The following article appeared in COLUMBIA: The Magazine of Northwest History and is republished here with permission
The 1934 Collision between the Battleship USS Arizona and the Dockton Purse Seiner Umatilla
By Richard Hall
Columbia Magazine of Northwest History, Summer 2004: Vol. 18, No. 2 (p. 34-42)
During the moonlit early morning hours of July 26, 1934, in calm waters off Cape Flattery, the battleship USS Arizona sliced through the purse seiner Umatilla. Two lives were lost in the collision, causing both mourning and accusations from the ethnically mixed community of Dockton on Vashon-Maury Island. The details of the incident and subsequent naval court of inquiry were major news events in western Washington.
Among the nine fishermen aboard the ill-fated Umatilla were Arnold and Lauritz Halsan, the sons of Norwegian immigrant parents. Their father, Adolf Halsan, had departed from Trondheim in 1892 bound for the Columbia River fishing village of Astoria, Oregon. In Astoria, as he had done in Norway, Adolf continued to seek his livelihood from the sea.
In 1908 Adolf moved his young family north to Puget Sound where they settled in the Norwegian and Croatian fishing community of Dockton, on Vashon-Maury Island. Both Arnold and Lauritz were born in Dockton and inherited their father's attachment to the sea.
In May 1934 the Halsan brothers signed on as crew members aboard the Dockton-based Umatilla, a 58-foot purse seiner owned by Peter Petrich and piloted by Lucas Plancich. The Norwegian and Croatian names of Halsan, Ongstad, Landers, Plancich, Beretich, Usorac, Franicevich, and Kranjcevich attest to the ethnic mix of the Umatilla's crew and the Dockton community.
The Umatilla was to spend the summer engaged in fishing in the ocean waters of the Swiftsure fishing banks north and west of Cape Flattery near the entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The procedure for fishing these waters required a predawn departure from Neah Bay. In the darkness of the early morning hours navigational bearings for the fishing banks were provided by the Tatoosh Lighthouse and Swiftsure Lightship. To obtain an accurate bearing of these two lights it was necessary to cross the "steamer lane." This could be a dangerous maneuver as the "steamer lane" was the route taken by freighters, military vessels, and other large ships to either enter or exit the Strait of Juan de Fuca. In the often foggy predawn darkness this crossing, done without radar in the 1930s, involved considerable risk.
At about 1:30 in the morning, in the darkness of Thursday, July 26, the Umatilla left Neah Bay. Half an hour later the Emblem, a purse seiner that often fished with the Umatilla, left its Neah Bay moorage. The Emblem, a relatively fast seiner, soon caught up with the slower Umatilla and then followed the Umatilla in a parallel tandem alignment as the two boats set a west-by-northwest course to the Swiftsure Lightship. Lauritz Halsan was among the seven crew members sleeping in their bunks below deck while the boat's captain, Lucas Plancich, piloted the Umatilla toward the fishing banks. Dragutin Beretich was stationed on the bow deck, serving as a lookout while the Umatilla crossed the shipping lanes.
With the engine running smoothly and propelling the Umatilla to near its top speed of six knots, Arnold Halsan went to Lauritz's bunk to wake him for the lunar eclipse that would take place shortly. Arnold shook his sleeping brother, but Lauritz only stirred briefly, muttered a few choice obscenities in Norwegian and remained in his bunk. Arnold then went above deck and viewed a clear sky with a full moon positioned low on the horizon. It was too early for the partial lunar eclipse scheduled for 3:54, so Arnold retired to the boat's head (bathroom). He was in the head at 2:20, at which time the Umatilla and Emblem were approximately four miles from Neah Bay at a position three miles east of the Tatoosh Lighthouse and two miles off the Cape Flattery coast. The sea was calm with patches of fog -moving in from the Pacific. It was a clear, moonlit night with the lights from the Tatoosh Lighthouse clearly visible. Suddenly, the USS Arizona emerged without any auditory or visual signals. Lucas Plancich had no warning of the ship's approach—his rude introduction was the sound of wood splintering and the shock of a collision that threw him from the wheel onto the pilot house floor. The Umatilla had been hit on the starboard side near the stern. The Arizona had sliced completely through the purse seiner, shearing off 15 feet of its stern.
The Arizona had left the Bremerton naval shipyard a few hours earlier. She headed westward through the Strait of Juan de Fuca at 14 knots and approached the shipping lanes near Cape Flattery. Near the Tatoosh Lighthouse fishing boat lights were sighted from the Arizona's bridge. Captain Macgillivray Milne, who had been resting, now took the helm. A group of approximately 30 boats to the port, or shore side, of the Arizona were headed east, away from the battleship, but two lights separated from the group. The two distinct boat lights remained in sight forward of the battleship's bow and slightly to the port. Despite two seiners in close proximity to the battleship, Captain Milne did not sound the ship's horn, slow its speed, or change course. The Arizona, closing rapidly, approached the Emblem and Umatilla from their sterns. The Emblem, approximately 400 yards to the stern of the Umatilla, was closest to the Arizona. The Arizona was sailing at a course destined to collide with both purse seiners. Just as the Arizona was about to collide with the Emblem, warning whistles were sounded. Finally sighting the battleship, the Emblem turned sharply to port and the Arizona passed within 50 feet. A collision had been narrowly averted, but the Umatilla was not as fortunate.
Lucas Plancich smashed the pilot house window to escape and saw his crew struggling through a broken skylight to free themselves from the doomed boat. One of the survivors, John Kranjcevich, gave this account:
We were all trapped below. The first thing we knew was an awful crash and the Umatilla rolled away over on her side. We all picked ourselves up and started for the engine room companionway—to be met and hurled from our feet by a solid wall of sea water which came roaring down upon us. Someone smashed the skylight. We began crawling out on deck…. I guess the two men who didn't get out were trapped and hurt in the awful dark confusion of struggling bodies and floating wreckage and bedding on the forecastle floor.
Lauritz Halsan and John Usorac were unable to escape.
In the boat's head, Arnold Halsan felt the boat shudder and shake. Almost instantaneous with the sudden movement came the sound of the cracking and crunching of wood followed by the swooshing sound of water. The Umatilla tilted sharply to port and water began to rush through the door into the head. The water immediately engulfed Arnold, and as he was swept out of the head he saw a huge gray shape directly above him. In the water, it appeared to Arnold that the great gray hulk was going over him. The water rushing over the deck, the crunch of wood, and the huge gray hull were the last things Arnold recalled clearly until seeing flares in the waters lit by searchlights from a great gray ship.
Arnold clambered through water and debris to the starboard railing. The forward two-thirds, or bow portion, of the Umatilla was listing to port. The starboard railing was tilted high above the water, and there Arnold was joined by Dragutin Beretich and four crew members who had escaped from below deck through the broken skylight. When it became obvious that John Usorac and Lauritz Halsan were trapped below deck, Arnold became hysterical and dove into the water in a desperate attempt to free them. He was unsuccessful.
