Zumwalt

by Larry Berman

  The first of several tragedies that would shape Bud’s approach to life occurred when he was ten years old. As a youngster, Bruce Craig was the most daring and independent of the four siblings. The most frequent word used on report cards to describe the boy was rebellious. His mother, Frances, thought that “this particular boy represented angel and devil—the thunder and lightning and sunshine—the flowers and trees and the mountains—the noise and yells and scuffling, the dear little sly ways sensitive boys have of showing affection—the airplanes, worms, bugs, butterflies-birds, etc., etc., that he loved. I see him swishing through every puddle, his face turned to the skies and hear him say, ‘Let it pour.’ ”31

  The family loved spending summers at the Sea Garden apartments in Pismo Beach, where they dug for clams, swam in the surf, or drove to the sand dunes a few miles away at Oceana. Doc Elmo would remain at his medical practice in Tulare during the week and make the five-hour drive on Friday in his 1925 Packard. One day after returning from the beach, Bruce Craig became ill and was taken by emergency transport to a hospital in San Francisco. The original diagnosis was infantile paralysis with a chance of tubercular meningitis. The symptoms closely resembled each other and were atypical for either. Elmo and Frances flew in specialists whom they trusted and respected. The consensus was that the serum had to be given for infantile paralysis because if it were tubercular meningitis there would be no harm done. There was a glimmer of hope that infantile paralysis could be avoided if the serum was given early enough. If it proved to be the other, there was none.

  Bruce Craig’s illness proved to be tubercular meningitis. “Everything was done that could be done,” explained Frances. “To say we are reconciled is to be hypocritical. I know we are going to have to bear it but both of us will always rebel that it had to be.”32 With their parents in Los Angeles consulting with physicians, Bud and Jim were staying with the Hopkins family in Tulare while Saralee was with Frances’s close friends, Ida and Otto Parlier. One day Fred Hopkins took Bud aside to say that his brother had passed away. With tears in his eyes, Bud approached his younger brother. “Jim, Bruce Craig is dead. Don’t you understand? Bruce is dead; he’s dead!”

  A pall of gloom descended over the household. Bruce Craig’s funeral was held at the family’s Sycamore home and his body cremated. His ashes were later scattered over Tulare with those of his mother. Frances wanted no grave or tombstone. “I don’t think my mother ever stopped grieving for him,” said Jim. Doc Elmo was adrift as well. For years he kept on his desk a crude lantern made a few days before Bruce Craig became ill. It was a tin can with ten ragged holes punched out with a blunt tool. A candle had been fused with melted wax to the bottom. The family never returned to Pismo again. “My mother always associated Pismo to that tragedy. The incubation period of his fatal disease meant that he had contracted it during the time we had been vacationing there.”33

  By his late teens, Bud had discovered girls, leading to major conflict with his father and creating much tension within the household, which was compounded by his mother’s diagnosis of cancer. “The overriding trauma of my youth was the slow demise of my mother,” recalled Bud. “She had had a very minor lump in a breast, which was to have been biopsied at the time of the death of my brother. But the tragedy of that loss led these two doctor parents to defer the removal of the lump for about a year. By the time it was removed, it was malignant. The breast was removed, and then she nearly made it. Five years later, almost to the day, the metastasis had apparently taken place, and there was a recurrence so that in my senior year in high school she began the terminal period.”34

  Most of Bud’s attention was directed at classmate Anita Whistler, whom he almost married during his senior year. On one occasion, the couple left Tulare for Nevada to get married. “We got as far as Fresno—40 miles away—and I persuaded her that we should turn around and go home. I just couldn’t face what it would do to my parents.”35 Elmo threatened to throw Bud out of their home if he continued seeing Anita.

