Shipbuilding Inefficiency

April 19, 2024

Recent news articles about the American shipbuilding industry lagging far behind China, Japan, and South Korea brought to mind my first job after finishing college. While attending college I worked as a technician at Emerson Electric designing motors for refrigerators and air conditioners. That experience helped he land a job at Newport News Shipbuilding and Drydock Company writing FØRTAN programs for electrical engineering applications.

My major project was a voltage drop program for the USS Nimitz (CVN-68) and USS Eisenhower (CVN-69) aircraft carriers. I worked with an engineer I will call Howard, who was a little older than me but considerably more experienced. Howard was so convinced that the shipyard was wasting money that he offered to work for no salary if he could keep a small percentage of what he saved them. He viewed inefficient practices at the shipyard as shoveling money into the James River and letting it float away into the ocean. Management didn’t consider his offer seriously. From recent news reports American shipbuilders haven’t become that much more efficient than they were in the early 1970s.

Howard provided the theory and I developed a model and wrote code to implement it. As electricity travels along a wire, a portion of it is loss to resistance. The longer the wire, the greater the loss. If the loss is too great, the size of the wire must be increased. Since wires can’t grow to increase in size, they must be replaced with a wire of the same length but of a larger diameter. If a wire proved to be too short, it couldn’t be lengthened; a new one must be cut. This was where the problems lay. For an aircraft carrier, the wires that distribute electrical current throughout the ship are very large in diameter and long, sometimes as thick as a grown man’s forearm just below the elbow and as long as a football field. This is a lot of copper and copper is expensive, too expensive to be throwing into the James River.

Engineers computed the lengths and gauges (thickness) of the cables (wires) that were needed in a room reminiscent of the scenes in the movie Hidden Figures where men computed figures for NASA’s Mercury Program. Changes or errors rippled down the line causing many previous calculations to be incorrect and requiring up- and/or downstream cables to be changed. These computations took a lot of time to make and were often completed after the cables were cut. Too often cables had to be replaced with larger, more expensive ones. If that wasn’t waste enough, the replaced cables were often not used elsewhere, just scrapped.

The computer program we developed performed the computations much more quickly than could be done manually. Making corrections before cables were cut would save millions of dollars over the construction of a behemoth carrier. Howard and I considered doing the manual calculations drudgery plus Howard knew of important engineering tasks that were not being done because engineers were tied up calculating voltage drops. His hope was to free up his colleagues from this drudgery to do actual engineering. Comfortable with the existing task and fearful of the unknown, the engineers resisted the change. Human nature does not change quickly, so one would expect new inefficiencies now exist and aren’t being corrected.

The Nimitz and Eisenhower are now scheduled to be scrapped by the end of the decade. One wonders if their replacements are being built more efficiently. I suspect so but not as efficiently as those being built in China, Japan, and South Korea.

Jean Craighead George Was a Kentucky Colonel

April 13, 2024

One of the artifacts Craighead House holds is a framed certificate complete with official seal and ribbon from then governor of Kentucky, John Y. Brown Jr., commissioning Jean Craighead George as a Kentucky Colonel. It was dated 9 September 1983, the 92nd year of the Commonwealth. Like Pennsylvania, Kentucky is also a commonwealth, whatever that means.

Research into Indiana’s Sagamore of the Wabash honorific found that the Bluegrass State’s Kentucky Colonel program had existed long before Indiana’s. Kentucky’s goes all the way back to its first governor, Isaac Shelby, who put his son-in-law, Charles Todd, on his staff with the title of Colonel, and not to the Civil War as many suspect. Shelby, who had fought in battles against the Indians in colonial times and against the British during the Revolutionary War, as governor raised a force of 3,500 volunteers and led them in the Battle of Thames during the War of 1812 against the British. After the war, he commissioned all who had enlisted in his regiment as Colonels. Later on, other governors commissioned Colonels to act as their protectors. They even wore uniforms and were present at most official functions.

In 1932, the chief counsel of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America, Charles Pettijohn, convinced then Governor Ruby Laffoon to found The Honorable Order of Kentucky Colonels. He then appointed Pettijohn  as the National Commanding General of the Order, a position that was responsible for the finances of the Order. Anna Bell Ward was appointed Secretary and was given the task of organizing the Order. Later on it was made a charitable organization.

The Governor and Lieutenant Governor serve as the unpaid Commander-in-Chief and Deputy Commander-in-Chief, respectively. The Order continues to this day. Commissions are for the recipients’ lifetimes but membership in the Order requires annual donations to the Good Works Program. The Order also sells memorabilia to raise money and holds a major event over the Kentucky Derby weekend each year. Active members are also expected to help out during the Annual Day of Service.

