The Last Days of Peace in Pearl Harbor
Reverend Lawrence R. Schmeider—On 1 February 1941, Admiral H. E. Kimmel relieved Admiral James O. Richardson as Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet, and Commander-in-Chief, U. S. Fleet (CinCUS) on board the USS Pennsylvania (BB-38) in Pearl Harbor. Even before Hawaii was annexed to the United States, the desirability of Pearl Harbor as a naval base was recognized by our naval commanders. Consequently, as quickly as these things could be pushed, the different lochs, or channels, which collectively form the mouth of the dreamy Pearl River, were dredged, and facilities for the use of naval vessels were constructed. The East Loch was developed first.
Pearl Harbor had a submarine base in addition to a shipyard. Otherwise, not many ships had operated out of there for many years. But in October 1939, the Hawaiian detachment of heavy cruisers plus supporting ships was based there. This invasion began to change the leisurely tropical routine of the SubBase, hence the cruisers were not too popular. It also meant the arrival of an additional group of sailors with all the various problems they can bring. Then, in April 1940, the U. S. Fleet held its spring war games off Hawaii, and subsequently 12 battleships plus the two or three carriers were based at Pearl. Long Beach, California, however, continued to be designated as their homeport, and no government funds for dependents’ transportation to Hawaii were available. This new influx of ships brought in many more white uniforms.
The USS Saratoga (CV-3) did her airplane training off the West Coast of the United States, but the USS Lexington (CV-2), USS Yorktown (CV-5), and the USS Enterprise (CV-6) operated mostly with the Fleet. Usually one or two battleships were undergoing overhaul in West Coast ports, so that ordinarily about ten battleships would be in Hawaii at one time.
On 1 February 1941, Admiral Kimmel was in the Pennsylvania. Under him were: Vice Admiral William S. Pye, Commander Battle Force, in the USS California (BB-44); Vice Admiral Wilson Brown, Commander Scouting Force, in the USS Indianapolis (CA-35); and Vice Admiral William F. Halsey, Commander Air Battle Force in the Yorktown. The carrier force consisted of the Enterprise, Yorktown, and the Lexington. The battleship force was made up of four divisions of three ships each: Battleship Division One (BatDivOne)—USS Arizona (BB-39), USS Nevada (BB-36), and USS Oklahoma (BB-37); BatDivTwo—Pennsylvania, California, and USS Tennessee (BB-43); BatDivThree—USS New Mexico (BB-40), USS Idaho (BB-42), USS Mississippi (BB-41); BatDivFour—USS Maryland (BB-46), USS Colorado (BB-45); and USS West Virginia (BB-48). The cruisers consisted of two divisions of four light cruisers each, with 6-inch guns, and three divisions of four heavy cruisers each, with 8-inch guns.
In the old concept of a full Fleet engagement, the heavy battleships would form the battle-line, with an inner screen of light cruisers and an outer screen of destroyers. Carriers launching planes would stay to the rear, and scouting forces would make the initial advance to see what they could do.
Early in 1941, the Battle Force and the Scouting Force usually operated on separate schedules. Every Wednesday, five battleships would leave the harbor, and later in the morning, the other five would return, so that there were never more than five battleships in the harbor at one time. Operating schedules for light and heavy cruisers and carriers were about the same, thus not more than half the Fleet was in the harbor at one time.
As ideas shifted away from the conventional Fleet engagement with the (“Orange”) enemy, different types of task force deployments were initiated. This, of course, radically revised operating schedules, but usually it was a week in and a week out for each ship.
After 1 February 1941, other changes occurred. Submarines disappeared more and more in the direction of Manila and Tawi-Tawi. So did a tender or two. Early in May 1941, without warning, the Yorktown, Battleship Division Three, the division of Brooklyn-class light cruisers, and about 12 destroyers were detached and ordered to the Atlantic Fleet.
At this time, various cruisers were also escorting many convoys to Manila. Usually the route would be via Suva, Torres Strait, (between Australia and New Guinea) Balikpapan (Borneo), and then to Manila. The cruisers would come back through the Central Pacific by themselves.
Around July and August 1941, the Fleet commander moved his headquarters ashore to the top deck of a building at the Submarine Base in Pearl Harbor. Somewhat later, it was moved to nearby Makalapa. Prior to that time his flagship, the Pennsylvania, was always tied up at the old “Ten-Ten dock” (later called B-1, B-2, and the like). The California had the forward Fox Pier at Ford Island, followed by the carrier Enterprise with Commander, Air Battle Force, then the other battleships. The carrier Lexington had the large Fox Pier on the Pearl City side of Ford Island, and when in, the Utah (AG-16) or a tender was also there. Lest we forget, the hospital ship USS Relief (AH-1) was usually moored behind the Fox 8 (Ford Island) Pier. And never to be forgotten, the old USS Baltimore (CR-3), pride of Admiral Dewey’s fleet, was also anchored near there. The Indianapolis had a pier at the present Supply Center. The other cruisers, unless they were being overhauled in the yard, were moored at the “X” and “C” mooring floats between Aiea Landing and the Pearl City peninsula. Docking facilities in early 1941 consisted of one large graving dock, one floating drydock, and one railroad dock.
The hospital was still located in the yard. As one entered Pearl Harbor channel, Fort Kamehameha was on the right. The Central and West Lochs had not been much developed in early 1941, and the present deep-water channel toward the area of the Naval Receiving Station was still undredged and unimproved.
