PART 6: ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY The True Story of the Israeli Attack on an American Intelligence Ship,

JAMES M. ENNES JR.

 ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY 

The True Story of the Israeli Attack 

on an American Intelligence Ship

Chapter 11 

"PRESS GUIDANCE"
 

no information is to be classified solely because disclosure might result in criticism of the Department of Defense. 

u.s. Navy Public Affairs Regulations, 1974 

'While the court was in session, Associated Press reporter Colin Frost spent his time hanging around the Maltese bars frequented by Liberty sailors. Frost had concluded early in the drama that all was not being told about the attack. He had made himself unpopular with the public affairs officers by asking hard questions-and he was not satisfied with the official answers. Now he drank beer with Liberty sailors and he listened. At first he learned little, as Liberty sailors were too well schooled in the danger of loose talk to fall prey to inquisitive reporters. 

George Golden, however, was angry. Golden was Liberty's acting commanding officer while McGonagle recuperated ashore. He had tried to tell the story of the attack to a court that had seemed not to want to hear, and he had listened to other officers and men complain of their dissatisfaction with the inquiry. Convinced that a true story would never be told through official channels, Golden drank with the reporter and told him what he had wanted to tell the court. Frost's story was on all the news wires before midnight and appeared prominently in most of the world's newspapers on Saturday morning. 

VALLETIA, Malta, June 17 (AP)-Senior Crewmen of the U.S. Navy ship LIBERTY are convinced that Israel's air and torpedo attack on their ship, which cost 34 American lives, was deliberate, a responsible source said Friday in Valletta. They have testified to this effect to the Navy inquiry court now in secret session aboard the ship, which is undergoing emergency repair in a Malta drydock. Their belief was based on the fact that the Israelis had enough time to identify the ship and on the intensity of the attack. 

Israel, in apologizing for the attack, said it was made in error. Experienced seamen to whom this correspondent has spoken do not accept this. The argument is that at this stage of the Mideast war, Israel had a supreme interest in covering up the true extent of her lightning successes for fear that the full knowledge of Egypt's plight would bring some form of Soviet intervention. The LIBERTY had both the crew and the gear to gauge the Israeli advance, and for that reason it had to go. 

For four hours before the attack the ship had been under constant surveillance from Israeli planes circling overhead. "We were flying Old Glory, and it's absolutely impossible that they shouldn't know who we were," one survivor said. "This was a deliberate and planned attack, and the remarkable thing about it was the accuracy of their air fire." 

Most fire was concentrated on the bridge where the ship's Executive Officer was killed. A bullet tore through the cabin of the Commanding Officer, Commander William McGonagle, piercing the plating just above his pillow. Had he been in the bunk, he would have been certainly killed. As it was, he was hit in the leg by shrapnel on the bridge. 

Because of the secrecy imposed by the inquiry court, it is not possible at this stage to determine the precise number of jets involved. Indications, however, are that three did the actual damage. LIBERTY was already blazing from the jet attack when torpedo boats moved in. At least three torpedoes were fired in the classic pattern: one for the bow, one amidships and one for the stern. 

How the ship made the six-day voyage to Malta mystified dockyard veterans who saw some of the worst-hit ships of World War II. Every movement of the ship sent water in its holds crashing against the bulkheads, which began to bulge and looked like they would collapse. Engineers shored them up with timber, like the props sometimes used to support old buildings. 1 

1. The New York Times. June 18, 1967, p. 20. 

Golden told me later that Colin Frost did a fine job on that story. "He got everything I said straight and he quoted my exact words," he said. "I really hoped that the newspaper guys would realize from Frost's story that there was a cover-up going on and would keep probing, but I should have known better. It didn't do any good, and it just caused a lot of trouble." 

Instead of exciting the press, the story aroused the Navy and aggravated the cover-up; in fact, the forces behind the cover-up were at work to counteract Golden's effort even before the story was printed. Alongside Frost's story when it appeared in the New York Times was a Reuter's News Service story: 

VALLETTA, June 17 (Reuters)-Officers from the Liberty today rejected the idea that the attack was deliberate. One officer said that anybody who said the attack was deliberate was "out of his mind." He said that when the torpedo boat had realized her mistake she had flashed the message, "Terrible error. Can we help?" 

