mastered Japanese in a few months.
By Candice Gaukel Andrews '77
Spies, secret codes, and a highly protected anonymity: it's the stuff of a John Le Carré novel. Although there are no movies that chronicle the intriguing career of Meredith Knox Gardner MAx'40, he pulled off one of the greatest U.S. counterintelligence coups of the last century.
A native of Okolona, Mississippi, Gardner attended graduate classes in the German department at the University of Wisconsin and was a TA between 1938 and 1940. An exceptional linguist, he was fluent in German, Old High German, Middle High German, Sanskrit, Latin, Greek, Lithuanian, Slavonic, Spanish, French, Italian, and Russian. He moved to Washington, D.C., early in World War II to work as a civilian for the Army Signal Intelligence Service (ASIS), a predecessor of the National Security Agency (NSA). He was first assigned to decode intercepted German telegrams, but then amazed his colleagues when he also mastered Japanese in a few months.
At the same time that Gardner was beginning his career at ASIS, a young UW-Madison graduate student named Blanche Hatfield MA'42 was hearing about Gardner's expert reputation in her German classes. After graduating, she, too, went to work for ASIS to help decode German messages. Gardner's son and daughter say that their mother knew Gardner worked there, sought him out, and promptly approached him with what she thought was a clever pickup line — "Ich dachte, Sie wären eine Legende!" ("I thought you were just a legend!") They married in 1943.
That same year, Gardner received a surprising order: he was reassigned to examine telegraphic traffic involving the Soviet Union, America's ally. The U.S. government, concerned that Stalin might make a deal with Hitler and get out of the war, began to monitor Soviet diplomatic communications. The Soviets were aware of the situation, but because their cables were in code, security did not concern them.
Gardner began his task by studying out-of-date Soviet code books, probably stolen by FBI agents, to try to figure out the current codes. In the fall of 1946, he made an important breakthrough. He determined the ciphers used for English letters, allowing him to spell out proper names.
That same year, Gardner received a surprising order: he was reassigned to examine telegraphic traffic involving the Soviet Union, America's ally. The U.S. government, concerned that Stalin might make a deal with Hitler and get out of the war, began to monitor Soviet diplomatic communications. The Soviets were aware of the situation, but because their cables were in code, security did not concern them.
Gardner began his task by studying out-of-date Soviet code books, probably stolen by FBI agents, to try to figure out the current codes. In the fall of 1946, he made an important breakthrough. He determined the ciphers used for English letters, allowing him to spell out proper names.
In a telegraphic message sent two years earlier, Gardner found a list of names: Hans Bethe, Niels Bohr, Enrico Fermi, Edward Teller, and others — the scientists who worked on the atomic bomb inside America's most secret location, Los Alamos, New Mexico. The message was the first hint that there might be Soviet spies working at the atomic weapons plant. It was time to call in the FBI.
A few months later, Gardner came upon a reference to an agent in six separate messages with the code name "Liberal." The only clue to his identity lay in the name of his twenty-nine-year-old wife. Gardner determined that the name contained three groups of letters, the first representing E and the third L. "I had never come across a three-letter meaning in the spell code," he later recalled, according to an obituary in the London Telegraph. "Then I said, 'Ah, but they anticipate sending a lot of English text, and the most common word in the English language is the."
The name of Liberal's wife was "Ethel," one of the key clues that led to the uncovering of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, who were arrested in the summer of 1950 and were charged with conspiracy to commit espionage. At their trial, the prosecutor implied that they had stolen the secret of the atom bomb and given it to the Russians.
A few months later, Gardner came upon a reference to an agent in six separate messages with the code name "Liberal." The only clue to his identity lay in the name of his twenty-nine-year-old wife. Gardner determined that the name contained three groups of letters, the first representing E and the third L. "I had never come across a three-letter meaning in the spell code," he later recalled, according to an obituary in the London Telegraph. "Then I said, 'Ah, but they anticipate sending a lot of English text, and the most common word in the English language is the."
The name of Liberal's wife was "Ethel," one of the key clues that led to the uncovering of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, who were arrested in the summer of 1950 and were charged with conspiracy to commit espionage. At their trial, the prosecutor implied that they had stolen the secret of the atom bomb and given it to the Russians.
In fact, while the Rosenberg trial was unfolding, Gardner broke into the most explicit message he would ever read. It pointed to two Los Alamos physicists as the ones who had given away the blueprints for the bomb: nineteen-year-old Harvard graduate Theodore Hall and a refugee from Hitler, Klaus Fuchs. Neither knew the other was a Russian spy.
