X. OCEANOGRAPHERS AGROUND
When T. Wayland Vaughan agreed to become the new director of the Scripps Institution he did not inherit an easy task. Given a biological research station which had been somewhat arbitrarily assembled according to the needs and desires of its founders and full-time staff members, he was asked to create the hemisphere's first oceanographic institution. Such an assignment would have been difficult under the best of circumstances, and certainly with the limitations of facilities and financial resources to be found at La Jolla, it must have at the outset sometimes seemed an impossibility. When Vaughan assumed the directorship, on February 1, 1924, the institution thereafter to be dedicated to “the oceanographic problems of the largest ocean now on earth,” did not even own a boat.
Vaughan was familiar enough with the science of oceanography in its international manifestations, however, to know what ingredients were missing from his potpourri for the study of the sea, and he painstakingly began to assemble them. The institution's name was officially changed to the Scripps Institution of Oceanography on October 14, 1925, but this move did not equip it for a full program of oceanic research. When Vaughan left the institution more than twelve years later the job was yet unfinished; despite new buildings and new men there was still an atmosphere of “making do” with some of the hand-me-downs of an earlier era.
In 1924 the institution consisted of the old G. H. Scripps laboratory, the museum-library, the somewhat dilapidated wooden aquarium building, two dozen cottages, a few small service and storage buildings, the director's residence and the pier, which was also badly in need of repair. The annual budget, which by that time was approaching $50,000 per year, had been consistently used mainly for
Within a year or two Vaughan had commissioned a plan to be drawn up by a professor of landscape architecture from the university,[3] and over a period of several years thousands of trees and shrubs were planted according to this plan. By 1931 Vaughan could report that the planting program was “virtually completed.” Having provided $650 a year for this purpose from his own funds, Vaughan had little trouble persuading the university and Miss Scripps to match his contribution. Donations of plants and seeds came from several sources, including the Australian Botanical Gardens, and many varieties were planted on an experimental basis to see if they would adapt to the Southern California climate. Large numbers of eucalyptus trees were added to those remaining from the earlier plantings of 1909–1910, and an acacia grove representing many varieties was planted on the plateau overlooking the institution's buildings. By the end of Vaughan's term the slopes of the institution's land looked decidedly less barren, due to his efforts to plant trees along the roadways and against the skyline.[4]
Staff members during Vaughan's era recall that one of the most vociferous of his rare displays of temper occurred in connection with the institution grounds and his planting program. A number of trees had been planted along a narrow roadway on the institution property, and it soon became obvious that the trees were already something of a hazard and would eventually block the road entirely. Consequently, at a meeting where the subject was discussed, the staff voted unanimously for the removal of the trees. Vaughan exploded. He had expended so much time, effort and money on the improvement of the grounds that the removal of any of his carefully-nurtured plants must have seemed a sacrilege. Faced with this virtual mutiny on the part of his ungrateful staff he heatedly threatened to pull out
There are many colorful tales to be told of “the great Texas autocrat,” who had left the cultural refinement and intellectual stimulation of Washington, D. C., to assume the management of the struggling little research institution on the edge of the Pacific.[5] Always attired in coat and tie, no matter what the weather, Vaughan on weekends would don a visor cap and with his German Shepherd dog make an inspection tour of the institution grounds. Early residents can remember his poking about in their gardens with his cane or cautioning them about wasting water in caring for their yards. Nevertheless, most of the staff respected Vaughan and what he was trying to do for the Scripps Institution. With the handicap of inadequate funds even landscaping the grounds was a constant struggle, and the problems of putting together an oceanographic institution were proportionately greater.
The “step-up” program for increasing the regular income of the institution, which President Campbell had proposed in 1925, was continued even into the thirties, despite the effects of the Depression on the state as well as the private sources. Although the income was thereby approximately doubled during Vaughan's administration, it increased so gradually that Vaughan had to be content with taking one step at a time toward the goals he had set for the institution. Primarily the increases were used for the salaries of scientists in new lines of research, and for assistants, with any surplus being carefully apportioned for the most vitally-needed equipment. Thus the imbalance among the disciplines Vaughan considered essential to a comprehensive oceanographic program was gradually corrected as funds became available.