The Arizona reacted immediately to the collision by reversing its engines and lowering two lifeboats, but it was the Emblem that picked up the survivors. Captain Milne ordered a brief coded message radioed to the Thirteenth Naval District Headquarters in Seattle, informing his superiors of the incident. After watching the Emblem retrieve the survivors and begin to tow the damaged boat toward Neah Bay, the Arizona continued on its voyage to San Pedro in Los Angeles as though nothing had occurred.
Although two men had drowned and a boat had been sliced in two by the battleship, the engineer's logbook for the Arizona made only one enigmatic statement, "At 02:21 stopped and back full to pick up a man overboard." The battleship had left the scene of the collision and was heading around Cape Flattery toward open waters. By one o'clock in the afternoon of July 26, the Arizona was sailing in a southerly direction in the Pacific waters off the Washington coast. Captain Milne was determined to leave Cape Flattery and the collision far behind.
The Arizona steamed away, even as the Emblem began the difficult task of towing the partly submerged segments of the Umatilla back to Neah Bay. In the hold of the bow portion of the Umatilla were the trapped bodies of Lauritz Halsan and John Usorac. The Emblem made little headway towing the Umatilla, so a cannery tender, Buddy, was sent out from Neah Bay to relieve the Emblem of towing duties. The Buddy was able to tow the Umatilla to Neah Bay where it was beached. The grim task of searching the Umatilla's hold could now begin.
The bodies were discovered in the sleeping quarters below deck near the engine room. In Lauritz's pocket was a return ferry ticket to Vashon Island.
The survivors of the Umatilla were cold and shivering when brought aboard the Emblem. They were immediately wrapped in blankets and given coffee. All had suffered bruises and abrasions, but two of the Umatilla survivors had suffered serious injuries. It was necessary to transport Frank Franicevich and Ivan Kranjcevich to a marine hospital in Anacortes.
While the crews of the Emblem and Umatilla struggled with the aftermath of the collision, Captain Milne, aboard the Arizona, exchanged messages with the district headquarters in Seattle. Upon receiving the brief initial message radioed by the Arizona, the district command responded immediately, demanding a more detailed report from Captain Milne. Was the Umatilla still afloat? Had bodies been recovered? Had an investigation of the incident been conducted and, if so, what were the conclusions? Captain Milne replied with a coded radio message summarizing his interpretation of the event. This message would outline the legal basis for a defense of Milne's decisions:
[The] fishing vessel, Umatilla, two points on port bow drawing aft and apparently well clear suddenly altered course to starboard within 1,000 yards of Arizona. Sounded warning whistle and attempted to turn Arizona starboard but too late to avoid collision at 02:20.
The message continued, stating that lifeboats had been lowered and the Arizona had remained at the accident until the Umatilla was observed being towed toward shore. The Arizona had failed to conduct an investigation "because available witnesses spoke only broken English."
The district command was not satisfied with Captain Milne's response and radioed back a coded message. Was a board of investigation being convened, as required by navy protocol, to investigate the collision? From the Arizona, now sailing at full speed down the Pacific Coast, Captain Milne radioed back, "On account of great delay involved in securing testimony of non-English-speaking witnesses and the importance of carrying out present schedule, Board of Investigation was not convened on board Arizona." Captain Milne was determined to get the Arizona on the high seas headed south to San Pedro. His priorities apparently did not include dealing with immigrant fishermen.
The district command thought differently. Their next message ordered the Arizona to proceed to Seattle where a court of inquiry would investigate the collision. The navy expected a short inquiry that would allow the Arizona to "rejoin the fleet as soon as possible."
The Arizona accepted the orders and informed Seattle the battleship would arrive back in Neah Bay at two in the afternoon (14:00) on July 28 "and try to obtain witnesses…but believe witnesses are in Seattle." The Arizona still resisted a return to Seattle and recommended the court of inquiry "proceed first to Neah Bay for inspection [of] Umatilla, [take] testimony [from] all witnesses available, and then proceed [to] Seattle if necessary in [the] Arizona." The Thirteenth Naval District did not concur, and the Arizona reluctantly sailed to Seattle.
The collision had resulted in two confirmed civilian deaths. The deaths alone were sufficient cause for the navy command to call into session the infrequently used court of inquiry, but public opinion was an additional factor supporting this decision. Upon learning of the collision, the Seattle Post-Intelligencer had immediately sent a photographer and reporter by plane to Neah Bay.
The front page newspaper article under the byline of Marvin Badcom was critical of the Arizona, stating, "the huge battleship, charging through calm waters on her way out of the straits sheared off the stern of the fishing boat. Two men were trapped and drowned in the hold of the Seattle purse seiner Umatilla, rammed by the USS Arizona at sea off Cape Flattery." The inside pages of the P-I contained photos of Halsan, Usorac, and the severed remains of the Umatilla, a telephone interview with Lucas Plancich, and an article describing the impact of the incident on the families of Usorac and Halsan and Vashon's fishing community. Lucas Plancich, in a telephone interview from Neah Bay, spoke of a clear, calm, moonlit night when disaster struck. He stated, "Two of my men lie dead in the hold of the Umatilla where they were trapped like rats in one of the most astounding accidents of the sea I ever heard of." The article on the Dockton fishing community described the pregnant widow of John Usorac as being poverty stricken, with her shoeless children dressed in rags. The women comforting Mrs. Usorac were presented as "shod in tennis shoes, broken out at the toes." The P-I articles were a clear sign that the navy faced a Seattle press that was very critical of the Arizona's actions. The navy would have to respond with a credible investigation that assigned responsibility for the tragedy. Both the navy and the public wanted answers.
The circumstances and facts of the incident pointed to major errors committed by Captain Milne. Weather was not a factor since the sea was calm and visibility good. In an area frequented by fishing boats, it would have been prudent for the battleship to sound its horn frequently, but the Arizona failed to give either an auditory or visual warning signal as it approached the Emblem and Umatilla. The only warning whistles issued by the Arizona were sounded just prior to the near miss with the Emblem and the subsequent collision with the Umatilla—too late to avoid a disaster. The course navigated under Captain Milne's orders was dangerously close to fishing boats, and despite open sea to starboard, away from the Cape Flattery shoreline, Milne refused to change course. The Arizona's navigators apparently believed the running lights of the Emblem and Umatilla, which were traveling nearly single file, to be the lights of a single ship. However, this rationale failed to explain why the Umatilla was rammed in its stern.
The Halsan brothers' father, Adolf Halsan, in an interview with a P-I reporter, succinctly summed up criticisms of the Arizona's actions.