This evidence was kept out of court, however, because it would have revealed the fact that the United States had managed to break the Soviet code.
Gardner had supported the death penalty for Julius, but not for Ethel. Unbeknownst to the court, Gardner had decoded another KGB message that indicated that Ethel was not a spy like Julius. Gardner said, in an interview broadcast on NOVA in February 2002, "[The message said] she knows about her husband's work. In view of her delicate health, does not work." The word work was KGB jargon for espionage, which would explain why Ethel was not given a cover name.
This evidence was kept out of court, however, because it would have revealed the fact that the United States had managed to break the Soviet code.
Gardner had supported the death penalty for Julius, but not for Ethel. Unbeknownst to the court, Gardner had decoded another KGB message that indicated that Ethel was not a spy like Julius. Gardner said, in an interview broadcast on NOVA in February 2002, "[The message said] she knows about her husband's work. In view of her delicate health, does not work." The word work was KGB jargon for espionage, which would explain why Ethel was not given a cover name.
Julius and Ethel were executed in the electric chair at Sing Sing Prison on June 19, 1953. Michael Meeropol PhD'73, one of the Rosenbergs' two sons, says that "Mr. Gardner was convinced that my mother was wrongfully convicted and executed, but because what he did was super-secret, he could not speak out. As I understand it, he expressed tremendous remorse for this."
Gardner and the other code breakers ultimately found cover names for more than three hundred Americans who spied for the Soviets in World War II. American counterintelligence was able to identify only about one hundred of these Soviet agents. But even that accomplishment was remarkable. There wasn't a single agency of the American government that the Soviets hadn't infiltrated.
In 1972, Gardner retired from the NSA, and his work remained unknown for years. According to his son, Arthur Gardner MA'70, "I had no idea of his job when I was growing up. He took his promise of secrecy very seriously. I didn't know until much later what he did." Word got out in 1987, when former agent Peter Wright referred to Gardner in his autobiography, Spycatcher.
Gardner and the other code breakers ultimately found cover names for more than three hundred Americans who spied for the Soviets in World War II. American counterintelligence was able to identify only about one hundred of these Soviet agents. But even that accomplishment was remarkable. There wasn't a single agency of the American government that the Soviets hadn't infiltrated.
In 1972, Gardner retired from the NSA, and his work remained unknown for years. According to his son, Arthur Gardner MA'70, "I had no idea of his job when I was growing up. He took his promise of secrecy very seriously. I didn't know until much later what he did." Word got out in 1987, when former agent Peter Wright referred to Gardner in his autobiography, Spycatcher.
But no one paid much attention. It wasn't until 1996 that Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, as chair of a U.S. commission on government secrecy, became aware of the cryptography and campaigned for it to be revealed. Fifty years after their labors, Gardner and his colleagues were honored at a formal ceremony in Washington sponsored by the NSA, the CIA, and the Center for Democracy. Senator Moynihan introduced Meredith Gardner as an unsung hero of the Cold War.
Gardner told the Washington Post in 1996 that he attributed his success to his logic, linguistic skills, and "a sort of magpie attitude to facts, the habit of storing things away that did not seem to have any connection at all." Son Arthur says, "He had a love of detail and a love of knowledge in general."
Karen Fischer, who works at the UW-Madison Division of Continuing Studies, is the sister of Gardner's daughter-in-law and met Gardner in his later years. "If he heard a word pronounced differently," she says, "he'd trace the roots of the word and how the different pronunciation came about. He had an endless curiosity and a quick mind."
Gardner told the Washington Post in 1996 that he attributed his success to his logic, linguistic skills, and "a sort of magpie attitude to facts, the habit of storing things away that did not seem to have any connection at all." Son Arthur says, "He had a love of detail and a love of knowledge in general."
Karen Fischer, who works at the UW-Madison Division of Continuing Studies, is the sister of Gardner's daughter-in-law and met Gardner in his later years. "If he heard a word pronounced differently," she says, "he'd trace the roots of the word and how the different pronunciation came about. He had an endless curiosity and a quick mind."
Gardner spent his retirement doing the most difficult crossword puzzles he could find, in the London Times, and traced his Scottish ancestry "almost back to the Bible," says Fischer. He died on August 9, 2002, in Chevy Chase, Maryland. In his obituary, the Washington Post gave him the credit he so long deserved when it stated, "Within the intelligence community, Mr. Gardner was said to have been a living legend."
