Not too long ago there appeared in the pages of this publication an article referring to Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King as a "sundowner," or as I recall, "a sundowner par excellence."
"Strange," I thought, "I never knew the precise meaning of the term."
So a little research. The latest dictionary I could find, the American Heritage Dictionary, 1969, defined a sundowner as:
- An Australian word meaning 'tramp.'
- A ship's officer who imposes strict rules such as return of the crew at sundown.
- A drink taken at sundown."
This was not quite satisfying. Knowing that naval people from time to time give their own special meaning to certain words (for example, the familiar term politician—somebody who has a soft job, like captain's yeoman, who is exempt from all working parties) I consulted Naval Customs, Tradition and Usage, by then-Lieutenant Commander Leland P. Lovette, a work sometimes called The Emily Post of the Navy. It said: "Sundowner. Derived from the strict captains who required all officers and men be aboard by sunset; now Used for a martinet or strict disciplinarian."
Now it is certainly true that Admiral King was a strict disciplinarian. But a martinet? Never! Furthermore, I know of no measures he ever undertook to enforce discipline. Nor am I aware that he ever had any disciplinary problems. His very presence was so commanding and the force of his character and intellect so great that discipline in his commands, as he expected, came naturally. He was reported to be so tough that he shaved with a blowtorch. Actually he had great consideration for his subordinates, officers and men, and he was always mindful of their welfare. But they had to produce. And produce they did—without any disciplinary problems. Looking back on Admiral King's great career and on the man himself, one is reminded of Dryden's remark on the death of Oliver Cromwell. "For he was great," said Dryden, "ere fortune made him so."
How, after the humiliating defeat at Pearl Harbor, President Roosevelt gave him command of all the naval operating forces and, within a few months, command of the entire Navy; how Admiral King then created a great spirit of confidence and victory throughout the entire Navy; and how he built up the Navy to the largest and most powerful sea force of all time which he led to world-wide victory—these are matters of history. What I hope to give here is a low level view of the man as I knew him, as a member of his personal staff, in 1941, when he was the Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet.
It is well known that people of my age—some even younger—have unreliable memories. We can remember with great clarity things that happened 40 years ago but we can't remember where we put our glasses five minutes ago. I have, to the extent possible, guarded against such errors by chasing down what corroboration I could find.
Shortly after Admiral King hoisted his four-star flag in the USS Texas in 1941 as Commander-in-Chief of the newly reconstituted Atlantic Fleet, he made a short trip to Washington. He sent for me. "It was my original intention," he said, "to have a maximum of eight officers on my staff. But war plans in the Atlantic Fleet are practically non-existent. I want you to come to my staff as War Plans Officer."
"Admiral," I said, "I'm flattered. But I've never even seen a war plan. I wouldn't be any good."
"I know you are anxious to get command of the Farragut. You are slated for it. But we are preparing for war. I think you should call the Bureau, tell them to cancel that assignment and order you to my staff." I did.
He gave me 48 hours to wind up my affairs in Washington before reporting to him in the USS Texas.
Three weeks later, just after I had submitted the draft of a basic war plan via the operations officer, Commander F. S. Low, and the Chief of Staff, Captain Oscar Badger, Admiral King's orderly appeared in the flag office and announced that the admiral wanted to see me.
"Sanders," he said, "I'm sorry to say you were right and I was wrong. You'll never make a war planner."
Although I was then and there removed from the job as War Plans Officer, he kept me on his staff as Assistant for Operations." Then he got Lieutenant
Commander R. E. Libby (later Vice Admiral), an exceptionally brilliant officer, who became one of the Navy's top flight war planners.
Although he respected the organization of his staff and the responsibilities of individuals, he never felt the need to deal exclusively with the chief of staff or the operations officer. He was a great believer in the "appropriate" division of labor. "Appropriate" was one of his favorite words. He therefore sent frequently for one of us assistants to assign a task directly. This procedure saved everybody's time. He seemed to leave it to the judgment of the subordinate to submit the finished product via the operations officer and/or (another King favorite) the chief of staff. Due to the heavy work load of the staff and mutual understanding, there was little, if any, friction. There just wasn't time for any.
