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Captain Elmer W. Malanot.—It appears that, unfortunately, there was no one who actually shut down completely, or at least to a dead slow, the power of his engines, near the center of a cyclonic storm, so that he could have judged the wisdom of such action.
We had this opportunity again on this vessel on October 18, 1955, on a voyage from Saigon to Yokohama, when sixty miles south of Myako Shima, we ran into Typhoon Opal. We had no previous warning, when at 180600 I the barometer started to fall rapidly, and the wind from NNE increased to full gale force. The engine power was gradually reduced and, when the sea became confused at 181137 I, completely shut down to a dead slow. This vessel being powered with turbines, this was done merely to keep the engines warm. The vessel drifted in a southwesterly direction at the rate of three knots. At 1600 I, the wind was at its maximum of about 100 knots. Then the wind backed to NNW. The vessel was heading between 230 degrees and 265 degrees, and drifting in a southeasterly direction. The sea was mountainous and confused. The vessel pitched heavily and rolled to a maximum of 35 degrees.
Although this vessel was only ten miles from the center of this moderate typhoon, we had absolutely no damage whatsoever, while the ship had a full deck load of heavy Army trucks, lashed in the usual manner.
And so again the only thing we did was to stop our engines.
At 182120 I, the force of wind and sea gradually moderated, and we proceeded to Yokohama.
This theory of evading damage by shutting down the power that primarily produces such damage, is so simple that, because of its simplicity, many people who have had experience in heavy weather, are so overawed by the gigantic force of nature, that they are reluctant to accept this simple fact.
I am including a letter I received from a Naval Architect, in which you might be interested, and you have my permission to reprint any of the above in your Proceedings if you so desire.
(Editor’s Note: The following are excerpts from a letter Captain Malanot recently received.)
Recently I read your very enlightening article “Typhoon Doctrine.” Your observations and recommendations are not only of value to seafaring men but also to Naval Architects.
Your observations and theory supporting your “Doctrine” are very convincing. Oftentimes observations do not seem to support a theoretical analysis; such divergences are passed over by the overworked proverb “practice and theory do not agree.” In reality, when this is the case, there is something wrong with either one or the other.
I can well imagine that it is difficult to convince the crew that passive defense, as you put it, is the way to weather a typhoon. I am sure that you have considered the comments I wish to make.
If I may, I will briefly consider the stress aspect set up in machinery. Ship machinery is designed to withstand stresses due to torsion of the machine, shock stress due to load surges, inertia stresses due to rolling and pitching of the ship and others. Except for torsional stresses of the machine under consideration, the other stresses are difficult to evaluate since the sea forces inducing these stresses are difficult to evaluate and
are impossible to control. These stresses are not always accumulative, but potentially there is the ever present chance that they can be. For heavy machinery, or for lightweight high-speed machinery in motion, inertia stresses due to rolling, especially for a “stiff ship,” can attain tremendous values. In fact this stress can be of such proportions that structually it can not be resisted. With stopped engines the torsional stresses due to rotation are zero, load surge stresses are zero, and pitching and rolling inertia stresses are lessened since minimum resistance is offered to the irresistible typhoon sea waves. Another type of machinery failure can also be avoided by your doctrine. Heavy rotating masses, like shafts, can have induced deflections by the forces mentioned to the extent that bearings will fail immediately. Also rolling sea suctions out of the water, loss of oil pressure and similar failures experienced in storms will result in major machinery derangements which in themselves can cause the loss of a ship. Rolling a boiler loose from its foundation is not uncommon. Plowing into a typhoon is just asking for such failures. Following such machinery derangements, uncontrollable engine room fires and similar disasters surely follow which spell doom for the ship. A dead plant or a minimum operative one while in a typhoon, should lessen the ever impending machinery failures mentioned.
I am sure that every Naval Architect would be relieved of much doubt if he knew that all ship Masters had your respect for the forces of the sea. Again, I want to assure you that your article made me realize that a designer does not have to do the impossible; namely, to build a ship to withstand almost irresistible forces.
Sincerely yours,
Howard A. Peterson
The Revelation of Secret Strategic Plans
(See page 731, July, 1955 Proceedings)
Major Reginald Hargreaves, M.C. (Ret).—Captain Kittredge has undoubtedly put his finger on an extremely dangerous flaw in the modus operandi by which democratic states conduct their activities in time of war. The root of the trouble lies in the fact that democracy has become insistent upon its “right” to be “in the know” about everything which concerns its destiny. It is a characteristic which—importunate and assertive as it can be on occasion—can be indulged without particular peril in times of peace. But under war conditions, the danger
of gratifying it is so patent as to need no emphasis; particularly as many newspapers ■—entirely without sense of responsibility if a good “story” be in question—exist very largely by pandering to the public’s passion for “revelations”; however injudicious or ill timed. Indeed, were it not for the reckless passion for “scoops” animating newspapers working under almost hysterically competitive pressure, the problem would hardly arise. “Your public cannot have intelligence and victories,” Field Marshal Lord Wolseley bluntly informed a party of pressmen attached to an expedition of which he was the Commanding General. It was a comment inspired by memories of W. H. Russell’s uncensored despatches from the Crimea. For the Times correspondent’s uninhibited and detailed disclosures of conditions in front of Sevastopol had prompted the Muscovite commander, Prince Gortschacoff, to observe that Russell was “the finest agent in the whole of the Russian secret service.”
