The Big Ship: The Story of the S.S. United States

Turner Publishing Company

445 Park Avenue, 9th Floor

New York, NY 10022

200 4th Avenue North, Suite 950

Nashville, TN 37219

www.turnerpublishing.com

The Big Ship: The Story of the S.S. United States

Copyright © 2011 The Estate of Frank O. Braynard

All Rights Reserved.

This book or any part thereof may not be reproduced without the written consent of the publisher.

Cover design by Mike Penticost

Cover photo copyright © fotoflite.com

ISBN: 978-1-59652-990-8

Printed in the United States of America

First published in hardcover in 1981 by the Mariner's Museum

Contents

Introduction

Saving Our Ship: A Letter from the SS United States Conservancy

1. The Beginnings

2. Two World Wars

3. She Gets Her Name

4. From Keel to Launch

5. An Attack from the White House

6. The Blue Riband

Image Section

7. Subsidy Feud Continues

8. The Honeymoon Period

9. Labor Troubles Begin

10. More Labor Troubles

11. More Passengers Than Any Other Liner

12. The End

13. Supplemental History

Bibliography

Author's Note

Introduction

As this reprint of The Big Ship goes to press, the great SS United States is at the threshold of a new life. What could be more exciting than the SS United States Conservancy owning this great liner and pledging to preserve this considerable part of our American heritage? Frank Braynard, my father and the author of The Big Ship, would be very happy that his book is getting reprinted. Nothing made him happier than encouraging and sharing knowledge. And as the SS United States begins making the news again, new ocean-liner enthusiasts will emerge, hungry for information about the grand liner. That's why this book is a very important one for the shelves of the new generation of shiplovers. The Big Ship will give them an opportunity to delve into the details of the one and only SS United States, details that flesh out her creation, her glory years, and her demise. It is a rich and comprehensive volume, containing stories, events, and people who had roles, tiny or immense, in the life of the SS United States.

     Many hardworking, creative, and determined people have contributed to saving this lady-in-waiting. After her final voyage for the US Lines, other owners kept the SSUS from being destroyed. Appropriately, the Conservancy is now in control—the first preservation organization to own this national icon. It is a spectacular thing that such hard work, optimism, and results have been generated by Susan Gibbs, Dan McSweeney, and dozens of others.

     I would like to share a memory from my first crossing on the SS United States. On the first full day at sea, my father suggested I begin exploring the ship on my own. He challenged me to see if I could look into every single public room in all three classes of the ship and report back to him at mealtimes. I had studied a deck plan well before the trip but could not remember it at all, being eight years old. Each time I became lost, I asked a person in a uniform how to get back to my cabin. My dad also asked me to test the chairs in each lounge for comfort and let him know what I thought. I spent much of my time, very seriously, getting in and out of many attractive chairs and taking many round-trips to our cabin for necessary reorientation. I did not spend time in the playrooms, but I did appreciate the door to one of them with its three vertically arranged portholes—I remember thinking the consideration given to a person's height was unusual and very thoughtful. At that age, I had no problem crossing from one class into another, not even realizing I was doing it. Needless to say, I was very hungry for the delicious food throughout the voyage.

     The SS United States is a tangible example of America at its best. An example of an American's ingenuity. An example of collective cando spirit. An irreplaceable representation of the uniquely American mid-century modern design. She deserved more time in service; the sea was her abandoned partner, its water allowing her to show off her speed and beauty. We must keep her whole, in that water, available to offer a different sort of service.

     Today, one can easily imagine William Francis Gibbs and Frederic Gibbs smiling broadly upon the Big Ship, knowing their masterpiece will be saved.

     A big thanks to Turner Publishing for their enthusiastic work in bringing about this new publication of The Big Ship. Long live the Big Ship!

—Noelle Braynard Hollander

Saving Our Ship:

A Letter from the SS United States Conservancy

On February 1, 2011, the SS United States Conservancy claimed title to our nation's great ship of state. That day marked the culmination of several years of determined effort by our organization, but it was really just the first step in what will no doubt be a complex journey toward successfully redeveloping the SS United States. Our goals are to preserve the ship in a dignified and self-sustaining manner, to celebrate her design and legacy, and to welcome those who don't understand her history and significance to our extended family of supporters.