At that time the officers’ landing was below the present Commissioned Officers’ Mess (Open). The enlisted men’s landing was first at Pier 19 (B-19), and after the battleships came, liberty for single men expired at either 2400 or 0100. There was always a huge mob, all trying to catch the last liberty boat back to their ships. Since the slip was not too wide, the coxswains had a glorious time clanging their bells and maneuvering in tight circles with their motor launches. Every night a few drunks would fall into the water. Usually the bow boat hook man would fish them out of the drink, and about 30 pairs of uncertain hands would try to haul the tipsy one back on board. Sometimes a few more fell over the side, trying to haul in the first swimmer. This only multiplied the rescue missions. Later on, the enlisted men’s and the officers’ landings were relocated in front of the present Receiving Station.
The Pan-American Clipper also landed in the Pearl Harbor Channel in 1941. Many seaplanes from Ford Island also did the same, making quite a scene of confusion when ships, boats, and planes were all trying to fight for the right of way, and so elaborate rules governed all of this heavy traffic.
There was also a YMCA building at the site of the present swimming pool at the Receiving Station. Admiral Claude C. Bloch, Commandant, 14th Naval District, had this organization moved out of the yard. Across from the present row of dark brown quarters, there was a 9-hole golf course, right inside the yard.
There was only one road from the main gate, Pearl Harbor Navy Yard, to Honolulu, and that was only two lanes wide. Now and then, taxicab drivers and others tried to make it three lanes—with discarded wreckage as evidence of their lack of success. Housing outside the gate was just being constructed in 1941, as was the Makalapa space for Fleet staffs.
Each taxicab carried seven passengers at 25 cents apiece from Pearl Harbor to the Army and Navy YMCA in Honolulu. The Oahu railroad was still in fine running shape, and many of the boys liked to ride it, especially after a rest camp was opened under Commander, Cruisers Scouting Force. Later, at Barber’s Point, Nimitz Beach was opened, and was extensively used.
During late 1941, apprentice seamen made $21.00 a month, seaman second class made $36.00, and seaman first class made $54.00 a month. Family allowances for the higher ratings were coming in. The Naval Academy Class of 1941 hit the Fleet. Ensigns still made $1,500 a year and could not marry until two years after graduation. Selections of the class of 1922 to commander were made that fall. Everyone was busy reading confidential reports of British naval experiences at the hands of the German Navy, such as the sinking of the Hood and the Bismarck in the late spring or early summer. U. S. Navy bluejackets in trouble were anxious for a second chance in life—by volunteering for Asiatic duty and getting out to the Far East (Asiatic Fleet) in the faithful old USS Henderson (AP-1).
There was much arguing about the depth of water required for the launching of aerial torpedoes, still much pooh-poohing of nuclear and astrophysics as mere speculative sciences. The degaussing people were busy, as was the degaussing range at Maui. Everyone was magnetic-mine conscious. There was trouble with some sailors writing directly to their Congressmen to protest one thing or another. Ship’s Service (now Navy Exchange) was still run mostly by seamen first class, who got extra pay as soda jerkers, barbers, cobblers, and the like. At that time, no one with a rate could work in Ship’s Service, and it was controlled by an officer as collateral duty. Servicemen in Pearl Harbor sensed the ultimate arrival of hostilities and blackout drills were conducted, but there was quite a bit of anxiety lest the civilian population be alarmed, perhaps resulting in the loss of key men who might leave for the mainland. The Navy Yard continued to expand rapidly; some sections worked around the clock.
Housing was very tight, and people were sleeping on cots along the lanais, or porches, of the Army and Navy YMCA in Honolulu. Still, dependents kept coming over. It was not all one way, however, because persons of the more reflective type were starting to send their wives and children home in the summer of 1941.
There were lots of fights in town. In those days, enlisted men had to go on liberty in uniform. Officers, if in civvies, had to wear a shirt, tie, coat, and hat. Schofield Barracks was still one of the largest U. S. Army posts. In the evening, Army officers stationed there either had to wear a good uniform or black trousers, white coat, and tie.
In September 1941, the Lexington and the USS Pensacola (CA-24)—on board which I was chaplain—had an odd Fleet problem. They had to stay within 15 miles of Barber’s Point Lighthouse until dark; they attacked Pearl Harbor by plane at dawn; then the planes returned to the carrier. The skipper of the Lexington was not too impressed with land-based aerial reconnaissance, so he stayed within 15 miles or less of the attacking (plane-launching) point until the big Army planes finally discovered them about 1400. There was much muttering about this since the ships could not return to port until they were discovered.
This was the day of the fancy painted-on-bow-waves, and the Lexington had a beautiful one. People who were asked to estimate her speed from a distance, said about 30 knots when she was going only 8 knots. There was also one operation where the Lexington or Saratoga operated inside a protecting screen of four battleships. The latter could make only 20 knots—if they secured the galley. The Lexington was much faster.
It was also the day when torpedo planes would lay down two long smoke screens before an attack, at right angles to each other, like two adjoining sides of a square, then attack after a low surface run (so they would be protected from surface ship fire.) This never occurred very often after the war started, mainly because opposing fighters intervened. Somewhat prevalent at this time was the theory that no carrier-based planes could attack land-based planes. The wise youngsters had a time-sustained comeback on that one: After the plane was in the air, no one bothered much about its ancestry.
At this time in 1941, a good many ships were armed only with their main battery plus the small surface-ship repelling secondary battery. They also had .50-caliber machine guns. A ship that had 20- or 40-mm. weapons was considered new. Radar was just beginning to appear on some ships, and that mostly the foremast, or mainmast, search type of radar.
