In the case of the nuclear-powered carriers — the first ship of the Nimitz class was just entering the fleet — top performing nuclear-trained submarine officers were to be ordered as CVN reactor officers and chief engineers. Again, the dedication and willingness to serve prevailed, and the operating record of the nuclear-powered carrier program, can only be praised and admired for its ongoing record of safety and reliability.
Innovation was required. The solution was a cram course in the practical aspects of steam engineering in Navy ship propulsion plants. Officially, it was the Prospective Commanding Officers Ships Engineering Course. Its genesis was interesting in that it was the result of an almost simultaneous confluence of ideas from Admiral Rickover and myself. I had long considered a concept, borrowed from the German army, of a two-week retreat in a remote but comfortable resort or lodge, under relaxed but not Spartan conditions, for newly selected flag officers. There would be a curriculum, including visits and seminars with senior naval flag officers, distinguished public servants, and respected pundits, with ample time provided for reflection, reading, studying, and discovering the personalities of one’s professional contemporaries.
Rickover had developed a similar concept, but less of an unstructured retreat than a cram course in engineering, optimized for line officers of the rank of captain who already had orders to a major command — a deep draft, a cruiser, or carrier. Rickover had taken this concept to Jim Watkins to get his reaction, and the two of them came to see me.
They must have expected resistance, because Rickover offered to fund the project from some appropriated funds he had wheedled out of the Sea Power Subcommittee of the House Armed Services Committee for “professional education.” Rickover also had a location selected. There were several unused buildings, actually “Baker huts,” at the AEC reactor site near Arco, Idaho, where the initial training of the engineering crews and commanding officers of the nuclear surface ships, including the carrier Enterprise, was conducted.
I was all for it. Rickover’s approach gave substance and form to my idea of catching our line officers at a crucial point in their careers that would mark their debut as senior officers in the Navy. It would be a way of providing our future leadership with the opportunity of getting to know their counterparts in all the naval communities, surface warfare, aviation and submarines.
In an hour we had it conceptually ironed out. The location would be at the Arco site, and the duration would be about four weeks (although the course eventually grew to fourteen weeks as we looked at the results and gained experience). It would not be a pass-or-fail course but more like a war college. The attendees would be treated like senior officers. After all, this was the elite of the officer corps of the U.S. Navy, or at least two-thirds of the Navy: the aviators and surface warfare officers. The submarines got their practical engineering education at the nuclear training schools.
It was a very special group. All of the line officers of the surface and aviation Navy would come from these classes because they included all prospective ship commanding officers and a ship command was a prerequisite for selection to flag rank. Among the bonus benefits of these classes was that it gave the future leadership of the Navy a special opportunity to get to know one another in a uniquely Navy professional, but totally noncompetitive environment. There were no grades given, and there was much mutual support, such as tutoring by those officers who might have had much of the math and physics as undergraduates at the Naval Academy.
The accommodations were Spartan but adequate. Each officer had a private room with desk and well-stocked bookshelves in addition to the creature comforts of chairs and bedstead. One large room was set aside as a wardroom for socializing and dining. Accommodations were available in the town of Idaho Falls, but this involved a sixty-mile drive each way. Wives were discouraged from accompanying their husbands for the full course, so there would be adequate time to hit the books each evening. Radios and hi-fi sets were not allowed, but there was a television in the wardroom for “news.” Some officers noted that for some reason the NBC channel was not available. It was observed that eliminating NBC also eliminated Monday Night pro football. The weekends were free, and in addition to staying in a hotel in Idaho Falls simply as an escape, most of the officers took advantage of the fishing, skiing, and hiking available at one of the many world class resorts in the local area.
The first class convened in November 1977 with twenty-five officers, and the numbers remained about the same for successive classes. The instructors were first rate, generally civilians and officers of the same caliber as the “facilitators” at the nuclear propulsion schools. Interestingly enough, there were a few officers who declined to accept orders to the school, and in doing so, gave up their opportunity to command a ship and qualify themselves for flag selection. The main reason was either an apprehension of the difficulty of the studies (although it was clearly indicated it would be a no-fail course). Others simply didn’t want to work that hard or make the move and commitment of time. The quality of the Navy’s cadre of commanding officers was not diminished by the removal of these officers from prospective command.
The influx of these new commanding officers, well trained and professionally competent in ship engineering, had an immediate impact in the fleet. Engineering proficiency improved markedly, and the material casualty rates in surface ships dropped noticeably, improving the morale in the engineering ratings and giving a further boost to material readiness. In two years, all ship commanding officers were qualified in engineering either through a tour of duty in a ship’s engineering plant or through the Prospective Commanding Officers Engineering School.
SECRETARY MIDDENDORF
During my days as vice chief of naval operations in 1973 and 1974, the two principals in the Office of the Secretary of the Navy were Secretary John Warner and Under Secretary J. William Middendorf. Shortly after I had relieved Admiral Zumwalt as CNO, President Ford appointed John Warner to head the United States Bicentennial Commission, which was charged with planning, executing, and coordinating oversight of all of the government programs and activities concerned with the national observance of the two-hundredth anniversary of the founding of the Republic in 1776.
Bill Middendorf was moved up to take John Warner’s place as secretary of the navy. This was not a disruptive move as far as I was concerned. As vice chief of naval operations, I had worked with the under secretary. Admiral Zumwalt had reserved the channels to Secretary Warner for the CNO’s exclusive lines of communication.
Middendorf was a pleasure to work with. He was a bundle of energy, talent, and imagination, often described by his many friends in business and politics as a “renaissance man.” Before coming to the Pentagon he had been the U.S. ambassador to the Netherlands. While there, he studied music and became a competent composer. As SecNav, he wrote music, mainly marches — over fifty — for the Navy and Marine Corps. He even composed the “Navy Wives March,” which he dedicated to my wife, Dabney. Shortly after becoming secretary of the navy he had been invited to conduct the Navy Band in a Christmas concert for Navy families at Constitution Hall. Middendorf wore a rented teddy bear suit for the occasion. He was a great hit. As the secretary of defense observed, “Only Bill Middendorf has the talent to pull that one off.”