An American Embassy spokesman here said: "We thoroughly accepted the Israeli apology and there is no question that the attack was not a mistake."2 

To discourage any more unsupervised interviews, Admiral McCain's office in London fired off a Priority message to Liberty: 

WHILE SOME MATERIAL IN STORY WAS RELEASED BY OFFICIAL SPOKESMAN, [portions] APPEAR TO BE BASED EITHER ON UNAUTHORIZED INTERVIEWS OR THE REPORTER'S CONJECTURE. SINCE HE EXPRESSED A STRONG BELIEF THAT THE ATTACK COULD NOT HAVE BEEN ACCIDENTAL [to public affairs officers] BEFORE LIBERTY ARRIVED IN MALTA, THE LATTER POSSIBILITY IS NOT UNLIKELY. 

AT THE SAME TIME, THERE IS REASON TO BELIEVE HE ATTEMPTED TO CONVERSE ON THIS SUBJECT WITH LIBERTY CREWMEN ASHORE. BECAUSE OTHER REPORTERS MAY ATTEMPT TO FOLLOW UP, YOU MAY FEEL IT APPROPRIATE TO REPEAT PREVIOUS ADMONITION TO YOUR FINE CREW TO REFRAIN FROM SPEAKING ABOUT MATTERS UNDER INVESTIGATION UNTIL FINDINGS OF COURT OF INQUIRY HAVE BEEN ANNOUNCED. 3 

2. Ibid. 

3. CINCUSNAVEUR Confidential message 181105Z June 1967. 

McCain's message also went to other officers in the chain of command, and to the American ambassador to Malta in Valletta, George J. Feldman. Ambassador Feldman berated Golden by telephone for the unauthorized news leak (still assumed to have originated with some undisciplined seaman), and then dispatched a Navy lieutenant to follow up in person. Admiral Martin sent a Navy captain. 

A sixty-two-year-old Boston lawyer, Ambassador Feldman had filled increasingly important posts with both houses of Congress, in the State Department, and as a member of or counsel to committees of NATO and the United Nations. During recent political campaigns, he had held key positions in the Democratic National Committee, and in 1965 he was appointed to an ambassadorship by President Johnson. We can only speculate on what special instructions Mr. Feldman received from Washington, but we know that copies of McCain's message were telegraphed to Feldman and we know that Feldman saw his control of such leaks as a matter of duty. In any case, Ambassador Feldman's background gave him a fine appreciation for the diplomatic and political considerations in an international incident such as this one, and he set about seeing that things were indeed "kept in perspective." 

Golden soon found himself harangued daily by Navy or embassy representatives who visited or phoned to complain bitterly of every news item that might have been provided by a Liberty sailor. 

On June 28 the news blackout was officially lifted, and Liberty crewmen were free to talk to the press for the first time. However, it soon became clear that this new "freedom" was fraught with so many restrictions as to be no freedom at all. Along with the supposed removal of the blackout came about two dozen messages providing "press guidance" -detailed instructions on how to deal with the press. Many of the messages were classified "Confidential," most of them came after June 28, and hardly any of them dealt with anything of a security nature. Almost the only sensitive issue involved was the length to which the government would go to assure that no one talked freely or privately with any reporter. 

Liberty sailors were thus advised of their freedom to talk to reporters in the following language, read to them by their chiefs and division officers and posted on their bulletin boards: 

Interviews and statements to news media concerning the attack on LIBERTY 08 June are not to be given by individuals. If you are approached by someone wanting an interview or statement inform them that they must contact the Public Affairs Officer at CINCLANTFLT who will make all arrangements. Also, inform the Commanding Officer or Executive Officer of the request made to you. The only information that ships company is allowed to discuss is that already made available to the press. Therefore, there is nothing new that we would be able to tell them in an interview.4 

4. This notice was published in "USS Liberty Plan ofthe Day" for Saturday, July 22, 1967. Similar language was used in "Plans of the Day" for June 30, July I, and July 28. 

