The Admirals

by Walter R. Borneman

  On one foggy, misty night, King ordered the air groups from the Lexington and Saratoga to launch simultaneously well after sunset. The chaos was predictable but, in King’s mind, instructional. A number of pilots simply headed for shore-based airfields; some of those vowed to quit if King continued such drills. But the pilots whom King came to value returned to their correct ships and landed without mishap.

  As always, King was the ultimate authority, the one and only arbiter. One night when the communications watch officer groped his way across the darkened flag bridge, he bumped into an unrecognized figure. “Sir, are you on duty?” he queried. “Young man,” came the response, “this is the Admiral. I am always on duty.”27

  As an admiral overseeing his fleet of carriers, including the one serving as his flagship, King later professed that “he subscribed heartily to Admiral Mayo’s view that flag officers must never interfere in the management of their flagships.” But in 1938, that was not yet the case. King simply couldn’t let go of any measure of control. He would formally advise the captain of his appointed flagship that he was to act as if King were not aboard, but in practice, King could not help interfering.28

  Late in 1938, King transferred his flag to Lexington. His flag bridge was one level above the ship’s bridge, and whenever the Lexington’s captain, John H. Hoover, “handled the flagship in a manner that did not please King, the admiral would lean over the flag bridge railing and loudly berate the skipper before the two bridge crews.” To his credit, Hoover, himself later a vice admiral, would merely wave a hand in acknowledgment and go on with his job, not at all rattled by King’s tirade.29

  Another subordinate who was not rattled by King was Bill Halsey. He had spent two years in command of the Saratoga and then rotated ashore for a year as commandant of the Pensacola Naval Air Station. In March 1938, Halsey was promoted to rear admiral and two months later ordered back to sea as commander of Carrier Division Two, the new carriers Yorktown and Enterprise.

  These were the next generation of American aircraft carriers. Bigger, faster carriers with roomier flight decks to accommodate more aircraft and more rapid launching and recovery operations were needed; Yorktown and Enterprise were just the first step in that direction. Displacing almost 20,000 tons each, 809 feet in length, and capable of making almost 33 knots when pressed, these sisters carried between eighty-one and eighty-five aircraft. Both were built at Newport News, Virginia, with Yorktown (CV-5) commissioned on September 30, 1937, and Enterprise (CV-6) on May 12, 1938.

  The operational backbone of all carriers was the flight deck, but the hangar deck, one level below, was a close second. Efficiently shuttling the right type of aircraft between decks via the carrier’s elevators was essential to smooth flight operations. Early carriers, including Yorktown and Enterprise, had elevators built into the middle of their flight decks. Not only did these in-line elevators create potential confusion for flight operations, but they also made the hangar deck more vulnerable to attacking aircraft when the elevators were lowered or when a mechanical problem or battle damage stalled an elevator in the down position and left a gaping hole in the flight deck.

  Halsey’s task during the latter half of 1938 was to get both Yorktown and Enterprise fully operational and to work out the kinks. King, as Halsey’s immediate superior, was looking over his shoulder and wanting Yorktown and Enterprise ready for Fleet Problem XX maneuvers in the Caribbean early in 1939. “As you can readily understand,” Halsey wrote King in mid-November, “it is going to be a scrap right up to the last minute to get these ships clear from the material bureaus and Navy Yard by 3 January. However, every time an objection is raised, we listen and say, ‘Fine, the ships will leave on 3 January.’ I hope it works.”30

  King was hardly one to rely on hope from a subordinate, but he seems to have been convinced that Halsey was doing his best and showing great effort in the process. While Enterprise received last-minute adjustments in the Norfolk Navy Yard, Halsey arranged to have fuel and fresh provisions loaded directly onto the ship while it was there—no small matter considering that 350 tons of food had to be transported by barge or refrigerated cars. King congratulated Halsey on his “enterprise and initiative in arranging for the fueling and provisioning” in order that both carriers “may make a prompt get-away early in January.”31

  The carriers made it, and Carrier Division Two with Bill Halsey flying his flag as its commander, COMCARDIV2, rendezvoused with King and the carriers Lexington and Ranger. Saratoga, Halsey’s favorite, was absent because of an impending overhaul at the Bremerton Navy Yard, and Ranger was now under the command of Captain John S. McCain, who had finally gotten his carrier.

