Audacious, courageous, positive and often tactless in saying things that he thought needed saying, devoted to his profession and loyal to his friends— that was William Sowden Sims, the outstanding personality in the United States Navy for many years at the beginning of the 20th century.
My acquaintance with him began one afternoon on board the battleship Kearsarge when I came back tired, wet and cold from a day as target umpire for what I believe was the first practice in our Navy in which a vertical target of Sims’ design was used. He surprised me at once by the active interest he showed in the comparatively unimportant part I had had in this event, and at the same time he impressed me greatly by his distinguished appearance. Tall, erect, with a rosy complexion and a short black beard, he had a characteristic air of cheerfulness and confidence.
Up to this time our target practices consisted of firing at a red flag anchored some distance from the firing ship and flanked by two small boats from which observations were taken of the splashes by means of what we called “rakes.” These were T squares having nails driven at intervals in one arm enabling the observer to measure the angular distance from the point of aim to the splash. The position of the boats was rarely exact; the observations taken by a possibly seasick midshipman from a platform that was rolling and pitching were not too accurate. Generally speaking the interest in the practice was largely influenced by the desire to get the thing over with; naturally the results left something to be desired. I can speak of this from intimate knowledge born of many hours spent in an unsteady boat in a choppy sea trying with indifferent success to mark the nail abreast which the splash appeared.
Then came Sims from the Asiatic Station where he had met Sir Percy Scott of the British Navy and had himself seen the great improvement in British marksmanship brought about through Scott’s efforts.
Part of Sims’ idea for improving our gunnery was to fire at an actual vertical target in which a hit made a hole and was not just a point obtained by triangulation. The way had been cleared by a recent object lesson. Three battleships of the North Atlantic fleet had conducted a practice by firing at a wooden lightship at a comparatively short range. They steamed back and forth several times firing all guns and when the target was examined the number of hits was so extremely small that it clearly showed something was wrong with our methods.
From the Asiatic Station Sims had written many official letters calling attention to the lamentable state of our gunnery training, and when his recommendations were ignored or pigeonholed, he finally took a bold step against all rules and wrote a letter directly to the President—Teddy Roosevelt. The President was favorably impressed, hacked Sim’s efforts, and eventually Sims was made Director of Target Practice.
For a young officer thus to defy authority and appeal over the heads of his superiors required courage and audacity, but in a cause that was so vital to the interests of the nation he was willing to risk his professional life. The subsequent improvement in gunnery and equipment and greatly increased interest in target practice fully justified his action. This boldness in disobeying orders was somewhat akin to that of Nelson at Copenhagen when he deliberately failed to obey the order sent by his superior, Hyde Parker, to break off action. That was the occasion when Nelson is alleged to have put his telescope up to his blind eye remarking that he saw no such signal. There are times when a great man will throw the rule book over the side if he knows he is right.
In this connection John Buchan, discussing the difficulties encountered in the effort to change existing practices in the military profession, had this to say: “Change and expansion were consequently in the nature of a revolution and were brought about either by a great genius, or—slowly and grudgingly by some cataclysmic pressure of facts.” In speaking of the attitude of a naval hierarchy, Admiral Bayly, the Commander in Chief at Queenstown when our destroyers were based there in 1917-18, once said to me, “The Admiralty exists for one purpose and one purpose only that is to say, ‘No you can’t do it because it has never been done before.’”
Although Sims’ initiative and assertiveness brought about some disapproval on the part of the older diehards in the Navy, many senior officers, aware of the need for reform, encouraged him in his work, and the junior officers were with him wholeheartedly. Realizing the tremendous incentive that competition gives, Sims formulated the target practice rules so as to foster competition between individual gun pointers, gun crews, divisions, ships, and even between fleets. Desire for improvement swept the Navy. Many who had been indifferent became enthusiastic. I have in mind a young officer friend of mine who had the reputation of being something of a playboy until this development, but from then on he was utterly changed. From reveille until evening he spent all the time possible in dungarees in his turret, and often at night, with turret captain or gunner’s mates, he would be found working on schemes to improve the speed and accuracy of fire of his guns. The Navy thought, lived, and dreamed target practice. This change had been brought about largely by the influence of one man with the able help of Ridley McLean and others. Visits were made by Sims not only to battleships and cruisers but also to ships of all types. By 1903 I had been detached from the Kearsarge and was a division officer on board a gunboat with four inch guns. At the time that Sims came on board we were engaged in the process of substituting human hair for the coarse metal wires that had been supplied in the telescopes. He took as much interest in that procedure as if it had concerned the telescopes of a turret in a battleship. In the conferences that were held to discuss gunnery matters he encouraged the younger officers to speak out and not to be tongue tied in the presence of their seniors. He was liberal minded in other things as well. One day while walking in the countryside near Newport, he told me something of his experiences while serving as Naval Attaché in Paris and St. Petersburg. When asked about life in the Russian capital during the gay season, he remarked that he avoided social activities as much as possible because Russian society was extremely corrupt and the treatment of the lower classes was revolting to him. “Had I been a Russian I might have been a Nihilist,” he added jokingly.