Division officers were given copies of the official report, and crewmen were advised to "borrow their Division Officer's copy and read the report," since "any statements or comments to others is confined to the exact wording in this report." 

Few bothered to read it. Those who did shrugged in confusion, failing to recognize the incident as one which they had experienced. But the press was losing interest anyway. The attack was three weeks old when the news blanket was removed. The story was fading from newspaper and TV coverage and had already been forgotten by most Americans. And only about a hundred of Liberty's 315-man crew remained aboard-the rest were either dead, hospitalized or transferred to new duty stations where they were unable to compare notes.

**************** 

Chief Petty Officer Joseph A. Benkert, who had sat with me through the long night on June 8, was in Norfolk when the blackout was lifted, having left the ship in Malta. He was soon informed by his seniors that he could grant press interviews if he chose to, as long as he remembered to "stick to his own experiences and inform the public affairs officer in advance." Benkert did not want to be interviewed unless he was free to speak candidly and without restriction, so when he was contacted by reporter Clifford Hubbard of Norfolk's Virginian-Pilot, he politely declined. As it turned out, the choice was not his to make. 

Soon he received a call from Commander David M. Cooney, the CINCLANTFLT public affairs officer, who advised him that he was expected to report promptly for a press briefing at CINCLANTFLT headquarters. 

"I have decided not to be interviewed," he said. 

"The arrangements have already been made, Chief. Please be on time." 

For two hours Benkert was "briefed" for the upcoming thirty minute interview. With Rear Admiral Renken present, but before the reporter arrived, Benkert was asked every conceivable question about the ship and the attack. And as he tried to answer, he was reminded that he could not discuss the ship's mission. He could not discuss Admiral Martin's promise to provide jet fighter protection or the failure of the fighters to arrive. Since he had not personally seen the reconnaissance airplanes, he could not discuss them; since he had not been on the bridge and timed the air attack, he could not discuss the duration of the air attack; since he had not personally seen a lab report on the napalm, he could not mention napalm. He could not discuss the machine-gunning of the life rafts. He could not report the preparations to abandon ship or any orders to scuttle or demolish the ship. He was not permitted to report that the flag was flying. He was forbidden to mention that the wind was blowing. 

There was very little of substance that Joe Benkert could talk about. He was eating chili when the attack started, he said, and he went on to tell of racing to his battle station, of seeing the torpedo boats, of treating wounded-and he described the admiration we all felt for the commanding officer. Although it galled him, he carefully avoided any discussion of the many details his briefer had told him to withhold from the press. 

There was much more he wanted to say, but Commander Cooney remained in the room, and so did Admiral Renken, and so did a captain who was on Renken's staff, and so did another Navy captain, and so did some officers that Benkert didn't recognize. And when the interview was over, Benkert was dismissed. The reporter stayed. Benkert was not privy to the conversation that followed, but he has wondered about it ever since, because the story that was printed seemed to Benkert to be even more bland and unrevealing than the interview. 

"I don't know where they got the quotes for that story," Benkert told me later. "They didn't come from me. They didn't use what I said and they made up stuff I didn't say. At least ninety percent of that story is bullshit." 

While the court was still in session, Liberty had received interview requests from Ed McGrath of the Boston Globe and from NBC's Irving R. Levine, then in Rome. After a delay of more than two weeks, McGrath was eventually advised that no crewmen from Boston remained aboard, and his request quietly died; Levine was granted a one-hour interview with Admiral Kidd in Naples, and this delicate exchange was brought off by Kidd with characteristic aplomb. 

Levine was shown the unclassified version of the Court of Inquiry report, and Kidd fielded all remaining questions to Levine's satisfaction. To Levine's request for an interview with McGonagle, Kidd replied that yes, McGonagle could be made available, but that the captain really did not seek publicity. Levine promised to recommend to the NBC home office that the camera crew not pursue the McGonagle interview. 