"It's those damn battleships, they run them full speed without any respect for the little fellow. If you try to turn out of their way, they'll charge that you changed your course and made the collision inevitable. I know. I've had experience with them. They don't have sailors aboard those ships."
The collision resulted in the establishment of a court of inquiry as well as the immediate filing of civil actions. On July 27 a lawsuit was filed on behalf of Peter Petrich, the Umatilla's owner, against the United States government for admiralty damages. On July 30 claims for damages resulting from the wrongful deaths of Halsan and Usorac were filed in Federal District Court in the Western District of Washington. The civil lawsuits were filed quickly, before the Arizona could put into a port outside Washington State’s jurisdiction.
While civil actions were being filed, an official United States Navy Court of Inquiry was being summoned. The telegraphed dispatch of July 28, from Vice Admiral T. T. Craven, commander of Battleships, Battle Force of the United States Fleet, to F. H. Saddler, commanding officer of the USS Pennsylvania, clarified the navy's decision in the Umatilla incident.
Priority 0027 Court of Inquiry consisting of Captain F. H. Saddler, President, and Commanders W. K. Kilpatrick (USS Pennsylvania) and J. S. Lowell (USS Nevada) as additional members and of Commander R. A. Lavender (USS Nevada) as Judge Advocate, is hereby ordered to convene as soon as practicable for the purpose of inquiring into circumstances attending the collision between Arizona and fishing vessel Umatilla that occurred at about 0200 on 26 July near Cape Flattery, Washington.
The Court will thoroughly inquire into the matter hereby submitted to it and will include in its finding a full statement of the facts it may deem to be established and will give its opinion and recommend further proceedings proved in section 10:44 Naval Courts and Boards.
This message provided the legal precept for a naval court of inquiry to investigate and assign responsibility for the collision between the Umatilla and Arizona. The court of inquiry investigating the Arizona-Umatilla collision consisted of three navy officers—Captain Saddler, Commander Kilpatrick, and Commander Lowell. The court's assigned legal counsel, Judge Advocate Commander R. A. Lavender, under the supervision of Captain Saddler, was responsible for presenting evidence and questioning witnesses in a manner that followed proper legal procedures. Following the presentation of all the evidence and testimony, the court of inquiry, after deliberation, would issue findings of fact, opinion, and recommendations. The court of inquiry's convening officer, Vice Admiral T. T. Craven, could then either follow or disregard the court's recommendations.
The naval court of inquiry has no counterpart in the federal or state court systems. It is a hybrid of the grand jury and civil trial procedures. Each member of the court of inquiry can directly question the witnesses, and the court members collectively render a final judgment. The court of inquiry can, like a grand jury, indict or recommend a court-martial. However, unlike a grand jury, persons designated by the court as defendants or interested parties are allowed representation by counsel. The attorneys representing the defendants and interested parties are allowed to cross-examine witnesses and give a final statement to the court. In federal or state grand jury proceedings, lawyers are not allowed such direct involvement nor are defendant-plaintiff designations made.
There was a sense of urgency and necessity to quickly settle the matter of the Arizona and Umatilla. Vice Admiral Craven called for a naval court of inquiry as soon as practical. Following the Sunday burials of Lauritz Halsan and John Usorac, the proceedings convened on Monday morning, July 30, aboard the USS Arizona.
After the precepts were read, court members sworn in, and other procedural matters attended to, the first witness, Umatilla owner Peter Petrich, was called to testify. Petrich's testimony provided the legal basis for the court to identify Captain Macgillivray Milne as the defendant and Peter Petrich as the interested party, or plaintiff.
On July 31, the second day of the court of inquiry, Arnold Halsan was called to testify. The navy lawyers representing Captain Milne questioned Arnold extensively about the Umatilla's running lights. One of Arnold's responsibilities as first engineer was to assure that the running lights were operating properly. The defense lawyers in their cross-examination of Arnold attempted, without success, to prove that not all of the lights were operating properly. The defense also attempted to place Arnold on the Umatilla's deck prior to the collision. If Arnold was on the deck at that time he would have seen the Arizona. Arnold maintained under critical questioning that he was in the fishing boat's head prior to and at the time of the collision and that his first sighting of the Arizona was when he was swept out of the head and onto the deck by rushing waters caused by the collision. When a defense lawyer pointed out that by Arnold's testimony his visit to the head lasted at least 20 minutes, Arnold responded, "I didn't think I was in there that long." This exchange provided some levity during an otherwise serious court of inquiry.
Arnold Halsan, Lucas Plancich, and Dragutin Beretich were the only Umatilla crew members called to testify. Each of three men testified on two different days or sessions. Of the trio, Arnold Halsan and Lucas Plancich were grilled the most extensively by defense lawyers.
The primary allegation or premise of defense was that the Umatilla had, immediately prior to the collision, made a radical change of course, cutting in front of the Arizona and thus causing the collision. The defense also attempted to prove that the Umatilla crew had seen the Arizona prior to the collision, had an inadequate lookout system and had improper running lights. The testimony of Plancich and Halsan was crucial to each of these premises.
The court of inquiry continued for seven straight days. Except for the third and seventh sessions, all were held aboard the Arizona in its Elliott Bay anchorage. The third session, on August 1, was held at Neah Bay where the court inspected the remains of the Umatilla. The seventh and last session was held on August 8 aboard the USS Pennsylvania at its Bremerton anchorage. The testimony given that day was for the purpose of determining the value of the Umatilla and the dollar amount of damages suffered. This session was anticlimactic as the final arguments had already been given during the two previous sessions.
Following court protocol, the defense was given the opportunity to make the first closing argument. The key assertion made by the defense was that the Umatilla had caused the accident by suddenly turning to the starboard, or right, and crossing in front of the Arizona's bow. According to the defense, the Umatilla's incompetent lookout system resulted in the fishing boat's failure to see the Arizona, which led to the sudden ill-fated turn to starboard. Support for the defense allegations was provided by the testimony of navy officers who observed the collision from the Arizona's bridge. The defense concluded that the Umatilla should be judged responsible for the collision. This was the argument Adolf Halsan had predicted the navy would make: "If you try to turn out of their way, they'll charge that you changed your course and made the collision inevitable."
A secondary argument put forth by the defense lawyers in an attempt to remove the Arizona's command from responsibility for the collision was the alleged nonconformity of the Umatilla's running lights. The defense argued that improper running lights had denied Captain Milne the assistance required by law to avoid a collision; therefore, Captain Milne should be absolved of responsibility because of the Umatilla's "neglect and failure" to comply with Article 10 of the applicable navigation rules.