     We announced the Conservancy's ownership of the vessel near the South Philly berth she has occupied since 1996. Almost one year before, at a standing-room-only event in New York City, we launched a major effort to Save Our Ship when it became evident that bids from scrappers were being accepted by the ship's previous owners. Shortly thereafter we shared the news that a temporary reprieve had come in the form of a pledge of financial support from philanthropist H. F. Gerry Lenfest.

     The operative word here is temporary. The Lenfest grant provides twenty months of maintenance on the vessel while a public-private partnership is established to repurpose her. There is danger at the end of this period that we will again be faced with the dire prospect of scrapping. Having recently announced a $1 million preliminary capital campaign, we need your help. For more information, please visit www.ssunitedstatesconservancy.org.

     Recent events surrounding the ship have been reported and discussed widely, but what is their significance? For one, our ownership of the vessel marks the first time an organization concerned primarily with the ship's preservation has had a say in her future. Beyond that, they demonstrate that volunteer grassroots efforts can and must have a role in public processes. Part of our country's greatness is that considerations beyond profit and convenience can be introduced in complex, multilateral negotiations and, if backed by credible advocacy, can have a positive impact on their outcomes.

     Many supporters of the SS United States agree that the true value of this ship is symbolic. Having emerged in the middle of the American Century, she embodies America's greatness as a political and industrial power in the post–World War II era. Today, she remains a vibrant manifestation of our national ideals. These values—industriousness, democracy, and commitment to excellence—are expressing themselves in new and exciting ways in the twenty-first century and, for this reason, it is vital for us to preserve and repurpose this great vessel.

     Simply stated, the SS United States reminds us of our past and offers lessons for our future.

     The Conservancy is eternally grateful for the help of so many individuals and organizations since our founding in 2004. Certainly, Mr. Lenfest will always be remembered as the man who made all of this possible. He and his fellow National Flagship Champion Walter Cronkite, who served as honorary chairman of our Advisory Council, helped reintroduce the ship to the American public. Mr. Cronkite's apperance in the award-winning documentary SS United States: Lady in Waiting was a singular moment in the effort, and we thank producer Mark Perry and director Bob Radler for creating such a stirring work.

     Judge Tom Watkins of Pennsylvania has been a critical player in the effort, and we thank him for introducing us to Gerry Lenfest. Countless other individuals have played pivotal roles, which is evidence of the enduring power of the ship to attract the interest and support of so many people from different walks of life, united in the effort to preserve this essential American icon.

     A very special thanks to Noelle Braynard Hollander, who allowed this reprint of her father's great book to occur and who has been tireless in her support for the cause. She has generously offered royalties from the sale of this book to the Conservancy.

     The SS United States' long journey continues, and the Conservancy rededicates itself to the goal of saving this great ship. It would be an impossible task without your help.

     Thank you. Here's to the Big Ship!

SS United States Conservancy Board of Directors

February 2011

1

The Beginnings

The story of the superliner United States is a remarkable epoch. She was a superb wonder ship in many ways; the supreme achievement of American maritime genius. She was a success beyond the most sanguine expectations of her designer and builders.

     The opening in 1952 of her brief 17-year career on the route for which she was built was like a brilliant comet's arrival. She burst on the scene in a blaze of glory acidly described in Britain's Punch magazine: "After the loud and fantastic claims made in advance for the liner United States it comes as something of a disappointment to find them all true." In her recapturing of the Atlantic speed supremacy, her great popularity as a trans-Atlantic liner, and her remarkable record of trouble-free operation, many saw a rebirth of America's maritime glory.

