Zumwalt

by Larry Berman

  Ten minutes later Bud was back in the hot seat. Rickover started off by asking, “Now what is your answer to my question?”

  “I have initiative, imagination, and I am not conservative,” replied Zumwalt.

  Rickover moved quickly through questions about Tulare, Bud’s parents, summer employment, and the Naval Academy. “What were these special extra-curricular affairs you are so proud of?” asked Rickover. Bud replied that he was a debater, an orator. Rickover sneered, “In other words you learned to speak equally forcefully on either side of the question. Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what you believe is right—just argue the way someone tells you to—good training for an aide.”

  Bud tried defending himself. “No sir, I consider that debating taught me logical and orderly processes of thinking.” Rickover’s voice began to rise. “Name one famous person who was able to argue on either side of a question.” Sensing he could win this point, Bud said, “Clarence Darrow,” and began listing reasons when Rickover cut him off. “You’re wrong. Absolutely wrong. . . . I warn you here and now you better not try talking to me about anything you don’t know about. I know more about almost anything than you do and I know one helluva lot more about Darrow than you do. I warn you, you better stop trying to snow me.”

  Rickover turned to his assistant. “Get him out of here. I’m sick of talking to an aide that tries to pretend he knows everything.” Back he went to the zoo cage. He set a record with four trips to the tank. Another hour went by before a kind soul came in with a sandwich. As Bud was taking his first bite, the aide returned to say Rickover wanted to see him now! Still chewing, he walked into the room, and Rickover shouted, “Don’t you even have enough sense not to chew gum when being interviewed?”

  “All right, now are you ready to talk sensibly about Clarence Darrow?” Bud continued to insist that Darrow could take both sides of a question because everyone deserved counsel. Rickover could take no more. “I give up,” he said and changed the subject. If Zumwalt were superintendent of the Naval Academy, what would he do with the curriculum? Bud replied that he’d eliminate some English and history to provide more math and science. “Thank God you are not the superintendent,” replied Rickover. “It’s just the kind of stupid jerk like you that becomes superintendent.” In Rickover’s mind, all he was going to graduate were illiterate technicians.

  Rickover next wanted to know the name of one book of philosophy that Bud had read since graduation. “Plato,” replied Zumwalt.

  “Now I warned you not to try to impress me. I told you I was sick of having an aide trying to impress me. I proved how stupid you are on Darrow,” said Rickover. Rickover wanted to know if Zumwalt had ever read the Republic? When Bud replied in the affirmative, Rickover asked, “What’s it about?” Anticipating that Rickover wanted an answer in six words or less, Bud said, “The ideal man or the ideal democratic state.” Rickover turned to his aide. “You see what kind of stupid jerk this guy is?” The Republic, Rickover said, was about justice, and he wanted to know whether Plato would have advocated eliminating history and English from the curriculum. “No sir, but Plato was postulating a perfect world and we don’t have one.” Rickover could take no more. Seething with anger and shouting that Zumwalt was trying to conduct the interview, Rickover told his aide, “I am sick of this guy. He is trying to act like an aide again. Get him out of here.”

  Bud was so angry he could hardly speak. The aide tried consoling Bud, saying, “Don’t let it get under your skin. We all have to go through this.” He remained alone in the tank for another forty-five minutes. Reentering the room, Rickover dressed him down again and asked if there was any reason to continue the interview. When Bud replied affirmatively, Rickover asked, “How long have you been interested in nuclear power?” “Five years,” replied Bud. Rickover wanted to know what he had done to prepare for a job in the area of nuclear power. “Very little,” admitted Bud, leading Rickover to ask his secretary to come in and take a letter to the president of Chase National Bank in New York: “Dear Mr. President. For five years I have wanted a million dollars. Please send me a check today. Yours very truly, H. G. Rickover. P.S.: I have done nothing whatsoever in the last five years to earn this money, but send it anyway.”

