Quarterdeck and Bridge

by Francis Duncan

U.S. NAVY

ADMIRAL HYMAN GEORGE RICKOVER WAS FORCED TO GIVE UP HIS leadership of the naval nuclear propulsion program at the end of January 1982. At that time, the U.S. Navy had in operation 135 nuclear-powered ships: 88 attack submarines, 33 ballistic missile submarines, 1 deep-submergence research vehicle, 4 attack aircraft carriers, and 9 cruisers. Authorized or under construction were 21 attack submarines, 9 Trident missile submarines, and 1 attack carrier; 5 submarines had been decommissioned and 2 had been lost at sea. The propulsion plants of all these ships had been designed and developed by Rickover and his organization during the more than three decades that he had led the program. For good reason, he was called “Father of the Nuclear Navy.” He was also one of the most controversial figures who had ever worn the U.S. Navy uniform.¹

This essay surveys the relationship between Rickover and the Navy. It does not discuss his contributions to the development of atomic power for civilian use or his books on education and American history.²

Nothing in Rickover’s background foretold a naval career. Born on 27 January 1900 of poor Jewish parents in Makow, then part of czarist Poland, he was brought to the United States at the age of six. His father, a tailor, failing to make a living in New York City, moved to Chicago, Illinois, in 1909 or 1910. Life was hard, and, from a very early age, Rickover helped his family by working at odd jobs. After grade school, he had to find work. Fortunately, Western Union opened a branch office in his neighborhood; by working as a messenger boy at night, he earned money to help his family and was able to go to high school during the day. Graduating in 1918, he was determined to continue his education; but the country was at war and he soon would be subject to the draft.

Rickover’s personal views noted in this essay are from many years of the authors frequent conversations with Rickover and his associates.

The war that threatened Rickover’s education, however, unexpectedly gave him the means for continuing it. To meet its need for officers to serve in a rapidly expanding fleet, the Navy had increased the number of men who could enter the Naval Academy. Through the influence of a cousin’s uncle who was on the local draft board, Rickover was nominated by the congressman of his district. Never having thought of a naval career, he was badly prepared. Just barely passing the entrance examination, he entered the Academy on 29 June 1918 and graduated on 2 June 1922. He stood 107 in a class of 540.

Looking back, Rickover felt that the Academy had done a good job in preparing him for the Navy of that day. Accustomed to working hard, studying long hours, and making his own decisions, he considered himself far more mature than most of his classmates. He had to endure hazing but not as much as some other midshipmen. He had friends, although he was not to maintain close contact with them. In addition, he found that his religious and social background gave him the valuable perspective of an outsider, one who could look into the operations of an institution and differentiate between what was essential to its purpose and what was not.

From 1922 to 1927, he served in the destroyer La Vallette and the battleship Nevada and quickly earned the reputation of an intensely competitive officer who was always working, eager to accept responsibility, and determined to master his profession. He took postgraduate work in electrical engineering from 1927 to 1929. Until then, his knowledge of engineering had come from shipboard experience; at Columbia University, Rickover learned the principles of engineering. Eager for early command, he applied for submarine duty, despite a warning that, as a senior lieutenant, he was quite late in applying. From 1929 to 1933, he was in submarines, most of the time in the S-48. Although qualifying for command on 4 August 1931 and recognized for his engineering ability, he was not given his own ship. He left with a low opinion of submarine officers but with great respect for the dangerous environment in which their ships operated.

During his next tour, 1933–35, Rickover was assistant to the inspector of naval material in Philadelphia, where he rewrote the manual on batteries. As assistant engineer on the battleship New Mexico from 1935 to 1937, he gained an outstanding reputation by bringing her to first place in the competition for engineering efficiency for two consecutive years. Reporting to the Asiatic Fleet in 1937, he was given command of the minesweeper Finch. Finding her dirty and in poor condition, he tried to bring her up to the standards of the Pacific Fleet. Ships from several nations had gathered off Shanghai to protect their interests during the fighting between the Japanese and Chinese. With smartness deemed so important, Rickover was criticized for the appearance of his ship. He resented the emphasis on appearance instead of reality. Because his earlier application for engineering duty had been accepted, he was relieved of command of the Finch on 5 October 1937.

Becoming an engineering duty only (EDO) officer was a major change in Rickover’s career. Officers with this designation could not exercise command afloat but usually served in navy yards and in Washington, D.C.; if all went well, they might reach the rank of rear admiral. Rickover was proud to be accepted. EDOs, few in number, were recognized as an elite throughout the Navy. After a stint in the Cavite yard in the Philippines, he reported to Washington on 15 August 1939, only a few weeks before the outbreak of World War II, and was assigned as second in command of the Electrical Section in the Bureau of Engineering (soon to become part of the Bureau of Ships).

His later career cannot be understood without considering the work of the section. Responsible for the design, development, and procurement of electrical systems, lighting, electric cables, motor controllers, circuit breakers, switchboards, and panels, as well as miscellaneous equipment, the section was an excellent school for learning ship design, construction, maintenance, and repair—and the workings of the Bureau of Ships and American industry.3

Rickover soon clashed with the bureau hierarchy. German magnetic mines laid by aircraft threatened control of the coastal waters of the British Isles. By developing special floating cable and shipboard generators, the British had devised a means to detonate the mines by creating magnetic fields. General Electric Company began manufacturing a large number of these generators at Rickover’s request and on his personal assurance of reimbursement. Briefly, he was in trouble for not following procurement procedures, but a few highly placed officers recognized his foresight and praised him greatly.

