Rickover’s Letters
Doug Sjoberg
I read Vice Admiral George Emery’s insightful piece (“An Admiral’s Letters to His Son,” October, pp. 50–53) with mixed feelings. The article initially conveyed a feeling of poignancy in seeing a sensitive side of Admiral Hyman Rickover, whose reputation for demanding, spartan leadership in founding our nuclear Navy was unmatched. That he carved out time for frequent, meaningful letters to his only child despite a nearly inhuman workload was commendable parenting. But as a former surface line communications and security officer, my secondary reaction was one of chagrin at the admiral’s apparent disregard for the handling of what might have been highly classified information on the capabilities and performance of our new nuclear ships.
My Navy training hammered into me the absolute necessity of guarding the sharing of any military operational information, even with close family members. The enemy, I was told, can glean major intelligence from innocuous bits and pieces of carelessly handled unclassified information. Emery’s article tells us that Rickover’s letters were identical to the information he provided key members of the government and high military leaders about the results of nuclear submarine acceptance trials. Quotes on the performance of the submarine USS Seawolf such as “submerged full-power operation. . . greater than 300 feet,” and “reversal of engines from full power ahead to full power astern. . . in record time,” and quotes on the Polaris missile sub USS George Washington operating “at depths greater than 400 feet” could have been vital intelligence info for the Soviets at the time they occurred. That the letters were authored by a U.S. naval officer of such immense stature, influence, and decision-making power made them even more critically classified.
Whether such information was probably already known to the Soviets is not the point here. The disclosure of any ship performance data, especially that of a new nuclear-powered force, would have been at least very risky, probably highly inappropriate, and perhaps outright unlawful at the time the letters were written. We live in a world acutely aware of the dangers of information security breaches, whether related to terrorist attacks or to the political hot potato of insecure email servers and cellphones.
We can all agree that Admiral Rickover was a caring father to his young son, but he also was known as the “Father of the Nuclear Navy.” In hindsight, perhaps some more prudent care with respect to the operational information he shared with family about that Navy would have been a good idea.
Vice Admiral Emery responds:
Doug Sjoberg is on the mark regarding the importance of protecting classified information, a subject about which Admiral Rickover was extremely sensitive. These letters contain no classified information. With respect to submerged submarine operations, phrases such as “operations at depths greater than 400 feet” have long been the unclassified manner of not releasing a submarine’s true depth limitation, just as the phrase “speeds greater than 20 knots” has been a standard for not revealing a submarine’s maximum submerged speed capability. “Full-power operations” ahead and astern are standard trial requirements during every new ship’s sea trials whether an aircraft carrier, a frigate, or a submarine, and the statement that the Seawolf successfully passed these tests divulges no classified information.
On the other hand, if full-power operations had been other than satisfactory and notice of that failure had been published in the press, or any other unclassified forum such as a post–sea trial letter, such a “leak” might be considered an inappropriate release of sensitive, if not classified, information because of the weakness it reveals to a potential adversary.
In this regard, it may be instructive to note that during the sea trials of the Seawolf the power available for her “full power” trial was limited by the unavailability of her steam superheaters because of their unreliability. According to Richard H. Hewlett and Francis Duncan’s book Nuclear Navy 1946–1962 (University of Chicago Press, 1974), in Rickover’s letter to his son, his use of the phrase “full power” refers to the maximum power available, not the maximum power her steam plant was originally designed to produce. Appropriately, Admiral Rickover made no mention in his post–sea trial letter from the Seawolf of a reduced “full power” capability.
Captain Lawrence B. Brennan, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Vice Admiral George Emery’s article disclosing that Admiral Rickover was a long-term navophilatelist gives important insight on his personal and professional interests. The letters and envelopes (“covers,” to collectors) show Admiral Rickover’s use of the U.S. Navy’s mail system to keep his only son and 535 members of Congress informed of the developments of the nuclear-powered ships Congress had funded. This came at the same time that Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Arleigh Burke had encouraged the use of a small rubber stamp on outgoing mail reading: “The Importance of the Navy Keeps Increasing.”
The burdens these envelopes and letters placed on the commission crew (particularly the commanding officer and ship’s writer) are legendary. By design, there were no extra pieces of letterhead or envelopes, and the admiral signed the paper before the yeoman began to type. Collectors of naval postmarks and covers prize the envelopes sent by Admiral Rickover. The cached cover with the Nautilus’ (SSN-571) special postmark for reaching the North Pole is a particularly prized item. Visit www.uscs.org and www.navalcovermuseum.org for more information.
Dispatches from the Venomous
Captain John A. Rodgaard, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Thank you for the article “On Board the ‘Augie’ at Casablanca” in the October issue (pp. 32–37). I wondered whether Ensign Richard W. Belt Jr.’s diary mentioned the arrival of an old British warship that came alongside the Augusta shortly after his cruiser’s arrival in Casablanca. Early on 13 November 1942, the V and W–class destroyer, HMS Venomous, appeared off the coast of Casablanca and was directed by Admiral H. Kent Hewitt to come alongside the Augusta.