  Looking at Zumwalt, Rickover asked, “Get the idea?” Rickover went for the kill: “Why haven’t you done anything?” Zumwalt replied that his modus operandi was to master areas based on current assignments and he was currently studying four hours a night on personnel matters. Rickover cut him off again. “God help us, that’s what is wrong with our personnel when we have guys like you working on it.”

  Rickover wanted to know how long Zumwalt had known about this interview. When he responded, “Four to six weeks,” Rickover multiplied 4 hours by 28. “That’s 112 hours at least since you’ve known that you had available for study by your own admission. Now why haven’t you studied anything about nuclear power in this period?” Bud tried defending himself, saying he had studied the BuPers booklet on nuclear physics. Rickover scoffed at this, asking if he was prepared to take a test right then. Bud said that he was not, but that he could pass it anyway. “I doubt it,” said Rickover.

  “What is leadership?” asked Rickover. Zumwalt responded, “It is knowing your own job well, knowing the job of your subordinates, and inspiring them to do better.” Rickover sneered and asked if Bud’s father was a great leader. Bud said yes, explaining that his father had been a country doctor for forty years, active in community and civic affairs, and was an outstanding citizen. Rickover showed a trace of a smile, changing the subject again, this time to Bud’s grades at the academy, his assignments during the war, and his wife and children.

  Rickover asked if Zumwalt planned on running up and down the Pentagon’s E ring telling everybody about the interview. “Admiral, I’m going to say it was the most fascinating experience of my life.” Rickover threw him out again, saying, “Now you’re being greasy.”

  The two men would not meet again until 1963.

  Bud went directly to his detailer to report that he had completed the interview and was certain he would not be selected. Bud requested orders to the USS Dewey. He returned to the Pentagon and in direct disobedience of Rickover, typed up a complete report on the interview, routing it directly to the CNO, the secretary of the navy, and the assistant secretary of the navy for manpower. This infuriated former classmate Ray Peet, who knew Bud had violated his pledge to Rickover.

  Bud was shocked when the call came from BuPers to tell him that Rickover had selected him for one of the two nuclear jobs, either as commanding officer of the guided-missile frigate Bainbridge or as executive officer of the cruiser Long Beach. Fate ordained that the other person selected was Ray Peet. Rickover didn’t care who took which assignment, believing that each man needed this type of command at this stage of his career. Bud and Ray had been in competition since their years at the academy, when each was a three-striper in command of a company as midshipman lieutenants. They had both come up in the destroyer force. Bud had won all E’s on the Isbell, and Peet had done likewise in command of the Barton. Ray Peet had been selected for captain a year before Bud and two years early.85 In September 1960, Bud would be promoted to captain, a year ahead of his class. He was the first in his class to be promoted to rear admiral, a year ahead of Peet.86 Their rivalry reached its boiling point during Bud’s CNO years.

  Bud spurned a tour with Rickover on the Bainbridge, choosing instead to command the world’s first guided-missile frigate, the first naval vessel constructed from the keel up to be a guided missile ship, the USS Dewey. Wanting to avoid the Sapworth experience, Bud went to see the person responsible for voice calls to select Sea Rogue as the Dewey’s call.

  On December 7, 1959, which was the ninetieth birthday of George Goodwin Dewey, Admiral George Dewey’s only son, the Dewey was commissioned. After the ceremony, George Goodwin Dewey said to his son Charles, “I am going to keep an eye on that young fellow because he is going right to the top!�
��87 During sea trials, the Dewey performed very well, with the exception of its weapons system. “The Bureau of Weapons had not, in my judgment, done a very good job of preparing operability tests, tests for checking out every element of the system before you went into a tracking situation,” said Bud.88 This was the first BT-3 weapons system, a wingless, tail-controlled model of the Terrier surface-to-air missile, and the system had significant bugs. The components were built by different manufacturers. The fire-control computer was different from the weapons console and built by a different company than the radar, and the system designed to tie all the components together was abysmal.