Every major command east of the Lincoln Memorial was promptly advised of the Levine-Kidd meeting, and verbatim tape recordings of the conversation were dispatched to the Pentagon. With Levine went the last important press interest. No interview requests remained. Little matter. None was likely to have been productive anyway.5 
5. NAVSUPPACT NAPLES message 011240Z July 1967.
In Israel, the authorities quickly capitalized upon the court's misleading report of the attack. From it they fabricated a largely fictional account designed to portray Liberty as a blundering, unmarked phantom who virtually invited the attack and thus was responsible for her own misfortune. This story was released to the press by one Micha Limor, purporting to have been a reservist on one of the torpedo boats. 

TEL AVIV, July 6 (AP) 
By Micha Limor The sun was already high in the sky when we received notification of an unidentified sailing vessel some 12 miles off the EI Arish coast, suspected of being an enemy craft. 

Sailors took their positions, engines were revved up, and in five minutes we were moving out in formation, torpedo boat after torpedo boat, toward the deep sea. We spotted the objective once on the radar screen. She was moving on a steady course, southeast at about 10 knots. We sailed toward the objective at an increased speed, looking at her through binoculars in an effort to identify the vessel. 

Two of our planes flew over our heads a few minutes afterward. We saw them circle the ship several times, and then dive in to the attack. They spat two rockets into the gray ship, and plumes of smoke rose from her. Then the two jets headed away from the coast. About 2,000 yards from the ship, a strange spectacle met our eyes. 

The high masts and the many weird antenna showed that this was a warship. The side of the vessel was blotted out by smoke, and apart from three numbers along her side, which meant nothing to us, we could not discern a thing. 

We could see no flag on the mast, nor was anyone to be seen on the decks or bridge. For seamen, this can mean only two things: it was either a ghost ship or an enemy ship. To us-who do not believe in ghosts it was clear that this was the enemy. 

We spent several minutes trying to contact the ship and demanding identification by radio and heliograph. But she gave no answer. It was decided to pass by her in battle formation and demand identification by firing across her bow. So we moved past at a tremendous speed, firing across the empty bridge and bow. Suddenly a sailor appeared in view and started firing at us with a heavy machine gun from the bridge. We took the challenge and directed cannon against him. A moment later he fell, together with the machine gun. 

Thus there was no doubt that we were faced by the enemy. The prolonged refusal to identify herself, the absence of any flag, the shooting at us, and above all the weird contraptions on the ship left us without any doubt. We wanted to make the ship surrender without sinking her. Once again we circled the vessel in battle formation, firing again and again. This had no effect. No one appeared. No one reacted. The shells caused little damage to the hull and the ship proceeded on its way. You could almost hear the men's teeth grinding aboard our boat. Nothing can annoy a torpedo boat crew more than being completely ignored. The order was given to prepare for torpedo attack. 

We drew up along the left side of the boat and advanced at full battle speed. Just as in dozens of training exercises we reached the right angle and range-and let go. We thought only a miracle would save the ship. One of the torpedoes hit the boat amidships. There followed an enormous explosion and a huge water spout. 

Fires broke out and the boat leaned sideways as if about to sink. We waited for survivors as is customary for seamen-whether friend or enemy. But no one appeared on deck. Suddenly something fell into the sea. One of our formation approached and picking it up from the waters found it to be a rubber lifeboat with the lettering "U.S. Navy." 

That was the very first sign of identification. A moment later there arrived on the scene the helicopter that was to have picked up prisoners. He hovered over the boat and then signaled us: "They are raising the American flag." 

It was crystal clear we had hit friends. Dozens of shells, rockets and torpedoes were needed to drag a sign of identity from them, said one of my seamen who, like the rest of his mates, was bitterly upset at the surprising turn of events.

He was right. The showing of the Stars and Stripes at the very first stage would have prevented all that happened subsequently. 6 
6. "Israeli Sailor Describes Attack on USS Liberty," New York Times. July 7, 1967, p. 3 (here condensed).
Limor's story can only have been released with official Israeli government sanction and censorship clearance; judging from the mistakes and the bias-Limor didn't even know which side of the ship was torpedoed (he writes that the torpedo boat "drew up along the left side of the boat" although it approached from the starboard quarter) and uses unnautical language that no sailor, not even a reservist, would use-it was probably written by an Israeli public affairs officer who never saw Liberty or the torpedo boats. 