Following the defense presentation, Sam Wright, the counsel for Peter Petrich and the Umatilla's crew, stood and approached the court of inquiry officers. Wright argued, using complex data that included the respective sailing speeds of the Arizona and Umatilla and their course settings, that the Arizona as the overtaking vessel was on a collision course unless it changed direction to the starboard toward open seas. Wright further alleged that Captain Milne had acted irresponsibly by not ordering the Arizona's horn to be sounded intermittently, sailing speed reduced, or course altered while in the presence of many small fishing vessels. Wright also emphasized that the testimony of the Emblem's crew members noted no change in the Umatilla's course immediately prior to the collision. Their testimony refuted the claims of Arizona witnesses. Wright ended his closing statement declaring that the Arizona's failure to take the proper precautions could only have one result: "…that this vessel, traveling at great speed, got up too close for proper maneuvering and hit the vessel ahead."
After considerable deliberation the three-officer court of inquiry reconvened aboard the USS Pennsylvania. With all parties in attendance, the naval court of inquiry charged with inquiring "into the circumstances surrounding the collision between the USS Arizona and the purse seiner Umatilla," read its findings of fact.
Many of the items in the court's findings created serious problems for Captain Milne's defense. The court of inquiry found as fact that the Arizona did not slow her speed as she approached the Emblem and Umatilla. The Arizona also failed to "sound the whistle signals prescribed for a passing steamer when approaching the Umatilla." Instead, the battleship had only sounded warning whistles immediately prior to the collision. Finally, the Arizona was found to be "with respect to the Umatilla, an overtaking vessel." This last finding placed certain responsibilities on the Arizona. Unless the Umatilla had suddenly changed course and crossed in front of the battleship, the Arizona as the overtaking vessel would bear at least partial responsibility for the collision. Notable for its absence from the list of 35 findings was a statement declaring the Umatilla to have suddenly changed course sharply to the starboard (north), causing it to cross the bow of the Arizona.
Based on its findings of fact, the court of inquiry developed an opinion with 20 elements. The opinion was now read to those assembled. The elements led to the conclusion that the Umatilla had remained on a constant course from its first sighting by the Arizona until the collision. The testimony from Arizona crewmen claiming to have observed a change in the Umatilla's course was discounted as "rough estimates and of doubtful accuracy."
Without support for the claim of a last-minute change of direction by the fishing boat, the hopes of Captain Milne's defense rested on whether the Umatilla's navigation lights had operated correctly in the early morning hours of July 26. Those hopes were dimmed when the court held that all of the Umatilla's navigation lights had been operating. As to the purse seiner's lack of compliance with Article 10 of the navigational rules, the court discounted its significance. The Umatilla had failed to meet Article 10 criteria on at least two items. First, the stern light was not screened so as to focus light on an arc of 12 compass points visible for a distance of one mile and, second, it was not placed on a level with the running lights. Even so, the court of inquiry ruled, "If the white light had been screened it would have afforded no additional information to the Arizona until the collision (at the speed the Arizona was traveling) was unavoidable."
The court of inquiry also found the actions taken by Captain Milne to have been insufficient to avoid a collision. The hard right rudder command was given too late. The warning whistles were also ineffective as wind conditions caused them to be inaudible aboard both the Umatilla and Emblem.
These opinions led to the inescapable conclusion "that Captain Macgillivray Milne, U.S. Navy, was at partial fault for the collision between the Arizona and the Umatilla" and had "erred in not taking seasonable action." The court of inquiry in item 19 was even more specific as to Captain Milne's culpability.
That Captain Macgillivray Milne, now a captain, U.S. Navy, was inefficient in the performance of his duty while so serving aboard the USS Arizona…in that he did then and there fail to issue and see effected such timely orders as were necessary to cause the said ship Arizona to keep out of the way of said fishing vessel, which was the overtaken vessel, as it was his duty to do.
This opinion was damning to Captain Milne. A court-martial was now a very real possibility. His defense lawyers had tried but failed, contrary to Adolf Halsan's prediction, to convince the court that blame for the collision rested with a fishing vessel manned by the sons of immigrants.
The Umatilla was not held blameless. In the court's opinion, Lucas Plancich had "erred in not requiring a good lookout to be kept, as was done on the Emblem," and was, therefore, partially responsible for the collision. This opinion was significant in regard to any future damage awards. If partial blame was affixed to the Umatilla it would become more difficult to win a reasonable damage award for the boat owner, but it might not significantly impact personal damage awards for surviving crew members or the Halsan and Usorac estates.
However, the court of inquiry's opinion, holding the Umatilla partially responsible for the collision, did not release Captain Milne of culpability. The court of inquiry's findings of fact and opinion had placed Captain Milne's naval career in jeopardy. The court's recommendations gave credence to that assumption: "that the commanding officer of the Arizona, Captain Macgillivray Milne, United States Navy, be brought to trial by general court-martial on the charge of I Culpable Inefficiency in the Performance of Duty."
Although not unexpected, this was still a stunning recommendation. The navy had finally taken seriously the arrogance shown by navy commanders in the area off Cape Flattery. Navy ships could no longer disregard small fishing vessels and, when a collision occurred, expect to hold the fishing boat responsible. It had cost two lives, but the navy would now operate more carefully in this waterway congested with fishing boats.
The court of inquiry's findings of fact, opinion, and recommendation were then sent to Vice Admiral Craven. Upon receiving these rulings the vice admiral had a duty to act on the recommendations—either to order the court-martial as recommended, impose an alternative disciplinary action upon Captain Milne, or completely set aside the findings and recommendations. On September 5, 1934, Craven issued his decision in a dispatch sent to the judge advocate general of the Department of the Navy, directing that "Captain Macgillivray Milne, U.S. Navy, will be brought to trial by general court-martial on the charge recommended by the court."
Milne's court-martial was held aboard the Arizona. On October 29, 1934, a dispatch was sent from Washington by Admiral C. C. Bloch, the navy's judge advocate general, to Captain Milne, finalizing the decision made in his court-martial:
"The general court-martial before which you were tried on board the USS Arizona, found you guilty of 'Culpable Inefficiency in the Performance of Duty' (as commanding officer failing to issue necessary orders to prevent collision), and adjudged the following sentence: "The court, therefore, sentences him, Macgillivray Milne, captain U.S. Navy, to lose three (3) numbers in his grade."
Milne received the dispatch in his quarters where he was held under arrest awaiting his sentencing. Under the sentence imposed, he would retain his captain's rank, but being reduced three numbers meant that three officers below him would be promoted before he could be considered for a promotion. Under these restrictions, Captain Macgillivray Milne was directed to be released from custody and restored to active duty.
In his early 50s, Milne had been poised to either advance to rear admiral or finish his career in a distinguished fashion as a battleship commander. That was not to be. Milne's lapse in judgment during the predawn hours of July 26, 1934, marred what had been a successful 35-year navy career. In 1936 Milne was appointed naval governor of American Samoa. From 1936 to 1938 he administered what was essentially a coaling station in the South Pacific, but never again would Macgillivray Milne captain a ship of the United States Navy.