Admiral King, while he was CinCLant, never dictated his orders or his official letters. He wrote them in longhand and with a pencil. His writing was as legible as type. He told me he had practised hand writing for the preceding 12 years with a view to easy legibility and the unmistakable identity of each letter. He brought the final stroke of each letter down to the base line, thus precluding slurred letters. On the facing page is a good sample of his handwriting in 1941; next to it, note the shaky signature in 1952 when he was making a gallant effort to recover from a stroke.
As for spelling, his yeoman told me the admiral must have memorized the whole of Webster.
Before issuing his famous Fleet orders such as "Exercise of Command—Correct Use of Initiative," and "Making the Best of What We Have," it was Admiral King's custom to ask certain members of his staff, not always the same ones, for comment. He would have his yeoman make six typewritten double spaced copies on green paper. On each he would write
"Lt-Cmdr ___" (or Commander or Captain) ___ Comment. K." These copies would be delivered by his orderly direct to the addressee.
Sometimes the second draft of the same letter would be circulated within two or three hours. This meant that he wanted immediate and cogent comment. To me this meant red-pencilling his green draft. Those staff officers who gave their comment quickly and direct to his orderly were usually asked again for comment. Those who delayed or sent their comment via the chief of staff were usually omitted in subsequent rounds.
Any comment he considered to be an improvement in substance or in diction he usually incorporated in subsequent drafts and in the final product. In one of his orders which went to three rough drafts he used the phrase: "ships proceeding upon their lawful occasions." I had not seen these words before so in each draft I scratched them out and substituted something like "upon their assigned missions." Next day he referred to it and, slightly displeased, said to me. "Well, at least you'll never be a yes man." Years later I found "proceeding upon their lawful occasions." It's in the Book of Common Prayer.
In general, Admiral King's directives gained little from the comment of his staff. This was not because the staff members were hesitant in speaking their minds; it was because, with his superior intellect, his genius for practicable (another of his favorite words) solutions, and his habit of first thinking things through, his first draft was usually very close to the mark.
Perhaps stemming from his days as editor of the Naval Institute Proceedings, his writing style was lucid, forceful, laconic, and always very much E. J. King. For this reason, and also because he always confined himself to one subject in each paper, his writings are models of brevity and clarity.
In official letters listing only one reference, it was never reference (a). It was always "The Reference." He liked to set off explanatory phrases with long dashes or, sometimes, parentheses. Important words were likely to be underlined. He would begin paragraphs amplifying points in the first paragraph with "as to." "Lends emphasis" was another favorite phrase and the words "intensify" and "appropriate" frequently appeared.
Some of his favorite maxims are at the pinnacle of pithiness:
"Make the best of what you have."
"Stop nursing them."
"Never take two bites at a cherry."
"Tell them what they need to know."
"Orders to obey orders." (an anathema)
"Be satisfied with acceptable solutions."
"Seniors must encourage the initiative of the subordinate."
As to (it's catching) his Escort Of Convoy Instructions, I was sent by CinCLant to England in 1942 to test the possibility of merging its 13-or-so pages with stacks of instructions issued by the British Admirality. The Admirality said the matter was under the jurisdiction of Admiral Sir Percy Noble, Commander-in-Chief, Western Approaches. I went to Admiral Noble's Liverpool headquarters and saw his chief of staff, Commodore Mansfield. After listening to my proposition he said: "Your Admiral King thinks everybody has as much brains as he has. But we write instructions for the boneheads. After all, there is a lot of bone in the world."
One day Admiral King told me the old Major Smith story. An Army general had a Major Smith on his staff. Somebody asked the general: "Why do you keep him on your staff? He's the dumbest man in the Army." "Exactly," said the general. "When I write an order, before I issue it I ask Major Smith to read it. If he can understand it, every man in the Army can."
I knew Admiral King hadn't sent for me to tell jokes so instead of making a fast exit (always a good idea) I waited a moment. He handed me a hand-written directive. "Major Smith this for me," he said with the slightest suspicion of a smile.
Let me quickly add that I wasn't the only Major Smith on the staff.
Another favorite phrase was "as soon as may be." When Rear Admiral Ingersoll was appointed to relieve King as CinCLant Admiral King told him that he would get four stars "as soon as may be." Some months later when Admiral Ingersoll's promotion arrived, Admiral King sent him a letter saying "Now you know the meaning of as soon as may be."
One night after supper, in the USS Augusta he sent for me. There were several stacks of mimeographed papers on his table.
"Bring me," he said, "a postal scale."
I broke out the Augusta's mail clerk and got his postal scale.