One can, however, easily imagine the indignant storm of protest that would greet any attempt to deny “the sovereign people” access to any information of which it got an inkling, or which the unreflecting were prepared to reveal. This, of course is attributable to the fact that although, actually, sixty or a hundred and sixty million people cannot rule, they have to be given the illusion that they do. The folk who tell them that they are the rulers, in cold fact do the ruling. But if, as is always demanded, the rulers are to “trust the people,” then the people in their turn must learn to trust those they have elected to do the day-to-day job of running the country for them; trust “those having authority,” indeed, to the point where they and not “the sovereign people” themselves—let alone a newspaper proprietor—determine what may safely be revealed and what must prudently be witheld from general knowledge.
Not that some of the rulers, in the matter of indiscreet disclosures, have been found to be much more trustworthy than the ruled. Lord Kitchener, reproached with keeping military plans and decisions to himself, after having joined the Cabinet, confessed to an innate reluctance to “confide secret matters to half a dozen gentlemen to whom I have
only just been introduced.” When he got to know his fellow Cabinet Ministers better, he became even more reticent, on the score that, “My colleagues always share secrets with their wives—except one, who shares them with other peoples’ wives.”
In this particular, however, the record for the 1939-45 war is a good deal better than that of its immediate predecessor; although the imbecile blabbing that foredoomed the Dakar venture to humiliating failure must always serve as a salutary reminder of the folly of entrusting military plans to too large and promiscuous a circle.
One aspect of the fatuous over-all concept of “open convenants, openly arrived at” is, that such open agreements are invariably forced to resort to secret clauses, covering matters about which the man in the street cannot be, and is not, informed. And so long as nobody “blows the gaff,” all is well. But should a “leak” occur, the fury of “the sovereign people” is all the greater by reason of the attempt made to put the necessary blinkers over its eyes.
In the present age of world tension we have obviously reached the stage at which a democracy—and particularly its press— must be prepared to accept the occlusion of every piece of information that might prove of value to a potential enemy; and to do so cheerfully, in the realisation that it makes the sacrifice in its own best interest. If it is not prepared to follow such a course, if it insists upon putting its “inalienable rights” in front of common prudence, then it must face up to the strong possibility that, as a democracy, it will cease to survive.
This is a situation wherein the lead, the direction, must come from the Administration itself; if need be, by means of disciplinary legislation. Apropos a step of such gravity, may I, as a sincere friend and admirer of the United States and its people, be Permitted to recall the wise words of Ahra- ham Lincoln, in similar times of emergency?
'It has long been a grave question whether any Government, not too strong for the liberties of 'ts people, can be strong enough to retain its existence in grave emergencies.”
In the outcome, it was because Lincoln and his Administration were strong enough and conscientious enough, to do the unpopular thing, if and when occasion called for it, that unification was ultimately accepted by a great people, who would be in exceedingly sorry pass today—as would be the democratic world in general—had they not retained it. But they only achieved unity and freedom at the sacrifice of a good deal of individual liberty.
VVIIAT’S WRONG DEPARTMENT
Lieutenant A. J. Nelson, USN.— Bejabbers! I didn’t realize that the Medical Corps was so Overworked and Underpaid. Now a whole new vista of articles for the Institute Proceedings has opened: “What’s Wrong With CEC,” “What’s Wrong With the Waves,” “What’s Wrong With Radar- men.” Then after we have finished that group we can start on the administrative organization: “What’s Wrong With BuOrd,” “What’s Wrong With CruDesPac,” etc. Or perhaps the various types of duty: “What’s Wrong With Overseas Duty,” “What’s Wrong With Washington,” or, yes, even “What’s Wrong With Salt Water.” That way all of us can remain fully informed on how the Navy, in all of its ramifications, is going to hell.
The vast, inarticulate mass of us in the Navy realize the organization isn’t perfect. We have our unhappinesses, and I am sure it is pleasant to unload them. It is fine that the Institute is acting in its traditional function of a sounding-board and/or safety valve. But somehow can’t we lump all such articles together in one Super-Growl and then have a moratorium on them for a while? While most of us like sympathy for our troubles isn’t it possible that too much sympathy and breastbeating is as bad as none at all?
I offer a fervent, probably vain plea for less caterwauling articles cloaked in the guise of constructive criticism and more articles “for the advancement of professional, literary, and scientific knowledge in the Navy.”
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