Had Limor circled the ship as he claims-indeed, had he even looked her over carefully-he would have seen Liberty's name painted in huge letters across her stern; he would have seen the over sized American flag, which was hoisted on a yard arm as the boats were approaching, the original flag having been shot away by the airplanes; he would have seen Captain McGonagle, Ensign Lucas and others on the bridge; he would have seen several firefighters working to control napalm and gasoline fires-until his bullets perforated their fire hoses. 

Limor describes "three numbers along her side, which meant nothing to us." These were apparently the ship's hull designate, G.T.R-5, painted in man-sized characters on the ship's bow. English is commonly known in Israel and would have been recognized by the torpedo men. They did, Limor tells us, readily read the U.S. Navy identification on our life raft (after they shot it loose with their machine guns); and in any case, every Israeli sailor must know that Egyptian ships record their hull numbers on their sides in cursive Arabic script. 

While Liberty sailors shook their heads in despair over the story, few of us realized how closely Limor's tale was drawn from Admiral Kidd's "official" version of the attack. And those of us who wanted to rebut Limor were prevented by Pentagon "press guidance" from having any meaningful contact with the press. 

Chapter 12 

MALTA 

The burden of diplomacy bore heavily ••• 

Commander Ernest Corl Costle in message to the White House, June 18, 1967 

In Malta, while Captain McGonagle recuperated in his room at the Phoenicia Hotel, McHale's Navy regained its fighting spirit. When embassy officers were not grumbling about news leaks, they were complaining about fights. "You have the damnedest bunch of hooligans we have ever had in this port," Golden was told amid rude threats and orders to "shape Up." 

Liberty sailors were bloodied and bruised from encounters with other American sailors, and the other ships' men were equally mauled. Even some of the officers were scrapping. It seemed that every bar held at least one half-drunk bully who had to find out for himself whether Liberty sailors were as tough as the stories suggested. 

Finally, Golden took drastic action. Civilian clothes were not authorized aboard ship for enlisted men in 1967, but this was a special case. He ordered every man to obtain and wear civilian clothing ashore. No longer easily identified with a Liberty ship's patch on the uniform, Golden hoped that the fighting would stop. And he promised to restrict fighters. It worked. 

******************

Soon dozens of senior officers made the trip to Valletta. During the first few days it seemed to those on board that every admiral in the Atlantic Fleet must be eating the noon meal in Liberty's wardroom. The wardroom mess, which usually accommodated only the ship's officers, now expanded to feed not twelve or sixteen, but typically thirty. And most of these were senior to McGonagle. 

Commander Sixth Fleet came. Commander Service Squadron 8 came. His deputy came. Most of the deputy commanders-in-chief of the Atlantic Fleet came, as did several deputy commanders-in-chief of the U.S. Naval Forces, Europe. It was routine for Liberty to serve eight admirals for lunch, and several captains. 

Dr. Kiepfer assumed the mess treasurer duty, replacing Steve Toth, who had died in the attack. And Dick soon discovered that Steve's gourmet tastes had exceeded his budget. He had stocked the wardroom mess with filet mignon and other expensive meats, with hundreds of tiny tins of exotic and expensive delicacies, caviar, candies, nuts and cheeses. The wardroom mess was a gourmet's delight, but soon the bill would have to be reckoned with, and it would run to nearly triple the usual monthly charge. 

Kiepfer is a remarkable fellow, fully as remarkable in real life as he is in combat. A bridge master while still a teen-ager, Kiepfer plays at life the same way he plays bridge: by analyzing the game, searching for the best play, and occasionally executing a deft finesse or a stunning squeeze play. Studying the mountain of regulations that governed his mess treasurer job, he found that it was legal, and in fact a rather simple and not too controversial step, simply to charge the visitors double the Navy's usual messing charge. The wardroom mess soon became a moneymaking operation. 

When it became clear that even the increased volume of business would fail to make a substantial dent in the oversupply of beef that Toth had brought aboard, Kiepfer sought a solution. 