     Behind the saga of the United States looms the gaunt figure of one man, a man whose talents and drive put him on the highest plateau among the most gifted of men. William Francis Gibbs, supported throughout his lifetime by his younger brother Frederic Herbert Gibbs, was that man. If ever there was a true perfectionist it was William Francis. And where else in all history has a perfectionist come so close to achieving perfection—not only with the United States, high point in his career, but all along the way in many other maritime milestones that stand to his credit. The mystical chain linking the man and the ship is profound and all-embracing. Although thousands contributed to the creating of this wonder vessel, and Mr. Gibbs emphasized this many times, she was, perhaps as only rarely before, a one-man ship. Some might say this was the case with Moses Rogers and his tiny Savannah, of 1819, the first steam-powered ship to cross any ocean. Others would nominate Isambard Kingdom Brunel and his huge failure, the first Leviathan, better known as the Great Eastern. But there can never be the slightest question in that the superliner United States was William Francis Gibbs—and vice versa. The United States was the embodiment in steel of the spirit that made Gibbs such a superman. Supership-superman and a super merger of the two. This book will be an effort to show how such an amazing union was conceived, matured, evolved, and conquered all, a success story seldom equalled in any field of enterprise. Fortunately Mr. Gibbs did not live to see his masterpiece laid up, a victim of the rush into air travel and the triumph of the jet age.

     It is not as if William Francis Gibbs was a superman, God-like man. He had very human qualities and salted into the story they add a strong strain of humor to the saga of the United States. His passion to outdo competitors, particularly British competitors, was one such characteristic. Another was his determination to have his own way. Also his almost paranoic demand for secrecy over whatever he was doing. And his delightful foibles: how he dressed his ancient felt hat on the one hand and his elegant, red-lined opera cape on the other; how he spoke—those who had offices near his often heard him slugging his contemporaries with the strongest kind of language. Swearing was one of his weapons, and he used it liberally to slice up anyone who dared oppose him. How he got his way—skullduggery—was not alien to his makeup, as unwary opponents often discovered. More times than not they never knew what had hit them, he was so deft at deception and fancy stepping. And he managed to combine a temperament that was both self-effacing, on almost a Uriah Heep scale, with an eagerness for recognition and audience appreciation. Near the end, when he was hospitalized, one of his many dedicated aides found that what he wanted most in his hospital room was to hear tape recordings of his public addresses—interrupted continually by loud laughter. He was a superb public speaker.

     There are so few genuine geniuses that find fulfillment that a look into the early life of William Francis Gibbs and his brother Frederic offers an exciting porthole into the birth of this most creative team. Born on August 24, 1886, in Philadelphia, William Francis was the son of a successful financier, William Warren Gibbs, a man who was said to be a director of more companies than any other man in America. Wealth and family position gave William Francis and his brother, born a year later, many advantages, but they had in themselves much more. Being the older, William Francis was the one who stepped out in front and continued to do so for the rest of his life. The younger brother, however, was never far behind, and together they made a mutually supportive pair which would function almost as a single unit throughout their long careers.

     At the age of three William Francis began drawing ship pictures. He would never stop. In a very real sense he drew the lines of what would eventually be the United States before America entered the First World War. When he first began drawing, the largest ocean liner of the day was still Brunel's masterpiece, the Great Eastern, although she had long since ended her active career. Way ahead of her time she had last served in a most ignominious way as a huge sign board in the River Thames. The largest active passenger ships in the world the year Gibbs began to put ship pictures on paper were the historic Inman Line twin flyers City of New York and City of Paris, clipper bowed beauties with three tall smokestacks. They had popularized the concept of twin-screws, thus ending forever the ship owners' ancient reliance on wind power as insurance against the breakdown of a single-propeller ship. Despite this they were fitted with square yards and a full set of sails. Thought by many to have been among the most beautiful liners ever built, these graceful twin liners were of just over 10,000 gross tons, huge monsters compared to the 300-ton pioneer steamship Savannah, or the 2,000-ton clipper ships of the mid-century period. It was an age of lightning progress for steamships, and they were, indeed, the only way to cross. The coming of twin propellers was in itself one of the major evolutionary developments in liner history. Once the shipowner was confident that his pride and joy could make her way into port even if one propeller shaft failed, the era of sail was at an end. While sails had still been needed, the steamship had, in effect, remained an auxiliary sailing ship in basic design. With a long, low hull and only one level of deck houses and possibly a raised bridge on struts, her tall smokestack would often be hidden behind billowing canvas and, from the distance, might even be obscured by rigging and masts, particularly from a head on or a following position. A tell-tale trail of smoke would be the only sure distinction that these nineteenth-century steam vessels had over sailing craft. They should be called steam-sail ships. But with twin screws all this would quickly be changed and the change would come in amazing leaps. It was just at the start of this epoch era of speeded-up evolution in naval architecture that young William Francis Gibbs sketched his first ocean liner. No wonder he was enthralled by each new ocean passenger ship he saw moving in and out of New York port from his childhood summer home in Spring Lake, New Jersey. No wonder his mind looked to new and larger and faster and finer passenger ships. Five historic liners would play important roles in the early motivation of the Gibbs brothers. Each was an outstanding vessel, each a very special ship, and the two Gibbs boys knew them well. Fate was playing the cards in an almost brazen fashion, or were the two young men already in command? Certainly it had to be fate that brought William Francis Gibbs to the launching on November 12, 1894, of the liner St. Louis at Cramp's Shipyard in Philadelphia. And what more fitting opening to the career of America's most famous naval architect since the era of Donald McKay. He had only just turned eight, but the event was to be indelibly stamped on his memory. To understand the very real significance of this launching a quick glance back is necessary.

