Diane and I maintained as much visibility on campus as we could. (When I was a midshipman, we hardly ever saw the superintendent, much less his wife.) Our schedule was frantic, and we had commitments most evenings and weekends. But the experience was most rewarding, and we enjoyed it immensely. Naturally, as I’ve written, there were conflicts.
For example, I had the deepest respect for Adm. Hyman Rickover, but he was the proverbial thorn in my side when it came to his precious nuclear program. He deserved the title, “Father of the Nuclear Navy;” no doubt about that. But he went overboard when it came to recruiting youngsters for his program. In truth, there were far more midshipmen interested in aviation and surface navy duty as compared to submarines. That was trouble enough, but Rickover’s standards were so high and so concentrated on academic achievement that he literally discarded any other accomplishments or skills a midshipman might possess, be it athletics or cut-above leadership characteristics.
Among others, I consulted the then-vice chief of naval operations (and later CNO), Adm. Jim Watkins, himself a “nuke,” on numerous occasions to try and resolve conflicts. He supported our position, thankfully, which was not easy for him.
Rickover was actually turning down volunteers who sought nuclear submarine duty and selecting nonvolunteers, particularly those who opted for assignment to aviation.
“I think you should trade off academic standing in the case of a motivated volunteer,” I once pleaded with him as the situation worsened.
“No, that’s immature,” he countered adamantly.
An All-American lacrosse player and aeronautical engineering student who wanted aviation was selected by Rickover but flat out declared to the admiral that he would refuse a nuclear assignment. Rickover was so furious that he wanted the midshipman court-martialed.
I told Admiral Watkins, “If that happens, we’re going to destroy the relationship between the Academy and the nuclear power community and greatly exacerbate the ability of midshipmen to go into that community.”
A “shoot-out” with Rickover followed, but he finally backed off in this case and agreed to deselect the lacrosse player after he wrote a letter of apology to the admiral. Happily, the lacrosse player went on to a successful career as a naval aviator.
At another point later on, Rickover tried to persuade the midshipman honor chairman to quit that position so that he could improve his grades and go nuclear. I told Adm. Bob Long, then vice CNO, “Admiral Rickover’s on record for being against sports and sex. Now he’s after honor. How are we going to attract people to the school if honor is added to the list?”
Admiral Long, who probably had more influence with Rickover than anyone else, got him to back off that. So, there were some victories in this ongoing dilemma, but I fear some outstanding midshipmen who might have gone on to stellar careers in the nuclear navy never got the opportunity to do so.
One goal I failed to achieve was improving the relationship between the Marine Corps community and the school. Only 14 percent of each class were “going Marine,” when the goal was 16 percent. I tried various measures: assigning a Marine officer as my flag lieutenant (then Capt. Gordon Jackson, class of 1970); helping to persuade the hierarchy to designate a new sports facility, “Lejuene Hall,” in honor of the renowned USMC hero, John Lejuene (a move much opposed by vintage admirals, who couldn’t see their way to naming a Naval Academy building after a Marine); and inviting senior Marine Corps leaders to virtually all the major events, including parades and football games. In truth, their attendance was minimal.
To my regret, I never got the Marines to come around. Indeed, I sensed there was an anti-Naval Academy bias ingrained in the Marine Corps. I even had graduates who went into the Marine Corps tell me they perceived resentment toward Academy graduates. Some even got to the point of removing their U.S. Naval Academy class rings before attending Marine Corps social events. However, I believe the situation has improved with time.
With respect to African-Americans at the Academy, I never witnessed any overt racial discrimination. There were some indications that bothered me, such as the black football players sitting together at the annual banquet, while the white players sat separately. But I think this largely stemmed from the perceived comfort level of each group, particularly as to cultural background, during a rather formal occasion.
On the gridiron there certainly were no problems. I don’t believe racial discrimination is a problem at Annapolis now.