  Bud’s socializing convinced his parents that West Point could provide the discipline needed for assuming greater individual responsibility. “The lack of strict discipline and the temptation of youth led me to flirt very seriously with a less responsible life,” recalled Bud.36 Elmo devised a “high-pressured” effort for doing everything possible to secure a spot in one of the military service academies.37 “I guess there was always a dichotomy in my own mind, with my father and, I think, my mother also, really clearly preferring that I go to West Point. And I was kind of fighting it in the early years,” recalled Bud. “I think, in my own mind, I really visualized the optimal life being the achievement of a medical degree and going into practice with my parents, because I was very devoted to them both.”38

  Bud had little say in the matter, especially since his mother felt that her son needed more discipline to avoid the temptations of youth, especially exposure to women. Elmo and Bud hit the road, trying to meet as many influential people as possible, particularly in political circles. Elmo recalled “the campaign to ‘reach’ the Congressman as we toured his six county districts and the interesting people we contacted.”39 The plan took a detour when a family friend and advisor Bart Longan arranged for Bud to meet his brother, P. M. Longan, who maintained that the navy offered more exciting opportunities than the army. “He went back and described the adventures of going to sea—going all the way back to the days of his whaling captain forebears. He described the difference between the sea campaigns and the land campaigns, and the ability of an individual to be an individual in command of ships and in command of fleets. I found it all very exciting and persuasive. With just that much thought, I shifted from competing for West Point to the Naval Academy examination. I never asked my father whether he agreed with that, but I think he did. Although he himself was Army, I think he was also mesmerized by the description.”40

  Bud was selected as the valedictorian speaker for his June 7, 1938, Tulare High School graduation. In spite of her pain, Frances managed to attend her son’s graduation, providing the family with their final memorable time together. Within a month, Frances would be bed-bound. In Bud’s graduation speech we see the roots of themes and commitments that would define his later career—compassion for the less fortunate and a strong line against dictatorships. Addressing the audience, Bud reflected on the factors that made for a satisfactory life. Canvassing the problems facing mankind—dictatorship, poverty, crime, and class struggle, Bud offered solutions for neutralizing them. “Surely by nourishing all that is ideal and beautiful in life, we can hope to attain the quintessence of progressive civilization.” Lamenting the millions of Americans living in poverty, suffering from scarcity of food and clothing, Bud urged fellow graduates to consider “humanitarian opportunities” as “the prime requisite considered in choosing an occupation. Too many have lost their youth in a struggle for material wealth, only to discover in old age that they had misunderstood the true values of life.”

  The valedictorian also lashed out at the world’s dictatorships, seeing that they not only threaten democracy, but that the “imposition of dictatorial aims on humanity produces the complete degradation of hope” and “disintegration of human spirit.” Invoking the pioneer spirit that allowed previous generations to survive, the seventeen-year-old said, “We face the wilderness of the future with the strength of a pioneer birthright. We stand at the threshold of a strange, new world. With the light hearts of youth, with the joy of righteous struggle, we shall plunge into the intangible wilds, resolving that courage, eagerness and intelligence—the heritage from a pioneer past—shall continue the progressive civilization of our America.”

  Over three decades later, in a 1974 Playboy interview, Bud proffered, “I think every young generation’s approach to the world is to generalize idealistically—dissatisfied with what they see—hoping for a better world.” The essence of growth is learning how to make decisions and compromises “without giving up one’s fundamental beliefs and aspir
ations. . . . When people achieve positions of importance, the real test, for naval officers or anybody is whether they recall those youthful aspirations and measure themselves against those early ideals, modified by maturity, but hopefully not too much.”41

  Following his high school graduation in June 1938, Bud spent a year at Rutherford Preparatory School in Long Beach. His congressman did not have an appointment available, so in order to better prepare for the Naval Academy, Bud enrolled at Rutherford where he was mentored by the school’s founder. “For some reason or other, I was designated to sit on the right hand of Mr. Rutherford throughout that year and had many long talks with him at breakfast and dinner. Mr. Rutherford became a rather impressive influence in my life. He talked to me at great lengths about the Navy and the Navy system, about his adventures in the naval civil service, and about the problems that one has with bureaucracy and about how hard it is to move things in a bureaucratic system.”42

