A Full Life: Reflections at Ninety

by Jimmy Carter

  CHAPTER TWO

  Navy Years

  * * *

  Annapolis

  After completing my sophomore year at Georgia Tech with a year of Naval Reserve Officer Training, I received an appointment and entered the Naval Academy in July 1943. During the war my Annapolis class of 1947 was expected to complete four years of classes in just three years, so we graduated in June 1946. While studying naval engineering at Annapolis, I had to learn the rudiments of electrical power, electronics, mechanical design, seamanship, and the construction and operation of ships and the equipment and armaments on them. I could have done much better in my academic work at the academy, but I depended on obtaining adequate grades from my two years of earlier college work, including the even more challenging studies at Georgia Tech. Except for choice of a foreign language, all midshipmen had exactly the same curriculum. In fact, my roommate during my first (plebe) year had already earned a bachelor of science degree from the University of Iowa, but this prior education was ignored.

  There were no African-American midshipmen in my class, but during my second year at Annapolis a black student, Wesley Brown, was appointed. I became acquainted with him when he joined the cross-country team, on which I ran. I felt at ease with him, as with my old Archery friends, but was aware that many of the white midshipmen, from all regions of the country, resented his presence and were making a concerted effort among the upperclassmen to force him to leave, either by harassment or by the accumulation of excessive demerits. Similar efforts had prevented five previous African-American midshipmen from graduating. The word soon went out through the brigade that only negative conduct reports against Brown from commissioned officers would be counted by the superintendent. We assumed that this order had come from higher than the Naval Academy, perhaps from the White House. In his later biography, Lieutenant Commander Brown remembered my friendship and strong support as a fellow runner, and its special value because I was from the Deep South.

  Miss Julia Coleman had introduced all her students to classical music in high school, and my roommate at Georgia Tech, Robert Ormsby, had a fine collection of records, so I was delighted my second year to room with Robert Scott, a concert pianist. He and I used all our allotted monthly spending money (seven dollars as Youngsters, and eleven dollars as First Classmen) to buy classical records. We sometimes chose several recordings of the same piano concerto by different performers to compare their techniques. (Later Vladimir Horowitz performed for us at the White House and I told him he compared very favorably to Rachmaninoff, Rubinstein, and others.) We collected and enjoyed a wide range of other classical recordings. Scott had, for those days, a high-fidelity sound system, and for special passages we turned up the volume. I remember that a group of midshipmen would invariably assemble outside our room during “Liebestod,” the final aria of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde.

  I wanted to learn as much as possible about history, literature, and facets of the U.S. Navy beyond my normal studies. I read voraciously, was an avid cross-country runner, and was fascinated with aviation. Weekends we were permitted to cross Chesapeake Bay and go up for flights with navy aviators as they accumulated requisite flying hours in Vought OSTU observation planes and long-range PBY patrol bombers. I learned to land and take off on water, and to maneuver the two aircraft as directed by the pilots. I also spent many hours practicing the rapid identification of aircraft of many nations, as their images or silhouettes were flashed on a screen for a fraction of a second. At the time, I was determined to become a naval aviator after graduation.

  Punitive hazing was permitted in those days, and during my plebe year I seemed to be the target of extra discipline by upperclassmen, especially the Yankees. As a Southerner, I refused to sing “Marching Through Georgia” or agree to any demands that reflected badly on my region of the country. Most of the time I took my punishment in good spirit, and this probably encouraged more good-natured exchanges. Among the senior midshipmen there were a few sadists, and we learned to despise and avoid them whenever possible. I became an expert at running the commando course before reveille and going to several rooms at night to do forty-seven push-ups or ninety-four deep knee bends (multiples of our class year). One of the most difficult “games” forced on us was participating in cruise box races. Each midshipman had a wooden box that we could pack and carry on a ship or use for storage of books or out-of-season uniforms. The race involved squeezing into the closed cruise box, changing uniforms, running around some designated corridors of Bancroft Hall, and then going back into the cramped space to change back to our original clothing. My being relatively small helped my performance.

  For any real or alleged violation of orders, we were struck repeatedly with brooms or, much worse, the large metal serving spoons or ladles at our mess room tables. Blisters would often result. One of the claimed objectives of this mistreatment was to inure us to difficulty and to weed out those who could not stand the punishment. One of my closest friends committed suicide, and his roommate moved in with us. On our first day at Annapolis, we had been lined up and told that either we or the one on either side of us would not survive plebe year, and the attrition rate was usually even more than one out of three. If one of us showed any signs of weakness, an extra effort was made by upperclassmen and officers to encourage a resignation or induce an expulsion because of multiple demerits. I was glad to hear that most of the more brutal practices were forbidden after the war.