     The significance of the St. Louis, the first of the five great Atlantic liners that would so influence William Francis Gibbs in his most formative years, comes into focus here. Launched in 1894 she was the first major trans-Atlantic steam passenger liner built in America since the Civil War. There had been big ships like the Erie and the Ontario, but they had been of wooden construction and were out of date when they were launched and proved dismal failures in no time. And there were four little Philadelphia-based liners of the International Navigation Company built in 1870.

     But between the Adriatic, last of the Collins Line queens, and 1895 there were no first-class American-built liners on the Atlantic. None! The very construction of the St. Louis and her sister, the St. Paul, was an odd arrangement, which did not bespeak for permanence or long-range success. The International Navigation Company had been acquired by J. P. Morgan and the company wanted to make a big splash in the big pond. It was decided to buy the two largest and finest ships on the Atlantic, the Inman Line record-breakers City of Paris and City of New York. But they were under foreign flag and had been built abroad. To permit them to sail under the American flag a special act of Congress had to be passed. Morgan had to pledge that his company would build two even larger ships in an American yard and operate them under the American flag. And so it was in an atmosphere of heady nationalism and high hopes that the St. Louis was launched. This was the beginning of the American Line, which eventually would become the United States Lines. As can be seen, it was a highly artificial situation which really had little hope of making a permanent improvement in our maritime debacle. The company would survive only because America would fall victim to three major wars in the next half century providing continuing financial stimulants to deep-sea shipping. But discouraging realities meant little when Mrs. Grover Cleveland christened the 11,000-ton St. Louis with young William Francis Gibbs and his brother Frederic among the thousands of cheering spectators. It seemed like a rebirth of the American Merchant Marine.

     This was my first view of a great ship and from that day forward I dedicated my life to ships, said William Francis of that colorful launching. I have never regretted it, he added. It was a moment of inspiration that would give point and purpose to his career. And few lives have ever fulfilled such dedication with such success.

     Between this mind-stamping experience at the launching of the St. Louis and his first trans-oceanic voyage in June 1901, young William Francis had shown a precocious ability to learn. His father filled their home with quality magazines and professional journals. The highly technical engineering publication, Cassier's Magazine, had found its way into the house and immediately became a favorite of the eight-year-old genius. Although his father had a prejudice against engineers, thinking they were inarticulate and lacking in business ability, the young Gibbs knew what he wanted and managed to get it: books about ships and machinery. With the assistance of a small technical dictionary he learned the meanings of the technical words that he found in Cassier's and in other magazines. As so often was the case with a prodigy, the formal education of William Francis Gibbs was very much secondary to his own self-directed learning process. His motivation was so high that he did not really need the routines that others were forced to pass through. He entered the Delancey School in 1894 and quickly absorbed what help he could get there. His attendance was somewhat irregular due to frequent colds. But there was nothing irregular about his continuing dedication to great passenger ships once the seed had been planted at the launching of the St. Louis in 1895.

