The Immigration Debate and the Danger of Political Extremes: What History Tells Us

On January 28, 2017, President Donald Trump signed an executive order halting immigration from Iran, Iraq, Syria, Sudan, Libya, Yemen and Somalia for 120 days as well as putting an indefinite stoppage of all Syrian refugees coming to America. As word of the order spread over the media, confusion began to be seen at several of the nation’s major airports. Immigration agents began stopping hundreds of foreigners from these countries, even those who had valid visas and Green Cards. Protesters began demanding that those detained immediately be released and local officials seeing a resourceful sound bite and a chance to embarrass the Trump Administration denounced the order in the strongest terms they could.

For the past week, the many conservatives have supported the spirit of the order, if not the way it was done. In contrast the media has denounced Trump’s order and people have repeated the oft quoted “Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses” and held up signs that simply say “No Ban.” No one, either from the conservatives, media, the protesters or the Democrats who have come out in support of them have offered any cohesive alternative to a halt on immigration. When people say “build a wall” are they prepared to spend the billions of dollars that it would take? For the people that shout “No Ban,” do they literally mean that that there should be no borders at all? No border fence with Mexico? No checkpoints on the Canadian border? No need to show ID at the airport?

The history of U.S. immigration is complex and would take too long to discuss, but two examples from that history show the dangers of either total deportation or total acceptance and hold an important lesson for both sides of the debate.  

“Operation Wetback” (Seriously, that’s what it was officially called)

By the early 20^th century, Mexico was still struggling to recover from the loss of half its territory to the United States in the 1840s and decades of upheaval that followed. In 1884, Porfirio Díaz seized dictatorial powers in Mexico City and soon began a program of economic development. Mexican cites soon had modern buildings, roads and street lights. But this came at the price of the largest benefits going to European and American businesses and a handful of Mexican officials. In 1911, Díaz was overthrown and the country split into different warring factions. With new governments constantly falling apart, common Mexican citizens decided to look for safety and new job opportunities. 

By the 1920s, the continued exodus to the United States had become an embarrassment to the Mexican government. Officials attempted to increase the number of border officers and get people to immigrate legally in smaller numbers. However, in order to go to the United States with official approval, Mexicans had to pay expensive fees, which they often could not afford and show they had sign work contracts in the United States. Unable to pay or get to the U.S. to sign contracts, families in depressed farming regions simply left under cover of darkness and went across the lightly guarded U.S. border.

This all changed in 1929 when the U.S. Stock Market crashed, sending economic shockwaves around the world.  In places like Tacoma, Washington, over 40% of Americans were suddenly out of work. Without badly-needed bank loans, farms across the southwest failed, leading many families to pack up and drive or ride the rails across the country in search of work. Mexican immigrants were no longer welcome. America had already passed a new immigration law in 1924 that strictly limited numbers of all immigrants and created the U.S. Border Patrol. While these new rules were impossible to enforce on either side of the border, many Mexican migrant families, seeing a sudden lack of opportunity and hearing calls to come home, voluntarily returned to Mexico. Politicians jumped on the bandwagon, calling on citizen groups to help organize and transport Mexicans back to the border.

With the outbreak of World War II, hundreds of thousands of Americans left their jobs to go off and fight in Europe and the Pacific. With the loss of their preferred labor source, factory owners and large-scale farmers had to suddenly make up for this loss, hiring women, blacks and Mexican migrant workers. At the same time as the U.S. loosened restrictions, Mexican farmers and factory owners saw a drop in their labor resources. Reports poured into Mexico City that fields along the border were being left unharvested and factories were emptying out. Meanwhile, legal immigrants in places like Texas and California began writing angry letters home that the increase of cheap illegal immigrant workers were causing American owners to fire their more expensive legal immigrant workers.

Seeking to stop the unchecked flow to north, the Mexican government called a meeting of American officials from the Justice Department and Immigration Services. Mexico demanded that in return for the legal labor Mexico was providing the U.S, Americans had to get serious about stopping illegal immigration. The key to this was to shift the vast majority of existing border agents along the Canadian border to the porous southern border. On top of this, they demanded budgets for immigration be increased and the number of agents doubled. In return for these changes, Mexico would increase its police presence along the border, allowing more suspicious travelers to be stopped on both sides. American officers would be directed to launch raids aimed at rounding up Mexican immigrants across the Midwest. The results of these changes were dramatic: overnight, arrests at the border tripled from 11,000 in 1943 to 28,000 in 1944. With the end of World War II one year later, pressure for deportation increased. Over the next eight years, thousands of suspected illegal immigrants were caught, thrown on a train, plane or bus, and physically shoved into the arms of Mexican officers.