On board the Venomous were 500 survivors from the depot ship (destroyer tender) HMS Hecla, which had been sunk by U-515. The survivors were taken aboard the cruiser and according to the navigation officer of the Venomous: “The Americans . . . dished out 500 showers, four course breakfasts, complete kits of clothing and camp beds.” According to one of the Hecla’s survivors, photos were taken of us as we climbed the scrambling nets to board the Augusta. In 2012 I visited one of the survivors who at the age 90 spoke fondly of American generosity and kindness; it was something he would never forget.
Editor’s Note: Ensign Belt indeed did record his impressions of the Hecla crewmen’s unexpected visit to the Augusta:
About 10:00 I wandered up on topside and bumped into a weird sight. The well deck was jammed with half naked men & others clothed in blankets, towels, canvas, etc. . . . Old “charity” ship Augusta issued all hands dungarees, skivvies, socks, and shoes—we ran out of the right shoe sizes, but those Britishers were thankful for anything. I gave one of the warrants a few handkerchiefs, three pairs of socks, toothpaste, toothbrush, and soap. Gunner Kelley gave him a razor & towels, so he was fixed up pretty well. About noon they went back aboard the can, which left to take them to “Gib” [Gibraltar]. . . . After witnessing their condition, somebody should kick me in the fanny if I ever complain about the hardships of watchstanding, inspections, etc.
Putting Our Ducks in a Row
Commander Frank L. Shelley, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
Thanks to Norman Polmar for his enjoyable October article, “If It Flies Like a Duck . . .” (“Historic Aircraft,” pp. 14–15). There were, however, a couple of errors that merit attention. The first is the statement that “In December 1935 a Marine JF-2 set an unofficial speed record of 191 mph.” Actually, on 20 December 1934, Coast Guard Lieutenant Commander Elmer F. Stone flew a JF-2 over a 3-kilometer course at Buckroe Beach, Virginia, at a speed of 191.734 mph. He was commended by the secretary of the Treasury and awarded a Certificate of Record by the National Aeronautic Association on 10 January 1935.
The second is the identification of Utility Squadron One’s number 5 as a JF-2 in the photo caption at the bottom of page 14. Close examination reveals the presence of aileron interconnect struts, proving that it is indeed a JF airframe rather than a JF-2. However, the deep cord cowl needed to house a twin row Pratt and Whitney R1830 Twin Wasp gives it away as a JF-1.
Mr. Polmar responds:
Thanks for your comments; it’s always good to obtain additional information on historic aircraft.
The Longest Ship(s) in the Navy
Captain Charles T. Creekman, U.S. Navy
Here’s some more information for your readers about the history of the ships named Enterprise, inspired by Captain John A. Rodgaard’s “In Contact” letter (“‘The Big E’ Gets Smaller,” October, p. 9). To generations of sailors, the battleship Maine (BB-2), sunk in Havana Harbor, Cuba, in 1898, was famously known as the “longest ship in the Navy” because her salvaged foremast was erected at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland, and her mainmast became part of a memorial in Arlington National Cemetery in adjacent Virginia.
But the legendary aircraft carrier Enterprise (CV-6) can give the Maine a run for her money. As Captain Rodgaard and his grandchildren discovered, the “Big E’s” anchor is at the historic Washington Navy Yard in Washington, D.C. Her bell can be found in Tecumseh Court at the Naval Academy. Since the stern plate bearing her distinguished name was salvaged when she was scrapped and is on display in River Vale, New Jersey, the remnants of this most decorated of all World War II warships spans a trio of states.
The latest Enterprise (CVN-65) may have an even better claim in a few years. Currently undergoing inactivation work at Newport News Shipbuilding where she was constructed over five decades earlier, she will likely be decommissioned in 2016 once her nuclear defueling has been completed. As the plans to scrap her in Bremerton, Washington, are firmed up, her stern plate has already been earmarked for retention by the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida. Last year, one of her original 30-ton anchors was transferred in the shipyard to the Abraham Lincoln (CVN-72) to replace a damaged hook, so conceivably this latest Enterprise’s physical presence will someday stretch from Florida to wherever “Abe’s” 105,000 tons of diplomacy carry that hardy vestige of the first nuclear-powered flattop!
As an artifact sidelight and perhaps the ultimate example of nautical recycling, several portholes installed in CV-6 in 1938, and reinstalled in CVN-65 in 1961, are now in the custody of the Naval History and Heritage Command’s curators, hopefully reserved for the next Enterprise (CVN-80) when, congressional funding permitting, she becomes a reality sometime before 2030.