Becoming head of the Electrical Section in December 1940, Rickover quickly recruited engineers from industry and added a number of subsections. He created his own management system by assigning specific individuals the entire spectrum of design, development, and procurement in the areas of their responsibility. When things went wrong or schedules slipped, he knew exactly whom to call. He established a system of keeping track of what was going on by insisting that, at the end of each day, he have a copy of every outgoing letter, even if in draft or incomplete. By scanning the correspondence, he was able to spot some problems before they became serious, catch trends, foresee difficulties, and assess the weaknesses and strengths of individuals in the section.

Pearl Harbor was probably Rickover’s first big test as section head. Of the eight battleships that were damaged during the Japanese attacks, two—the West Virginia and California—were electric drive. They had to be returned to the West Coast for repair and modernization, but several feet of filthy, muddy harbor water covered their propulsion plants. Never before had the Navy confronted such a situation. Dispute broke out over two courses of action. One proposed by many engineers and experts at Pearl Harbor and Washington called for careful washing and cleaning of the electric motors and auxiliary equipment. In contrast, Rickover argued that rewinding the motors was the only way to get reliable power. He flew to Hawaii and, just after the California entered dry dock, went down into the still-damp propulsion compartments and moved his hands along the wiring. The insulation came off like putty. Washing down never could have removed the contaminants that had penetrated deeply into the insulation. Under their own power and with rewound engines, the ships reached Puget Sound Navy Yard.

Inspection of the damaged ships from Pearl Harbor and of British ships sent to the United States for repair revealed the necessity for better electrical equipment. The Navy needed electric cable that would not leak water, equipment that would resist moisture and water, and systems that would supply emergency power from one part of a ship to another when the normal source had been severed. Further, the impact of waterborne shock from torpedoes, depth charges, and near misses from bombs was far greater than had been anticipated before the war. Even when a ship’s hull was not ruptured, shock jarred vital equipment off its foundations. Rickover took the lead in developing shock testing.4

Before the war, when few ships were under construction, standardizing electrical equipment and components had not been necessary. During the massive wartime construction program, however, the Electrical Section found itself redesigning equipment, setting specifications, and determining schedules for production and delivery, as well as establishing priorities. The unprecedented scale of amphibious warfare also increased demands on the section. Rickover became involved in new areas, such as development of silicone insulation, infrared signaling and detection, and the location of underwater objects.⁵

Under his leadership, the section became the largest in the bureau and, instead of focusing mainly on contract administration, schedules, and inspections, kept control of its technical work. Rickover came to know the leaders of the electrical industry and also some of its best young engineers. Tireless, demanding, hard to get along with, and often abrasive, abusive, and insulting, Rickover could not be ignored. He won the respect of his own people by loading them with work and giving them new assignments. Industry complained loudly about his intense pressure but found that he achieved results. His contemporaries in the bureau deeply resented the way that he encroached on their responsibilities and disregarded organizational charts. In the small world of EDOs, Rickover was making many enemies who would not forget.

After six years in the Electrical Section, Rickover, who had been a captain since 26 June 1943, wanted overseas duty. Because of his outstanding record, he was given his choice of assignments. He selected the position of commander of the Naval Repair Base on Okinawa. The base would handle ships damaged in the invasion of Japan, repair those that could be returned to combat, and place others in condition to reach a major base or the West Coast. Rickover was to have the base in operation by 1 November 1945, the date set for the landing on Kyushu. When he was detached from the bureau in Washington on 24 March 1945, the landing on Okinawa was only days away.

Okinawa was secured on 21 June 1945. After visiting other installations in the Pacific, Rickover landed there on 20 July. He found his work exhilarating. Starting from nothing, he had to organize the men as they arrived, get the equipment ashore, decide the best location for various facilities, and battle the intense dust, driving rain, and bottomless mud. The repair base was taking shape when the Army Air Force, on 6 August, dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima and, three days later, the second on Nagasaki. Rickover was left with the job of taking care of what had been built until Washington decided on the role of Okinawa.

Even before the fighting stopped, he was troubled by what he had seen. Victory seemed to be due less to the skill of the Navy than the strength of American industry. The Navy ignored the special talents of officers who had joined from civilian life. The gulf between officers and enlisted men was bad: it appeared to Rickover that, far too often, constructing elaborate amenities for officers took priority over providing spartan facilities for enlisted men. Many in the enlisted ranks came from good homes, had good education, and, having good cause to resent the privileges that rank bestowed, would be hostile to the Navy on their return to civilian life.

One event on Okinawa had a personal impact. In the presence of other officers, Rickover had confronted Commodore Fred D. Kirtland, commander of the Naval Operating Base, over the choice of officer to command the boat pool. Rickover got his way, but the price was a bad fitness report.