  We made summer cruises into the Caribbean and Atlantic, with one enjoyable visit to Trinidad on the old battleship USS New York. Returning, we either were hit by a German torpedo or ran aground while maneuvering to avoid it. One of our propellers was damaged, and we limped back into port in Philadelphia with the stern of the ship jumping about six inches every time the propeller rotated. We midshipmen were again at sea about a year later, when we sat on deck and listened to President Truman’s nasal voice announce over the loudspeaker that a formidable weapon had been dropped on Hiroshima and that he hoped this would convince the Japanese to surrender. All of us agreed with his decision, because it was generally believed that 500,000 Americans would have been lost in combat and many more Japanese killed if we had invaded the Japanese homeland and it was defended with suicidal commitment by Japanese troops on the ground. We were disappointed when we didn’t return to port in time to join in the celebration when Japan surrendered just a few days later.

  I was in the top 10 percent of our class but did not really excel in any aspect of the academic or military life. The brief biographies in our yearbook, The Lucky Bag, were written by each midshipman’s roommate. Mine, an obvious exaggeration, included these words: “Studies never bothered Jimmy. In fact, the only times he opened his books were when his classmates desired help on problems. This lack of study did not, however, prevent him from standing in the upper part of his class.” I am grateful to the academy and have always appreciated the value of my education and introduction to military discipline.

  Rosalynn

  Even more important than earning my commission as a naval officer, I was married a few days after graduation. I had actually known Rosalynn Smith, my future wife, since she was born. After we moved to the farm, my youngest sister, Ruth, spent a lot of time with Rosalynn, who visited our home often, so I knew her well as a teenager. I learned later, after we were married, that she and Ruth had tried to bring us together, but I was interested only in girls nearer my own age.

  I had spent a month on leave in Plains as I approached my final year at Annapolis and was dating an attractive girl named Annelle Greene, who was Miss Georgia Southwestern College. On my last full night at home, she had to attend a family reunion to which I was not invited, so I was driving around with a boy who was dating Ruth, looking for a blind date for me. When we passed the Methodist church we saw Rosalynn, and she agreed to go to the movies with us. The next morning when I went into our kitchen, where Mother was cooking breakfast, she asked me what I did last night since Annelle was with her family
. I responded, “I went to a movie in Americus.” She asked, “By yourself?” I responded, “No, with Rosalynn Smith.” She asked, “What did you think of Rosalynn?” and I replied, “She’s the one I’m going to marry.”

  Rosalynn was remarkably beautiful, almost painfully shy, obviously intelligent, and yet unrestrained in our discussions on the rumble seat of the Ford Coupe.

  Mama and I were both surprised by my answer, because Rosalynn and I had not had any discussion about our relationship and certainly not about a future together. She was remarkably beautiful, almost painfully shy, obviously intelligent, and yet unrestrained in our discussions on the rumble seat of the Ford Coupe. She joined my family to see me off at the train station quite late the next night, after I returned from my date with Annelle, and I kissed her good-bye. I was glad to learn that Annelle married a medical student and moved to Macon. Rosalynn and I dated during Christmas vacation, and my parents and Rosalynn came to Annapolis in February for a brief holiday to celebrate the birthdays of Abraham Lincoln and George Washington. I asked her to marry me, but she rejected my proposal, then later wrote back from Plains to let me know that she had promised her father, on his deathbed, to finish college and would not marry until then. In the meantime she was dating other young men who were in college with her. I was distressed, and could only persist through my letters and an occasional telephone call. She finally accepted my proposal, and we were married the first week in July, after she graduated from the junior college in Americus. A few days later we started housekeeping together in Norfolk, Virginia, where my ship was stationed. We rented a small upstairs apartment a few miles from the navy base. This is a poem I wrote about her:

  Rosalynn

  She’d smile, and birds would feel that they no longer

  had to sing, or it may be I failed

  to hear their song.

  Within a crowd, I’d hope her glance might be

  for me, but knew that she was shy, and wished

  to be alone.

  I’d pay to sit behind her, blind to what

  was on the screen, and watch the image flicker

  on her hair.

  I’d glow when her diminished voice would clear

  my muddled thoughts, like lightning flashing in

  a gloomy sky.

  The nothing in my soul with her aloof

  was changed to foolish fullness when she came

  to be with me.

  With shyness gone and hair caressed with gray,

  her smile still makes the birds forget to sing

  and me to hear their song.

  Battleships

  We graduating midshipmen had to draw lots for our first duty station, and my number was near the bottom. My assignment was to serve on the oldest navy ship still operating at sea, the battleship USS Wyoming, which had been commissioned in 1912, served as a warship in World War I, then as a training ship and for shore bombardment in World War II with her twelve 12-inch guns. The Wyoming then became something of an experiment station for testing the most advanced designs of radar, communications, navigation, and gunnery equipment. I was obligated to remain on this post for two years before requesting a transfer to other duties. As a young officer I had both commonplace and highly innovative assignments, including electronics officer. This was a time of severe budget restraints, when only one preproduction model of a new gyroscope compass, radar, loran (a long-range navigation system based on radio waves), fire-control system, or weapon could be afforded, and our job was to test them as thoroughly and inexpensively as possible. I was also responsible for both still and motion picture photography of towed aerial targets and shell bursts for assessing the accuracy of antiaircraft projectiles. This was during the early development of color film, a process that I learned on the ship.