The Academy has always had a solid reputation as an outstanding engineering school—we had eight engineering majors when I became superintendent. That makes sense, considering the line of work its graduates are destined for. But having had an acute interest in history and the value of the knowledge that preceded our current state of existence, I opted to have at least one history course as a requirement for all students added to the curriculum. The under secretary of the Navy during my tour was James Woolsey, a lawyer and a Rhodes scholar. He avidly approved having the history requirement. Not surprisingly, this met opposition from some on the faculty, but only because they believed there was already plenty on each midshipman’s academic plate. We worked it out by modifying the required electives options.
When I arrived as superintendent, midshipmen were allowed to drink beer in Dahlgren Hall after the end of their daily military obligations, a practice that had been in force several years before. I was very anxious about this and didn’t like it, but I wasn’t about to rock the boat by terminating it. The eighteen year-old drinking law was in effect, and my fears were realized in the spring of 1979, when two first classmen drove off the seawall by the library and plunged into the Severn River. The inebriated driver survived. His passenger drowned. I separated him through the administrative conduct system, although he fought dismissal through the federal courts. The federal judge supported the Academy’s decision to dismiss the student. Two years later another midshipman under the influence plowed into a tree on the parade grounds, again killing a passenger. I authorized a court-martial for him, a proceeding that precluded redress through the federal courts. The court sentenced him to dismissal.
Subsequently, much pressure was brought to bear on me in behalf of this student, who otherwise was highly regarded. I received calls from some old-timers, who said, “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
I realized that teenage drinking was perceived to be rampant in those days and reminded myself that midshipmen are in that age group and that, although they were considered a cut above the average, they were still human. So, we reduced the punishment to a one-year probation in working on a drug and alcohol abuse program. Happily, the young man preformed well during that year and went on to graduate with the class of 1981.
Mine was a gratifying tour at Annapolis. I was pumped up every time I participated in a parade of midshipmen when a student and felt the excitement even more so as the head of the Academy. A combination of pride, beautiful precision, love of country, and a pervasive sense of accomplishment embedded in the student body illuminate those parades as unforgettable events. I experienced the same emotions when I witnessed those young men and women marching by.
Chapter Twenty-Six
THIRD FLEET
The Russians were enmeshed in Afghanistan at the time, and I’m sure they realized we weren’t trying to provoke them.
DESPITE MY SIX-YEAR HIATUS IN HANOI and resultant lack of operational experience, I was assigned a major command. I was genuinely surprised and flattered when I received orders to command the Third Fleet, based at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Adm. Tom Hayward was CNO and was instrumental in approving the assignment. John Lehman had been secretary of the Navy for about six months and had visited the Naval Academy a couple of times in that period, but we did not have the opportunity to sit down, get to know each other, or discuss any school matters at length. I surmised he didn’t oppose my selection as a fleet commander.
The primary mission of the Third Fleet was to assist those battle groups destined for duty in
the far eastern parts of the Pacific in honing their operational skills. In essence, we evaluated their performance through various exercises, pointing out shortcomings and helping them correct any deficiencies before heading further west for duty.
As a prelude to the new job, I took some time off before transferring from Annapolis, traveled west, and talked with the commanders of the aviation and surface forces of the Pacific Fleet, officials at the Tactical Warfare Training Center at Point Loma. I also met with officials at the Naval Intelligence Center in Suitland, Maryland. I wanted to acquire an up-to-date picture of Soviet capabilities and related matters. I also was updated on the latest technology and activities in the field of ASW—antisubmarine warfare—knowing my knowledge was weak in this area.
Diane and I were delightfully situated in flag quarters on Ford Island, and although she commuted periodically to the mainland to tend to her therapy business, we had a wonderful time in Hawaii, fully appreciating the balmy breezes, the brilliant seascapes, and the cobalt sky, which was frequented by a parade of white tufted clouds. We also experienced a not-unexpected influx of visitors—friends who thought it would be a nice time to visit the Lawrence family at its new duty station. This was fine with us, because we had room, and the guests, for the most part, preferred touring the scenic highlights of Hawaii to spending time with us.