There was a lot of talk about local self-sufficiency concerning food. Heated claims and denials occurred at times. “Off the record” speeches were made. Various runs by different ships were made to Midway, Wake, and the like. Ships would operate outside the harbor with no flags flying. The dark color of the ships made them very hot for those on board. Enlisted men wore white shorts and skivvy shirts as the daytime uniform on board ship. Late in 1941, officers were authorized to wear white shorts, and white shirts with open collar and rolled-up sleeves. The khaki uniform for officers was worn only at work on most ships. Only the aviators wore khaki at lunch, never at dinner (on the larger ships). The aviators took the rank sleeve stripes off their khaki uniforms in favor of shoulder boards. Their green uniforms were still the old style—black stripes for rank.
There were many inspections, although everybody decried their frequency and peace-time aspect. They were held, nevertheless, including open double-bottom material inspections. Inspecting officers still concerned themselves in looking for a speck of dirt behind a shoulder-high bulkhead.
HMS Warspite came through Pearl Harbor in the summer of 1941. Our boys thought she was a bit dirty, and the English thought we were entirely too nervous.
Operations began to be more realistic. Oftentimes in squalls they would get a bit mixed up. The Enterprise and either the Oklahoma or the Arizona sustained a small swiping collision. Then the Oklahoma and the Arizona had a bigger and better collision; several destroyers ran into one another. Otherwise all went off pretty well.
Family separations were quite a problem. Ships seldom returned to the West Coast. The Pensacola, for instance, was away from the West Coast from October 1939 to late August 1941, and this caused plenty of trouble then, even as it does now. Some groups of ships returned to the West Coast for about two weeks’ “morale” leave, and then crewmen were subject to telegraphic recall.
By some strange operational whim, eight battleships were in the harbor on 6 December 1941. Fortunately, foul weather had delayed the return of the Enterprise and the Lexington from Wake Island, so they were not in the harbor at the time of the attack. Stories of fuel shortages were rampant. The Japanese Peace Envoy to Washington, Saburo Kurusu, made a stopover at Pearl Harbor on board a Pan American Clipper.
In late 1941, a task force of carriers could stay 500 miles from a target until darkness, then come in at 30 knots for 12 hours, attack at dawn only 140 miles away, have its planes return, and quickly sail away. This 500-mile radius would have required a geometrical scouting area of nearly 800,000 square miles. Although there was a sufficient number of defending scouting planes available, the attack would be made at dusk, and shore-based radar was in its infancy.
The time was now 0745 (“Plus Ten” time zone)—7 December 1941. A few minutes later, the era of (more or less) world peace which had begun on 11 November 1918 would rudely come to an end, along with a way of life now remembered but dimly.
“The Only Option?”
(See G. E. Lowe, pp. 18-23, April; and pp. 86-88, November 1971 Proceedings)
Rear Admiral George H. Miller, U. S. Navy—As Director, Navy Long Range Objectives Group in January 1964, I became acutely aware of the impending Soviet drive for nuclear superiority. This awareness came primarily from a study of world geography and how our strategic weapons posture looked from the opponent’s point of view—through his eyes, from his capital, and from his geographical situation. Our analysis led to the conclusion that because of the unprecedented nature of the threat being generated against the United States itself, our nation would soon be compelled to put more emphasis on sea-basing strategic forces.
With encouragement of the Secretary of the Navy, the Chief of Naval Operations, and the Assistant Secretary of Defense (Systems Analysis), our Group focused its major effort on strategic forces matters and the various ways the Navy might be able to contribute. In the course of these studies, we identified a number of sea-based options, including some which could be employed in a relatively short time. Among the latter quick-reaction options were ballistic missile surface ships and more nuclear attack planes on aircraft carriers.
Since Dr. Shaver raises questions concerning sea-based weapons systems, I consider it appropriate to comment. The United States is in unprecedented danger. The principal source of this danger is the large number of nuclear weapons aimed at the United States, the land which all of us involved in defense matters are charged with protecting.
The major problem confronting U. S. nuclear defense strategists is not so much defending the strategic weapons themselves, although this is of major concern to military tacticians. The primary concern is the preservation of the United States. This is the central problem which must be addressed.
U. S. defense leaders have continued to warn that the Soviet Union is developing a nuclear first-strike capability consisting of hundreds of multimegaton warheads aimed at the United States. Thus, a primary goal of those charged with preservation of our nation must be to prevent a surprise nuclear first strike on the United States.
What motivates a nation to initiate war with a surprise attack? An examination of available literature on many of the instances where war was initiated by surprise attack shows the primary motivation to be high confidence on the part of the attacker that he will thereby achieve a decisive military advantage.
If, as Dr. Shaver says, our present strategic forces posture is “. . . a positive deterrent to Soviet first strike counterforce attacks . . . ,” one might well wonder why the Soviets are continuing to increase their superiority in nuclear missile strength.
One cannot question the fact that deterrence worked when the United States had tremendous nuclear superiority. But how will it work in the coming years of U. S. nuclear inferiority? Is it not possible that some group of aggressive military zealots might come to believe that if you devastate your victim and most of his offensive weapons completely enough, he will have very little remaining to retaliate with—or about?
The prudent strategist will take into account, in structuring his weapon deployment, that a nation which commits vast resources to a nuclear first-strike posture, has influential elements in government who are confident a first strike against the other side would bring decisive military advantage. Deterrence of such elements through threat of retaliation after they have confidently launched their attack may not be enough to ensure preservation of our nation. To be more certain that our deterrence posture continues to be credible, everything should be done to make it impossible for an aggressor to gain his decisive military advantage by hitting the United States with a nuclear first strike. Deny the aggressor the military advantage to be gained from a nuclear first strike, and he must seek other alternatives to gain his ends.