Numerous famous people, including movie actors, Presidents, and star athletes. Winston Churchill was a Kentucky Colonel. The most unusual commissioning was that of John Glenn while he was orbiting the earth in a Mercury capsule.

Someone must have considered Jean’s works important enough to nominate her commission.

Below is what was mounted on the backside of her commission.

Sagamore of the Wabash

April 10, 2024

Last week the wife of one of my grad school professors called to tell me that he had died. I won’t dwell here on the tremendous loss his demise is to me but will explore something new I learned. This Indiana University professor was a leader in his field for decades and received many honors, one of which may sound unusual. He was made a Sagamore of the Wabash, the state’s highest civilian honor, by the Governor of Indiana. Unfamiliar with this name, I looked up its meaning. As defined by Merriam-Webster, a sagamore is a subordinate Algonquin chief or sachem. In practice, a sagamore was a person the head chief relied on for advice due to his experience and wisdom. My old professor definitely was a source of wisdom and he didn’t hold a high political office. The Wabash part is self-explanatory to anyone familiar with the geography of Indiana or is aware of songs about that river, including the popular song recorded by The Mills Brothers among others, “On the Banks of the Wabash, Far Away,” which was established as the Indiana State Song by the Indiana Code in 1913. But how did this honorific come into being?

Indiana Governor Ralph Gates (1945-1949) was about to attend a tri-state conference with officials of Ohio and Kentucky in Cincinnati when he was informed that the governor of Kentucky was planning on naming him a Kentucky Colonel, the Bluegrass State’s highest honor. Something had to be done because Indiana had no such honor. The Life and Times of Little Turtle, First Sagamore of the Wabash provided more details on the honorific’s conception: “In 1946 Indiana governor Ralph F. Gates created the Council of the Sagamores of the Wabash in response to a suggestion made by Samuel R. Harrell, who had been named a Kentucky Colonel and felt that Indiana needed a similar reciprocal honorary organization. Kurt Pantzer joined with Harrell in devising the details.”  Business executive (and World War I pilot) Samuel R. Harrell and attorney Kurt Pantzer were both good Hoosiers, Wabash College alums, and friends of Governor Gates. Harrell suggested “Honorary Citizen of Indiana” for the name of the award. Attorney General James Emmert proposed “Hoosier Schoolmaster.” Patzer’s idea “‘Sagamore of the Wabash’ was deemed to be more deeply steeped in the history of Indiana.”

Governor Gates made Simeon S. Willis, Governor of Kentucky, the first Sagamore of the Wabash and Ohio Senator Robert Taft the second. Kentucky wags suggested that Willis’s naming the Indiana governor a “Kentucky Colonel” as “a long step forward toward getting Indiana cooks to stop putting sugar in cornbread.”

After reading up on this topic I recalled that Jean Craighead George had been named a “Kentucky Colonel.” More on that next time.

Fred Simonds part 4 Oregon

April 7, 2024

Using the GI Bill’s education benefits he had earned by serving in the Navy, Fred enrolled in a nuclear engineering program at Oregon State University. His medical conditions and the treatments for them made attending college difficult. The medications prescribed for him may have included opioids because Fred sometimes found himself to be “out of whack” and unable to concentrate. A bright spot was discovering a sign from someone looking for a person owning a 1962 man’s suit. Fred had one and responded. He was hired to play “grim, balding professor” in the movie Animal House. He was paid $35 for the day of work and was fed well. He recalled the actors who played Neidermeyer and Dean Wormer as being jerks.

Getting a passing grade on a test, when his mind was disheveled by the medications he was prescribed, disillusioned him about the nuclear engineering program. He feared that incompetent people might be given degrees and could create another Three Mile Island disaster. These feelings caused him to drop out of the program.

Later, Fred enrolled in the architecture program at the University of Oregon, graduating with a B.S. degree. Sadly, his physical condition prevented him from putting his education to full use as he was frequently having medical episodes requiring treatment in hospitals. He was able to make the wooden parts for the mobiles his wife Nancy made and sold.

When he was in his 60s and about to lose their house, a VA nurse stepped in to help. All Fred wanted was assistance from the VA in paying for the expensive medications he had to take to stay alive. After reviewing his case, the moder-day Florence Nightingale filed the necessary paperwork to get Fred a 100% disability caused by his Navy service. The money from this allowed Fred and Nancy to live in modest comfort.

Fred is now gone, too early as the result of what happened to him in the Navy.