Diane and I seemed to have social commitments several evenings a week. This wasn’t too distracting, because it was customary in Hawaii to terminate socializing at 9:30 PM. I’m not sure why this was so. Perhaps people wanted to retire early so they could meet the dawn and take full advantage of the spectacular weather and the romantic tropical setting.
One of my new key responsibilities was serving the Pacific Fleet commander as the agent for tactical doctrine development, a duty I shared with my counterpart in Norfolk, Virginia, who commanded the Second Fleet. One of our early projects, for example, involved the Tomahawk cruise missile—the Tactical Land Attack Missile (TLAM). This was a complex undertaking because of the multiple project offices involved, ranging from those in the Pentagon to battle group commanders and plenty of points in between. Integrating the command and control process of the Tomahawk into the whole structure of the Navy task force was the challenge.
Initially, I had the sense that our sailors and officers were so busy conducting routine operations that there was a noticeable reluctance to actively engage in Tomahawk development. Staff people weren’t traveling to Washington for Pentagon meetings regarding the missile, claiming the travel was too costly. I appreciated that concern, but, conversely, we envisioned the Tomahawk as a vital addition to the Navy’s arsenal of weapons. To make it effective operationally, we had to evaluate it carefully and thoroughly, starting right now. I made that clear shortly after arrival, and I was pleased the staff and all hands in the Third Fleet turned to and made the Tomahawk a priority venture.
At the time, the Tomahawk was primarily an antiship missile, but at this writing, it has proved most successful as a land-attack missile, as evidenced in both Desert Storm and the Iraqi War. Its accuracy was a boon to combat operations, especially because of its over-the-horizon targeting ability.
The U.S. Navy had shown very little “presence” in the northern Pacific since World War II. Our deployment patterns had been pretty much stereotyped, focusing on the waters off Japan and the sea around the Philippines. I was curious as to how the Russians would react if we sent a carrier group into the Northern Pacific up by the Kuril Islands, which stretched northward from the northernmost tip of Japan. It was 1982 and the Cold War was still on. I certainly had no intention of provoking the Soviets. But I did believe it would give our personnel valuable experience to operate in a place they hadn’t been before.
I called Adm. Jim Watkins, commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet at the time, and asked, “Would you object if I made a proposal to run a battle group up toward the Kuril Islands?” I explained my motivation, and he asked a few questions before agreeing to seek clearance from the CNO.
“Work up the plans,” he said, “and we’ll see.”
I wished that I had a flagship, because I would have liked to accompany the fleet on this journey, which, with minimum reservations, was approved. We sent a three-carrier battle group into the region, and even though I remained at Pearl Harbor, I was in constant contact with the battle group through our state-of-the-art communications system on base. The battle group kept its distance from the Okhotsk Sea as it traveled along the length of the Kuril chain. The ships’ crews and air wings learned to operate in an area totally unfamiliar to them, and one that was significantly colder than they were used to.
Interestingly, we prompted very little response from the Russians. We knew the Russian Navy, apart from its ballistic missile submarines, conducted very few blue water operations, staying in port a lot, preserving, it seemed, their new ships. At one point a Backfire bomber sortied from the Soviet mainland and headed in the direction of our fleet, but it never went beyond the Kurils.
We went back a year later with a three-carrier battle group headed by Rear Adm. Tom Brown, an outstanding and aggressive naval aviator and skipper. We purposely planned the track of the carrier to proceed toward the approaches to Petropavlovsk, a key seaport on the southern end of the Kamchatka Peninsula. Tom did just that, although at one point I radioed him and said, “Better back off a little, Tom, and not get any closer.”
Again, there was minimum response from the Russians. As best we could tell, only one Victor submarine was dispatched to “look us over.”