Discouraged and uncertain of his future in the Navy and knowing no one in industry who would hire him, Rickover returned to the United States in November 1945. Temporarily, he was inspector general of the Nineteenth Fleet, which was charged with decommissioning and mothballing ships. In the spring of 1946, he learned that he might be sent to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in connection with some aspect of atomic energy. A little later, he found he was to go to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, one of the major installations of the Army’s Manhattan Engineer District, which had developed the atomic bomb.

In January 1939, American scientists had learned of the Hahn-Strassmann experiment that split an atom and released energy. Ross Gunn, a physicist at the Naval Research Laboratory, saw in atomic energy a potential means for propelling a true submarine, one that could operate independently of the earth’s atmosphere. But the urgency of developing the atomic bomb and President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s decision to limit severely Navy participation in the Manhattan Project had blocked pursuing the promise. With the war over, the Navy resumed its interest. In April 1946, the Bureau of Ships accepted an invitation to send to Oak Ridge a handful of engineers who, along with some from industry, would gain practical experience in the very new field of reactor technology.

To make the most of the opportunity, the bureau selected outstanding men—a captain and four other officers of lower rank. Vice Admiral Earle W. Mills, assistant chief of the bureau, substituted Rickover for the captain on the list. The reaction was immediate and stormy: Rickover could not be trusted; he would take control of the program; he would not be able to get along with the Army. Mills had seen Rickover in action in the Electrical Section and held fast, but he had to yield on one point. Rickover would have no control over the other four officers. Mills faced another problem. Rickover believed that the bureau was trying to ease him out of Washington and did not want to go to Oak Ridge. Mills, also quite forceful, persuaded him to go.

Rickover reported to Oak Ridge on 4 June 1946. He made an excellent impression on the Army and, by dint of his personality and his bureaucratic skill, gained control over the other four officers. Although the Manhattan Project had built reactors, they were for research and the production of plutonium and were completely unsuitable for ship propulsion. As a team, the five officers studied, attended lectures and seminars, interviewed anyone with knowledge of reactor technology, and wrote detailed reports to the bureau. They were certain that nuclear propulsion was feasible, but the technical problems were enormous.6

At Oak Ridge, Rickover had found a cause that would drive him for the rest of his career. To lead the Navy’s nuclear propulsion program, he was willing to maneuver and scheme and to work endless hours to master the technology.

Three reactor types appeared to be the most promising—gas cooled, liquid metal cooled, and pressurized water moderated and cooled—although none had been built for producing power. All had fundamental problems in common: components had to operate reliably for long periods of time in an environment of intense radiation, systems had to be worked out to control the power output, and radiation shielding had to be devised to protect personnel. Each approach had its own technical difficulties; metals and materials had to be investigated and tested to determine if they could be fabricated and could maintain their integrity against radiation. Thousands of pounds of zirconium, for example, were needed in the pressurized water approach, but, in 1947, when Rickover decided to use it, only small amounts were available and it was very expensive. The liquid metal- and water-cooled reactors were carried to shipboard use.

Rickover reached some important conclusions. No one in the program or associated with it should receive, under the guise of military necessity, more radiation than the level established by civilian authority for civilian personnel. Nuclear propulsion could not be developed by scientists; they were too interested in research and lacked practical engineering sense. It could not be developed within the existing structure of the Bureau of Ships; the technical problems were too great and far beyond anything the bureau had ever handled. Put another way, nuclear propulsion could be best developed by an organization and a leader such as the Electrical Section had during the war. Whether Rickover would be the one to put these principles into effect was another matter. The bureau had sent other officers to other sites. In more than one shouting match, they challenged Rickover’s claim to leadership.

The Navy, however, could not do much until the American people, the Congress, and the President determined how to control the power of the atom. From these forces came the Atomic Energy Act of 1946, which gave a monopoly of the development and use of atomic energy to a commission headed by five civilians. Assuming its responsibilities on 1 January 1947, the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) struggled to build a stockpile of nuclear weapons and to convert the emergency wartime effort to a stable long-term program. Against these urgent priorities, a naval propulsion reactor had little weight.

Aided by some shrewd maneuvering by Rickover, Mills got the AEC to give official status to a naval reactor project. Mills had no intention, however, of letting Rickover head the effort. That assignment would fall to Rear Admiral Thorvald A. Solberg, an able and highly respected bureau officer who would serve as a liaison between the Navy and the AEC. At the last moment, Solberg received another assignment. On 16 July 1948, Mills, almost in an act of desperation, named Rickover to the post.

Even had the original plan gone into effect, Rickover unquestionably would have played a major role, if for no other reason than that no other officer knew so much of the technology. Under the changed circumstances, however, he could shape the program. He was further aided by the confusion that marked the AEC’s reactor development effort. He would not be a liaison officer but, putting into effect an earlier idea he had proposed to Mills, Rickover would head a joint Atomic Energy Commission and U.S. Navy program and answer to both agencies. As an AEC official, he was responsible for the design and development of the Navy’s reactors and for their safe operation. As a Navy officer, he had to make sure the ships were designed and built to meet the requirements of the propulsion plant. Probably no one, not even Rickover, could see how much power the dual responsibility was to give him.