Fred Simonds part 3 In The Navy

April 2, 2024

Not seeing a clear career path for himself at McDonnell Aircraft and with the Peacetime Draft a reality for young men of that generation hanging over him, Fred enlisted in Admiral Rickover’s nuclear navy. He signed up for the six-year commitment because of the extensive education nuclear propulsion he was promised. It being winter, he chose to take his basic training at SanDiego rather than at Great Lakes north of Chicago. He was sent to schools in different parts of the country but was eventually assigned to duty on a nuclear submarine. Underwater vehicles weren’t design for Fred. He was tall where the door openings in the sub’s bulkheads were short. To keep from bumping his head constantly, Fred hunched over, earning the nickname of Cougar. On one cruise he contracted scurvy because the supply officer in charge of ordering food grossly underestimated the crew’s.

I don’t know the details of the rest of Fred’s health problems that began while he was in the Navy. It’s my understanding that the seriousness of his afflictions were the result of the medical care he received from Navy doctors. His health was so seriously damaged that he was never completely healthy again.

Fred was shifted from submarines to surface ships before he had served long enough on submarines to qualify for wearing the twin dolphins insignia. The USS Truxtun was his last assignment. On a leave between cruises, he went home with a shipmate, where he met the shipmate’s sister Nancy.  Shortly before his discharge, in May 1970, he married Nancy.

After his discharge, he brought his bride back to his hometown, Bethalto, Illinois. Soon, they had  their son, Scott. All that McDonnell Aircraft offered Fred was janitorial work. He needed more than that and left for Nancy’s home state of Oregon.

Life in Oregon next time.

Fred part 2: Cars

March 30, 2024

I’ve decided to put off telling the story of Fred Simond’s movie career until I reach that point in his life and pick up with his high school days. Fred’s dad was a highly skilled mechanic and bought a 1957 Pontiac as a project for him to teach Fred auto mechanics. The oil in the car had turned to sludge due to a lack of maintenance by the previous owner. It made a perfect project car because it was cheap and needed a ton of work. But things didn’t work out that way. Fred’s dad didn’t teach Fred how to do anything. He did it all himself and gave Fred little chance for involvement. Repainted a dark red, the Pontiac was a good car for a young driver.

After high school, Fred got a job at McDonnell Aircraft. After working there long enough to save up some money, he bought a brand new yellow 1964 Chevelle Super Sport convertible with a black interior. A very cool ride (to use a term not in use at the time). It was a very sharp car powered by a 283 cubic Chevy engine with the Power Pack option and four on the floor. He may have done this to get at his father. Fred’s dad was a Ford man through and through. One of the reasons he had selected the Pontiac for the project car was that it gave him opportunities to show Fred the shortcomings of General Motors cars. I’m not aware of his father objecting to the Chevelle; his head may have been about ready to explode but might not have wanted Fred to see that he had gotten his father’s goat.

Motorheads considered Fred owning this car a complete waste. Fred was a very responsible driver, even as a teenager when many other boys were hot rodding whatever they could get their hands on. With 220 horses at his command, Fred drove like a middle aged family man, eschewing squealing his tires at red lights and stop lights and not drag racing like was common at the time (see American Graffiti).

Next time: Fred’s life shifts in a major direction.

Frederick S. Simonds (1944-2024)

March 27, 2024

I got terrible news yesterday evening: Fred Simonds, a friend from high school and scouts, died on Monday. Fred was two grades ahead of me in school but had started earlier than other kids his age. So, even though he was tall and looked much older than his classmates, he was actually younger. One particular Boy Scout trip comes to mind.

Explorer Scouts then, we were in Southern Indiana in the fall that weekend to hike the Indiana Lincoln Trail. On Saturday night after hiking 20 miles, we camped out in Indiana State Park trying to get some needed rest. Some other young people—definitely not scouts—had acquired some beer and were partying on the other side of a hedge from our tents. Fred slept alone in a pup tent. I don’t recall what kind of tent I was in or if I shared it with another boy. The partiers made some noise but we could sleep through that. However, they got rowdier as they got drunker. Upon spying our tents, one miscreant bellowed, “What lives in pup tents?” Within seconds he picked up a large trash can and threw it on Fred’s tent, answering himself, “Puppy dogs.”

Fred’s tent was knocked down and he staggered out of the heap. Upon seeing him—he was at least 6’3” tall—the drunks scattered. Fred had a painful knot on his head but no permanent damage.

On the lighter side, Fred loved visiting my home because we had so many kids—nine when he was in high school—and he had no siblings. The youngest girl and the youngest at-that-time boy would each sit on one of Fred’s feet and wrap their arms and legs around the leg attached to the foot each was sitting on. Fred would then walk around the house as if he were some sort of giant ogre. He and the kids enjoyed it.

Fred’s movie career next time.