Destruction of the great majority of U. S. nuclear offensive forces now based in the United States—Minuteman, strategic bombers, and Polaris/Poseidon submarines in port—would almost certainly constitute a decisive military advantage in the eyes of a nuclear aggressor. With the large concentration of nuclear offensive weapons on U. S. soil, the balance between the temptation to strike and the inhibiting influence of deterrence may become unpredictably precarious. On the other hand, if only a small portion of our total nuclear offensive force were located in the United States, the temptation to initiate war with a nuclear first strike on our nation would be greatly diminished or entirely removed.
Since the United States constitutes a relatively-limited, heavily-populated land area in comparison to the Soviet Union, we are virtually compelled to place greater emphasis than they on sea-basing, to achieve strategic weapon deployments more likely to assure continued credibility of our deterrent posture. Moreover, if it becomes necessary to base more U. S. nuclear weapons at sea by 1974, the year in which defense officials estimate the Soviets will be able to destroy 95% of our land-based nuclear weapons, ballistic missile surface ships, and more nuclear attack planes on aircraft carriers, are two of the few short-term basing options still available.
Surface ships, and submarines as well, can be defended if this becomes necessary. The defensive tactics and techniques depend on the scope and nature of the threat as it develops over time. Defense authorities have demonstrated, in a multitude of war games, analyses, and operations at sea, that sufficient survivability can be provided to enable ships carrying nuclear weapons to perform their missions. This of course Is the fundamental purpose of navies—to enable a nation to perform at sea those functions essential to its security and well-being.
As for the possible threat of ICBM attack, one calculation suggests that a ship moving randomly at 20 knots creates an area of uncertainty which would require ten or more megaton-size warheads for complete coverage. The large areas of uncertainty created by continuously moving forces make it virtually impossible for an aggressor to pre-plan and execute a surprise attack of any kind against an entire force, with high assurance of success. But suppose a missile ship is actually destroyed with nuclear weapons. Expenditure of nuclear weapons for this or any other purpose would constitute the gravest kind of escalation and warning. Similarly, grave alert and countering measures would probably ensue. At the same time, use of nuclear missiles against a ship at sea would in itself result in less damage, from our country’s point of view, than their employment against targets within the United States itself, and the inevitable consequences.
As for possible use of attrition tactics against strategic forces—ships or submarines—which appears to concern Dr. Shaver, such tactics would involve operations and counter-operations involving days, weeks, and even months. During this period, the Navy and Air Force would initiate massive countermeasures designed to prevent or defeat the attrition, and to buy time for our government to examine the situation, consider responses, conduct negotiations, and undertake the best counter-actions for the preservation of the nation. A campaign of attrition, while having hazardous aspects, would probably be less destructive in the long run from the country’s point of view, than having to retaliate on a few minutes’ notice to a massive nuclear attack on the United States. Moreover, I fail to find any instance on record where a people or government has been able to recover from the shock of major surprise attack in time to respond effectively within minutes. Time for decision is an essential element of credible deterrence.
In response to Dr. Shaver’s comment on crisis stability, one might observe that deployments which give our government many hours to cool tempers and appraise situations, provide, in most cases, more stability than deployments which require massive nuclear responses within minutes.
As for relative cost of sea-based weapons, a number of analyses, including some by joint defense agencies, show ship-based weapons to be among the least costly and most survivable of all basing options.
As I read the available data, a Triad nuclear posture, which bases a larger proportion of its weapons in submarines, surface ships, and aircraft carriers would give our nation more credible nuclear deterrence for less. But whatever the cost in dollars of a particular deployment concept, has anyone calculated the cost in terms of overall, permanent value loss our country would sustain from explosion of one megaton-size nuclear weapon on our territory? Or 10? Or 50? Or, as implied in Dr. Shaver’s comment—1,000?
Any deployment concept which compels an aggressor to allocate more of his resources to weapons and tactics other than to nuclear weapons aimed at the United States, deserves more careful consideration than Dr. Shaver’s comment suggests.
Admiral Richard Harrison Jackson
(See Secretary’s Notes, pp. 3-5, April 1971 Proceedings)
Rear Admiral John D. Hayes, U. S. Navy (Retired)—At the 97th Annual Meeting of the U. S. Naval Institute, the Board of Control announced the establishment of the Golden Life Membership, comprising those still with us who have been part of the Naval Institute for 50 or more years. When the list of these members was published, the name of Admiral Richard Harrison Jackson, then 106 years old, with 75 years of membership, of course led all the rest.
The Admiral had been much in public notice, primarily for having enjoyed a long, all-embracing life. Fully as significant is what he did with this gift.
Richard H. Jackson was not only a Golden Life Member, he was also one of the Naval Institute’s early Gold Medal Prize Essayists. He was awarded this medal in 1900 for his essay, “Torpedo Craft—Types and Employment,” a one-man analysis of a then new weapons system. His paper was 46 pages long, about 20,000 words, which was not unusual for articles in the early issues of the Proceedings. These offerings were not essays in the present understanding of the term, but essentially research papers of the type now presented at scholarly meetings. The prize essay rules in 1900 limited offerings to 50 pages.