Arnelle Halsan Hall is the daughter of Arnold Halsan and Lauritz Halsan's niece. Her husband Richard Hall is a vocational specialist whose interest in family history led him to research and write about the Umatilla/Arizona incident. The Halls live near Coupeville on Whidbey Island.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Sunday, January 24, 2016
The Top 15 War Films That Are Not Just About Combat
The first movie that won an Oscar was the 1929 war epic Wings, about two American pilots in World War I, and Howard Hughes famously spent $4 million (almost $60 million in today’s money) to bring to life, in chilling detail, his version of the airborne death and destruction of the Great War. Just a year later, Director Lewis Milestone’s All Quiet on the Western Front, in examining the devastating toll taken on humans subjected to relentless violence and grief on the battlefield, also helped revolutionize how movies and plots were created. Many young actors and directors have had big breaks or careers rejuvenated by war pictures which gave audiences front row seats to the smoke, stress and gut-wrenching loss of conflict. However, most war films have relied on nonstop combat sequences over characters to carry the story lines, and while many of these are great pictures and deserve to be honored, for this list I have chosen memorable movies that, in a departure from typical war plots, have little or no combat while still making powerful wartime statements.
15. The Great Escape, released in 1963, set in
World War II
Considered one of the best war films in general, The Great Escape follows the true story
of a group of American and British prisoners inside the German prison of Stalag
Luft III as they try to figure a way to get all 250 captives out in one mass
escape. Starring Steve McQueen, James Garner and Richard Attenborough, among
others, the movie takes place entirely in the prison, except for the dramatic
ending, and never shows major combat. 14. Conspiracy, released in 2001, set in World War II
While not having a theatrical run, Conspiracy was released by HBO in 2001.
At just over 90 minutes, it is one of the shortest movies on this list, one of
the most haunting, and its brevity allows it to take place in real time. The
conspiracy in question was a real meeting of over a dozen high ranking Nazi
leaders, portrayed by actors like Kenneth Branagh, Stanley Tucci and Colin
Firth, as they lay out the strategy for what would become the Holocaust, and
defeat the last efforts at any official opposition. 13. War Horse, released in 2011, set in World War I
Steven Spielberg’s first war film since Saving Private Ryan, War Horse looks at World War I through
the eyes of a horse who starts the war in the cavalry and ends the war pulling
heavy cannons behind the lines. Unlike some of Spielberg’s other work like Munich, and although it has some
battlefield settings, there does not appear to be any overriding political
message to it, merely highlighting the horror of war on people and animals. 12. Hotel Rwanda, released in 2004, set in the 1994 Rwandan Genocide
The horrifying events in Rwanda in 1994 when the long oppressed Hutus rose up
and began mass killings of the ruling Tutsis which left over half a million
people dead in just three months, have received surprisingly little
attention from Hollywood since they occurred. One film that has attempted to document
these events is Hotel Rwanda, which
follows the true story of Paul Rusesabagina, manager of an upscale hotel, who bravely
threw open its doors to refugees fleeing the genocide. Rusesabagina, played by Don
Cheadle, stays in the hotel, watching over the people. While some violence is
shown toward the end, it does not dominate the film. 11. The Pianist, released in 2002, set in World War II
Directed by the controversial Roman Polanski, this 2002
film follows the real life story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, a Jewish musician from
Poland who finds his life brought to screeching halt when the German army
invades his country in 1939. As Szpilman flees underground for most of the
movie, combat does occur around him, but he does not take part in it. 10. 1776, released in 1972, set in the Revolutionary War
This delightful Broadway musical follows the
political debate, writing and ultimate passage of the Declaration of Independence
in July in 1776. It tells the story from the viewpoint of John Adams, Ben
Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. Taking place almost entirely inside
Philadelphia’s Freedom Hall, no combat is ever shown, though it is discussed
through letters and song. 9. Amen, released in 2002, set in World War II
A little known German movie from 2002, Amen follows the interesting story of
Kurt Gerstein, a low ranking German SS officer responsible for improving hygiene
for the men in the field. However, as the war continues, Gerstein finds out
that his services are being used to supply gas to the concentration camps.
Horrified by what he sees, the film shifts to what happens when word from Gerstein
reaches the Vatican and Pope Pius XII. Based on the 1963 play The Deputy by Rolf Hochhuth and Gerstein’s
real story, the movie takes place in multiple locations over several years, but
it does not depict any combat. It also deserves special credit for discussing a
little known area of the war – the infamous T-4 Program.8. Twelve O’clock High, released in 1949, set in World War II
A classic war film and one of the highlights of
Gregory Peck’s long career. The film follows General Frank Savage, a young
officer placed in charge of the VIII
Bomber Command. The struggling VIII
has a poor bombing record and low morale. Through brutal discipline, Savage
remolds them into one the most feared units in the air. Like most movies that
came out in the immediate years after the war, Twelve O'clock High may have had a low budget and been unable to
show aerial combat for very long. For this reason, the single combat scene that
is shown uses stock film from the war and almost the whole film takes place at
an airbase in Britain. 7. Downfall, released in 2004, set in World War II
Often made fun of for the fact that it has a Hitler
rant scene, Downfall is still one of
the most accurate films made to date. It follows Traudl Junge, Hitler’s
personal secretary, as she and Hitler are forced to flee into a massive bunker when
the Soviet Red Army surrounds Berlin and moves in for the final assault. While
street fighting is shown at some points in the film, Downfall is chiefly about the men and women in the bunker and how
they are forced to ready themselves for the unknown. Hitler, played brilliantly
by Bruno Ganz, is not shown as a drooling monster, but his mental instability
and declining grasp of reality is deftly portrayed. 6. Das Boot, released in 1981, set in World War II
At over three hours, Das Boot follows the crew aboard the German submarine U-96 early in
1941 as they go out into Atlantic in search of British merchant ships to sink.