     The four other ships that helped confirm the lifelong passion for great liners in the mind of young William Francis were the White Star Line's Oceanic and Celtic and the twin Cunarders Lusitania and Mauretania. These four were all British ships. His impressions of them and the traditions of the two great companies that owned them helped create in his young mind a strong competitive thrust that at times would surface as a powerful anti-British attitude. In the case of the United States his great goal was to outdo the British Queen Mary. His contacts with those four British liners produced other lifelong thought patterns that would contribute much to the final dream fulfillment in the United States.

     The evolution of the Atlantic liner as such had taken one tremendous burst forward in 1858 with the amazing ship Great Eastern. She had huge paddle wheels, a propeller, a full set of sails on six tall masts, and five smokestacks. She was 680 feet in length, between perpendiculars, or well over twice as long as any other ship in the world when she was new. Her bulk measured 18,915 gross tons, giving her a tonnage measurement five times greater than any existing liner. After she came on the scene the terms longest and largest were simply put on the shelf and not used for the next half a century. She remained the longest and the largest well after she was scrapped in 1891. It was not until 1899 that a ship was built that exceeded her in length. That ship was the Oceanic, and we can be sure that William Francis Gibbs knew all about her from the moment her keel laying was announced at the famous Belfast, Ireland, yard of Harland & Wolff. She had a length of 685 feet, between perpendiculars, just five feet more than the Great Eastern. Of course her beam of 68 feet was far less than that of Brunel's masterpiece, which was 82 feet wide without counting her paddle wheels. Counting her paddles and their guards her total beam was 120 feet, still to this writing never equalled by any passenger ship ever built. The Oceanic's gross tonnage was 17,274 tons, well under that of the first Leviathan.

     The Oceanic was a superb vessel. With her twin-screw propulsion, sails were no longer necessary even in the mind of the most die-hard conservative. And so her superstructure could rise above the main deck and did. She had three decks of superstructure, including two promenade decks on top of each other. The crowning achievement of her designers, and the feature which doubtless made young William Francis Gibbs's eyes pop almost out of his head, were her twin smokestacks. They were without doubt the tallest stacks ever put on any liner up to that time, and followed the tall-stack tradition begun in 1889 by their beautiful predecessors, the Majestic and Teutonic. Giant stacks were to be a key part of the Gibbs dream, and the two huge smokestacks on the United States can be traced to this pre-1900 liner, the Oceanic. Whereas other naval architects would try to play down the stack, some eliminating it altogether, the Gibbs design always called for large, massive smokestacks.

     Despite the glamorous appearance of the Oceanic, she was a failure in one major respect, speed, and her failure meant a major change in the philosophy of her owners. And this failure meant another lifelong goal in the thought pattern of William Francis, a goal that would see him insist on speed as a main feature in the design of the United States. The Oceanic emerged just as the Germans were successfully challenging Britain for the trans-Atlantic Blue Riband for the first time. Four German four-stackers in a row wrenched the speed crown from England and the new Oceanic came out just as this era of German speed supremacy was at its high point. Although she was a 21-knot ship, certainly one of the world's fastest, she could not equal the speed of either of the glamorous German racers of the day, Kaiser Wilhelm Der Grosse or Deutschland. Everyone knew two more German four-stackers of even greater speed were being planned. And so the directors of White Star decided, as the old century died and the new twentieth century began, to abandon the race for the speed crown and concentrate on very large ships which could boast great comfort, elegance, and steadiness instead. Perhaps the ghastly vibration of the Deutschland helped convince them that ship design had reached the point of diminishing returns as far as speed went. Whatever their reasoning, they made a change in emphasis and the magnificent Oceanic was never duplicated. She was one of history's rare things, a single ship.