For a verdict on the quality and relevance of this presentation, we can accept the appraisal of a contemporary whose own career proved him competent to judge—Assistant Naval Constructor Richard M. Watt, U. S. Navy, in a published comment stated:
Of all the literature on the torpedo-boat and torpedo-boat design, I consider this paper to be the most practical one, and therefore the most valuable. It should be placed in the hands of every torpedo-boat builder and every government inspector, and I believe will assist them greatly when dealing with details of design. On the first eleven torpedo-boats it has been found necessary to remedy many of the defects noted by Lieutenant Jackson.
Admiral Jackson; for his prize essay, received an honorarium of $100.00 in addition to the gold medal. In later years, he must have continued to be proud of his early literary efforts and his active association with the U. S. Naval Institute because, in the last entry regarding him in Who’s Who in America, Volume 21, for the years 1940 and 1941, he was especially listed as a Life Member and Gold Medal Essayist, facts not noted in earlier volumes when he was on active duty. He was also the Secretary-Treasurer of the Naval Institute in 1900 and 1901.
Passed Midshipman Jackson, who had graduated from the U. S. Naval Academy in 1887, was serving in the flagship Trenton, when she was wrecked in the Samoan hurricane of 15 and 16 March 1889. He returned as a survivor and, when he arrived in San Francisco, lie found himself out of the Navy with an honorable discharge, the fate of graduates at that time for whom no vacancies existed in the commissioned ranks. He was, however, restored to the active list as an ensign the following year by a special Act of Congress “. . . for conspicuous gallantry on the occasion of the wreck of Trenton at Apia, Samoa.”
During the year he had been out of the Navy, he studied Medicine at the University of Virginia. In 1897, he married Catherine Sampson, daughter of Rear Admiral William T. Sampson. During World War I, as a captain, he held the critical post of naval attaché in Paris from June 1917 until November 1918.
Rear Admiral Jackson was Assistant Chief of Naval Operations under Admiral Hilary P. Jones in 1923, and with the temporary rank of admiral, he served as Commander, Battleships, and Commander, Battle Fleet, in the Pacific from 1925 through 1927. He retired in 1930, and in 1942 was advanced to the rank of admiral on the retired list.
It is difficult to judge a man’s major contribution in a lifetime that spanned more than a century, but high on the list of Admiral Jackson’s accomplishments should be placed his wholehearted support of naval aviation during the period that he held major Fleet commands, when such support was not general among flag officers. Jackson remained an ardent supporter of naval aviation. Since he held a major Fleet command for about two years, and following that, served three more years as Chairman of the then influential General Board, Captain Joseph M. Reeves, who was Commander, Aircraft Squadrons, Battle Fleet, had a friend in high places in the mid-1920s, during a difficult period. Jackson’s enthusiasm was far different from the skepticism and opposition of many other flag officers until the mid-1930s.
Sometime back, when Admiral Jackson was a young fellow of 90, he was questioned about his longevity. His answer was that he attributed it to three “Gs”—Gardening in the morning, Golf in the afternoon, and Gallivanting at night.
There must have been other “Gs” involved—obviously Gaiety and Gladness, a measure of Greatness, and perhaps Gratitude for the Gift of life and a determination to make it Gainful and Good.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Admiral Richard Harrison Jackson, U. S. Navy, (Retired), died on 5 October 1971 in Coronado, California.
“A ‘New’ China Policy?”
(See E. B. Duffee, Jr., pp. 18-23, July 1971 Proceedings)
Lawrence Griswold—I share the author’s instincts against a too-eager acceptance of Peking’s tepid invitation, or that a visit by the President should take place at all, even though 1 recognize a potential value in direct negotiation. Nevertheless, I am certain that President Nixon’s agreement to visit Peking has already cost the United States more than a little “face” in Asia, and that substantial gains must be shown to warrant the loss.
Disregarding the current phrase, “ping-pong diplomacy,” the Peking bid was simply the culmination of poorly-concealed moves by both sides. Continuously under the loom of Russia, and increasingly alarmed by the simultaneous American incapacity for control of the western Pacific and the obviously increasing capacity of Japan to assume it, it is my opinion that Chou En-lai prefers an Open Door to the West rather than an orphanage in the East, and is making every effort consistent with continental China’s political background to gain it. Britain and Canada were not enough, nor was the promise of imminent admission to the United Nations (with or without U. S. support) in 1971. In 1969, Washington relaxed travel restrictions to China; in November 1970, Italy and China resumed diplomatic relations and, last mid-March, Nixon abolished the travel restrictions. The invitation to the U. S. and U. K. table tennis teams followed, along with invitations to newspapermen from Britain, Norway, West Germany, Italy, and France to roam about continental China. A similar invitation to Australia has now produced preliminaries to recognition in Canberra. It will surprise me if Bonn does not shortly resume diplomatic relations where Berlin left off.
Red China needs many things produced in the West. What it can offer in exchange is much more limited, but political and military restraint is one of them. Blackmail is old; in diplomacy, almost respectable. With the withdrawal of American forces from Okinawa and. subsequently, Japan and South Korea, our Southeast Asian interests depend, in the immediate future, on China’s control of national guerrilla movements, including the “State” of North Korea as well as, say, Thailand. In northern Asia, Chou En-lai’s pledges may be redeemable. I worry about the south. The farther south from Peking, the more tenuous Peking’s authority, except, perhaps, in the cities.
