Known and Unknown - Donald Rumsfeld [88]
The violent storm caused a series of fires that threatened to engulf the ship. Amid the chaos of flame, winds, and seas, the fleet’s admiral, William Halsey, advised the Monterey’s captain to abandon ship. But the crew instead embarked on a desperate effort to save their carrier. For seven punishing hours, working on a bucking ship in 100-knot winds, Lieutenant Ford led a fire brigade to fight the blazes. When the typhoon finally passed, the Third Fleet had lost 3 destroyers, 150 aircraft, and almost 800 men. But the USS Monterey and all but one of its crew survived.2 In the years that followed many people would underestimate the genial, even-keeled Jerry Ford, but those on the Monterey that day would not be counted among them.
The surviving but battered Monterey became the aircraft carrier on which Navy pilots in training at Pensacola, Florida, made their first carrier landings. Hundreds of naval aviators landed on that ship over the years, and on June 5, 1955, I was one of them. It means something to me that the aircraft carrier I first landed on as a fledgling naval aviator was the same ship whose history was intertwined with a man I came to admire and respect.
My connection to Ford began with one aircraft carrier and ended five decades later with another. In 2006, when I was serving as secretary of defense, the Navy decided to name its newest aircraft carrier the USS Gerald R. Ford. The great ship was the first in a class of America’s largest and most capable carriers, a fitting tribute to a fine officer who had given so much of his life to the service of his country. In late November that year, Joyce and I decided to fly to Rancho Mirage, California, to see President Ford. By then, almost immobile, he wasn’t able to get up to greet us—but when he heard my voice at the door he called out, “Rummy!” with much of the enthusiasm and strength he’d always had. I had brought along USS Gerald R. Ford baseball caps and an artist’s rendition of the new carrier. His response was typical—humble and proud.
I reflect with great pleasure on our decades-long voyage from the USS Monterey to the USS Gerald R. Ford. In the interim President Ford and I would serve together on another type of vessel—the ship of state—in the wake of a quite different kind of storm.
CHAPTER 11
Restoring Trust
“Trust leaves on horseback but returns on foot.”
—As quoted in Rumsfeld’s Rules
Roughly two hours after President Nixon made his emotional departure from the White House on August 9, 1974, I touched down at Dulles International Airport just outside of Washington, D.C., having flown from Europe in haste at then Vice President Ford’s behest.
I was met at the gate by Dick Cheney, whom I had asked to be available to give me a hand and bring me up-to-date. Also present was an assistant from Ford’s vice presidential office. He carried a sealed envelope from Bill Scranton and Tom Whitehead, informing me that Ford had appointed me chairman of his transition. The letter suggested that I come at once to the presidential transition office in the Old Executive Office Building.1
It seemed natural that as a longtime member of the Congress, Ford would first turn to friends and associates from the House to help him as he proceeded to put things in order. Still, I had no idea what my role would be as Ford’s transition chairman. There was no precedent for what Ford was facing: taking over a corroded presidency in the middle of a term, after having never been elected either president or vice president. I likened his situation to stepping into the cockpit to pilot a large, damaged aircraft at thirty thousand feet and being expected to take it to its destination and land it safely.
Ford’s circumstance would inevitably have posed unique burdens. But that was the least of his problems. With all that the country had gone through over the prior