  But Vice Admiral King was in an unusually foul mood. Somehow, during a dark night en route to transiting the Panama Canal from the Pacific, he had slammed into a deck grating outside his cabin on the Lexington, badly bruising one of his legs. He was ordered to rest in bed for at least several days, but he wanted these 1939 maneuvers to be the capstone to his career at sea, as well as the impetus to propel him to the CNO’s job when Bill Leahy retired later that year. King refused to rest and snarled his way around the flag bridge of the Lexington.

  Enterprise in particular was still very green when Halsey joined up with King for the maneuvers. The pilots of its recently formed air squadrons were a little green, too. Predictably, King became upset at a delay in Enterprise launching planes. He sent one of his usual accusatory signals and demanded to know the name of the officer responsible for the delay. Not one to shirk his own responsibility as a commanding officer or to blame a junior, Halsey signaled back “COMCARDIV2,” meaning himself.32

  In the end, the fleet exercises went well enough. The crews of Enterprise and Yorktown gained confidence and King gave the battleship admirals, as well as President Roosevelt, who watched the final round from the cruiser Houston, a lesson in what naval aviation could do. Afterward, the flag officers met FDR at a reception aboard Houston, and each in his own way may have done some not-so-subtle lobbying to succeed Leahy. King always claimed that he refrained because “he had never ‘greased’ anyone during his forty-two years of service and did not propose to begin, particularly at a moment when many of the admirals were trying so hard to please Mr. Roosevelt that it was obvious.”33

  King’s claim to never having been a self-promoter was disingenuous at best, but the truth of the matter seems to be that Leahy’s successor had already been agreed upon. It would not be King. Perhaps he had stepped on too many toes, ruffled too many egos. Some said that his reputation for drinking—even if he seemed to be able to turn it on and off at will—was a problem. Others undoubtedly questioned his trademark “lone wolf” approach.

  But in a navy that still had only three admirals who could be considered naval aviators—King, Halsey, and Charles A. Blakely—it was hardly surprising that Leahy’s replacement would come from the remaining seventy-one preponderantly battleship admirals. So King was forced to swallow both pride and disappointment and cheerily congratulate Rear Admiral Harold R. Stark on his pending appointment. How long Stark might last was another matter.

  “Rey,” Stark reportedly told King, “you are the man that should have had that job.” When King replied, “Other people don’t think that,” Stark graciously responded, “Well, I do myself.”

  Another fellow admiral agreed with Stark but scolded, “Why Rey, you should have gotten that job. But why the hell didn’t you start getting along in the Gun Club [the battleship admirals]?” King characteristically responded, “They had their chance… and they didn’t take it, so to hell with them.”34

  Some years before, King had readily acknowledged that he “had a proper ambition to get to the top, either Commander in Chief of the United States Fleet or even to become Chief of Naval Operations.”35 But now that seemed forever out of reach. He was to be assigned to the General Board to put in his last three years until mandatory retirement.

  King was terribly down and glum about his future, certain he ha
d none. The U.S. Navy simply had not yet come to understand the full power of naval aviation as King had worked to develop it. Despite his frequently raucous, theatrical, and antagonistic ways, he had pushed naval aviation to a point where it could assume a very lonely and almost impossible burden two and a half short years hence.