By the 1950s, over 800,000 illegal immigrants were being captured each year. Yet, despite increased enforcement on both sides of the border, thousands more slipped across, taking up jobs as basic laborers and farmhands. Again, people started complaining on both sides of the border. Mexican fields were again empty and businessmen were unable to find employees. American workers were also growing increasingly frustrated. Many of them were still trying to find their footing after the war. How could the rest of America prosper, they objected, when they saw their own jobs going to people who would work under unbearable circumstances for far less money? 

In early in 1954, U.S. officials announced that, starting in May, they would begin an unprecedented law enforcement sweep. Hundreds of agents, backed by local and federal officers, would begin patrolling the main avenues along the border and launch a series of fast moving raids on suspected illegal hideouts, and anyone attempting to cross the border would have to first be inspected at one of numerous checkpoints and roadblocks. At the same time, the Mexican government announced that it too would have checkpoints and increased border security. 

On the first day of what was officially called “Operation Wetback,” agents from California to Texas, followed closely by media cameras, hit a series of locations, dragging off “illegals.” Soon, Mexicans in the hundreds were forced aboard  buses and driven straight to the Mexican border. Others were grabbed as they came over the fence and immediately handed back to Mexican police officers. All through the summer, Greyhound buses loaded with Mexican immigrants and with roofs piled high with belongings journeyed south as intense raids along the border continued to take place. At the end of August, U.S. officials reported that 1.8 million illegals had been sent back to Mexico and the success of the operation was portrayed by the media as a victory for the America worker.

Since the summer of 1954, historians have increasingly criticized Operation Wetback. A careful history of the operation by Kelly Lytle Hernández found that there was almost no basis for the 1.8 million number and that, in fact, examination of deportation reports before and after Operation Wetback show that only about 250,000 Mexicans were actually moved. Other sources have pointed out that among those deported were hundreds of legal American citizens swept up by law enforcement and not allowed the chance to appeal. Rather than finding out where native Mexicans lived, local authorities dropped them wherever it was convenient, even if it meant that the illegals were now hundreds of miles from their homes in Mexico. Finally, the absolute failure of Operation Wetback can be seen in the fact that for years afterward, statisticians found that at least 20% of those who had been arrested and driven to Mexico returned to their old jobs in the U.S.  Hernández writes that the point of the operation actually had not been to stop illegal immigration, but to convince the press and the American public that something was being done when it really wasn’t.

The Mariel Boatlift

If Operation Wetback illustrates the shortcoming of the “throw them all out” mentality of Donald Trump and his most ardent supporters, the Mariel Boatlift in the spring and summer of 1980 clearly shows the dangers of unchecked immigration that many appear to support today.

In 1959, communist guerrilla leader Fidel Castro overthrew the U.S.-backed government on the island of Cuba, ninety miles off the coast of Florida. While the U.S. was initially friendly to the new Cuban leader, as Castro’s ties to communist Russia and his repression of the Cuban people became more apparent, the U.S. decided to cut all political and economic ties with the country.

By the 1960s, Castro had officially closed off Cuba and sharply limited the movement of the people in it. As political opponents were rounded up, their friends and family, fearing for their own safety, began fleeing to the United States. Soon a large community of Cuban exiles formed in Miami, Florida. Throughout the two decades that followed, the United States was sympathetic to Cuban refugees fleeing the evils of communism, but the police state in Cuba kept the flow of immigration at a relative trickle.

Then on April 1, 1980, a bus hijacked by Cuban locals smashed through the gates of the Peruvian embassy in Havana and demanded alyssum. Cuban soldiers immediately surrounded the complex and demanded the Cubans inside be handed over. When the Peruvians refused, word spread across the city and more Cubans showed up to try and get through the line of soldiers blocking the way in. On the morning of April 3, residents awoke to find that the soldiers in front of the embassy had left. Within hours, thousands of Cubans fill the small courtyard and continued to climb over the walls.

Just as quickly as they had disappeared, Cuban soldiers came back and stopped more people from coming in. By now there were as many as 10,000 inside the embassy. With little food or water, the refugees began falling ill as the standoff stretched into days and then weeks. In the United States, President Jimmy Carter announced it was America’s moral responsibility to do something for the Cubans and announced that the U.S. would take 3,500 people. Hearing this, Castro turned to his brother and said "They want them, then they can have them. I will flush my toilets."

Castro quietly released an order saying that if Cubans could get the required travel permits and go to the port of Mariel, they could then make their way to Florida. 