     With William Francis Gibbs watching from across the Atlantic, the company ordered four new ships of a very different style. Each would be the largest in the world when she was introduced, and at last the gross tonnage of the Great Eastern would be surpassed. Each would be very large in passenger capacity. Whereas the Oceanic had made a crossing in 5 days, 16 hours, and 34 minutes, the new quartet would be scheduled to do the run in a comfortable eight or nine days at a maximum speed of 17 knots. The first of these new ships was launched on April 4th, 1901, and christened Celtic. She would be the first vessel in all time to exceed 20,000 tons. Also built by Harland & Wolff at Belfast, she would be considerably beamier than the Oceanic, but shorter. Her outline was utterly different: four masts and two relatively short stacks, much more traditional but far less exciting. Watching her construction timetable, William Francis planned his first trip to coincide with her maiden voyage. With his brother Frederic, he decided he would cross the Atlantic on the Oceanic, still the longest liner in the world, and return on the Celtic, the largest. They sailed in June in the finest cabin that the White Star flagship could offer. Frederic remembered how steady she was because he was able to build a house of blocks on the deck of his cabin and it did not fall over during the whole voyage. He was 13 years old and William Francis was going on 15. The boys knew all about the Oceanic long before they stepped aboard. They ate in her main dining saloon which measured 64 x 80 feet and was surmounted by a glass dome 21 feet square. They walked up and down her 400-foot-long promenade deck, and they had plenty of time to admire her two tall buff and black smokestacks, emblems of luxury and elegance.

     The new Celtic brought the two tall young Philadelphians home. They sailed from Liverpool, then the White Star Line's home port. Although the ship's First Class public rooms were luxurious in a mid-Victorian way, she was quite a different kind of ship from the Oceanic. She could carry 2,352 in Third Class, 347 in Second, and 160 in First. She took nine days to make the crossing and left in the mind of William Francis a strong feeling that speed was most important in the ideal Atlantic liner. Frederic was seasick and did not enjoy the fancy menus but William Francis sampled everything, from the Sweetbreads a la Demidoff to the Turkey Poulet and Ham, St. James. The round trip was important because it showed the Gibbs brothers two very different examples of the finest of modern British passenger ship design—the First Class flagship and the more commonsense money earner.

     Already the St. Louis and her sistership St. Paul were falling behind in the competitive picture from all standpoints. They had never been record breakers. In size they were now far behind the leading liners of other nations, although only six years had passed since they were put into service. Their appointments were comfortable but far from ornate. They were the best under the American flag, however, and William Francis Gibbs was disappointed. A most patriotic person, he had hoped that the St. Louis and the St. Paul would be just the beginning of a new fleet of American-flag ships on the Atlantic. The great J. P. Morgan combine, however, preferred to put its money into ships of the White Star Line, which it also owned and did not seem interested in more ships for their one and only American-flag company, the American Line. They did add two slightly larger copies of the St. Louis to the Red Star Line, the Finland and the Kroonland; however, no one was even talking about new American speed queens or an American-flag superliner. But Gibbs began to think about one.

     William Francis finished high school, keeping a close eye on maritime developments as he did. He literally devoured each new book on marine propulsion and ship design and he made it a point not to miss anything that was printed on the subject. He subscribed to all the technical journals in the field and read every page with a voracious appetite for new things that were happening. The most exciting new development in marine propulsion was the turbine. The Cunard Line, whose fortunes had fallen much too low for the happiness of most Britains, was rescued by the government in London by a promise of important financial help. In return the company pledged to build two new ships, which would not only be the world's largest, but the world's fastest. They would employ the new turbine engine, which in the first few years of the twentieth century had amazed everyone in the marine field with its new power and speed potential. Cunard's two new liners would recapture the speed record from Germany, or so everyone hoped, and they would be named Lusitania and Mauretania. Young William Francis watched eagerly for each article about their conception, their keel laying, their launching, and their trials.

     The Lusitania was delivered in mid-1907 and was a triumph of design and style. With a length between perpendiculars of 762 feet and a gross tonnage of 31,550 she was larger than any other ship afloat. Her outline was magnificent; she looked like a racer from the tip of her knife-like prow to her beautiful counter stern. She had four tall smokestacks, beautifully proportioned and heroic in appearance. Unlike the four German four-stackers, her funnels were equally spaced. The German ships had two pair of stacks. To everyone's surprise the new ship did not immediately break the trans-Atlantic speed record as her trials indicated she could do. On her second passage, however, she set a new mark with a speed of 23.99 knots and a time of 4 days, 22 hours, and 53 minutes from Cobh to Sandy Hook. The two Gibbs brothers had decided to make the maiden voyage of the Mauretania late in the year, and they booked passage over on the Lusitania, so they could compare how the two sisters operated. They had been built in different yards and the rivalry between them was already keen.