  “Dear Ernie,” wrote an admirer in a handwritten note, “It has been an education, and a very pleasant one, to serve under you this past winter. May I thank you for your patience of me personally and for the professional lessons you have given me—I should be proud to serve under you any time—anywhere, & under any conditions. The best of luck always—may your new job be to your liking—and here’s hoping for more stars afloat. Always sincerely yours, Bill Halsey.”36

  Halsey now raised his flag on the refitted Saratoga and assumed King’s old job as commander, Aircraft, Battle Force. By the strange twist of the navy’s temporary rank system, as King was detailed to the General Board to await the end of his naval service, he reverted to his permanent rank of rear admiral. When Halsey relieved King, Halsey became a temporary vice admiral and as such outranked King.37

  Meanwhile, Bill Leahy was also apparently nearing the end of his naval service. Leahy turned sixty-four on May 6, 1939, and six days later, President Roosevelt announced at a press conference that he would nominate the admiral to be governor of Puerto Rico. The Washington rumor mill was rife with speculation that Leahy might be appointed secretary of the navy—the ailing Swanson would finally die in July—and FDR appears to have considered that option. The governorship of the territory of Puerto Rico was of some importance to the overall defense and stability of American interests in the Caribbean. It was hardly on a par with the navy post, but at the time Roosevelt’s thinking may have been inclined toward emphasizing civilian control of the Navy Department while he slowly pulled the country away from isolationism.38

  Leahy wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting into in Puerto Rico, as the island was divided by numerous internal political factions, but he took the assignment with good grace, as he had always done. “Some of the recent visitors to the Spanish Main,” Leahy wrote to Admiral Claude “Claudius” Bloch, “assure me that the Office is sufficiently full of grief to keep even an old sailor moving rapidly. However, as you and I know so well, old sailors will try anything once, and we will endeavor to survive, if not to enjoy, such incidents as may come to us.”39

  The Washington Post predicted that Leahy’s tenure in Puerto Rico would be “anything but quiet and restful” but badly missed the mark when it attempted a comparison. Had Leahy been chosen to become governor of Hawaii instead, the paper speculated, “he could look forward to a pleasant term of service in an important but not too strenuous position.”40

  Leahy’s retirement was set for August 1, in part to allow him to participate in the June state visit of Great Britain’s King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to the United States. Leahy was also honored to give the commencement address at the Naval Academy. Mincing no words, the retiring chief of naval operations told the 578 graduating midshipmen of the class of 1939 that “a grave emergency comes once in every generation and that they must be prepared to meet one before their retirement.”41

  On July 28, Leahy was in the Oval Office conferring with FDR on Puerto Rican matters when the president surprised him by having an entourage of photographers and navy brass enter the room just before presenting him with the Distinguished Service Medal. Praising Leahy’s role in the navy’s greatest peacetime expansion, the citation concluded, “The extraordinary qualities of leadership and administrative ability that have marked his tenure as the highest ranking officer in the Navy have been exemplified throughout his entire Naval career.”42

  Three hundred officers of the Navy Department feted Leahy at a formal dinner in his honor at the Mayflower Hotel that evening as a testament to his high standing. But the accolades that mattered most for Leahy’s future came the next day in a letter from FDR. Emphasizing Leahy’s “conspicuous administrative ability,” Roosevelt voiced his “sincere hope that after retirement from the Navy your valuable experience will be given for a long time to the public service and that you will enjoy many years of health and happiness.” Then, across the bottom of the page in his own hand, the president scrawled, “Dear Bill, I just hate to have you leave. FDR.”43

  Below his typed diary entry for August 1, 1939, Leahy wrote in longhand, “This brings to an end forty-six years of active service in the Navy of the United States.” Privately, the president assured the retiring admiral, “Bill, if we ever have a war, you’re going to be right back here, helping me to run it.”44

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At War All but in Name

  William D. Leahy’s tenure as governor of Puerto Rico was a temporary assignment. To be sure, the island was central to the defense of the Caribbean in the event of war, and it was doubly certain that the defense of the Panama Canal would be of great importance. But Franklin Roosevelt seems to have had a broader plan for Leahy even as Bill and Louise sailed to the island in early September 1939.

  The war of which FDR had spoken had come to pass much more quickly than expected, even if the United States was not yet in it. On September 1, having already used ominous threats to gobble up Austria and Czechoslovakia, Adolf Hitler unleashed his airplanes and tanks against Poland. Great Britain and France responded by declaring war on Germany. A week later, Roosevelt proclaimed a limited national emergency in the United States and authorized a call-up of reserves.

