In early May I went to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, to do oral history interviews with Commander Tom Buell, who is best known for his superb books on two World War II admirals, Raymond Spruance and Ernest King. They are among the very best naval biographies available.
Tom had known for some months that he had acute leukemia and had deliberately chosen to forgo further treatment because he wanted to preserve as much quality of life as he could during his remaining time. He was a deeply religious individual and essentially had decided to let the outcome be dictated by God's grace. With his future obviously growing short, he welcomed the opportunity that oral history provided for assessing his life.
Tom graduated from the Naval Academy in 1958 and served in destroyers and various shore billets before leaving active duty in 1979. After his retirement from the Navy and a second career in the defense industry, Tom and his wife moved in 1991 to an idyllic setting. It is a rustic house in the woods but near enough to the University of North Carolina that he was appointed writer-in-residence and had access to the university's library for research. He had a room added as a writing studio and decorated it with a stained-glass window made in the image of the Naval Institute's seal. The crossed pen and sword symbolized the essence of his professional career.
As we sat in that room and talked, the recitation of what he had done in his lifetime revealed a great deal about his approach to the world. He often was impetuous, determined, persistent, proud, strong-willed, and convinced of his own rightness. For instance, Tom described a time when he was home on leave as a midshipman. One night he had a blind date with a young woman named Marilyn Duma. He determined right away that he would marry her and mounted a persistent campaign that went on for years until he had convinced her to be of like mind. After he graduated, he often flew on weekends from San Diego to visit her in San Francisco. He finally knew he had succeeded when her usual statement of "If we get married . . ." changed one day to "When we get married . . ." From then on, they were truly devoted to each other.
Tom loved destroyers, and in the early 1960s was assigned as prospective weapons officer of the guided-missile destroyer USS Brooke (DEG-1). During her construction, the shipyard's workers went on strike, so Buell and the prospective skipper, Commander Bob Walters, used the down time to learn the contract specifications in minute detail. They insisted that the specifications be adhered to down to the last gnat's eyebrow—even if the gnat didn't need eyebrows. That says much about Tom Buell.
In 1974, he finally achieved his dream as a naval officer, command of a warship, the frigate Joseph Hewes (FF-1078). He got into conflict right away with his squadron commander, Captain Dick Dalla Mura, who ordered that the ship's crew be in the uniform of the day for leaving port. Tom, however, believed he should fulfill the dictates of Admiral Elmo Zumwalt that sailors not have to adhere to "Mickey Mouse" regulations. So the ship got under way with her crew in dungarees. It was a deliberately defiant act on the part of skipper Buell.
Other squabbles followed, and Tom conceded in the oral history that he had essentially killed his chances for further promotion right there. He used a phrase from the memoir of General Colin Powell, who said that there were times in his career when he had "paid the King's shilling," that is, gone along with a senior's wishes—even when he found them distasteful—to achieve a greater good. But during that week of oral history introspection, Tom said he had no regrets. He had followed his own personal compass, come what may.
The refusals to pay the "King's shilling" were symptomatic of an individual whom any number of people perceived over the years as aloof and arrogant. The Tom Buell during our week of interviews was much different. Tempered by the health problems he continued to face—including the need for frequent naps and blood transfusions—he was much more vulnerable, reflective, and emotional. As Marilyn put it, he projected another face to people during his last months. He had peeled away what she called his "shell" so that now the rest of the world saw the person underneath, the one she and their children had known for years.
On 22 June, about six weeks after I had seen them, the Buells embarked in the 100-passenger Nantucket Clipper for a cruise on the St. Lawrence Seaway. The next day they attended a church service ashore, then were under way for a cruise through the beautiful Thousand Islands. The old destroyerman got a chance to look out at the water and feel the breeze against his face—a glorious experience for someone who had devoted his professional life to the sea. A day later, he began to experience difficulty talking and thinking. An emergency medevac took him home to North Carolina, where he died on 26 June.
Afterward Marilyn reflected on a conversation they had had as they contemplated the future. "How will I get along without you?" she asked.
"You will live for both of us," he replied.
Tom Buell
By Paul Stillwell