Women, who would face workplace barriers for decades to come, found openings at Gibbs & Cox. When in the presence of women he did not know, Gibbs was gallant but aloof. A kiss on the cheek would lead to him shouting, “For God’s sake, stop that!”3 He still had little time for women he considered less than accomplished, no matter how charming they might be.
But for women he believed had achieved something, he was unfailingly generous and open. When Elaine Kaplan told Gibbs that she and her husband had decided to have a family, Gibbs offered a nanny, a car service, anything to get her to stay on after her child was born. Kaplan respectfully refused, and left Gibbs & Cox. Yet for Kaplan, United States remained her “first baby.” A model of the ship was displayed prominently in her home.
“Aside from having children,” her daughter Susan Caccavale recalled, “her time at Gibbs & Cox was the happiest time of her life.” The Big Ship, whose innovative propellers Kaplan had designed, would be a lifelong source of professional pride. “In those days, a woman’s identity was to stay at home and have children,” Caccavale said. “If you were to ask my mother her identity, she would say a nautical mechanical engineer, and then a mother.”4
Gibbs’s loyalty to the employees he valued extended to both sexes. In stark contrast to most employers of the time, William Francis Gibbs based his hires not on background, but ability. African-Americans worked alongside their white colleagues.5 Bachman said that Gibbs “took a close personal interest in his employees, and quietly, often anonymously, assisted those in need.” When an employee died and left no family, the boss quietly paid the funeral expenses.6 If Gibbs overheard that an employee needed a new bicycle or suit, one of the best might mysteriously appear by his or her drafting table. If an employee or employee’s spouse got sick, flowers would always arrive by the bedside, with a handwritten note from Gibbs.7
William Francis also attended a huge number of weddings and funerals. He popped up at churches and synagogues all over New York City, usually sitting in the back row. And few things made him happier than to be the master of ceremonies at an employee’s wedding reception or birthday party. Raising his glass high, he would make his signature toast: “To all you want. Doubled. Good health, and the Big Ship!” He would then empty his glass into the glass of someone sitting next to him.8
Gibbs had every right to toast his Big Ship, and he was also pleased by United States’ passenger lists, which nearly always included royalty like Queen Frederica of Greece and the Duke and Duchess of Windsor; movie stars like Marilyn Monroe, Jack Benny, Burt Lancaster, Cary Grant, Marlon Brando, and Judy Garland; business tycoons like Walt Disney. Salvador Dali was a passenger; so was Mahalia Jackson. During one crossing, Duke Ellington and his orchestra provided the evening’s entertainment in the first-class ballroom, along with Broadway star and fellow passenger Ethel Merman. Walt Disney was so impressed with the ship that he gave her a starring role in his comedy Bon Voyage! The movie, about the European travels of an Indiana family, starred Fred MacMurray and Jane Wyman, and most of the ship sequences were shot on board during an eastbound crossing.9
In port, crew members would see Gibbs roam the miles of corridors and wind his way through the machinery spaces. He tapped machinery, looked over gauges, stared at the propeller shafts, ran his hands over the aluminum railings, and even sniffed the air coming out of the air-conditioning ducts. And he kept copious notes on all aspects of the ship’s performance.
When asked to explain his obsession, Gibbs barked defensively, “I’m interested. My God, who wouldn’t be?”10
He kept close to operations even when the liner was out at sea. At 8 A.M. New York time, without fail every morning, the phone would ring in Chief Engineer Bill Kaiser’s office. Commodore Anderson would come down from the bridge to join Kaiser, and a familiar, gruff voice would begin asking questions:
“How does it look ahead?”
“Is everything running to suit you?”
“Are the passengers happy?”11
Above Kaiser’s desk was a maze of spinning dials and flashing lights showing revolutions per minute for each of the four propellers, as well as other measures of the ship’s performance like oil consumption. But Gibbs refused to discuss the oil consumption rate on the phone. He was afraid that someone was listening in.
In fact, the Federal Communications Commission was tuning in, and told Gibbs that if he did not clean up his salty sailor language, it would take away his phone.12
Officially, Gibbs never traveled aboard his ship after its maiden voyage. But this was contradicted by at least one member of the crew. “That’s not true!” Jim Green insisted. “I saw him pop up on numerous voyages. He would appear out of nowhere and in the oddest places, often the crew’s quarters. He would ask us how the ship was doing.”13
Despite her superior hull design, United States rolled just like any other transatlantic liner when big waves kicked up. Crewmen were still awed by the North Atlantic in winter, and even the hardiest ones got seasick. “Unbelievable waves,” Bell Captain Bill Krudener said. “People don’t realize how big they are.”14 During the worst storms, the motion got so bad that crew members who were berthed in the forward part of the ship would get tossed out of their bunks. Unlike the Queen s, which were fitted with newfangled Denny-Brown stabilizer fins in the mid-1950s, United States relied only on her hull shape and bilge keels to stay steady in bad weather. While the two bigger British ships dropped with a sickening lurch when headed into the waves, United States would often slice right through them, sending clouds of spray flying onto the foredeck.
The ship also required a delicate touch from the helmsman in bad weather. Despite their beauty, Gibbs’s beloved big finned stacks acted like sails and caused her stern to swing from side to side. Quartermaster Leslie Barton, who was in charge of steering the ship, described the liner as a “young colt… skittish, light, and always her own boss, but she would listen to reason.”15
For passengers who had not found their “sea legs,” the results were predictable. “Sawdust, Kelly!” Krudener would yell to an English porter when one of the passengers threw up while running from the dining room to the lavatory. The porter dropped a shovelful of sawdust on the vomit, and then swept the mess off the linoleum floor.
During one gala dinner, as Krudener stood by the doors to the first-class dining room, he felt the ship “cock itself.” He looked at the three-hundred-odd diners in tuxedos and evening gowns, eating filet mignons and sipping expensive wines.
Krudener knew what was coming next: a freak wave. He grabbed one of the stanchions and planted his feet firmly on the floor.
With a roar, a mass of water struck the ship. Krudener held on as United States lurched sickeningly over to one side. He watched people fall out of their chairs, dishes sail through the air, and waiters holding silver trays slip and tumble onto the floor.
The Big Ship then jerked back onto an even keel, sending people rolling in the other direction. Shouts and screams mingled with the din of smashing crockery and crystal.
“What a mess!” Krudener recalled. “All those people in their finest outfits, covered in gravy, ketchup, and wine.” Miraculously, no one was hurt.