The American embassy, he learned, had difficulty obtaining good quality American beef. Toth had carefully selected only the very best cuts of the most select prime beef and, because of the large quantity purchased, had paid only 79 cents per pound. The embassy, however, when it could get American beef at all, was forced to pay upwards of $1.79 per pound. They were more than pleased to accept several hundred pounds at $1.10 per pound. 

The wardroom mess became solvent again for the first time since leaving Norfolk. In fact, the individual mess bills for the month of July were minus five dollars: each member of the mess, instead of paying for his meals, received a five-dollar payment for having eaten. And because each transaction was fully and properly reported to the Bureau of Naval Personnel, Kiepfer maintained a lively correspondence with the Bureau for more than three years as Washington tried to fathom what was going on.

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Golden began to receive reports of individual heroism during the attack. These he carefully investigated, interviewing witnesses personally and directing that write-ups be made in appropriate cases for submission to higher authority. 1 
1. One brazen fellow nominated himself for an award for heroism. He wrote a stirring letter for McGonagle's signature describing his imagined exploit, drafted a proposed citation to accompany the award, bribed a confederate to verify the phony story, and delivered the illicit package to Lieutenant Golden-who saw through the scheme immediately. The pitiful chap is still despised by the many Liberty men and officers who know the story. 
Posthumous awards were recommended for five men: the Navy Cross for Philip Armstrong and Francis Brown, and Silver Star medals for Stephen Toth, Alexander Thompson and David Skolak. Thirty-eight awards were recommended for survivors, and these ranged from the Navy Commendation Medal to the Silver Star. Carpenter, Golden, Kiepfer, Larkins, Lockwood, Lucas, Scott and others were recommended by Admiral Martin for Silver Stars, and McGonagle was recommended by Admiral McCain for the nation's highest military award, the Medal of Honor. 

Skolak, who died in a forward gun mount while trying to fire at the marauding jets, was for some time a candidate for the Medal of Honor. Reports persisted that Skolak was fearless, that he exposed himself to fire while retrieving wounded, that he exposed himself to great danger in order to man the machine gun and that he persisted in fighting long after he was badly wounded. Unfortunately, the best witness to Skolak's performance was Thompson, and Thompson died as Skolak had, in the gun mount. Had Skolak died on the bridge, it might have been different; there would have been witnesses. As it turned out, there were simply not enough witnesses to provide the very strong substantiation required for a Navy Cross or a Medal of Honor, so Skolak's family received a Silver Star. 

Someone nominated Lieutenant Painter for a Bronze Star for his performance as leader of the repair party responsible for the after part of the ship. Painter ran himself to exhaustion for most of the afternoon, exposed himself to machine-gun fire repeatedly as he checked battle damage in exposed areas, braved rocket fire as he helped carry wounded, and finally managed to restore order when men reacted with hysteria to the second torpedo attack warning. 

A citation was prepared and forwarded to the captain. But an officer, long a foe of Painter's, brought a tale that Painter had unnecessarily exposed wounded men to danger by evacuating them to the main deck while the ship was still under fire from the torpedo boats. McGonagle listened to the story and ordered the nomination withdrawn. Too bad. Had Ensign Scott been asked, he would have testified that Painter was responding to the "prepare to abandon ship" order that Scott had personally relayed from the bridge. 

Early in Liberty's stay in Malta, Dr. Kiepfer learned that Liberty had carried two large cases of nylon stockings for the benefit of embassy employees who could be expected to shop in the ship's store. The stockings could not be returned, and now they were to be disposed of as surplus. Quick to grasp an opportunity, Kiepfer entered a bid -the only bid as it turned out-and soon came into possession of six gross (864 pairs) of top-quality nylon stockings in assorted sizes and colors for a bargain price of less than 6 cents per pair. 

Nylon hose opened doors for Kiepfer and the Liberty wardroom that mere cash failed to open. An apparently impenetrable door was the one to the nearby Royal Garrison Yacht Club, owned and operated by the British Royal Navy. Because naval officers of other NATO nations visited Malta, the club extended honorary guest privileges to visiting NATO officers. In this manner Liberty officers enjoyed the use of the Royal Garrison Yacht Club. 