There are long scenes of depth charges raining down on the crew and one British
ship is sunk, but this is not a film about combat. It is more about a diverse group
of men thrown together in claustrophobic conditions and how each simply tries
to carry on their lives as the war rages on above them. No wonder some called
the film, “So good, you will root for the Germans.”5. Gone with the Wind, released in 1939, set in the Civil War
In this sweeping adaptation of Margaret Mitchell’s
classic novel, Scarlett O'Hara, a southern belle and daughter of a planter,
finds herself caught up in the storm of the American Civil War. Most of the
film being set in wartime Atlanta, no scenes of battle are shown except for
when the city is spectacularly burned by the retreating Confederate Army, and
even then no army action is shown. While Scarlett herself shoots a Union
soldier, the movie is more about how strong willed women survived as their
world was being destroyed around them. 4. Casablanca, released in 1942, set in World War II
Among the first films to depict life during a war
which was still going on at the time, Casablanca
is about American expatriate Rick Blaine, played by Humphrey Bogart, who
runs a bar and semi-secret gambling club in Nazi occupied Casablanca. Finding
himself helping two underground rebels escape back to Europe, Rick is forced to
outwit the Nazis and make peace with his former girlfriend, Ilsa Lund, played
by Ingrid Bergman. 3. Lincoln, released in 2012, set in the Civil War
Among the very best films made by Steven Spielberg
in recent years and even better than War
Horse or Saving Private Ryan, this
movie focuses on President Abraham Lincoln as he pushes, cajoles and flat out
bribes members of Congress to pass the Thirteenth Amendment banning slavery
throughout the United States. While a brief combat sequence is shown at the
beginning, no other military action happens as it is mostly set in the House of
Representatives. The obvious high point of the movie is Daniel Day Lewis, who
turns in an Academy Award winning performance as the title character. 2. Command Decision, released in1948, set in World War II
1. The Best Years of Our Lives, released in 1946, set in World War II
Filmed immediately after the end of World War II, The Best Years of Our Lives centers on men returning from Europe and the Pacific who attempt to resume lives they find no longer exist. The main characters, a sergeant, a B-17 pilot and a double amputee Navy sailor, each have different experiences that are equally disturbing and unexpected. The pilot suffers post-traumatic stress, the sergeant finds his wife and children are strangers with strange ideas, and the sailor must adjust to a new life with awkward prosthetic arms. All of the characters are skillfully written and portrayed compassionately and the film was, and still remains, a sober and realistic observation of post-war life that appealed to millions of people all over the world who were recovering from the war themselves.
As war continues to fascinate and horrify the public, Hollywood will continue to produce stories revolving around war. Some of these will become classics while others were will be seen as shallow political hit pieces. But it is also hoped that directors and writers will continue to make films that focus on the quieter and less well known sides of war.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
The Loser Who Won: The Story of the Legendary Gil Dobie
NOTE: The following article was written by Robert S. Welch
and was published in The Columbia,the Washington Historical Society Magazine in
the Fall of 1987 in Vol. 1 number 3. It is republished here with permission
from the editor.
Quite simply, he was the best football coach the University
of Washington has ever had. And, not incidentally, the worst.
Gilmour Dobie, who coached the U.W.'s team from 1908 through
1916, was the ultimate in pigskin paradoxes. Despite compiling a record
unequaled in college football history, he laughed, officially, only once. His
motto was, "I am always right, you are always wrong." His nickname
was "Gloomy Gil." He was loved and hated, fancied and feared,
idolized and ostracized. He is still the only football coach in America to go
unbeaten for nine seasons and he still got fired.
Therein lies the mystery of Gil Dobie. It first unfolded in
the fall of 1908, at a time when Seattle was alive with logging, sawmills and
shipping, but desperately trying to shore up that other significant area: the
university football team. It was a time of five-point touchdowns and 10-cent
vaudeville shows.
In 1908, with the football team coming off a .500 season,
the Washington Alumnus lamented that the trouble with U.W. athletics was the
matter of priorities among students, complaining, “Too much society. Too many
social stunts. Too much competition among the sororities and fraternities as to
which can give the swellest and biggest social affair; and too much energy wasted
in giving them."
Discipline and a hunger for success—that's what Washington
needed. And that's exactly what it got in Gil Dobie. Reared in poverty in
little Hastings, Minnesota, Dobie had developed a nearly fanatical drive to win
at everything: school (he was an honor student who earned a law degree),
football (he quarterbacked the University of Minnesota to its first Big Ten
championship in 1900) and finances (his shrewd stock-market investing would
make him a wealthy man before the collapse of 1929).
After college, when he began coaching, Dobie's Southside
High (Minneapolis) team went unbeaten both years he was there, as did his North
Dakota Agricultural College squad in 1906 and 1907. Washington knew it was
getting a winner; it also knew it was not getting the world's most warmhearted
human being.
At North Dakota, Dobie had quickly earned the wrath of every
rival coach for his stubbornness and total lack of sentimentality. But such
things are easily overlooked when weighed against the four undefeated seasons
he'd produced. Thus, Dobie was hired—for $1,200 a year.
"He's maybe a little rough," said U. W. graduate
athletic manager Lorin Grimstead in 1908, "but real sharp. No, sir, no
more seasons like the last one."
What Grimstead failed to realize was that "maybe a
little rough" would ultimately mean things like the team being forced to
run 20 laps—after a 70-0 victory. But, then, Dobie never sold himself as the
Good Fairy. Upon arriving on Washington's fir-studded campus, he first
alienated the alumni, faculty, students and sportswriters by closing practice
sessions. He then alienated the team with an icy introductory speech.
"There were no smiles, no handshakes, no slaps on the
back...nothing but a pair of black eyes coldly peering out of a dark
face," wrote Wee Coyle, who played quarterback for Dobie from 1908 to
1911, in a 1948 Seattle Times article. "Many of the players thought about
leaving; this tall glob of gloom couldn't tell us what to do. But when it came
time to depart, something besides the love of our homes, our sweethearts and
our friends kept us on the right track—it was the spell of Gil Dobie."
Indeed, though his heart was as cold as a November drizzle,
the Scot's mind was sharp, cunning and calculating. He was highly intelligent,
a shrewd investor and, off-season with a glass of brew in his hand, almost
tolerable. On the football field, he was a drillmaster and master
psychologist.When halfback Cedric "Hap" Miller received national
attention for an outstanding game, Dobie promptly told him he had a swelled
head, was no help to the team and should quit. His pride threatened, Miller, of
course, responded with an even better game. When going against a favored Oregon
team, Dobie told his players that the sawdust on U.O.'s field was a devious
ploy to slow the U.W. down and he wouldn't allow his team to play. Begging to
play, the players blanked the favored Oregon squad 15-0.
Physically, Dobie was an Ichabod Crane type—tall, gaunt and
sharp-featured—who often wore a derby and smoked a large, black cigar as he
nervously paced the sidelines of Denny Field. Emotionally, he was something of
a Heathcliffe of Wuthering Heights: mysterious, independent, brooding and
seemingly unfeeling. His only official laugh came in 1911, when a trick play in
practice worked well. The only recorded compliment he ever gave came when he
told Mike "Mother" Hunt, "I wouldn't take you out if both your
legs were broken. I've got that much confidence in you."
On Friday nights before home games, Dobie would have
quarterback Coyle come to his small house near the university—now a Christian
Science reading room—to prepare for the next day's game. The living room would
be cluttered with sports pages and football diagrams. The twosome's
"discussions" were simple: Dobie would talk; Coyle would listen.
Among the bits of information Coyle remembers is, "You play like a man
devoid of brains."