While still a commander Sims was given command of the battleship Minnesota, much to the chagrin of some of his seniors who were passed over in the appointment which, as far as I know, was unprecedented. Later he had command of the Atlantic Destroyer Flotilla, and it was in this latter position in particular that his characteristic methods were brought into play. Frequent conferences were held in which all were encouraged to be outspoken and decisions were arrived at after free discussion. Sims was never a great advocate of “spit and polish” but was immensely concerned with getting things done. In May 1917 when the second group of our destroyers arrived in Queenstown for antisubmarine operations the Admiral came on board the destroyer Tucker to ascertain how we had stood the trip. After looking about and asking a few questions he requested a boat to take him ashore, having dismissed the familiar green barge on his coming aboard. A boat was called away and while I explained that there had not been time to shine the brightwork since our rather rough passage he interrupted, “Will the boat run?” When I replied that it would, he said, “What is it for?” The thing that mattered was not the appearance of the boat but its ability to carry out its mission.
Sims had the ability, essential to a naval officer, of making decisions and making them quickly if necessary. He expected the same of those under him. There are several versions of a story which illustrates this characteristic. The captain of a destroyer on his way from Newport to Charleston sent this despatch to Sims, whose flagship was anchored in Chesapeake Bay. “My starboard engine is disabled, shall I continue to Charleston under one engine or put in to Lynnhaven Roads and effect repairs?” Promptly came the answer from Sims, “Yes.” The puzzled skipper sent another despatch saying he did not understand and repeated his original query. This time, equally promptly came the reply, “No.” I once intercepted a message from Sims to one of his destroyer captains tersely instructing the officer, “Don’t ask questions, act.”
In 1910 while in command of the Minnesota, Sims made a speech at Londons Guildhall and caused a furor both of approval and disapproval. In the speech he stated as his opinion that if ever the integrity of the British Empire should be seriously threatened by an external enemy, the British might count upon the assistance of every man, every ship, and every dollar from their kinsmen across the sea. It is easy to imagine the reaction of various groups in America.
Sims’ willingness to permit the exercise of initiative by the man on the spot was noteworthy, as was also the extent to which he decentralized administration at a time when such practice was somewhat new in the service. I have a letter from him in this connection in which he wrote as follows: “Decentralization was of course bound to come with experience. Probably you do not know to what extent. Here is an example from before your time: I was closely associated with a C-in-C . . . who opened all the flagship mail, wrote all the endorsements . . . in his own hand, had all signals brought to him, wrote the answers himself, and allowed nothing to be done without reference to him. And he was immensely proud of his achievement!”
An example of Sims’ tendency to reduce things to their essentials is his definition of a destroyer in an attack against capital ships. “A destroyer is a projectile and the Captain is the fuse.”
In his controversies with authority he often overstated his case which made him vulnerable to counterattack, but his motives were always animated by a desire for the betterment of the Navy, and his statements were made without regard for their effect on his personal preferment. When considering the sending of the famous letter criticizing the conduct of the Navy Department during the First World War some members of his staff advised against it, contending that he had nothing to gain and much to lose by such criticism. His reply was that the nation needed to know what happened in order to avoid the same mistakes in the future and that what happened to him as a consequence was of no importance.
Sims had a keen sense of the ridiculous and was given to writing limericks—poor ones sometimes—but he could see the humorous side of things even at his own expense. When someone suggested that he should be Chief of Operations his answer was that given that position, “My first official act would be not to unpack my bag.” His habit of jingling the silver at the dinner table often elicited gentle remonstrance from Mrs. Sims, but it never seemed to have any effect. I never saw the Admiral wear any ribbons or medals although he had been awarded many. As a protest against the way in which medals had been awarded by the Navy Department, he refused the U. S. Distinguished Service Medal and, of course, would wear no others.
Like all strong men Sims had strong enemies. His life was largely spent in uncovering deficiencies and smashing idols, but while deprecating his tendency to overstatement and his occasional inability to make clear his point of view, I feel that to him more than to any other single person belongs the credit for the efficiency which the U. S. Navy demonstrated during the Second World War. He had favorably influenced the design of ships and turrets; through his emphasis on War College training he had helped improve our staff work; he had prepared the way for the efficient use of vastly increased complexities of gunfire. Most important of all he had shown an example of unselfish devotion to duty at the sacrifice of personal reward— an example which remains an inspiration to the whole Naval Service.