When the first Cuban vessels arrived in Miami and word got out that the border was suddenly open, Cuban exiles in the U.S. began buying up small fishing and sport boats that were not all seaworthy and paying disreputable captains to make the dangerous voyage to Mariel to pick up family members they had left behind. The number of boats going into and out of Florida soon overwhelmed the Coast Guard, who reported that far more than the 3,500 refugees were coming in. Florida state officials were soon bitter about Carter’s decision, believing that they had been largely left alone to carry the burden of this unexpected human flood into southern Florida ports.

Among all the people who were merely trying to reunite their families, Coast Guard and Florida officials began to notice something strange about many of the people on the boats. Some babbled incessantly and otherwise showed signs of mental illness. Others exhibited symptoms of severe alcoholism. Worse yet, many sported gang tattoos and prison uniforms. It would later turn out that Castro had ordered prisons and insane asylums emptied and the streets cleared of the homeless.

After only a few weeks, President Carter announced that the U.S. would no longer take Cuban refugees. Castro continued sending boats overloaded with people from Mariel. The Coast Guard could do little but escort them to Florida. Throughout the summer, thousands of Cubans kept coming. Two giant tent cities sprang up in the vast parking lot of Miami's Orange Bowl and along I-95. Still other large camps filled on Miami’s South Beach. 

Miami residents began complaining that there were more people than houses. Apartment managers who had opened their doors to refugees began to openly fear that they would never see a dime in rent. Widespread abuse of the Food Stamp program began being reported in Florida and the unemployment rate skyrocketed from 5.7% to 13%. Crimes involving Mariel refugees involved in murder and rape doubled.  

In late September 1980, Castro abruptly closed the port of Mariel to any further emmigration and re-implemented strict travel laws. In all, 125,000 Cubans had found their way to the United States. Of these, Immigration and Naturalization Services would later determine that up to 24,000 were criminals and 5,000 of these had been among Cuba’s worst.

The Boatlift was over and in November Jimmy Carter lost the Presidential Election to Ronald Reagan. For the residents of Florida, the consequences of the mass immigration were just beginning.  Charlie Seraydar would later tell journalist Gerald Posner, “We went from being a seasonal tourist town to suddenly dealing with seasoned criminals who had nothing to lose," Seraydar continued, "No matter how badly we treated them, no matter how low they lived, it was better than the jails they called home in Cuba. That first year, our crime rate went up 600 percent. Our entire police force was smaller than a single New York City precinct. It felt like we had been invaded and were losing the battle."

The next year it was reported that Miami, already suffering from a growing cocaine trafficking industry in the late 70s, had become the murder capital of the world. 48% of those murdered were refugees from Mariel. 

For the next decade, local and federal officers would investigate and hunt down the drug networks that emerged in the 1980s. It would take a serious crackdown on drug dealers and re-investment in Florida real estate and tourism before the state began to recover in the 1990s.

Were the Mariel people to blame for all that followed? Certainly not. The cocaine industry had been emerging in Latin American countries in the 1970s. However, the Cuban refugee crisis in the summer of 1980 allowed for bad people to be spirited in with regular people and overworked immigration officers could do nothing, short of stopping them as they got off the boat.

While we will continue to debate Trump’s developing policy on immigration, the lessons of Operation Wetback and the Mariel Boatlift should serve as stark reminders to both Republicans and Democrats. You cannot simply stop people from going over the southern border, no matter how much money or time you invest in it. But neither can you simply open the gates and allow everyone to come in simply because of moral responsibility. Rather, both sides need to work on a middle ground solution that strengthens border security everywhere and sets up an adequate vetting process that ensures, as much as humanely possible, that good people come in.

Trump’s Victory and Why I Am Cautiously Optimistic

2016 will forever be the year that America chose a mystery box as its president.

Outside of nineteenth century Kentucky politician and perpetual presidential candidate Henry Clay, perhaps no political figure has been in the public eye longer or is more well-known than Hillary Clinton. Voters knew what they were getting: continuation of Obamacare, liberal justices to the Supreme Court, new gun laws, a possible push to decrease the “wage gap” between men and women, and lastly, the return of longtime Clinton allies to the halls of the White House.

Yet on Tuesday, 60 million voters and a majority of the Electoral College selected Donald Trump, a real-estate billionaire with a history of bankruptcy, no political experience outside of donating millions of dollars to political figures and who had considered himself a Democrat just a few years ago. 

The media could be forgiven for believing up until the late hours of Election Night that Trump would lose. After all, despite Hillary’s problems—her perception as a stiff and unfriendly individual with a need for power and personal legacy, ongoing questions about her handling of the overthrow of Libyan dictator Muammar Gaddafi and the growing threat of ISIS, major concerns about whether foreign donations to the Clinton Foundation seemingly for political favors crossed the line, and the FBI’s investigation of her personal e-mail server and the classified material on it—none of this compared to the apparently insurmountable problems in Trump’s campaign.