  During tests, the missile would come out of its little hopper and plop into the ocean uncontrolled, or it would start out on a controlled flight and then depart from it before it ever got to the target drone. “We must have fired eight or ten missiles over a period of a number of months in heartbreaking efforts to get the thing working . . . the great day came when we got a hit,” recalled Joe Roedel, who worked in the radio shack. “At that time we were improving the effectiveness of the Terrier missiles and at times I know he became somewhat discouraged due to the fact that sometimes the booster malfunctioned and sometimes went further than the missile. On several occasions while delivering messages on the bridge during a firing he would jokingly bet which was going to go further, the missile or the booster. Another time when the testing had progressed to a better degree, the missile was supposed to fly alongside the drone, but on this one occasion the missile struck the drone and blew it up. But during these mishaps he always had something funny to say. I don’t think I ever saw him get angry.”89

  Russian ships in the Baltic routinely harassed U.S. ships. On their first day in the Baltic, a Russian destroyer bore down on the Dewey, making a complete 180-degree turn as she passed to approach on the Dewey’s port bow and rapidly pulled abreast in a move obviously designed to embarrass the U.S. ship. Having anticipated some such encounter, the Dewey crew was ready and accelerated from 17 to 35 knots, leaving the Russian ship wallowing in their wake. The Dewey continued at the accelerated speed for thirty minutes before reverting to 17 knots, the Russian ship still following three miles in the rear. The next day, they drew even, some 1,800 yards abreast. For the next hour, the Russian ship played cat and mouse, eventually closing to a mere 750 yards, way too close for comfort and safety, akin to autos traveling hubcap to hubcap.

  “When Capt. Zumwalt saw the Destroyer pull in front of our designated course we were doing the cruising speed of 16 knots,” recalled Joe Roedel. “I was on the Bridge with the message board and he said ‘I think he wants to play chicken,’ he then ordered the engine room to go full speed ahead. We went to 27 knots and headed for the Destroyer’s mid-ship. We were within a half mile from the Destroyer when you could see the screws of the Russian destroyer churn the water and the stern of their ship dip down and she pulled out of our path. Then Capt. Zumwalt stated ‘I guess we won that one’ and we continued at full speed for a while. This is when he got the nickname of 27-knot Zumie. 27 knots was always the speed of which he liked to run at when he wanted to get his adrenaline moving.”

  Bud consulted with the admiral on board and raised international signal flags, translatable into any language from the International Code of Signals, a system entirely different from the system used by the United States for naval operational communications. “We have the right of way” was hoisted by the Dewey. After a timely interval, the Russians raised a reply: “My present course . . . by chance . . . accidental,” and the Russian ship dropped astern. “The S.O.B.,” said Bud in amazement. All night the Russian destroyer remained astern. The next day, Bud saw the Russian ship speeding to overtake the Dewey. “She approached—her men were lined up on deck, she piped honors (a salute) and hoisted signal flags that translated to ‘A Pleasant Voyage.’ ”

  It was with “great regret” that Bud left the Dewey. “There is a picture that I have somewhere,” Bud told Paul Stillwell, “that was taken of me in England just as I got halfway across the gangway, looking back. The look on my face is the look of someone who’s just lost his lifelong mate.” Bud received a Bravo Zulu report for his command of the Dewey. “Commander Zumwalt was observed to be an outstanding officer in all respects. He was enthusiastic about his ship, the first guided missile destroyer leader, and about the officers and men assigned. His exceptional leadership rapidly developed excellent ship spirit and high morale. He is courteous, friendly, intelligent, thoughtful, a gentleman in the best tradition. He is unquestionably competent and qualified for his command the finest to which a Commander might aspire, but also for positions of even greater authority and responsibility. Commander Zumwalt, in short, is a superior officer who should be given every consideration for accelerated promotion to Captain and flag work.”90

  The fitness report, dated July 22, 1960, “will stand with the best of them and should give you a good boost toward captain and beyond. I certainly hope so anyway, because I know you have earned every word,” wrote Lieutenant Commander W. L. Read.91 Sure enough, in September Bud was promoted to captain a year ahead of his class. “We are all very excited out here,” Bud wrote Saralee in sharing the news of his accelerated promotion.92

  Bud Zumwalt would next enter Paul Nitze’s orbit.