"Thank you," said the Admiral. I beat a hasty retreat.
Thirty minutes later the Marine orderly said I was wanted.
"Here is a list of the weights of the operation plans of the task force commanders. One of them weighs over two pounds. Over half of them are far too large and filled with unnecessary detail. I intend to issue an order stating that no operation plan shall weigh more than so many ounces—probably 12. File the list and check future plans."
"Aye, aye, sir." I left carrying a load of obese plans.
Some time after this he issued his famous order cutting the number of typewriters on each ship by 50%.
Admiral King had only two weaknesses. One was his fear of having his nearly bald head photographed.
As you can see from the photograph of President Roosevelt's first dinner party for Prime Minister Churchill, Admiral King is the only man in the picture wearing a cap or a hat.
His only other weakness was experimenting with the uniform. He strong-armed the Navy Department to introduce the famous (infamous in the Pacific) gray uniform which soon became known as the bus driver's uniform. He also succeeded in getting the black stripes removed from the khaki coat to be replaced with shoulder boards. This was a definite improvement. And, later, during the war, gold stripes could be worn on the front of the sleeve only, if desired.
On a passage from Norfolk to the Caribbean, about the second day out, he prescribed the uniform for the next day as white service coats and blue trousers. I had the four-to-eight a.m. duty watch when Admiral King appeared on the flag bridge.
"How do you like my Cossack uniform?" he inquired.
Since he always wanted a straight from the shoulder answer, I said, "It's too hot in the legs where you want to be cool and too cold above where you want to be warm."
"Well," he said, "It shows who can prescribe the uniform." He went below, chuckling to himself.
With what amounted to clairvoyance, Admiral King foresaw the critical importance of radar. He succeeded in getting the Augusta fitted out with the latest radar available. He soon demonstrated to everybody what he could do with it.
After a delay of some months, President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill agreed to a meeting at Argentia, Newfoundland, where, under the 50 destroyer-naval base agreement, we were to build a naval operating base. The Augusta was accordingly outfitted at the New York Navy Yard with ramps for a wheel chair and other gear for the President. Admiral King told no one on his staff where we were going or whom we were to meet. Not even Carlton Wright, the skipper of the Augusta, was told. Absolute security was essential. Admiral King's method was foolproof. He told nobody. It was easy to guess that Mr. Roosevelt was coming aboard but that was all. The Admiral directed me to tell Captain Wright to proceed from the New York (Brooklyn) Navy Yard via Hell Gate to the vicinity of Port Washington at the western extremity of Long Island. Taking a heavy cruiser through Hell Gate required superb seamanship and Captain Wright had it. It was characteristic of Admiral King to require the highest degree of competence in all officers and they could attain it only by doing.
The guessers, after the arrival of the Augusta at her anchorage in the extreme western reaches of Long Island Sound, now had plenty of evidence to sustain the wildest rumors. The heavy cruiser Tuscaloosa and Destroyer Division 17 were there. Soon, Admiral Harold Stark, the Chief of Naval Operations, and General George Marshall, the Chief of Staff of the Army, came on board and were quartered, as befitted their rank, in cabins vacated by senior staff and ship's officers. General Arnold, Chief of the Army Air Corps, and Rear Admiral Kelly Turner, Director of the Navy War Plans Division, embarked in the Tuscaloosa. All ships got under way, the destroyers forming an antisubmarine screen for the two cruisers, and proceeded on an easterly course through Long Island Sound, whereto or why nobody on board except Admiral King knew.
Early next morning, 5 August, in Menemsha Bight, President Roosevelt, whose yacht Potomac had stood in and anchored the preceding evening, embarked in the Augusta. With him were Dr. McIntyre, his close friend and personal physician, Major General Pa Watson, and Captain Beardall, his naval aide. The two cruisers in column, the Augusta leading, screened by DesDiv 17, proceeded eastward at 20 knots.
After passing Nantucket Shoals Lightship, Admiral King ordered a northeasterly course and increased speed, despite the mist and low visibility, to 21 knots. Next day, with the weather still somewhat soupy, he ordered 22 knots. Since the detachment was crossing the main steamship lanes to Europe and fog had set in, the apprehension of some captains and navigators can be imagined. But Admiral King, relying upon his full knowledge of his radar, primitive as it was, knew that we were perfectly safe and could easily maneuver to clear any strange ships in the fog. I heard one old quartermaster on the bridge, after marvelling at a formation of seven ships making 22 knots in a fog, remark: "That damn radar thing looks like Queen Liliuokalani's bed springs!"