Within limits, he could play one agency against the other. A good example of this technique occurred in 1950 when the Navy’s General Board was considering the 1952 shipbuilding program. Rickover informed the General Board that the AEC was developing a submarine reactor. Therefore, the Navy had to have a submarine in the building program. If it did not, the AEC might turn its attention elsewhere. Because of this argument and some important support in the Navy, the Nautilus was included in the construction program. It should also be noted, parenthetically, that support from submarine officers enabled Rickover to win his contention that she should be a warship, not an experimental platform; otherwise, he believed, the Navy would not be convinced of the military significance of nuclear propulsion. When faced by opposition from the AEC and forced to fight for essential materials, he could point out that the reactor plant had to be ready for the submarine in the Navy’s program.

In summary, the organization that he created was simple. He made the decisions. Obviously, he had to have help. For that purpose, he recruited engineers and sent them for training either to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology or to the reactor school that he had founded at Oak Ridge. Contractors, primarily Westinghouse Electric Corporation and General Electric Company, did the technical work and proposed courses of action and solutions to obstacles. Although true in essentials, this brief summary does not reflect the hectic and frantic activity of all concerned.

To force technical decisions early, Rickover built land prototype plants, complete with reactor and associated steam equipment arranged as if in a ship, while the submarines themselves were under construction. The pressurized water prototype was constructed in Idaho for the Nautilus as she was being built by Electric Boat Company at Groton, Connecticut. While the liquid metal prototype for the Seawolf, the navy’s second nuclear-powered submarine, was being built at West Milton, New York, the ship was under construction at Electric Boat. Problems encountered in the prototypes were solved before they were met on the building ways. Constructing the prototypes gave essential training to the Navy, the AEC, the fabricators of reactor components, and Electric Boat.

Although the program was moving ahead rapidly and attracting national attention, Rickover was in trouble. The Navy’s selection board had twice passed him over for promotion to rear admiral; therefore, he had to retire on 30 June 1953. Because the engineers on the board selected the engineers for promotion, the source of the opposition was clear. Early that year, Rickover’s key personnel, most of them civilians, decided to fight. They went to Congressman Sidney R. Yates, who represented the Chicago district in which Rickover had once lived, and to Senator Henry M. Jackson of the Senate Armed Services Committee. In his speeches on the floor, Yates contrasted Rickover’s accomplishments against the rigidity of the promotion system, and Jackson worked among his colleagues. In the face of their efforts and public response, the Senate Armed Services Committee held up the Navy’s promotions. A new selection board, over the bitter opposition of the engineer officers, promoted Rickover to flag rank.

The struggle also involved a clash between two philosophies. Every few years, the Navy rotated an officer from one assignment to another so that the officer could gain broader experience in management and prepare for higher command. Rickover exemplified a different approach. Nuclear propulsion was too demanding and the results of a wrong decision could be too devastating for anyone to lead the program who did not thoroughly know the technology—a process that took years. Rickover had won, but the intervention of Congress widened the gulf between him and the rest of the Navy.

Progress was visible. President Harry S Truman laid the keel of the Nautilus on 14 June 1952. In Idaho, the land prototype began a one hundred-hour power run on 25 June 1953; for the first time, atomic energy produced power in the amount and with the reliability necessary to drive machinery. First Lady Mamie Eisenhower christened the submarine on 21 January 1954. A year later, on 17 January, Rickover took the Nautilus on sea trials. In one record-breaking voyage after another and in exercises with the fleet, she vividly demonstrated the revolutionary impact of nuclear propulsion on undersea operations and, so far as technology was concerned, proved the superiority of the pressurized water approach for ship propulsion.

In 1958, the Nautilus steamed, submerged, across the Arctic Ocean and beneath the North Pole. To celebrate the event, the White House held a reception for her captain and invited leading figures in the Navy and the AEC to attend. Unfortunately, Rickover was not asked, an omission the press gleefully picked up. Congress used this oversight to vote him a gold medal and to force his promotion to vice admiral. The Joint Committee on Atomic Energy, however, which counted powerful figures in both houses among its members, was already taking steps to advance Rickover. As rear admiral, Rickover would have to retire in January 1960; as vice admiral, he would retire in January 1962.

Congress supported, protected, and advanced Rickover and authorized and appropriated funds for the program because of the Cold War: in 1948, the Communists had seized control of Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union had blockaded Berlin; in 1949, the Soviet Union had detonated its first nuclear device; in 1950, the North Koreans had attacked the South Koreans; in 1957, the Soviet Union had launched the first man-made satellite. Some members of Congress declared that only in naval nuclear propulsion—because of Rickover—did the United States hold an unquestioned technological superiority over the Soviet Union.

Rickover was a brilliant witness before congressional committees. Often brash, often deferential, he was nonetheless always aware of political sensibilities, and he had the ability to make members of the committees, particularly those on the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy, feel that they were part of the program, closer to it, and more understanding of its goals than the AEC or the Navy. Because of his control over the effort, Rickover became the sole spokesman for the naval nuclear propulsion program before the committee. It was to him that committee members listened.