Dobie once endeared himself to the team with the remark,
"You are the dumbest, clumsiest, rankest collection of so-called football
excuses I've ever seen." Despite such verbal lashings, or because of them,
Coyle and his teammates responded game after game. "If we can take him day
after day, we can take anybody on Saturday," one player reasoned. And,
indeed, they did, compiling a record of 58 wins, no losses and 3 ties over nine
years—a mark unmatched in college football history.
In a sense, Dobie was the Vince Lombardi and Woody Hayes of
his time. He demanded perfection, courage and complete loyalty. "If he
doesn't get what he demands he unceremoniously kicks the individual off the
field never to return," wrote Coyle in 1914.
And Dobie wasn't discriminatory in the least. He seemed to
feel equal disdain for players and non-players alike. Once, Dobie nearly came
to blows with Hi Gill, former mayor of Seattle, and George Russell, the city's
postmaster, because the lanky coach was obscuring their view of a game, a fact
they relayed to the coach by showering him with peanuts and politely yelling,
"Sit down, you big bum."
He didn't particularly like sportswriters either, nor was he
number one with them. "The sportswriters of the Seattle dailies were
placed in the same class as poison ivy," wrote Coyle. Dobie wasn't much
for publicity and he particularly disliked naming All-American teams. Later,
when coaching at Cornell, Dobie said, "Many a tomato has been made to look
like a peach through the pressure of publicity. If you sing the praises of a
man high enough in this country, it will reach not only to heaven but from
Kennebunkport, Maine, to Walla Walla, Washington."
Sportswriters didn't like being banned from practice, nor
did they like the way it was done. Once, a writer from the Daily approached
Dobie from behind at practice.
"That you, Fred?" asked Dobie.
"Yes, it's me," came the reply.
"Get the hell out of here, Fred," said Dobie.
Because of such tact, many Dobie accounts suggest he was
disliked intensely by all. Not true. Winning, regardless of how it's
accomplished, is seductive and it was particularly so in upstart Seattle, which
was tenaciously trying to establish credibility in the eyes of other cities.
True, halfback Penny Westover admitted he once wanted to punch Dobie after the
coach had called him a "poor numbskull." True also, Dobie wasn't tops
with the faculty, which wasn't pleased at a Dobian language well flecked with
four-letter words, his marked disinterest in academics, and a salary, $3,OOO a
year by the time he left, higher than their own.
Ah, but winning wipes clean many a sin. And, besides his
skill at swearing, Dobie knew how to win. In Dobie's first season, the U.W.
went undefeated and won the Northwest championship. "The prayers of the
righteous prevaileth and Washington has a champion football team,"
responded the Washington Alumnus magazine. "It is a team, a fighting machine,
and a thing of beauty to see in action."
"Dobie was quiet, determined, exacting, shrewd,
capable," the magazine later added. "He minds his own business and,
what is more, he sees to it that no one helps him mind it." Anyone who
disagrees, the magazine said, should be considered "a candidate for speedy
annihilation."
He continued his tongue-lashings and harsh practices, but
Dobie's disciples remained loyal to the cause. "Dobie means what he says
and rarely says it," wrote F. A. Churchill, Jr., in a 1911 Seattle Town
Crier. "As a result, the squad accepts his word in the attitude of a gang
of Platos surrounding Socrates."
Washington rolled through opponent after opponent. Dobie won
with trick plays, including a well-practiced center-to-end handoff, called the
"bunk" play—that helped beat Oregon 29-3 in 1911. Dobie won big, once
beating Whitworth 100-0. And he won even in 1915 when Northwest schools, in an
attempt to derail the dynasty, refused to play Washington, forcing Dobie to
round up new opponents.
But at the end of the 1915 season, Dobie suddenly resigned.
At a subsequent luncheon in Dobie's honor, President Henry Suzzallo praised the
outgoing coach. "The university," said Suzzallo, "is a large
place to make men, and the process takes place both in and out of the
classroom. Dobie has aided in this building of men."
Soon thereafter, Dobie pulled his personal "bunk"
play, reversing his decision and deciding to stay on. Though Suzzallo might
have been less than thrilled—behind his glowing words, the president was tiring
of Dobie's popularity and disregard for the classroom—most of Seattle rejoiced.
Editorialized the Seattle Post lntelligencer, "Tune up the sackbut,
psaltery, harp and lute, and anything else that will make a noise, and let us
sound a paean of joy over the return of the mentor whom we had mourned as
officially dead."
But Dobie's encore was short-lived. As the 1916 season wound
to a close, controversy clutched the campus and Dobie was right in the middle.
One of his players, Bill Grimm, had been caught cheating on a history test. A
student committee recommended Grimm be suspended from school for one year, from
December 1, 1916, right after the big Thanksgiving Day finale against
California, until December 1, 1917. A faculty committee turned down the
students' recommendation and stiffened the penalty by setting November 20 as
the date of suspension.
The players were stunned. Losing Grimm next year was one
thing—but losing him for next week's big game against Cal, well, that was quite
another. So they went on strike. For two days, they refused to practice. Suzzallo
looked to Dobie for leverage but the coach, almost with an air of cockiness,
sided with his players. "If the boys feel that their studies demand their
attention more than football practice, why that's their privilege," said
Dobie, in a rare and suspicious proacademic statement.
The alumni and even Grimm entered the mess and convinced the
team to play "for the greater good." The players ended the strike and
beat Cal 14-7 in a game whose halftime entertainment was a 50-yard dash between
the referee and umpire for a $10 stake.
It was Dobie's last game at Washington. A week later,
Suzzallo fired him, contrary to subsequent accounts that said Dobie quit. In
remarks strikingly different from those in his speech on Dobie a year
previously, Suzzallo said, "The chief function of the university is to
train character. Mr. Dobie failed to perform his full share of this service on
the football field. Therefore, we do not wish him to return."
Suzzallo was still stung by Dobie's antifaculty stance on
the team strike. Had the coach intervened, he contended, the strike and
subsequent controversy could have been prevented. Others suggested that the
sophisticated Suzzallo, with no shortage of ego himself, was simply tired of
playing second fiddle to a man whose success stemmed from Xs and Os scribbled
on restaurant napkins.
The Town Crier defended Suzzallo's decision with sarcasm:
"The disagreement between Dobie and President Suzzallo is caused by a
misunderstanding on the part of the president. In some manner, Suzzallo has
gotten the idea that the educational functions of the university are of more
importance than the football team."
Responded Dobie, "My support of the strike was
justified and great good has been accomplished. I feel that the football team
was grossly wronged by robbing it of a member whom I had approved all season as
the best man in the defensive scheme of the team's existence."
The students rallied around Dobie, whose U.W. teams had
recorded 42 shutouts in 61 games and allowed only one team more than a
touchdown. Calling him "the most loved and the most feared man who has
ever fought for Washington," the Daily said, "His greatest fault was
not that he did not serve, but that he served too well."