  The burden of preparing for an ever-increasing global role fell particularly hard on the navy’s Bureau of Navigation and its new chief, Rear Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. After his term as assistant chief ended in 1938, Nimitz received his first stars and went to sea in command of a cruiser division. But he had barely reported when a hernia repair caused him to lose a month ashore. Nimitz—never one to be inactive—fretted that he would lose his cruiser command because of it. He did, but when he reported back for duty, he was appointed commander of a battleship division instead.

  Nimitz thought he was in his element aboard his flagship, the Arizona. The last battleship to be commissioned prior to the American entry into World War I, Arizona mounted twelve 14-inch guns in two turrets fore and two turrets aft. At 31,400 tons, the 608-foot-long ship was capable of 21 knots—like most battleships of that era, a beefy platform for armaments but not a speedy one. Nimitz threw himself into the task of commanding his division and followed his usual practice of being interested in how well men did their jobs, whether a captain or a mess steward.

  As it turned out, Nimitz’s real element was not in the giant ships he loved so much, but in managing men. Through his NROTC classes, his commands at sea, and his tour as assistant chief at BuNav, Nimitz had come to know so many so well and, understanding the needs of the fleet as he did, he had an uncanny ability to put the right man in the right job. Thus, while he professed disappointment at having his sea cruise as commander, Battleship Division One, cut short, few were surprised when Nimitz was called ashore to become chief of the Bureau of Navigation in the spring of 1939.

  Admiral Claude Bloch, commander in chief of the U.S. Fleet, regretted to see him leave. “While the Navy Department gains in this transaction,” Bloch told Nimitz, “I feel that the fleet loses heavily and in as much as my activities are centered in the fleet I am very sorry to see you go… You have a big job on your hands in the Bureau of Navigation. Those who are dissatisfied by reason of not having been promoted are growing in numbers and strength and it is my conviction that your ingenuity and cleverness both are going to be taxed to the utmost.”1

  As he disembarked from the Arizona, Nimitz received another unexpected note of remembrance and prophesy. Miller Reese Hutchison, a member of Thomas Edison’s team of inventors and himself the principal inventor of the first electrical hearing aid, sent Nimitz his congratulations on his new post and remembered two visits Nimitz had made as a young officer to the Edison lab in 1914. “Hutch” now recal
led Thomas Edison saying, “Lieutenant Nimitz possesses more brains and is more practical, in my estimation, than any of the young Officers who have visited us. I predict he will, some day, be filling Admiral Dewey’s shoes. There is no foolishness about him. He wants to know and is successful in getting all the facts.” Hutchison closed his letter by saying, “Mr. Edison’s prediction is, I believe, very close to fruition.”2

  Among Nimitz’s early responsibilities at BuNav was telling Admiral Bloch that when his tour with the fleet was completed in January 1940, he would be assigned to his final post as commandant of the Fourteenth Naval District. The United States and its territories and possessions were divided into fifteen such districts, and their command involved all-inclusive supervision of shore installations, coastlines, and sea-lanes. “Whether this is important duty or not,” Bloch responded to Nimitz, “hinges on circumstances; it may turn out to be very important or, on the other hand, it may turn out to be quite different.”3 The headquarters of the Fourteenth Naval District was in Honolulu, Hawaii.

  Bloch’s replacement as commander in chief, U.S. Fleet, was to be James O. Richardson, Annapolis class of 1902, a year behind King and known by his academy nickname of “J.O.” or “JO.” Born in Paris, Texas, in the extreme northeast corner of the state, Richardson was a big-gun admiral who had served on destroyers, been the first captain of the cruiser Augusta, and commanded the Battle Force. While in Washington, he had gotten plenty of staff exposure as assistant to the chief of BuOrd, assistant CNO, and Nimitz’s immediate predecessor at BuNav. Richardson’s most important task as commander in chief was to deploy the fleet to Hawaii for its 1940 maneuvers. To his surprise and displeasure, he would be ordered to keep it there.