I came away from these exercises with the belief the Soviets were really very benign in this period. It was as if they had no desire to enter into any kind of a naval conflict with us. Conversely, there was the shoot-down of the Korean 747 that year (1983), but I believe that was an anomaly, a huge and terrible mistake. Russia was enmeshed in Afghanistan at the time, and I’m sure they realized we weren’t trying to provoke them. Plus, they were embroiled in serious economic problems.
Another Third Fleet highlight was the biennial RIMPAC—Rim of the Pacific—exercise, wherein the allied navies of Australia, New Zealand, Japan, Britain, Canada, and other nations participated. RIMPACs were excellent training exercises for all the participants, but there were difficulties stemming from the Japanese role in RIMPAC events. I found myself playing with a political football that I had to toss around with circumspection.
Following World War II, the Japanese were allowed to develop a Maritime Self-Defense Force (it was not called a navy), the key word being “Defense.” Thus, during the RIMPAC exercise, the Japanese had to be used in an exclusively nonoffensive manner. So, we assigned them escort responsibilities for the amphibious task force scheduled to make a landing on Kahoolawe in the Hawaiian chain, an island, one end of which was used for bombing and gunnery training. This was fine with the Japanese officers, but the Japanese press disagreed. One article published in a homeland newspaper declared, “Yes, the Maritime Self-Defense Force is set to play a defensive role, but for an offensive mission.”
The Japanese officers had an intense distaste for the media. They contrived to lie whenever they could to deceive the press. Exacerbating the issue was the presence of the media personnel on the ships of the amphibious force who fired off inflammatory articles to the Japanese newspapers, charging the Maritime Self-Defense Force with participating in nondefensive maneuvers, a violation of the laws of that country.
At one point, I was designated the point man at a press conference with the Japanese media to put the exercise in perspective. The Japanese CNO called me numerous times before the conference, advising me what to say to the media. Had I complied, I would have made blatantly false statements. In other words, they wanted me to lie.
I explained to the Japanese CNO, “We don’t lie to the media in America. They deserve the facts whether we like to present them or not. There’s no way of getting around that.”
He was very angry, not so much with me personally, but mo
re with the situation itself. So I reiterated that the Japanese units in the exercise were playing a purely defensive role when they escorted the amphibious group. I stuck with this assertion, and neither the media nor the Japanese CNO were satisfied. Thankfully, the ruckus eventually blew over. There was certainly no love lost between the leaders of the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force and the scribes representing the home country.
The USS Ohio was the Navy’s first Trident submarine. Strategic deterrence has been the sole mission of the fleet ballistic missile submarine (SSBN) since its inception in 1960. The SSBN provides the nation’s most survivable and enduring nuclear strike capability. The Ohio class submarine replaced aging fleet ballistic missile submarines built in the 1960s and is far more capable. Ohio class/Trident ballistic missile submarines provide the sea-based “leg” of the triad of U.S. strategic deterrent forces. The eighteen Trident SSBNs (each carrying twenty-four missiles), carry 50 percent of the total U.S. strategic warheads. Although the missiles have no preset targets when the submarine goes on patrol, the SSBNs are capable of rapidly targeting their missiles should the need arise, using secure and constant at-sea communications links. It was to be home-ported at the Navy’s Bangor, Washington, sub base, although it came under my cognizance as a Third Fleet ship.
Greenpeace, an organization that advocates preservation of the environment, and other activist groups were sharply opposed to allowing a nuclear-powered ship to be based in Bangor. Exacerbating matters, the Catholic bishop of Seattle had a strong, antimilitary bias and was very vocal about it. How to handle the anticipated protests was the question. I traveled to Seattle for the Seattle Sea Fair, where some of our cruisers and destroyers would appear for public display. This coincided with the planned arrival of the Ohio. There was notable unrest about the sub’s arrival, and as a result, a Seattle newspaper asked to interview me. I said sure, and the first question the reporter asked was, “How are you going to handle all the protests you’re going to have here? Are you going to bring the submarine in in the middle of the night? Are you going to have it come through Puget Sound submerged?”
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