Joseph Aloysius Sullivan '38, LLB'41 seems to have been on the scene at every defining event of the turbulent sixties and seventies. Whether it was the search in 1964 for three missing civil rights workers depicted in the film Mississippi Burning (Gene Hackman's character was loosely based on Sullivan in the 1988 movie); the Martin Luther King, Jr. assassination in 1968; the murder of United Mine Workers reformer Jock Yablonski in 1969; the Kent State killings in May 1970; or the bombing of the Army Math Research Center in Sterling Hall at UW-Madison in August 1970, he was there — almost a real-life Forrest Gump.
Throughout his thirty-year FBI career, he was the man the bureau sent when there was pressure to solve a case, and solve it soon. Author Tom Clancy refers to Joseph Sullivan as "the greatest lawman America ever produced."
Joseph Aloysius Sullivan '38, LLB'41 seems to have been on the scene at every defining event of the turbulent sixties and seventies. Whether it was the search in 1964 for three missing civil rights workers depicted in the film Mississippi Burning (Gene Hackman's character was loosely based on Sullivan in the 1988 movie); the Martin Luther King, Jr. assassination in 1968; the murder of United Mine Workers reformer Jock Yablonski in 1969; the Kent State killings in May 1970; or the bombing of the Army Math Research Center in Sterling Hall at UW-Madison in August 1970, he was there — almost a real-life Forrest Gump.
Throughout his thirty-year FBI career, he was the man the bureau sent when there was pressure to solve a case, and solve it soon. Author Tom Clancy refers to Joseph Sullivan as "the greatest lawman America ever produced."
Sullivan was born in Montreal, Wisconsin, and raised in nearby Hurley. According to his brother Gerald Sullivan '41, to finance his UW-Madison education, Joseph worked summers in a Montreal iron ore mine. "It was there that he learned about explosives," says Gerald.
Little did Joseph know that this knowledge would play a large role some thirty years later in solving what was until then one of the most destructive acts of domestic terrorism in U.S. history — the Sterling Hall bombing. "He easily figured out how they [the bombers] blew it up — how the explosives worked — and solved the case in no time," says Gerald.
Sullivan played football for Wisconsin for a time, but quit when he decided to enter law school. After graduation, he got a job with Standard Oil in Green Bay. When a fellow alum suggested that Sullivan join the FBI, which offered a starting salary well above what he was making, he jumped at the chance.
The FBI put Sullivan to work tracking down Nazis in Venezuela. "No one was supposed to know he was an FBI agent," Gerald says. "He had to get a day job with an oil company down there and then do his spy work at night. He was sent to find the Nazis, but he found the Communists were a bigger problem."
Little did Joseph know that this knowledge would play a large role some thirty years later in solving what was until then one of the most destructive acts of domestic terrorism in U.S. history — the Sterling Hall bombing. "He easily figured out how they [the bombers] blew it up — how the explosives worked — and solved the case in no time," says Gerald.
Sullivan played football for Wisconsin for a time, but quit when he decided to enter law school. After graduation, he got a job with Standard Oil in Green Bay. When a fellow alum suggested that Sullivan join the FBI, which offered a starting salary well above what he was making, he jumped at the chance.
The FBI put Sullivan to work tracking down Nazis in Venezuela. "No one was supposed to know he was an FBI agent," Gerald says. "He had to get a day job with an oil company down there and then do his spy work at night. He was sent to find the Nazis, but he found the Communists were a bigger problem."
In the early fifties, Sullivan joined the FBI's Domestic Intelligence Division, which kept an eye on the KKK and other violent organizations. After heading bureau offices in Houston and Alaska, Sullivan was promoted in 1963 to the position of major case inspector.
In June 1964, he received word that the FBI had been authorized to investigate the disappearance of three civil rights workers near Philadelphia, Mississippi. Sullivan flew to Meridian and made it his home for the next nine months.
In the tense social climate of the 1960s, the Johnson Administration was determined to track down the murderers. Within weeks of arriving in Mississippi, Sullivan was visited by FBI Assistant Director Al Rosen, then by FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. Sullivan's investigation even received full assistance from the military, which sent busloads of sailors from the Meridian Naval Station to aid in the search for bodies in the insect-infested swamps of east-central Mississippi.
In June 1964, he received word that the FBI had been authorized to investigate the disappearance of three civil rights workers near Philadelphia, Mississippi. Sullivan flew to Meridian and made it his home for the next nine months.
In the tense social climate of the 1960s, the Johnson Administration was determined to track down the murderers. Within weeks of arriving in Mississippi, Sullivan was visited by FBI Assistant Director Al Rosen, then by FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. Sullivan's investigation even received full assistance from the military, which sent busloads of sailors from the Meridian Naval Station to aid in the search for bodies in the insect-infested swamps of east-central Mississippi.