  Bud hedged his bet for a political appointment by joining the enlisted Naval Reserve in Long Beach in order to compete for a presidential appointment. He took the competitive exam for Senator Hiram Johnson’s appointment, which was awarded on merit, not political connections. On the day of the exam, Bud was ill with the flu and running a high fever. He was disconsolate in a phone call to his dad, “I know I flunked it.”43 The rest is history. Bud’s appointment to Annapolis was announced in the Tulare newspaper on Friday, September 23, 1938.

  A few weeks prior to his departure for the Naval Academy, Bud found himself in deep trouble. Along with his friend Gordon White, Bud had perfected the technique of dive-bombing by driving a car at full speed toward hitchhikers and then letting go with a barrage of eggs at the petrified pedestrians. Unfortunately for Bud and Gordon, their license plate was written down and shortly therafter the police showed up with a warrant. They were taken to the police station and charged with malicious misdemeanor. “My father reacted more strongly than I have ever seen him react about that one,” recalled Bud. Elmo did not want Bud’s mother, who by this time was quite ill, to hear about it. Elmo made Bud go down to the local paper and plead with the local editor to keep it out of the papers, unaware that Elmo had already arranged this outcome. Next, Elmo persuaded the local judge to haul both boys into court to give them the scare of their lives. Judge Smith raked Bud over the coals, asking how being sent to jail would look on the record of someone admitted to the Naval Academy. Bud feared that he might not be able to attend the academy. With Elmo’s encouragement, the judge sentenced Bud to several hours of work detail seven days a week until he went to the academy.44

  On the day he was scheduled to depart for the Naval Academy, Bud went upstairs to say good-bye to his mother. Frances was in bed, under the care of a nurse. They both tried keeping everything casual, putting on a brave front for each other, but by the time he had reached the front door, Bud was overcome by emotion. He could not leave like that. Returning to the bedroom, he found Frances crying. They embraced and shared tears. “We sat there in each other’s arms, motionless, for what seemed like hours.” The silence was interrupted when Frances made her son promise that he would not return for her funeral. She emphasized how rugged the academic discipline of plebe year was going to be, and she wanted Bud to remember her as she was then. “I promised to abide by her wishes, kissed her and departed,” knowing this was the last time he would see his mother.

  Frances was dead ten weeks later.

  CHAPTER 3

  EDUCATION OF A NAVAL OFFICER

  To Bud, the only two things of any importance in this life are women and women. But when he did take time off from his amorous pursuits, he could do amazing things in other fields as well.

  —NAVAL ACADEMY GRADUATING CLASS YEARBOOK, LUCKY BAG.1

  In June 1939, three months before the German invasion of Poland, eighteen-year-old Bud Zumwalt walked toward the main gate of the Naval Academy. In a letter home, he described the academy as “a beautiful sight.”2 It had been an exhausting train ride across the country from Corcoran, California, to Annapolis, Maryland. His mother’s mounting medical expenses ruled out buying an airline ticket or first-class train accommodations. Unable to secure a sleeping berth, he sat the entire four days. Arriving at the Annapolis train station, Bud was physically tired and emotionally apprehensive about what awaited him.

  The Gate, as midshipmen called it, was the dividing point between the world of youth and the path of a career naval officer. Entering the Yard for the first time, Bud traversed Stribling Walk, named for a former superintendent of the Naval Academy, Rear Admiral Cornelius Kinchiloe Stribling, who served during the War of 1812, the Second Barbary War, the Mexican-American War, and the Civil War. At the head of Stribling Walk, he saw the bronze replica of Tecumseh, the Indian chief of the Battle of Tippecanoe, whose likeness once served as the figurehead of the USS Delaware. Tecumseh was revered by midshipmen as the “God of 2.5” or “God of C”—the academy’s passing grade. Tecumseh awaited incoming midshipmen, who cast pennies before him and paid tribute with a left-handed salute, so they might have enough good luck in examinations to receive a 2.5. Midshipmen decorated him with war paint three times a year, before athletic contests against Army.