Applying nuclear propulsion to the surface fleet went much more slowly than it did for submarines. The beginnings were promising: the Newport News Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Company laid the keel of the aircraft carrier Enterprise in February 1958, and the Bethlehem Steel Corporation laid down the guided missile cruiser Long Beach in December 1957 and the guided missile frigate Bainbridge in May 1959. But, because nuclear-powered surface ships cost more to build, maintain, and operate than their oil-fueled counterparts, the pace slowed down. Nuclear submarines, too, cost more than diesel-electric submarines, but the unprecedented advantages of submerged long voyages at high sustained speeds were worth the cost. The case was not so clear for nuclear surface ships.

For surface ships, the greatest difference was in construction costs. In hearings held in October and November 1963, the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy and Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara argued over the value of nuclear propulsion for the carrier John F. Kennedy. Construction costs for the nuclear-powered version were estimated at $403 million; those for the oil-fired ship were $277 million. The difference of $126 million consisted of $32 million for the initial loading of nuclear fuel, $81 million for the nuclear propulsion plant, and $13 million for the larger size of the nuclear ship and a greater capacity for jet fuel. The $32 million for nuclear fuel was part of the construction cost because it was put in place as the ship was nearing completion. Fuel for the oil-fired carrier would be delivered over her lifetime and hence was not part of her construction cost. On the other hand, the nuclear version could operate for seven years without refueling and steam long distances at high speed, qualities enabling her to respond rapidly in a crisis. In McNamara’s view, the greater cost was not worth the benefits. He won the fight over the Kennedy but, in the face of congressional opposition, had to yield on the subsequent attack carriers. All were to be nuclear powered.7

Rickover was exerting tremendous influence on naval affairs, far more than was warranted by his title of Assistant Chief of the Bureau of Ships for Nuclear Propulsion. Before congressional committees, he castigated systems analysts (the “Whiz Kids,” whom McNamara had brought into the Pentagon) and ridiculed their studies and impugned their motives. At some point—the date is uncertain—McNamara sounded out L. Mendel Rivers, the powerful chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, on the possibility of court-martialling Rickover. Bluntly, Rivers warned him not to do so; every member of Congress would oppose him.8 For its part, the Navy wanted to take from Rickover the power to select officers and to train them and the enlisted personnel who would operate the nuclear propulsion plant.

Secretary of the Navy Paul H. Nitze tried to reach an agreement with the Joint Committee and the AEC to curb Rickover’s power but succeeded with neither. The AEC saw the naval nuclear propulsion program as its greatest accomplishment in reactor development, and the Joint Committee felt strongly that the continued success of the effort depended on Rickover’s leadership.

President Kennedy had extended Rickover’s duty from January 1962 to January 1964, but the law permitted no further extension. Rickover did not want to leave and could count on the support of the AEC and the Joint Committee. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of staying on as an AEC civilian employee. The AEC was willing to accept the arrangement, for it meant that Rickover and the staff he had so carefully recruited and trained would remain. The Navy opposed the scheme because it did not want one of its major programs to fall into civilian hands, and the Joint Committee also thought that a Navy officer, as long as his name was Rickover, should lead the effort.

Nitze, now Deputy Secretary of Defense, worked out a solution under which Rickover retired but was immediately recalled to active duty with the same responsibilities and authority. At the end of two years, his future would be reconsidered. This arrangement became routine; every two years, the Secretary of the Navy received letters from the chairman of the AEC (or its successor agencies) and from the chairman of the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy (or its successor committees) reminding him it was time to extend Rickover’s tour of duty.

The system continued for fifteen years because a number of individuals, especially congressional leaders, considered Rickover vital to the nation’s nuclear power program. Under his mandate from the AEC, he was charged with training officers and men to operate the reactor plants. He personally selected all officers for the program. No officer could even hope to command a nuclear ship unless Rickover selected and trained him. After two or three years at sea as engineer officer of the watch, an officer returned to Rickover’s office for oral and written examinations to qualify him to become the engineer officer. Later in his career, as a prospective commanding officer, he would spend three months assigned to Rickover’s office. As long as Rickover had the support of Congress and the AEC, and as long as the nuclear ships operated well, he could remain head of the naval nuclear propulsion program. Congress saw that he was promoted to rear admiral in 1953, to vice admiral in 1958, and to full admiral in 1973. The Navy, both uniformed and civilian elements, and senior officials in the Department of Defense found him hard to control. In his own mind, Rickover considered engineering excellence the key to his strength—without that he would have nothing.

Rickover’s relations with every Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) under whom he served as head of the nuclear propulsion program were tense, but those with Admiral Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., were especially strained. When he became CNO in July 1970, Zumwalt faced two urgent problems. In a time of financial stringency he had to build new ships to replace those that had seen hard service during World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and the several diplomatic crises that marked those years and to counter an increasingly aggressive and expanding Soviet navy. He also had to relieve the explosive racial and social pressures that were building up, particularly among the enlisted personnel. On both issues, Zumwalt and Rickover clashed; on both issues, the Navy itself was split.