According to the "Famous Trials" Web site maintained by the University of Missouri-Kansas City, when the attempt to recover the bodies failed, Sullivan concluded that he "would ultimately solve this case by an investigation rather than a search." But residents of the Mississippi town of Philadelphia were tight-lipped. "They [the Klan] owned the place. In spirit, everyone belonged to the Klan," Sullivan said. The local residents even took sport in sending the FBI agents on wild goose chases.
Eventually, the site continues, Sullivan developed informants who led him to uncover the facts. The key informants were members of a neighboring Klan, causing Sullivan to observe that if the Philadelphia Klan had "carried out the murders on their own, they would have almost certainly gotten away with it."
By 1970, Sullivan's reputation in the FBI could be summed up in two words: effective and incorruptible. When, at 3:40 a.m. on August 24, Madison was rocked by an explosion so powerful that it damaged twenty-six buildings, awakened residents thirty miles away, and killed thirty-three-year-old graduate student Robert Fassnacht, the FBI sent the man they knew they could count on to get the answers.
Eventually, the site continues, Sullivan developed informants who led him to uncover the facts. The key informants were members of a neighboring Klan, causing Sullivan to observe that if the Philadelphia Klan had "carried out the murders on their own, they would have almost certainly gotten away with it."
By 1970, Sullivan's reputation in the FBI could be summed up in two words: effective and incorruptible. When, at 3:40 a.m. on August 24, Madison was rocked by an explosion so powerful that it damaged twenty-six buildings, awakened residents thirty miles away, and killed thirty-three-year-old graduate student Robert Fassnacht, the FBI sent the man they knew they could count on to get the answers.
Sullivan returned to Madison, where he had started his own life's journey more than thirty years before. Less than a week and a half after the act, his investigation had pieced together what had happened. Sullivan believed the bombers had filled a Ford van with about two thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate soaked in aviation fuel. He put four people on the FBI's most wanted list.
"People in Madison knew Joseph was there to investigate the bombing," says Gerald. "When my brother walked down the street, students would yell things at him and throw things. But Joseph never reacted. He kept calm."
Although he dealt with danger for most of his career, Sullivan was most proud of his nonviolent approach to his work. "Here he was — this big man who had played football and who had worked in Wisconsin iron mines," says his brother. "He was very authoritative. He never struck anyone, he never fought with anyone, and he never pulled his gun out. No one argued with him — not even the mobsters." In fact, when asked if Joseph liked the way he was portrayed in the film Mississippi Burning, Gerald says, "He felt it was pretty accurate. But Gene Hackman's character was too violent. Joseph wasn't violent."
"People in Madison knew Joseph was there to investigate the bombing," says Gerald. "When my brother walked down the street, students would yell things at him and throw things. But Joseph never reacted. He kept calm."
Although he dealt with danger for most of his career, Sullivan was most proud of his nonviolent approach to his work. "Here he was — this big man who had played football and who had worked in Wisconsin iron mines," says his brother. "He was very authoritative. He never struck anyone, he never fought with anyone, and he never pulled his gun out. No one argued with him — not even the mobsters." In fact, when asked if Joseph liked the way he was portrayed in the film Mississippi Burning, Gerald says, "He felt it was pretty accurate. But Gene Hackman's character was too violent. Joseph wasn't violent."
After retiring from the bureau in 1971, Sullivan worked in security for the airline industry and as a private security consultant. In 1995, he formed the World Training Institute in New York, a nonprofit organization that does consulting and training for the business community.
Sullivan died at age eighty-five on August 2, 2002. On August 9, the Wall Street Journal ran an obituary titled "The Gentle G-Man." It noted, "Most people who knew Joe Sullivan knew little of his heroics, however, because he never spoke of himself. The Reverend William M. Shelley of Manhattan's St. Agnes Parish, who said Sullivan's funeral Mass this week, said the homeless in his soup kitchen were astounded to learn that the gentle man who mopped their floors had been a top G-man."
Sullivan died at age eighty-five on August 2, 2002. On August 9, the Wall Street Journal ran an obituary titled "The Gentle G-Man." It noted, "Most people who knew Joe Sullivan knew little of his heroics, however, because he never spoke of himself. The Reverend William M. Shelley of Manhattan's St. Agnes Parish, who said Sullivan's funeral Mass this week, said the homeless in his soup kitchen were astounded to learn that the gentle man who mopped their floors had been a top G-man."