British yacht clubs, however, are unlike their American counterparts, and American naval officers rank as second-class citizens in such clubs anyway. So it came to pass that although Liberty officers were nominally granted membership privileges, the privileges were rarely available when Liberty officers wanted them. Boats were seldom around when Liberty officers wanted to use them. Reservations could be made, but boats were usually already reserved for the times Liberty officers requested. On those few occasions that a boat was available, it was usually in an inaccessible part of the boathouse, blocked in by other immovable boats, lacked mast, rudder or sail, or was otherwise unusable. And if somehow the missing parts were located and the immovable boats were moved, there was no available help or instruction in the use of the boat davit required to move the thing into the water. 

Kiepfer attacked the problem in a characteristically Kiepfer manner: head-on. 

"Mr. Hamilton-Jones",2 he said to an employee of the club, "I have acquired a quantity of nylon hose. I'm not married. I have no real use for the hose. I can't sell them, as it would not be proper for me to profit personally from the hose. I wonder if you know how I might dispose of them." Mr. Hamilton-Jones promised to consider the problem, but had no ready solution. 
2. Not his real name.
"Perhaps," suggested Kiepfer, "perhaps you could take some to your wife. If I brought, say, ten pairs, do you think your wife would accept them?" 

Mr. Hamilton-Jones supposed that she might. 

The following day Dr. Kiepfer arrived, carrying a neat package of ten pairs of the finest-quality nylon hose in the exact size and shade worn by Mrs. Hamilton-Jones. 

By coincidence, Mr. Hamilton-Jones just happened to have a boat available. In fact, the boat was in the water and rigged with sail. What's more, that boat was not otherwise spoken for and would be at the disposal of Dr. Kiepfer and his friends for the duration of their stay in Malta. 

Liberty officers sailed regularly from then on, usually finding the boat rigged and waiting. 

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Rear Admiral Alphonse McPhot 3 was the commander of a Sixth Fleet task force. McPhot visited Liberty early in her repair period and he, too, enjoyed sailing. Admirals, though, don't personally handle such mundane matters as the reservation of boats. Such things are the duty of the flag lieutenant, and Rear Admiral McPhot had a very capable young flag lieutenant. 
3. Not his real name.

But McPhot, who could cause lesser admirals to tremble and senior officers to weep, was unable to obtain the use of a boat. On several occasions the flag lieutenant called the Royal Garrison Yacht Club to request a boat, but a boat was never available. The flag lieutenant grew desperate. After all, it was his job to satisfy such cravings as McPhot felt for small-boat sailing. He visited Mr. Hamilton-Jones, explained his great need, and hoped that a boat would materialize. It did not. 

Rear Admiral McPhot sat at Kiepfer's table in the wardroom, and during lunch mentioned to Kiepfer his disappointment at being unable to obtain a boat from the Royal Garrison Yacht Club. Kiepfer listened with the keen interest with which naval officers soon learn to attend admirals. 

"Admiral, I'll look into it first thing after lunch." Immediately after lunch 

Dr. Richard Kiepfer telephoned Mr. Hamilton-Jones and asked whether it would be possible to reserve a small sailboat for McPhot's use. 

It was possible. When did McPhot wish to sail? The boat would be ready. 

So Rear Admiral McPhot called upon Mr. Hamilton-Jones to find a boat rigged and waiting. 

"I certainly do appreciate this," he said. "I'll be here only a few days and this is the first boat you have had available." 

"Oh, I say," said Mr. Hamilton-Jones, "well, I didn't know you were a friend of the doctor's." 

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Nylon hose soon proved as negotiable as cash. With them, Kiepfer arranged not only for sailboats, but for all manner of otherwise unavailable services. Food, drink and hotel accommodations were obtained. Sightseeing tours were arranged. One morning a sedan, complete with driver, reported to the ship for duty; the car remained on duty for almost a month. With nylons, Kiepfer earned a place among cumshaw experts and boondogglers of antiquity: for one hundred pairs he leased a four-bedroom villa, complete with maid. The place soon became off-duty headquarters for the ship's officers and a conversation piece for the neighbors as it enlivened the otherwise dull neighborhood with seemingly perpetual parties. 

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