Differences between the two men went back to May 1959 when Rickover interviewed Commander Zumwalt to be executive officer in the Long Beach, about to be launched at Quincy, Massachusetts. The interview system followed a set course. Interviews with Rickover’s senior staff established technical qualifications, and the interview with Rickover determined whether the candidate had the mental ability to pierce the crust of conventional thinking, to respond to unexpected questions, and to answer them directly and without evasion. Such occasions were seldom pleasant, and Zumwalt’s interview was no exception. Although Rickover accepted him, Zumwalt declined to enter the nuclear program because he had a chance at a command. Zumwalt had made extensive notes after the interview that afterward became public. Later in his career, Zumwalt became close to Nitze, whom Rickover disliked, and, even later, headed the Division of Systems Analysis, a discipline that Rickover detested.

While Zumwalt was CNO, he and Rickover worked together on a few issues. They joined forces to convince a doubtful Congress that the May 1972 agreements resulting from the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT) made the Trident missile submarine necessary, and both worked to quicken the pace of the nuclear carrier program. Their guarded cooperation, however, did not extend to building non-nuclear ships or to the Navy’s personnel problems.

Zumwalt believed that the fleet was seriously unbalanced. Too much had been spent on highly capable, expensive ships, such as nuclear-powered attack and guided-missile submarines, attack aircraft carriers, guided-missile cruisers, and non-nuclear ships, such as the Spruance class of destroyers. In his opinion, the Navy needed to give priority to building a number of lower-cost, less capable ships to be used in low-threat areas. For this low part of the “high-low” mix, as Zumwalt called it, he proposed austere patrol frigates, small non-nuclear carriers, patrol hydrofoils, and a surface-effect ship that could skim the ocean surface at a speed enabling it to span the Atlantic in little more than a day.

Rickover never claimed that all surface ships should be nuclear powered, but he was convinced that the Navy should build the difficult and costly ships during peacetime and give priority to the nuclear-powered major combatants. For surface ships, he defined these as attack aircraft carriers and their escorts of cruisers, frigates, and destroyers, as well as ships designed for independent operation where unlimited high-speed endurance was of important military value.

As it turned out, neither man received what he wanted. Zumwalt did get his austere frigate, the Oliver Hazard Perry class, but little else of his low part of the mix. Rickover and his congressional allies were able to get into the Department of Defense Appropriation Act, signed on 5 August 1974, a declaration of policy stating that all future major combatant ships should be nuclear powered. Never enthusiastically accepted by the Senate, the provision was repealed in a few years. In the future, attack aircraft carriers would be the only surface ships built with nuclear propulsion.

Zumwalt’s efforts to relieve the racial and social pressures in the Navy dealt mainly with getting rid of petty and often demeaning regulations governing enlisted men. He did so by his famous “Z-grams,” which came directly from his office and bypassed the chain of command. He had to bring to a halt a deteriorating situation. Rickover, in contrast, by selecting, training, and monitoring the officers and men of the nuclear program since its beginning in 1949, had been able to maintain his standards. He was caustic of Zumwalt’s approach and believed that it was weakening, rather than restoring, authority.9

Of the controversies that continued to encircle Rickover, one of the most troubling dealt with shipbuilding claims. The disputes were already serious during Zumwalt’s tour but became even more bitter in later years. Much of the struggle focused on two shipyards: Newport News Shipbuilding & Dry Dock Company, which built aircraft carriers, cruisers, and the 688 attack submarines and was owned by Tenneco, a Houston-based conglomerate; and Electric Boat Company, which built the 688 attack and Trident missile submarines, and was a division of General Dynamics Corporation. Each company was essential to the Navy. Only Newport News could build nuclear surface ships, and only Electric Boat could build Trident submarines.

Under Rickover’s influence the Navy had awarded the two shipbuilders fixed-price incentive fee contracts, which set a ceiling on the price that the Navy would pay for a ship. Rickover favored this type of contract because it encouraged the builder to increase its profits by lowering costs, improving efficiency, and cutting waste, and it also promised Congress that costs would not get out of control. The contracts set schedules by which the work was to be performed within estimated manhours. They also contained escalation clauses to protect the builders from inflation, as long as they met the target dates and kept within the manhours.

To meet their commitments, the builders rapidly added to their work forces. The new workers had to be trained in their jobs, which swamped yard organization. As productivity fell, schedules slipped and manhours soared. Tenneco, as well as General Dynamics, incurred cost overruns that were not covered by the escalation clauses and were not the responsibility of the Navy. To recover their costs and to regain their profits, the two conglomerates declared the Navy at fault because it furnished late or defective information and equipment, as well as thousands of design changes while the ships were under construction. Analysis showed that only a fraction of the claims could be substantiated. By the end of 1976, the Navy faced claims totaling $2.765 billion; of this amount, those of Newport News came to $902.6 million and those of Electric Boat to $543.9 million.10 The situation could not continue. It absorbed funds needed for other purposes and badly strained relations between the builders and the Navy, both in the administrative offices and on the building ways. Newport News even announced that it was seriously considering withdrawing from naval construction, and Electric Boat threatened to stop work on the 688 submarines.¹¹

There was a way out. Public Law 85–804 (50 U.S.C. 1431–1435), enacted in August 1958, authorized the Department of Defense to grant relief to defense contractors, provided neither house of Congress disapproved. In colorful testimony, reported by the press, before congressional committees, Rickover fought against use of the law by the contractors and the Department of Defense to settle claims. He asserted that such claims had become a way of life for the builders, a means for them to undermine the discipline of fixed-price contracts, and a technique for them to make profits despite poor work and inefficient management. Moreover, he suspected that many claims contained fraudulent items. If the government bailed out the builders, he argued, the government should take title to the yards. They could be operated by contractors in an arrangement known as “government owned–contractor operated,” a common practice in some defense industries and widespread in the AEC. The government would not be at the mercy of builders who threatened to stop work on ships that could not be completed elsewhere. Rickover’s solution was politically impossible, and the claims were eventually settled on terms generally favorable to the builders.