Former player BeVan Presley wrote to Suzzallo, "As far
as character building and moral influence are concerned, I think he was one of
the strongest factors working along these lines. And I feel that I derived as
much benefit from my association with him as I did from any member of the
faculty."
Some 800 students, more than one-fourth of the student
body—showed up in front of Dobie's small house on 14th Avenue on a drizzly
December night to honor the man they loved. When he walked out onto his porch,
Dobie was greeted with three minutes of applause. In an uncharacteristic moment
of kindness, he thanked the students, saying, "Kings, presidents and
statesmen have been greatly honored, but I know they could have felt no greater
honor than the honor bestowed upon me tonight." He implored them to
"take your stand for or against intercollegiate athletics and stay
there."
It was typical of Dobie that there was no middle ground.
From the moment he stepped on campus to the moment he left, he ruled with a
bullheadedness that was both his strength and weakness. To him, everything was
black and white; there was no room for compromise.
Not surprisingly, he didn't change much upon leaving
Washington. He went to the University of Detroit where he quit after
"several days," reported the Times, "because he was not
satisfied with the small squad."
Then Navy took him on. He resurrected its dying gridiron
program, losing only one game a year for three years. Then, when offered a
three-year contract on his terms, he abruptly quit, later saying there were
"too many admirals trying to run football at Navy when they should be at
sea."
Later, at Cornell, after achieving a record of 82-36-7 from
1920 to 1935, Dobie was fired after two sour seasons. "You can't win games
with Phi Beta Kappas," he concluded.
He ended his coaching career with three years at Boston
College, in which his teams lost six games. He was fired, but that didn't
surprise Dobie. After all, he'd once said, "A football coach can only wind
up one of two ways—dead or a failure." A decade later, in 1948, he died in
Putnam, Connecticut, at age 69.
Had he fulfilled his prophecy? No. In reality, Dobie died
both a success and a failure.
He was a master technician and psychologist when it came to
coaching. He squeezed players everything they had to offer—and the results were
impressive. His .780 lifetime winning percentage still ranks among the best in
the country. The most points scored against one of his Washington teams was
20—in an entire season. Had Washington, where he enjoyed his greatest success,
been on the more populated and media-rich East Coast, it's likely the name Gil
Dobie would be mentioned in the same breath as Pop Warner, Knute Rockne and
John Heisman.
But for all his ability to coach winning football teams,
Dobie was a lonely man who, because of his own pessimism, was always facing
third-and-long against the world. He couldn't see beyond the scoreboard,
couldn't see that life was wider than a football field, couldn't see that
compromise doesn't necessarily mean defeat.
All such things considered, Dobie's legacy is the ultimate
paradox: He was a loser who won.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, and the plight of the poor
With Christmas fast approaching, many people will be dusting off their copies of the Charles Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol. While we know the classic tale to be about the Golden Rule and keeping Christmas traditions, few realize it was a biting and timely political piece meant to shed light on a serious problem in London society.
London of the 1840s was in the mist of the industrial revolution which had begun at the end of the 18th century. Textile mills, steam engines, and other innovations allowed England to import and exports goods as never before, making business owners and enterprising inventors extremely rich. However, this same industrial age had created a vast poverty class, leaving thousands unemployed and with only the option of working in “poor houses” which were government run building where poor families would go to live and do manual labor. In his documentary series on Britain, Author Simon Schama explained, “Workhouses had always been deliberately designed to be as much like prisons as possible, to deter anyone with who had slightest chance at a job.” Thus, Scrooge, the old money-lender symbolizing the indifferent upper class, facetiously inquires in the first chapter of A Christmas Carol, “Are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons?”
If anything could have been worse than life in a poorhouse, it would be life in a factory. An American observer in the city of Manchester during this time wrote of the people “Wretched, defrauded, oppressed, crushed human nature lying in bleeding fragments.” Worse yet was the widespread use of child labor. Often the children would be told a retrieve pieces of cotton from underneath moving machinery where one brief slip could crush their arm.
Dickens himself, visited Manchester and elsewhere, and was shocked by the poverty he saw. Dickens’s father had been forced into a debtors prison, and as a young boy Charles had to work in a shoe polish factory. As Dickens remembered, wages were horribly low and the factory teemed with rats. The experience left Dickens with deep bitterness toward his parents and a great sympathy for the lower classes. Then in 1842, the Second Report of the Children's Employment Commission was published, which showed the growing problem of child labor in England. Dickens wanted to write a response to this in form of a political pamphlet, but put it off.
Finally in December 1843, he published A Christmas Carol. In his story, Scrooge came to represent everyone in the upper class who blatantly ignored the conditions of the poor and only made money for themselves. Again and Again Scrooge is told how he should use his money for good, but the direct appeal to help the poor comes in form of a cold warning when the Spirit of Christmas Present lifts his robe to expose two poor children. “They are Man’s,” he says, “This boy is Ignorance. The girl is Want. Beware them both, and all their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that which is written is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it.” Dickens was saying that the poor and the problems they faced would continue to get worse unless addressed, and could lead to the overthrow the wealthy class. Dickens struck one last chord at the end of the story when Scrooge sees that his house has been ransacked and that he has died alone without friends. To every well bred Englishman, the thought that they would not be liked, or at very least respected at the time of their death, was a terrifying thought.
Ultimately, Dickens wanted greater attention for the poor, and for them to be provided with more opportunities through moral changes in society and greater financial support.
Dickens would not be the last one to focus on the plight of the poor. Four years later Elizabeth Gaskell would once again plunge the British readers into the slums of England in her novel Mary Barton. The book focused on two poor families in Manchester who had to work in factories and watch their children starve. Gaskell brought into sharp contrast, and Schama believed even more so the Dickens, the great divide between the rich and poor. Gaskell’s main point was that poor people cared little about the luxuries of the upper class and only wanted to see their children fed. In one scene, she showed how a family’s life depended on what a wealthy character considered loose change.
That same year German writer Karl Marx published his Communist Manifesto and echoed what Dickens and Gaskell had said when he wrote, “Society as a whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps, into two great classes directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie [wealthy class] and Proletariat [lower class].” Marx also wrote, “Modern industry has converted the little workshop of the patriarchal master into the great factory of the industrial capitalist. Masses of [laborers] crowded into the factory are [organized] like solders.” Here the worker became more a part of the machinery than a man. Up to this point Marx reflected the writing of the Dickens and Gaskell, but where Dickens and Gaskell believed that society should voluntarily take care of the poor by admitting their existence, Marx thought that compromise with upper class was pointless and that only true solution was to mount a violent overthrow of the government.
So while A Christmas Carol emphasizes a broad theme of Christian charity in keeping with Christmas traditions, it should be remembered that it was also part of a powerful series of books that, for the first time, brutally focused on the plight of the poor and demanded serious changes in how the privileged viewed their responsibilities to society.
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