Duffee’s statement: “(China has) a history of 5,000 years of national awareness, racial identity . . .” is a shaky platform for an argument. Three-fifths of those 5,000 years lie in mythology and another fifth is legendary. There are fragments of history of Chin Sung and between Mongol, Ming, and Manchu, but they are unconnected and by no means history as history is understood in the West. If that continental area of Asia now called China has a history, it began in the last century and after the Taiping “kingdom” was suppressed. Even so, the political map of China of 1870 is not the political map of today, even though Chiang Kai-shek managed to expand it quite a bit before the Japanese moved in. Racially, continental China is much more complicated than Taiwan, where only the Taiwanese tribes contribute their blood and traditions.
Peking has never really been able to coordinate the southern provinces with a national program. In 1900, when the Old Dragon declared war on the world and summoned levies from the governors of the outer provinces, all she got were polite regrets. Between 1942 and 1946, Chiang Kai-shek’s southern Chinese divisions were so unreliable that he could not use them against the Japanese. He did send General Lu Han to occupy Indochina to the 16th Parallel in September of that year, and quite a little fighting was needed when the French finally evicted them, with their loot, from Hanoi.
In November 1969, revolts against Peking were in full swing in the southern provinces of Kiangsi, Kweichow, Sinkiang, Tibet, and Yunnan, all of them bearing the motto: “Democracy is fine, but centralism is fatal!” Suppressive action, reportedly completed by May 1970, is still simmering.
Agreement of some sort is politically necessary to Peking as well as to President Nixon. But how much can Chou be trusted to deliver? He can probably persuade the North Koreans to behave, but I doubt that the south Chinese will observe the slightest restraint if they believe they can walk back into Indochina, Thailand, and Burma and collect loot and “taxes.”
“The Soviet Submarine Force”
(See R. D. Wells, pp. 63-79, August 1971 Proceedings)
Lieutenant John S. Burks, U. S. Navy, Helicopter Antisubmarine Squadron Six—I should like to commend you on the August issue of the Proceedings, especially in the continued emphasis on ASW and the integration of helicopters and surface ships to increase our ASW potential. I found the coverage of the Soviet submarine fleet exceptional, and for the first time, there is now a ready reference for recognition and intelligence purposes that can be used in the wardroom.
“The Military Mind”
(See R. G. Partlow, pp. 81-82, February 1971 Proceedings)
Captain W. H. Galbraith, U.S. Navy (Retired)—Lieutenant Commander Partlow recommends phasing out of all exchanges, commissaries, and dependent medical care, “. . . with compensating pay increases . . . .” I hold that anyone who thinks that pay increases could be obtained from the Congress to compensate for these benefits is really dreaming. A case in point is the long pending and still unsettled matter of bringing some sanity into the manner of computing retired pay, which is shot full of inequities. Such settlement has been urged by the past four Presidents without Congressional response.
It is, of course, true that much of the antagonism of the civil population toward the military derives from jealousies arising from these privileges. But I feel strongly that most of this antagonism is caused by the military themselves.
When in “mixed” company and the conversation turns to complaints about high prices, state sales taxes, and the like, they must curb the perfectly human urge to speak of the low prices they pay at the Service facilities and the fact that state sales taxes do not apply there. Most civilians, upon hearing such talk, will think only of writing their Congressmen regarding the apparent unfairness, without a thought about the years of low pay, family separation, and constant moving about with little chance of accumulating a competence, which is endured by the military.
Most of us are aware that commissary and exchange privileges are often abused by unthinking persons who will make purchases for their non-dependent relatives and even for friends and neighbors. They thus further spread the discontent. The managers of these activities cannot hope to cope with all these abuses. But there is one thing they can do—arrange their stores in such a manner that no person could gain admittance without first showing an eligible identification card. Most commissary stores do this now. But the exchange stores, as a rule, do not, and this invites the non-card holder to come in, browse around, and note the low prices, thus whetting his discontent. It further provides an excellent opportunity for such people to point out to their card-holding friends, just what items they want purchased “for their accounts.” Instead of closing these facilities, I think we need only to button up our lips and cease the abuse of our privileges.
Pictorial—“Ship Camouflage (WWI): Deceptive Art”
(See R. F. Sumrall, pp. 57-77, July; and p. 95, November 1971 Proceedings)
W. Shelby Coates, Jr.—The July Pictorial misidentified one of the pioneers in the ship camouflage field. The “. . . prominent artist known for his studies of protective coloration in nature . . .” was George de Forest Brush (rather than Robert DeForest Brush).
Mr. Brush’s keen interest in protective coloration and experiments in camouflage are chronicled on Page 151 of the recent biography, George de Forest Brush—Recollections of a Joyous Painter.
It may also be of passing interest that the author of the lead article in the same issue, the Honorable John H. Chafee, is married to Mr. Brush's granddaughter, the former Virginia Coates.
Captain Henry A. Ingram, U. S. Navy (Retired)—The July Pictorial was of particular interest to me because I inherited responsibility for the Bureau of Ships camouflage section in 1940 and 1941, when I took over the research and development division. There was no lack of energy, enthusiasm, and interest on the part of the artist group and their section senior. I was, consequently, deeply involved in all of their projects and conflicts.
In 1944, I was transferred to Commander, Naval Forces, Europe, in London. As technical liaison with the Royal Navy on scientific subjects, I also became close to the British research and practice in the camouflage field. I believe I may be one of the few who was so closely associated with everything that had developed in camouflaging in both the U. S. and British navies in World War II.
Visual camouflage, in the face of the new scientific developments between the wars, such as electronics (radar) and aerial observation, became far less important. It had many ardent devotees, however, who were eminently qualified as scientists and artists, and were articulate and convincing in expounding their contributions to the war effort.