For his part in thwarting the settlements, Rickover had added to the intensity of the opposition against him. At the same time, his defenses were crumbling. The atmosphere in Congress was changing, particularly in the Senate, where questions were raised about the need for large aircraft carriers and Trident submarines. In addition, some of the senators and representatives with whom he had shared so many battles and won so many victories were leaving the scene. Those who remained believed that it was time for him to go. He was aging; his health was good, but his short-term memory was losing its sharp edge.

When the Reagan administration took office in January 1981, Rickover was eighty-one years old. John F. Lehman Jr., the new Secretary of the Navy, was thirty-nine years old, ambitious, and determined to play an active role in shaping the Navy. Seeing Rickover as an obstacle, he quickly began lining up support in the administration, in Congress, and among contractors for his removal. Aware that his position was no longer as strong as it was, Rickover still hoped to continue.12

Rickover prided himself that he had conducted the initial sea trials of all nuclear-powered ships except two that took place when he was ill. A part of the trials was the “crash back,” which entailed steaming submerged ahead at full power for four hours followed by reversing the engines and going astern at full power until the ship was dead in the water. Although the crash back placed tremendous strain on the propulsion plant, it showed officers and crew on the submarine that the plant more than met specifications. The maneuver required care; submarines were not designed to operate submerged in this manner, and, because so much of their weight was aft, they could take a downward angle by the stern if they gathered too much sternway. It was Rickover who always gave the order for the engines to go ahead when the ship was no longer moving through the water.

On 27 July 1981, he was in the La Jolla, a 688-class submarine built by Electric Boat. In her crash back, she began building up sternway and diving by the stern. Because of a mixup in communications, someone other than Rickover gave the order to go ahead. Rickover repeated the maneuver and again delayed going ahead. When the submarine surged forward, she went down by the bow, possibly the result of an error by the planesman. She never exceeded her depth level and was not out of control. On rare occasions, similar incidents had occurred but none of this magnitude. Nonetheless, Rickover should not have allowed the event to occur. Electric Boat, with whom Rickover was engaged in a fierce fight, promptly and publicly accused him of needlessly endangering the boat.¹³

Rickover continued to conduct sea trials. On his return from the Boston’s trials on 9 November 1981, he learned of radio news reports that he would not be reappointed. The next day, Lehman saw Rickover and made the decision official. Rickover hoped, however, that President Ronald Reagan would overrule Lehman. On 8 January 1982, what the White House staff expected to be a congratulatory farewell meeting turned into a stormy session when Rickover learned that his professional career was indeed over.

Through the influence of Congress, he was given an office in the Washington Navy Yard and a small staff of enlisted personnel. From this base, he continued to fight as best he could for an investigation of possible fraud in the shipbuilding claims. In July 1984, the press revealed that Rickover, while head of the program, had taken gifts from Electric Boat. Most were trinkets, such as tie clasps, and were often given away to individuals who had helped the effort in one way or another or were bestowed on such occasions as launchings. A few were personal and more costly. On one thing, everyone agreed; he had shown poor judgment but had not allowed the gifts to influence his decisions. Rickover died on 8 July 1986 at his residence in Arlington, Virginia, and his ashes were interred in Arlington National Cemetery.

Rickover has been strongly criticized. It has been charged that his demand that officers in nuclear ships spend so much effort in overseeing the propulsion plant did not give them time to master the weapons systems and acquire skills in shiphandling. Critics, some military and some civilian, have alleged that his domination of the naval nuclear propulsion program prevented research that might have developed small, lightweight, cheap reactors. Many of them believed that his influence on the shipbuilding program has saddled the Navy with submarines that are less capable, more expensive, and larger than technology could have provided. Strong beliefs existed on either side of these questions and, as the issues were professional and in some instances classified, a layman could do no more than point out the differing views.

Rickover also has been strongly praised. Nuclear ships have performed exceedingly well. During the time that he led the program, 8,400 officers and 44,500 enlisted men received intensive training in nuclear technology, and many of his practices have been adopted in the non-nuclear fleet to increase its material readiness. He fought against reliance on management systems and organizational charts; he insisted that personal responsibility was the only course to excellence.

Nuclear propulsion was a revolution and, like all revolutions, had its casualties. Also, like all leaders of revolutions, Rickover always will be the subject of controversy, but one thing is clear: naval operations, naval tactics, and naval strategy were never the same after that cold morning of 17 January 1955 when the Nautilus got under way on nuclear power.

At first glance, Rickover and naval tradition have little in common—if tradition means a heritage held by a group of individuals dedicated to a common purpose and whose relationships with each other are governed by certain practices. As a young officer, he mocked and ridiculed, or at best tolerated, the practices. As head of the Electrical Section, he found that they hindered him in quickly getting the best equipment to the fleet. As leader of the naval nuclear propulsion program, he was convinced that the usually accepted practices were potentially dangerous in dealing with the huge leap forward in technology.