  CHAPTER 6

  PLATO AND SOCRATES

  It is difficult to talk about Paul Nitze without getting lyrical.

  —BUD ZUMWALT1

  Bud Zumwalt had completed two tours in Washington that provided him with a tool kit for looking at and thinking about navy personnel issues comprehensively. He was now eligible to be considered for one of the plum assignments for those on the fast track—the National War College in Washington, D.C. The applicant pool came from the top cohort in each of the military services, the foreign services, and civilian agencies such as the Foreign Service, the U.S. Information Agency, and the Central Intelligence Agency.

  There were approximately 130 members in Bud’s War College class.2 Assignments and grades were geared toward developing logical solutions, seemingly tailored to Bud’s intellectual orientation. “I liked very much the fact that there was no school solution, that any one of eight or ten different imaginative ways of dealing with a geopolitical problem or a military problem was considered acceptable.”3 Everyone was assigned to a set of committees that regularly rotated membership so that during the year each member served on a committee with almost every member of the class. As he got to know people, Bud began compiling a Rolodex of names. “Out of those associations there came one of the most valuable aspects of the National War College, and that was the opportunity to call up a buddy, not just a name, in the State Department, or in the Air Force, or in the Marine Corps and find out what was really going on when you had a problem that interfaced with that institution. The old school tie was just very, very valuable. In one telephone call you could find out whom to go to solve the problem, what kind of a guy or gal that person was, how best to approach them. Very often your classmate would also know enough about the problem in general to advise you whether or not it was something that could be solved easily or with difficulty.”

  All students at the college were required to work on a major thesis. With his interests in the Soviet Union, Bud focused on the problem of succession in the USSR as a way of understanding the dynamics of the Soviet system. He was able to interview a number of visitors to the War College campus, including Ambassador Llewellyn Thompson, Chip Bohlen, and several people in the Office of Naval Intelligence.4

  Paul Nitze, assistant secretary of defense for international security affairs (the ISA division was often referred to as the “little State Department”) was one of the distinguished visitors invited to speak at the college that year. Nitze had just returned to government service after eight years as president of the Foreign Service Educational Foundation. A 1928 cum laude graduate of Harvard University, Nitze joined a prestigious New York investment banking firm, Dillon, Read and Company. Then in 1941 he le
ft his position as vice president of that firm to become financial director of the Office of the Coordinator of Inter-American Affairs. From 1942 to 1943, he was chief of the Metals and Minerals Branch of the Board of Economic Warfare, until being named director of foreign procurement and development for the Foreign Economic Administration. From 1943 to 1944, Nitze was a special consultant to the War Department, and from 1944 to 1946, he was vice chairman of the United States Strategic Bombing Survey. He was awarded the Medal of Merit by President Truman for service to the nation in this capacity. For the next seven years, he served with the Department of State, becoming deputy director of the State Department’s Policy Planning Staff in 1948, and director the following year. He left the federal government in 1953 to become president of the Foreign Service Educational Foundation in Washington, D.C., until January 1961.5

  Nitze had served as a national security advisor to the 1960 presidential campaign of Senator John F. Kennedy and anticipated receiving a high-level appointment in the new administration. Kennedy offered Nitze three choices—undersecretary of state for economic affairs, national security advisor, or deputy secretary of defense. Unfortunately for Nitze, Kennedy gave him thirty seconds to make up his mind. “I choose the post of Deputy Secretary of Defense,” Nitze told the president-elect. “Fine,” said Kennedy.6

  Days went by, and Nitze heard nothing more about his appointment. It soon became clear that Kennedy would be unable to honor his commitment to Nitze because secretary of defense nominee Robert McNamara had insisted on being given a free hand in appointing his immediate staff. When selecting Roswell Gilpatric, McNamara “told Kennedy that he would prefer a deputy who would be his alter ego and carry out his programs without argument or confrontation.”7 McNamara then offered Nitze the position of assistant secretary of defense for international security affairs.