“A United States Navy For the Future”
(See R. H. Smith, pp. 18-25, March; pp. 81-90, June; pp. 89-93, July; pp. 93-96, August; pp. 93-95, September; and pp. 93-95, October 1971 Proceedings)
Michael F. McKenna, Department of Ocean Engineering, University of Rhode Island—A year ago, the Prize Essayist berated various public figures who had criticized the military establishment. His theme was clearly that such attacks were unwarranted and bordered on treason. Only grudgingly did he concede the existence of some internal problems, but cavalierly dismissed them as being relatively unimportant or merely administrative in nature. The real problem, he contended, was poor public relations; criticism would evaporate with the application of a people-to-people campaign by naval officers to refute the unpatriotic accusations of our civilian detractors.
In this year’s Prize Essay, Captain Smith calls not for more public speaking, but for a return to professionalism. His appeal for a reassessment of the Navy’s missions, and the means to carry them out, is long overdue.
Although we have been taught that our mission in peacetime is to prepare for combat—to train realistically, to plan for the unexpected, and to develop tactics appropriate to changing conditions—we persist in encouraging and rewarding qualities that are the opposite of what will be needed in wartime: caution, conventionalism, and conservatism. All too frequently, honesty and candidness are called “lack of diplomacy,” innovative thinking labeled as “eccentricity,” and attempts to simulate realistically combat conditions branded as “overzealousness.” The Navy is becoming a peacetime organization, geared to accomplish peacetime tasks with a minimum of “wave-making,” at the expense of preparedness of wartime operations.
This erosion of professionalism can be attributed largely to the development of high-capacity ship-to-shore communications, and to the mesmerizing influence of its comrade-in-arms, the “command and control” concept.
If there is any one characteristic common to all operational commanders throughout history, it is the compulsion to direct and coordinate all the operations of all their forces all of the time. Until fairly recently, such direct control of deployed units by shore-based staffs was difficult, owing to the lack of adequate communications. But, with the advent of high-speed, on-line, encrypted ship-to-shore networks, that barrier was removed—and with it, the semi-independence formerly enjoyed by officers in command at sea. “Command and control” today is essentially a formalization of the idea that decision-making should be concentrated at the highest level—presumably because that is where the requisite wisdom and experience reside. Perhaps it does, but what is naturally missing at the staff level is an on-scene appreciation of the current situation. In order to try to fill that gap, the operational commander needs a tremendous quantity of information from his units: geographical position, movements, weather conditions, readiness, and so forth. This, in turn, calls for a continuous stream of reports from his ships. The commander’s desire for more and more information is insatiable. Add to this the fact that a communications system is available and the result is, to paraphrase Parkinson, that message traffic expands so as to saturate the system available for its transmission. Should a crisis arise, the stream of messages becomes a torrent. And should the crisis intensify, the torrent turns into an avalanche that buries the directing staff, reducing its ability to monitor and control operations.
The management difficulties that accompany even a peacetime exercise should serve warning that we have concentrated too much command authority on too few people. But we persist in de-emphasizing the responsibilities of the on-scene commanders, doggedly pursuing a command and control policy that is totally dependent upon reliable, survivable communications.
If war comes, we can expect that shore-based communications facilities will be among the first casualties of enemy strikes and sabotage. With our communications network crippled, the command and control apron strings would be snipped, leaving us in the untenable position of having task forces and individual ships commanded by officers conditioned to relying upon higher authority for direction. Perhaps they would muddle through. But I doubt that men accustomed to being constantly monitored, to seeking approval for even the most routine evolutions, and to depending upon their boss for the real decision-making will suddenly develop the cool judgment, capacity to act independently, and the confidence in themselves to effectively wage war at sea.
If we are to seek ways of reinfusing the Navy with professionalism, it might be worthwhile to examine the submarine force, which Captain Smith has singled out as the last stronghold of that rapidly disappearing quality. There is nothing inherently more professional about submariners. The professionalism they exhibit is the direct result of their environment, of the mode of operation imposed upon their branch of the Fleet. A submarine’s effectiveness is dependent upon its ability to remain undetected. Once located by the enemy, that effectiveness is greatly reduced. Stealth is its trump card—and a most fortuitous one, for it demands that all emanations, including radio transmissions, be drastically curtailed.
The submarine operational commander is just as curious about what his forces are doing and just as anxious to direct their activities. But, as a result of the need for the submarine to remain quiet, he can carry on only a one-way conversation with his units. Without the stream of reports pouring into his headquarters, he cannot properly evaluate the tactical situation and consequently must surrender a great deal of authority to the officer on the scene. By default, the submarine CO becomes, to a degree, his own operational commander. As a result of tactical restrictions on the time spent by the submarine copying the broadcast, the boss sends fewer operational messages and a bare minimum of administrative traffic. Directives to the commanding officer are necessarily brief, to-the-point, and leave a good deal of leeway regarding the manner of execution. The operational commander can only enjoin the CO to use sound judgment and give him considerable discretionary power in deriding how best to accomplish his assigned tasks.
Anyone familiar with the staggering load of traffic handled by a deployed surface combatant can appreciate the independence enjoyed by the submarine commanding officer. His position is roughly analogous to that of a 19th century sailing ship captain, except that he has the advantage of frequent updates on intelligence and the general operational situation. Otherwise, he is relatively free of even the most well-intentioned interference from his boss.