     William Francis was impressed by the superb new Lusitania. She was nearly twice the tonnage of the Oceanic, new barely eight years before. Built by the same Scottish yard that would later turn out both the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth, she was a great leap forward in luxury and spaciousness, boasting such innovations as elevators, an elaborate gymnasium, and Turkish baths. The Mauretania was built in England at Wallsend-on-Tyne. Although constructed to virtually identical plans, her tonnage came to only 30,696 gross. Gross tonnage measurement, as will be seen later in the computation of the tonnage of the United States, is a most variable kind of yardstick. But speed is a different kind of thing. The Lusitania had made 25.4 knots on her trials. Some months later the Mauretania broke this record with an amazing 26.04 knots. Everyone eagerly awaited her first crossing. She sailed on November 16, 1907, with the Gibbs brothers aboard. William Francis was 21 and a very lanky six feet, 2 inches and a half in height. Frederic, at 19, matched him in height. They were in their element. One of the notables aboard was Andrew Lang, famed designer of the Mauretania's engines. There can be little doubt that William Francis would have had an introduction to meet him during the crossing. Although he was shy and generally retiring, when it came to an opportunity like this he would not have failed to take the fullest advantage of it. Bemuse of the winter season the Mauretania did not beat the record on this crossing but soon she showed herself to be the faster of the pair and took both eastbound and westbound speed records. The close-up contact with these outstanding new Cunard liners convinced William Francis Gibbs more than ever that speed was essential to the Atlantic liner. He would be so convinced of this that four decades later it would be one of the prime considerations in his design of the superliner United States, despite the fact that developments in air travel were making the whole question of speed for liners academic.

     William Francis Gibbs had started his undergraduate work at Harvard in 1906. With an individualism that would become characteristic, he refused to follow the formal curriculum. He took those courses which interested him, everything he could find that touched upon naval architecture and marine engineering. As can be seen, he interrupted his studies in the fall of 1907 when he went abroad on the Lusitania and came home on the Mauretania. This was much more important, and rightly so, than any courses at Harvard. He continued to devour every book and technical study on his favorite subjects and worked like a fury to master the field. One of his favorite exercises was re-designing British battleships. He chose them to work with because he was able to find excellent printed data describing their construction and design. Working in secret behind a locked door in his Harvard dormitory to protect himself from ridicule from fellow students, he developed what would become a lifelong mania for secrecy. This phobia for secrecy would become one of the most difficult-to-live-with features of the construction and operation of the United States from the standpoint of the shipyard and the ship line involved. It produced a situation years after the completion of the ship when the president of the yard which built her was forced to ask the project manager in his own employ what the ship's top speed was. The employee, still under the influence of Mr. Gibbs, risked his position by refusing to divulge the information.

     At Harvard Gibbs would cover the walls and floors of his college room with his own huge blueprints. Drawings of engines, boilers, propellers and the like were everywhere. Although there were no courses on naval architecture, Gibbs was training himself to master this complicated and highly technical field. He was equally intrigued with questions of steam pressure, heating surfaces, and the intricacies of a ship's power plant as with what a hull or a bow or a stern should look like. By 1910 he had learned all he could from courses on related subjects at Harvard. When he graduated he did so without receiving a degree, although years later the Harvard Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa made him an honorary member. Much against his own inclinations, but on the stern advice of his father, he then entered Columbia University Law School. His passion for ships and his utter disinterest in the law became more and more evident. That he managed to absorb enough of the legal jargon to more or less keep in step with his class is shown by an anecdote of those tiresome days. Once during one of those dull law classes he was completely absorbed in working out a complicated engineering problem, oblivious to all that was going on about him. Years later he recalled how, out of a haze, he heard his professor call out his name and ask him what he thought about the previous speaker's comments. All his classmates knew the professor had caught him off guard and listened with rapt attention. The thin young beanstalk rose to his feet with apparent poise and with due deliberation parrotted a phrase that the professor had himself used ad nauseam: The former speaker's comments are interesting but immaterial and completely irrelevant. The reaction of his fellow students and even the professor was