It would be easy to say that Rickover acted as he did because he was Rickover, but that view does not take into account that he remained in the service of an institution with which he fought almost constantly. Also, it does not explain how he attracted exceedingly high-caliber people for his organization or how he could levy the demands that he placed on them. The answer only can be his conviction that the Navy was, as it had been in the past, crucial to the nation’s defense. For this reason, he stated over and over to commanding officers: “Your job is to keep your ships ready to fight.” His belief in the importance of the Navy and the role of its officers are the keel on which naval tradition rests.

NOTES

1. U.S. Congress, Joint Economic Committee, Economics of Defense Policy: Adm. H. G. Rickover, hearing before the Joint Economic Committee, 97th Cong., 2d sess., 1982, pt. 1, 75; U.S. Department of Energy and U.S. Department of Defense, A Review of the United States Naval Nuclear Propulsion Program—June 1987 (n.p., n.d.), 34–40.

2. Rickover’s works include Education and Freedom (New York, 1959); Swiss Schools and Ours: Why Theirs Are Better (Boston, 1962); American Education—A National Failure: The Problem of Our Schools and What We Can Learn from England (New York, 1963); Eminent Americans, Namesakes of the Polaris Submarine Fleet (Washington, D.C., 1972); and How The Battleship Maine Was Destroyed (Washington, D.C., 1976).

3. Electrical Section History (1946), NAVSHIPS 250–660–24, Naval Historical Center, Washington, D.C.

4. Rickover’s constant interest in shock is referred to in Mechanical Shock on Naval Vessels (1946), NAVSHIPS 250–660–26, Naval Historical Center, vi.

5. Herman A. Liebhafsky, Silicones under the Monogram: A Story of Industrial Research (New York, 1978), 224–26.

6. Richard G. Hewlett and Francis Duncan, Nuclear Navy 1946–1962 (Chicago, 1974), remains the best source for Rickover and the program through 1962.

7. See U.S. Congress, Joint Committee on Atomic Energy, Nuclear Propulsion for Naval Surface Vessels, hearings before the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy, 30 and 31 October and 13 November 1963, 88th Cong., 1st sess., 1964, for the cost comparison, 71–72, and for McNamara’s testimony, 152–96. For background and results of the hearing, see Francis Duncan, Rickover and the Nuclear Navy (Annapolis, Md., 1990), 129–46.

8. Rickover recorded the conversation between Rivers and McNamara in “Memorandum of Discussion between Mr. L. Mendel Rivers, Chairman of the House Armed Services Committee and VADM Rickover,” 14 November 1967. Rickover gave a copy of the memorandum to the author, and, in a note to the author, McNamara wrote that he did not recall any such conversation with Rivers; both in author’s personal file. His interviews with John R. Blandford, former Chief Counsel, House Committee on Armed Services; Rickover; and Rickover’s senior staff convince the author that the episode did take place.

9. Elmo R. Zumwalt, Jr., On Watch: A Memoir (New York, 1976). Chap. 5 is titled “The Rickover Complication”; chaps. 7, 8, 9, and 10 deal with enlisted personnel problems. For the high-low mix, see the statements of Rickover; Zumwalt; and Vice Admiral Frank H. Price, Director, Ship Acquisition and Improvement Division, Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, in House Committee on Armed Services, Hearings on Military Posture and H.R. 12564 Department of Defense Authorization for Appropriations for Fiscal Year 1975 before the Committee on Armed Services, 93d Cong., 2d sess., 16 and 17 January; 5–7, 11–15, and 21 March; and 9 April, 1974, pt. 2, 1025–40, 1043–78, 1291–1357. Rickover explained his opposition to small, light, cheap ships in House Committee on Appropriations, Department of Defense Appropriations for 1974, hearings before the Subcommittee on Department of Defense, 93d Cong., 1st sess., 1973, pt. 3, 155–57.

10. Joint Economic Committee, Economics of Defense Policy, pts. 1–6, and U.S. Congress, Joint Economic Committee, Economics of Defense Procurement: Shipbuilding Claims, hearings before the Subcommittee on Priorities and Economy in Government, 94th Cong., 2d sess., and 95th Cong., 1st sess., 1978, pt. 2, have an invaluable collection of documents on claims.

11. Because claims are a complicated issue, this brief account is greatly simplified. Rickover’s views and those of the Navy, Newport News, and Electric Boat are in House Committee on Appropriations, Department of Defense Appropriations for 1978, hearings before the Subcommittee on Department of Defense, 95th Cong., 1st sess., 1977, pt. 4. The claims amounts are on 21. Patrick Tyler, Running Critical: The Silent War, Rickover, and General Dynamics (New York, 1986), has much on Electric Boat and claims.

12. John F. Lehman, Jr., Command of the Seas (New York, 1988), 1–8, 29–35. For a view of Rickover’s retirement based on his papers, see the author’s “Retiring a Legend,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings 115 (April 1989): 94, 97, 99–100.

13. Tyler, Running Critical, 295–99.

FURTHER READING

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