Trump seemed bent on alienating every voter he could.  From the first day, he singled out illegal immigrants, calling them “rapists and murders,” and even questioned whether an American born judge of Mexican descent could be impartial in adjudicating a legal case. He criticized the Bushes for their mistakes in power, called Mitt Romney a weak presidential candidate, attacked John McCain for allowing himself to be captured in Vietnam and made fun of a disabled reporter, not to mention the things he said, and allegedly did, to scores of women.

Like millions of Americans, I spent hours listening to the radio on Tuesday as the first returns came in, fully expecting Trump to be defeated and the Republican Party to lose its majority in the Senate. But when Florida and North Carolina were both called for Trump, I sat up and my jaw started to slowly drop. Then when Ohio was placed into the Trump column and he continued to hold onto narrow leads in Wisconsin and Michigan, two traditionally blue states, I began to believe that he might just pull it off and stayed glued to the TV until the early hours of November 9, when he was declared the winner.

How on Earth could this have happened?

The results still have to be broken down and may take years to fully analyze, but it appears that Trump was able to tap into a well of disillusionment among both middle and lower class voters from not only the traditional red states of the Midwest and South but also the “blue wall” of democratic states like Michigan, Wisconsin and Minnesota. He won among whites overwhelmingly, and while Clinton did get more Hispanic and black voters, her advantage was much smaller than Obama’s in both 2008 and 2012. Trump appears to have done better with these groups than Romney did in 2012 and to have garnered about the same number of votes from women, a real shocker. Conversely, it appears that many other traditional Democrats, for one reason or another, stayed home or inexplicably voted Republican, and Republicans saw a resurrection of a surprising number of voters who had not voted at all for years.

With all the comments I have been hearing and reading from Trump voters, I have realized a few things. Even though Trump lives in his own Manhattan tower, is a child of privilege and has never wanted for anything, he was able to somehow make a personal connection with under educated, blue collar, struggling middle class citizens who felt that they had been left behind as attention was focused on minorities, and who had seen their own lives critically affected by a slower economy while no one appears to care. While there does appear to have been an element of racism to Trump’s base, it would be unfair to label all his voters as backward, prejudiced rednecks. Many of these voters appear to care little for social issues and simply want the government to stop regulating them. Others are tired of hearing that if they did not vote for Hillary they were sexist, if they did not support Black Lives Matter they were racist, and if they had personal doubts about gay marriage they must be homophobes.

While it is equally true that not all Democrats, or even the majority, expressed this line of thinking, the people who did seemed to always attract a lot of media attention conservative voters were simply weary of being shamed.

In many ways, this is similar to what happened in 1968. That year, Republicans nominated Richard Nixon while Democrats eventually pinned their hopes on Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Nixon portrayed himself as a champion of the working class and spokesman for the “silent majority,” a block of voters who were not among those in the streets protesting at that time and who had grown fiercely impatient with constant social upheaval. As liberal writer EJ Dionne points out, “Richard Nixon was only too happy to rescue the working class from [the] dustbin and harvest its ballots.” Much like Trump would do almost fifty years later, Nixon largely avoided policy specifics, saying he had a “secret” plan that would end the war in Vietnam, would fix the economy and fight the communists who had infiltrated the liberal left.

While I sorted through my own feelings on Election Night, social media sites lit up with memes declaring that America had elected a racist, sexist, homophobic hate monger who now—gasp—would have his finger on the nuclear button. So why do I find myself being cautiously optimistic?

Here why.

In 1880, James Garfield, a popular Republican Congressman received the party’s nomination after a wild convention in which he had been everyone’s second choice. Party leaders then saw to it that Chester A. Arthur was chosen as Garfield’s vice president as a sop to a corrupt New York Republican Party machine, which had carefully groomed Arthur. In the first days of his term, Garfield surprisingly fired bureaucrats he thought corrupt and seemed to be on the verge of a major effort at civil service reform when he was shot and later died.

Nervous reformers now looked to Arthur and believed that any chance at political change would not come from a man who had been indisputably tainted, enjoyed living the high life and personally thought of himself as a “dandy”. He never worked hard and loved a good party.  