Hunka Tin

March 14, 2024

A scene in the 1927 Motion Picture Academy Best Picture Winner Wings brought something to mind that James McGrath Morris wrote in or about (I forget which) The Ambulance Drivers, a book about how writers Ernest Hemingway and John Dos Passos became friends while driving ambulances in WWI. What caught my eye several years ago was Morris’s assertion that ambulance drivers had to be from economically advantaged families because poor people wouldn’t know how to drive. That conflicted with what my father had said about growing up poor on a farm at that time.

Dad was too young to go to war but he recalled having some sort of car or truck on the farm even though they didn’t own any land. Used Model T Fords, which were released almost a decade before America’s entrance into WWI, were always on the market at heavily depreciated prices. I remember taking Dad and his older brother to an auction in 1976. The deceased farmer had been a tinkerer who attached Model T drive trains to horse-drawn implements to create useful machines before they were available from major manufacturers. Also at the sale were some complete Model Ts that hadn’t been adapted for other use. My uncle said, “I can remember when that car could be bought for ten dollars.” Dad piped in, “If it ran.”

The point to this is that even poor people had access to automobiles before WWI, although they weren’t Duesenbergs or Packards. Generally, they were Fords because the Model T was the least expensive automobile and it accounted for half of the automobile market at the time.

Clara Bow’s character saw an advertisement for volunteers, with the stipulation that they must be able to drive Fords. To the unfamiliar, that might sound odd. The reasons for it were that Ford built 5,745 ambulances for the Allied Powers and 107 for the Red Cross during WWI. These vehicles used the same Model T drivetrain that was used in passenger cars so many people owned. Other companies also supplied ambulances but Fords were the most common. But why did she need experience driving Fords?

Model T Fords drive like no other automobile. They have no accelerator pedal. Instead they have a throttle level attached to the steering column. Ts employ the handbrake as part of the gear shifting mechanism along with the three pedals on the floor. And they have no clutch pedal. Considerable practice is required to master driving a Model T. The Red Cross probably didn’t have the time for volunteers to learn how to drive the ambulances and couldn’t afford the damage that was sure to result while they were learning.

George Woodruff

March 8, 2024

Even those who have read Gridiron Gypsies: How the Carlisle Indians Shaped Modern Football may wonder why I’m writing about George Woodruff because I’ve already taken Sally Jenkins to task for her deceitful treatment of him. The reason I’m writing about him now is because a person who is writing Woodruff’s biography contacted me about information concerning his hiring by Carlisle in 1905. This request caught me cold because I hadn’t given it much thought. Woodruff, a future hall-of-fame coach, was available and Carlisle management thought they could use him because Pop Warner had returned to Cornell.

George Washington Woodruff had elevated Penn to make it the fourth member of The Big Four alongside Harvard, Yale, and Princeton but undergrads were dissatisfied with recent results. Although he won three national championships while going 124-15-2 over his 10-year career at Penn (1892-1901), the 5-loss 1901 season was unacceptable, causing him to be let go. He led Illinois to a pitiful 8-6 1903 season (only one win was against a college team – Purdue).

Having political connections to President Roosevelt and Gifford Pinchot, he took a government position in Washington, DC. There, he officiated the Bucknell-Georgetown game played on November 12, 1904. This suggests that he was still keeping his hand in the game.

On August 14, 1905 Penn announced that Woodruff was to be on its “advisory coaching board,” whatever that means, along with Carl Williams, George McFadden, and George Brooke. On September 2, 1905, datelined Carlisle, Pa, “The management of the Carlisle Indian School’s football eleven today announced that they had secured the services of George Woodruff…The Indian School authorities have had him for some time, but did not announce having secured him until his arrival today.” How long “for some time” is debatable because less than three weeks earlier, he was associated with Penn.

The details of exactly he came to be employed by Carlisle have yet to be uncovered. Any information regarding that would be most appreciated.

Woodruff went 7-2 at Carlisle in 1905 before leaving for Washington after the victory over West Point. Some credit him with the three wins and two losses in games that were played after he left but he was not involved with those games.

Facebook Insecurity – Part 4

March 4, 2024

Metastasizing

The day after posting the ID.me message, I received one from Meta for Business threatening to remove my account “due to serious case concerns.”  I found that odd since Facebook, the evil spawn of Meta, had canceled me back in October. They (it?) gave me 24 hours to appeal their decision and provided a bright blue button to click to initiate the appeal. Skeptical by now, I doubted the sincerity of the message. A quick scan of the message header solidified my opinion. Why would a Meta (or Facebook) employee send me an “official” message from a Hotmail account?

I haven’t heard anything more in the week that has passed. Perhaps this scam attempt has concluded.