The formation kept going at 22 knots with no untoward incidents. As we were proceeding up Placentia Bay during my watch as staff duty officer, Admiral King came into the chart house.
"Have you sketched in the 100-fathom curve?" He asked.
I hadn't.
He took a red pencil and quickly made that curve stand out like a chain of red traffic lights.
"You'll never get into trouble," he said, "if you clearly mark the appropriate fathom curve and constantly note the fathometer readings."
He was a wizard with a chart and a pencil. I recalled his words the following February when the USS Pollux and the USS Truxtun were lost in Placentia Bay.
We arrived off Argentia on 8 August, a nice day. But it didn't last. Early next morning, the great British battleship Prince of Wales appeared in the fog. At 1100, her distinguished passenger, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and his official party came aboard the Augusta to greet President Roosevelt.
The momentous events of the Atlantic Charter Meeting and the formulation of that charter are described in many books. Although the days and nights were filled with conferences, Admiral King took each member of his staff separately to Mr. Roosevelt's cabin and introduced us to the President. He had enough time to chat briefly with each one of us. This was one of the many things which Admiral King did which indicated his regard and respect for his subordinates.
The staff also learned that Mr. Roosevelt, like Admiral King, was a wizard with a chart and a pencil, a talent developed, no doubt, from his days as a yachtsman. He was particularly interested in our plans for the development of the British bases. He would scrutinize the location of buoys in the channels. I remember one case in which his questions led to the relocation of a buoy.
Somewhere in the foregoing I said that Admiral King had only two faults. Not everybody agrees. Those who do not, in my opinion, never worked closely enough with him to know him. Some got most of their impressions from official conferences. Others wanted something he could not, for good reasons, give.
In the first category is the venerable British Admiral of the Fleet Sir Andrew B. Cunningham, conqueror of the Italian Navy. In his book, A Sailor's Odyssey, he admits Admiral King's immense ability but characterizes him as ruthless, sometimes overbearing and rude, and generally not cooperative.
As great a man as Admiral Cunningham was, some of his statements were a bit emotional. Admiral King, far from being rude and overbearing, was a modest man with great respect for others. He was positive in his statements, sometimes blunt, but never impolite or overbearing. But he would not, and, could not, meet all the requests and desires of the British Admiralty. He fully realized and admired the bravery and pluck of the British as well as their magnificent battle against overwhelming odds. But he did what he considered best for the combined allied war effort.
To illustrate Admiral Cunningham's greatness, I remember a meeting of the Combined Chiefs of Staff in Washington on 12 June 1942. They were discussing the plans for the assault on North Africa. All the principal officers present were asked for comment. Admiral Cunningham's only comment was that his title in the plan was Naval Commander in Chief. "There can be only one Commander in Chief," he said, "and he is General Eisenhower. I request that my title be changed to Naval Commander."
It should be noted that at the time Cunningham held five star rank and Ike was about to get his third star.
In the second category was Mr. Nicholas Roosevelt, certainly a great detractor of Admiral King. He had had a distinguished diplomatic career and he became Deputy Director of the Office of War Information. What he wanted was lots of information which could be published. Much of what he would have liked to have was, in the view of responsible authorities, helpful to the enemy.
Admiral King couldn't, shouldn't have, and wouldn't satisfy him. I won't quote this Mr. Roosevelt (the other Mr. Roosevelt had the highest regard for Admiral King) because it's better to read it for yourself. In his book, A Front Row Seat, he credits Admiral King with being a great naval leader—the devil himself would do that—but pictures him as autocratic, preoccupied with security, and incapable of understanding public relations. He also said that Secretary Knox stood in awe of Admiral King and was not disposed even to make suggestions to him. All this proves is that Mr. Knox knew a great man with a great mind when he saw one. Secretary Knox and Admiral King were firm friends.
By 12 August, the draft of the Atlantic Charter was agreed to. The mighty Prince of Wales, soon to be sunk by Japanese aircraft, stood out into the misty Atlantic, carrying Mr. Churchill back to Britain. The Augusta followed, bound for Blue Hill Bay where the Presidential party disembarked. Admiral King then directed the Augusta to proceed to Newport via the Cape Cod Canal.