Submariners have more freedom to develop to their full potential because of the unusual command relationship with their operational commander. Authority and responsibility are not held exclusively by the most senior in the command chain, but—of necessity—are shared by the shore-based commander and the submarine CO. The commanding officer operates his boat as he sees fit, making his own decisions, and living with (and learning from) his own mistakes. It should come as no surprise that, in this balanced relationship, submariners develop the professional qualities to which Captain Smith refers.
Meanwhile, back on the surface, commanding officers of, for example, destroyers deployed with the U. S. Sixth Fleet, are relegated to the status of phone talkers on anchor detail, relaying instructions from above, their own experience, and on-scene appreciation of the situation frequently ignored. After wearing the ship-to-shore headset for a while, they adapt themselves to their role. They learn that a successful tour means operating their ships in the least controversial manner. To survive, they must avoid like the plague anything that “rocks the boat” or otherwise might attract the attention of the boss, for fear that he might be displeased.
The trend towards over-control from the top is clearly established, but there is a ray of hope. The Chief of Naval Operation’s directive that COs not be penalized for sub-par shiphandling by junior officers at the conn seems to reflect a new and healthier attitude about responsibility and authority. Perhaps it is a harbinger of a move towards a revitalization of professionalism in the Fleet. It can only be hoped that this realistic policy will be extended to encompass larger scale operations and administrative procedures as well. For the command and control concept, as presently interpreted, is inexorably whittling away the command authority, sense of responsibility, and motivation of sea-going officers. Only a marked shift of authority back to the commanding officers and unit commanders at sea can restore the balance and recreate the atmosphere in which professionalism can flourish.
Human Relations at Work
Captain Richard S. Brooks, U. S. Navy—Many ranking naval officials have stressed the importance of open communication channels between our sailors and their commanding officers. All of these efforts focus on the importance of human relations in everyday activities. Good human relations can result in a command environment that recognizes the most important element in a ship’s organization—the human resources.
Today in the Navy, we see the advent of new ships, manned by hand-picked sailors. It should be easy in these spotless, habitability-conscious, modernly-equipped ships to create an environment that fosters all of the traditional hallmarks of the good sailor—pride, initiative, professionalism, hard-work, honesty, and integrity. But, what about the old ships that must still carry their share of the load? Many are 25 or more years old. They are manned by average young men, the majority of whom are in the 18-to-21-year age group who bring with them into the Navy the same attitudes that prevail in contemporary America. When they leave boot camp, they have become well-disciplined and motivated. Then, they report to that old ship, which may be “down at the heels” because of years of hard steaming before and during the Vietnam conflict, and the command environment may foster attitude changes contrary to those desired.
They could very well be in a command environment that fails to recognize or meet the needs of the individual. As a result, that motivated, well-disciplined sailor has joined the ranks of the “troublemakers,” assuming the apathetic, passive, hostile, or despairing attitudes of a peer group. His performance and military behavior degenerate. The command then exercises its authoritative measures of leadership through punishment. On the other hand, a command environment that recognizes basic human dignity and needs may be able to overcome attitudinal problems without punishment. If a supportive atmosphere can be established, perhaps communication can be opened, and those same initially-motivated sailors can be integrated into a group that fosters human dignity and individual worth.
It takes a lot of work, demanding command involvement. The commanding officer, not a delegated representative, must be engaged actively in a ship’s human relations effort. Who else on board brings 18 to 25 years of experience in inter-personal relations in management roles? Who else can share those experiences but the commanding officer? He must be willing to become involved.
One approach that has shown some success consists of several elements. These are in addition to the usual request masts, meritorious masts, meetings with officers and leading petty officers, and similar traditional techniques of shipboard “people” management. The approach that follows may not provide immediate results, but it can be a start.
There are various methods for the commanding officer to communicate with his crew about the myriad problems confronting the command. I feel, however, that a letter to all hands is a very effective means of ensuring that what the CO meant to say is said, and not filtered as the word goes down the chain of command. Then add to the personal letter a suggestion box that enables the crew to present feedback on problems of which the CO may not be aware. You then have the second element of an improved communication process.
The usual methods, plus a captain’s letter, hand down the word. The formal flow of communications via division officer, department head, and executive officer supposedly funnels responses upward. But, does this process get the unfiltered word to the commanding officer? A maturely run suggestion system that is available for legitimate questions, complaints, grievances, and suggestions clearly can open the door for upward communication. A commanding officer can gain valuable insights into attitudes through these questions or suggestions. They bring to light those unfulfilled individual needs that rapidly can become demotivating influences on a crew. To be effective as a system, however, each question or suggestion deserves an answer. Publishing both in the Plan of the Day can be effective.
The final—and most important—dimension of command involvement in a human relations program is to create a human relations council that is designed to foster improved human relations. It should consist of representatives of all officer and enlisted grades of a variety of age, ethnic, and religious groups. Its primary goal should be to explore the “human side of enterprise,” a phrase coined by the late Douglas M. McGregor, thereby making significant contributions to the maintenance of harmonious and productive human relations in the command. The scope of topics on the agenda for a human relations council meeting is unlimited.
A human relations program will be effective only if the commanding officer is involved. He must set the stage for progress, and to do this, he must be willing to talk with, not to, the young officers and enlisted men in his command. He must explore the basic needs and problems of today’s youth, because that group represents the majority of his command. He does not have to give in to demands, but must listen to determine what underlying attitudinal problems exist. Then, with his experience, he can share his views in a free discussion with those young men who either become motivated or demotivated officers or sailors, depending upon their treatment as human beings.
The challenge is here. It is our responsibility to take action. Human relations is an all hands evolution that must involve those at the top.