  Bud soon reached Tecumseh Court, the scene of daily brigade formations for meals, rallies, and other events. In the center of the court, a plaque marked the spot where Commander Franklin “Buck” Buchanan had assembled the instructors and midshipmen at eleven o’clock on the morning of October 10, 1845, to read a letter of instruction from Navy Secretary George Bancroft authorizing the establishment of a naval school, which ultimately became the United States Naval Academy.

  He next arrived at Bancroft Hall, home to all midshipmen, including over eight hundred first-year plebes, who were scheduled to be sworn in the next day, taking their oath at the center of Bancroft, under Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry’s flag embroidered with Captain James Lawrence’s immortal words, DON’T GIVE UP THE SHIP. Meandering through Bancroft’s seemingly endless marble corridors and following a path up its rotunda to Memorial Hall, Bud stopped to gaze at the trophies, rolls of honor, and portrayals of great American naval victories. Reaching the plebe dormitory, Bud found his plainly furnished room, where each piece of furniture had its correct place. His roommate Skipper Dean was already there.

  Plebes had been instructed to deposit their luggage and head for physicals and issuance of their white working uniforms, shoes, books, and other prescribed items. Bud and Skip went together for their regulation haircut and to the tailor to be measured for blue serge uniforms and multibuttoned, high-jacketed full-dress attire. Returning to their room, the roommates carefully reviewed their plebe instruction sheet for stowage. Each item from handkerchief to clothes had a designated shelf.3

  Each of the 813 plebes had been told that if he had any reservations whatsoever, he should not take the oath at the next day’s induction ceremony. “When I arrived at Annapolis as a young and somewhat frightened California boy too many years ago,” Bud later mused, “I concluded that the setup was not as I had expected and, on the day I was about to become a Midshipman, I called my father to tell him I was coming home, instead.”4 When his father heard the words “Dad, I can’t take it,” Elmo could only say “Okay, then come home.”5 Whether it was a case of not liking the vibes or agonizing over being so far from home during his mother’s final weeks, Bud wanted out. Yet when he heard the disappointment in his father’s voice, he knew there could be no backtracking. Whatever trepidation Bud may have felt took second place to feelings toward a father he could not disappoint. “I hung up the phone and without looking back took my place in the Class of 1943.”

  Joe Warren Stryker, a 1925 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, was one of those in charge of swearing in the plebe class that summer. In a 1970 congratulatory letter to Bud on the occasion of his appointment as chief of naval operations, Rear Admiral Stryker reminded Bud that he was “pointing at random at the lot of you saying that you, and you, and you would
probably be admirals some day and not to forget it.”6 Bud would never have imagined that Stryker was speaking about his future, because Annapolis was the means to pursue a medical career. The academy offered a free education, which was important, given the large stack of medical bills associated with his mother’s illness. “In the final analysis, in my own mind, in making the decision to go to the Naval Academy, initially West Point and then the Naval Academy, I was merely postponing until after the war was over going to medical school.”7

  Plebe summer is designed to lay the foundation of the life of a naval officer. Classwork did not begin until the full brigade of midshipmen returned from summer activities. For the new midshipmen, this began a period of intense training, marching, shooting, sailing, rowing, and learning knots. Parents received a letter from the superintendent recommending that they refrain from sending money during plebe summer in order to avoid providing outside temptation. Instead, plebes spent their time learning how to keep a room neat and memorizing myriad academy and navy regulations. Within days, Bud knew how to wear his uniform, salute, and carry out basic plebe tasks. In the nearby waters of the Severn, he learned to judge wind and currents, as well as the rudiments of navigation and boat handling. He also started to develop his own ideas about leadership for when and if his own time came to command.