To the reformers’ great surprise, upon taking office, Arthur turned away from his old New York friends and immediately became serious about pushing through a civil service reform bill. He vetoed the Rivers and Harbor Bill, which was portrayed as an internal improvements measure but which he recognized as a thinly veiled pork barrel package. Next, Arthur signed the Pendleton Civil Reform Act, which set up a commission to award political positions only to qualified individuals. Some have suggested that these measures were because he did not want to be anyone’s puppet and genuinely wanted to leave a good legacy. As one person who saw the change in Arthur put it, “"He is no longer Chet Arthur, he is the president."

In 1884, the American voters were offered a seemingly no win choice. Rather than nominate Arthur, Republicans instead chose James G. Blaine, a powerful party leader and Senator from Maine. Blaine was a good speaker, had a devoted party following and was a veteran of backroom arm twisting. However, many Republicans, like a young Theodore Roosevelt, were disgusted by rumors that Blaine had profited from dealing with railroad barons and was more the friend of big business than of the people. In fact, when Blaine was nominated, Roosevelt and several others famously stomped out of the convention hall.

In response to Blaine, the Democrats nominated an outsider from New York named Grover Cleveland, who had never even held political office until 1881 when he had been elected mayor of Buffalo. Just one year later, he was elected Governor of New York and developed a reputation for working with members of both parties to clean up state government. 

This should have meant that Cleveland would coast to the White House, especially after a series of letters Blaine had written in the 1870s (think e-mails in 2016), which resurfaced showing that he did have dealings with corrupt businesses. However, it soon came out that Cleveland had fathered a child out of wedlock, an unspeakable social crime during the nineteenth century. Under pressure, Cleveland came out and said that while he did not know if the child were his, he would take care of it and asked the voters’ forgiveness. The election was no longer about government issues, but about destroying the personal reputation of the other candidate. As the election, dominated by attacks, came to end, Blaine lost support after he met privately with business leaders, reinforcing the belief that he was a corrupt stoodge. Then, much like later e-mails by Clinton campaign chairman John Podesta, seeking to divide the Catholic vote, a Blaine advisor was caught saying, "We are Republicans, and don't propose to leave our party and identify ourselves with the party whose antecedents have been rum, Romanism, and rebellion." This alienated Blaine’s important Irish voting block and led many to cross over to Cleveland, helping him win the election.

Like Arthur before him, Cleveland, for all his inexperience, proved a fairly decent president. He fought hard to continue the reform of the federal government and after some bruising fights, expanded the number of government employees which would have to go through board examinations before taking office. Far from a visionary on how to lead the country, Cleveland acted more like a night watchman taking on corruption and other issues where he could. He successfully pushed for regulation of the railroads engaging in rate manipulation and famously vetoed more spending measures—over four hundred—more than any president up to that point. He even pushed to reverse federal policy and lower tariffs to make trade easier and took on the most powerful lobbying group of the day, the Grand Army of the Republic, a group of Union veterans of the Civil War.  

While many of these battles, especially the last two, convinced voters to throw Cleveland out of office, he made a political comeback, winning the presidency a second time in 1892, only to have the worst economic depression in the country’s history cripple him politically a year later.

My point here is that neither Arthur nor Cleveland were expected to do well as president. Both shared traits that Trump himself has—Arthur’s poor work ethic and Cleveland’s lack of political principal outside of just controlling spending.

Because of these historic examples, I am hopeful that Trump himself can be a passable, if not good, administrator. I am also drawn to other historical comparisons, to men like Harry Truman and Dwight Eisenhower, both who made decisions based on their gut and who had private tempers that would flare up when pushed.

My main hope is that actually winning the presidency has some humbling effect on a man who has never shown that quality. In the past few days, Trump has done everything right. He has given a good victory speech and did not gloat, he has refrained from any further criticism of Obama, and in his first interview since the election, a very subdued president-elect promised that he would not repeal popular parts of Obamacare, like preexisting conditions.

Max Boot in Foreign Policy also points out that Trump early on announced he would quickly deport all 11 million illegal aliens, but now seems to be rapidly reevaluating his options. He also said that he would close all immigration from Muslim countries but now is simply calling for a new more detailed form of “vetting.” Finally, while Trump said he would “bomb the hell out of Isis” he now says that he will listen to his generals.   

As we have seen time and again, Trump himself is the biggest wildcard in all of this. For this reason, he needs a good core group of advisors around him. They need to sit Trump down in his first days of office and say something like, “Donald, you are the president and your party has control of Congress, it is imperative you do not blow this for us. Don’t say anything stupid, don’t fondle female staffers and be willing to listen to our advice.” I think he has the capacity to do this, because like Arthur, and Clinton for that matter, Trump is a man obsessed with his own image, who fears, more than anything, looking like a “loser.” 

So let's relax and see what this mystery box can do.

Culpable Inefficiency in the Performance of Duty

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.