  Physically, my ship was something of a disgrace. The hull had been strained, perhaps by firing its main batteries during the war, and it leaked constantly. Despite the best efforts of the officers and crew to contain it, there was a small but steady stream of oil that exuded from the hull, so we were forbidden to come into the port and tie up with other navy vessels alongside the pier. Our only recourse was to anchor well out in the harbor so the surging tides would minimize the effects of our pollution. This meant that our access to the shore was in small boats that made sporadic trips to and fro when we were not operating out in the Atlantic Ocean. Senior officers and representatives of commercial firms had top priority, so the rest of us had to await our turns for boat rides. When seas were rough, of course, the small boats couldn’t operate.

  Our normal schedule was to spend five days cruising back and forth off the coasts of Virginia and North Carolina to perform our experimental duties, and then anchor on Saturday and Sunday. We ensigns had onboard duty as watch officers every third weekend and could go home to our families during the other two unless there were special tasks related to our permanent assignments. This was the time when new electronic equipment was brought aboard, installed, and tested for the following week’s work, and as electronics officer I frequently had to perform these tasks. I worked on the new equipment, and once I was shocked quite painfully while lying under a radar power unit being repaired. Morale on the ship was very low, and I was soon fed up with navy life. I carried out my mandatory assignments and was primarily interested in spending as much time onshore as possible, either being with my family or making furniture in the large and well-equipped hobby shop on the navy base. I remember hanging a sign over my bunk that said SO WHAT?

  At the end of a year, we were delighted to learn that the Wyoming would be retired from service and replaced by the USS Mississippi, which had been commissioned in 1917, served as an escort to shipping and bombarded coastlines during World War II, and was converted to its final status in 1947 to assume the Wyoming’s duties. Its hull had been renovated in the shipyard and was in such good condition that it was permitted to come all the way into the harbor and tie up alongside the piers! The same experimental projects were performed, and the officers and enlisted men were just transferred to our new navy home without changing our basic job assignments.

  By this time I began to realize how fortunate I was to have this job as electronics officer, because I had unimpeded access to almost every technological development being introduced into the armed forces, sometimes even including the army and marines. Really for the first time, I decided to devote my full abilities to my naval career and became deeply immersed in learning everything possible about seamanship, navigation, the equipment that came onboard to be tested and evaluated, and the ship itself. I became special assistant to the executive officer and volunteered to be director of the U.S. Armed Forces Institute, which provided free courses for officers and men to complete or supplement their educations at the high school and college levels. When we could assemble a small group, I taught classes in subjects of common interest. One sailor ordered a course on painting, but he resigned from the navy before his book and art materials arrived. When they came, several of the sailors and I experimented with watercolors and oil paints, and I began to sketch scenes around our apartment. I also collected some books about famous artists and their works. I now have a large collection in my library, including the 1939 edition of Jan Gordon’s Painting for Beginners.

  I had an interest in politics during those years but adopted the officially neutral status maintained by other officers. While serving my final months on the Mississippi, I had learned to admire President Harry Truman and his political courage as he made difficult decisions involving racial equality and bringing the world war to a close. This was during the early stages of the 1948 presidential campaign, and I heard that Truman’s predecessor as Roosevelt’s vice president, Henry Wallace, would be speaking as a presidential candidate in Norfolk. I knew Wallace was a strong critic of racial segregation, had been editor of the New Republic magazine, and that he was calling for an end to the Cold War with the Soviet Union. When I told the executive officer of my plans to go to the speech, he wa
s furious that I would participate in a political event and especially for a radical like Henry Wallace. He let me know that this would be a permanent black mark in my official records. I didn’t pursue the idea but continued to monitor the progress of the presidential race.

  I don’t remember what induced me to apply for a Rhodes Scholarship that same year. I obtained the requisite endorsement from the Naval Academy and other letters of recommendation, wrote an essay, and submitted it as a citizen of Georgia, where I thought I would have my best chance. My statement expressed hope that, as a naval officer, I might use my knowledge of international affairs, to be acquired at Oxford, as a means to promote world peace. I was notified that I was a finalist and went to Atlanta for an interview. I stayed overnight with my cousin Don Carter, where I saw my first television set. I remember that the screen was about the size of a postcard. My main challenger was a thin and stooped young man from Alabama, who said he told the Rhodes interviewers that he had focused his studies exclusively on Elizabethan literature and had no interest in anything that had happened after the death of Elizabeth I, in 1603. I had practically memorized newspapers and magazines during the previous months and answered many questions about history, geography, and current events. Not surprisingly, even to me, the Alabama scholar was chosen. He and I communicated by mail once or twice, and I was grieved to learn from his parents that he died while still a student in England.