On several of his trips to Washington, Admiral King took me along as his only "aide." (I was not an aguillette wearer.) These trips were very revealing because he would talk, ask questions, and encourage me to ask questions. (It was easy to know what questions not to ask him.)
At 1930, Greenwich time, 7 December 1941, CinCLant received CinCPac's historic message "AIR RAID ON PEARL HARBOR X THIS IS NOT A DRILL." When the communications Marine brought me my copy I recalled Admiral King's memo telling me to get thoroughly well before resuming work. I got out of my bunk, shaved and dressed, and sent word to him that I was thoroughly well. The next morning he sent word to me to be ready to leave the Augusta after lunch. There was no need to inquire about uniform because he always traveled in civilian clothes. A little later we received a message reporting an air raid on New York. Admiral King seemed to sense that this report was wrong; he told me our plans would not be changed. We managed to reserve two chairs in the parlor car on the afternoon Boston-Washington express, which stopped at Kingston, Rhode Island. On arrival in Washington, Admiral King went immediately to his home.
Next morning, 9 December, he went to the White House. The Navy Department that morning was, as somebody said, "an ant hill of which the top had been kicked off." Wild reports were rife, one of which said that five Japanese carriers were roaming the Pacific and the Panama Canal was in great danger. When Admiral King got back from the White House I told him that, among other things, I had a complete report of the damage to ships at Pearl Harbor. All he said was: "We're living in a fool's paradise."
On 13 December we left for Newport, but not for long. On 15 December we took the night train from Kingston. Next morning the admiral had a long meeting with the Secretary of the Navy, Frank Knox. That afternoon he, Mr. Knox, and Admiral Stark were summoned to the White House. The result: Admiral King was to be appointed Commander in Chief, United States Fleet, with headquarters in the Navy Department.
Next day, I think it was, Admiral King told me to write for his signature three memos to the Chief of Naval Operations. As usual, his instructions were
clear, precise, and concise. All I needed was a good memory. "Make the third one," he said, "polite."
- "I [Admiral King] would appreciate your having the War Plans Division prepare a study on the establishment of a suitable fueling station in the Society Islands." This led to Bora Bora where Seabees arrived on 17 February 1942.
- "Please have the Director of Naval Communications prepare a call sign for the title CominCh." He said he didn't like the call CinCUS.
- "I [Admiral King] would appreciate your preparing a memorandum stating what functions and responsibilities the CNO should turn over to CominCh."
Obviously great changes were in the offiing. When I gave the smooth type-written memos to him he glanced at each one, then he signed all three. He looked at me and smiled but he said not a word. I suppose he thought they were not perfect but they were "acceptable."
President Roosevelt appointed Admiral King Commander in Chief, United States Fleet, with headquarters in the Navy Department, on 20 December 1941. Admiral Stark remained as Chief of Naval Operations, handling mainly procurement and logistics, while Admiral King commanded all operations. This arrangement continued until 12 March 1942, when Admiral King was appointed CNO as well as CominCh. Admiral Stark was sent to London, retaining his four-star rank, as Commander, U. S. Naval Forces, Europe.
Thus Admiral King faced the awful responsibility of reversing the disastrous defeat at Pearl Harbor, of restoring the spirit of victory, of building, training and operating the greatest naval force in history, and, finally, of achieving complete victory over the hundreds of Hitler's submarines and the powerful Japanese Navy. And the Navy's magnificent capabilities made it possible to land our own and allied troops, and maintain them, on beaches of allied choosing over the wide world. No man ever faced a more difficult task and no man ever achieved a more complete victory.
He was dauntless and confident in adversity, modest in victory, and generous in his praise of colleagues and subordinates.
Admiral Sanders graduated from the U. S. Naval Academy "with distinction" in 1923. He has an MS from Columbia University and is a graduate of the Imperial Defense College, London. He served in battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and submarines, commanding the USS S-18, DesRons 13 and 18, and the USS Tucson. A group of destroyers and aircraft under his command sank the German submarine U-73 and captured a large part of the officers and crew. At Anzio he succeeded to the command of TG 81.6 on D+2 and about D+10 became Senior Officer Afloat. He commanded the destroyers which supported the army at Omaha Beach, thence the screens protecting the U. S. area. At Southern France he commanded the Beachhead screen. His flag commands include MSTS, Pacific; CruDiv One (Korea); MineForLantFlt; and TraComPacFlt. He retired in 1957.