An unexpected boon to the institution's work in physical oceanography, which was largely a result of G. F. McEwen's earlier attempts at long-range weather forecasting, came in 1925 and lasted into the Depression. In 1925 three Southern California light and power companies contributed a fund of $500 for the purchase of two thermographs for the measuring of ocean temperatures. On November 6 and 7 of that same year a conference on the physical oceanography and marine meteorology of the northeast Pacific and the climate of the western United States was held at the institution
With the combination of outside income and Vaughan's initial emphasis on building up research on the physical aspects of the ocean, the biological phase of the institution's program in the late twenties was temporarily neglected. C. O. Esterly, who had carried on part-time work on the zoo-plankton since the institution's beginning, died in 1928, leaving this important field, once the main part of the research program, entirely without a permanent investigator. Vaughan's first addition to the biological staff was in the field of marine bacteriology. A. Haldane Gee became the institution's first microbiologist on July 1, 1928. Gee left after a little more than two years, and the search for someone to replace him eventually led to the university's own department of bacteriology and Claude E. ZoBell who became microbiologist on January 1, 1932.
The next area of study to open up was that of the physiology of marine organisms. Investigations in this field had been carried on intermittently by various part-time workers through the years, but Denis L. Fox, who left Stanford to begin work September 1, 1931, was the first full-time physiologist on the institution staff.
Vaughan devoted a great deal of time and thought to each of his additions to the permanent staff. Scientific competence was, of course, of primary importance, but other factors had to be considered. Vaughan wrote one colleague:
Will you please let me know what you think of Mr. C— as a scientific possibility, with emphasis on his capacity for research, giving me as full information as you can regarding his personality. Is he bumptuous? Is he considerate of others? What kind of appearance does he present?[6]
Some of these considerations may have been more important to Vaughan than to some of the other staff members. The small size of the staff, however, and the fact that most of the scientists lived as
Naturally the increases in personnel necessitated an increase in facilities, and the construction of a new laboratory was one of the major achievements of Vaughan's administration. The need for more working space had been felt for several years. By the late twenties the institution's own staff had grown so large that it was necessary to refuse space to visiting investigators. In 1929 the state legislature appropriated $40,000 toward a fund for the construction of a new laboratory building, and this sum was matched by Ellen Scripps. Miss Scripps preferred to remain “an anonymous donor” in this instance, and was so listed in newspaper accounts and even in Vaughan's report to the president of the university. Miss Scripps had always avoided publicity in making her contributions, and her desire for anonymity was more fully explained by Attorney J. C. Harper in 1919:
I am writing to urge that hereafter no publication be made using Miss Scripps' name in connection with any gift she may make to the University … An announcement that she has made a gift always brings upon her a raft of applications for assistance. These have always been annoying and in her present enfeebled health are a real burden that I know you will want to join the rest of us in relieving her from.[7]
With $80,000 thus provided by the state and Miss Scripps, plans went ahead to construct a new laboratory to be used primarily for work in physical and chemical oceanography and “those kinds of biological investigation which require either biochemical or biophysical methods.”[8] The specialized laboratories and equipment would be expensive, and Vaughan and the committee responsible for planning the building were prepared to cut costs and do without important items to stay within the $80,000 limit. Thus it was an unexpected blessing to most of those involved when an additional $40,000 came through in April of 1930 from the Rockefeller Foundation, enabling the Scripps Institution to build “the best in modern laboratory facilities” for the type of work they were planning.
The grant was not a complete surprise to Vaughan, who had been among the scientists advising the Rockefeller Foundation on the expenditure of much larger sums for oceanographic research. In 1927, Vaughan had been appointed to the Committee on Oceanography of
The need for the evaluation and further development of oceanographic research in the United States was made clear in a statement which Frank R. Lillie, chairman of the committee, sent to the other members selected from the Academy.[10] “The interests of oceanography have not advanced as they should in the United States of America in comparison with several other countries,” he wrote, “even though more money is spent on various isolated projects within the field.”[11] The five committee members were quick to respond with specific proposals for consideration. Organized studies of the configuration of the ocean bottoms, measurements of the velocities and direction of ocean currents, and formation of an institution to specifically study the Atlantic, perhaps through the expansion of the Bermuda Biological Station, were listed among the most pressing needs in the area of oceanic investigation.
The National Academy obtained $75,000 for the work of the Committee on Oceanography from the Rockefeller-backed General Education Board, and a number of studies were carried out. Dr. Henry B. Bigelow of the Museum of Comparative Zoology at Harvard University was asked to compile a preliminary report for presentation to the Academy, and this was submitted in November, 1929.[12] In the thirties studies on the “international aspects of oceanography” and “oceanography in universities” were similarly commissioned. The Bigelow report, however, and the conference which the Committee on Oceanography held with representatives of the General Education Board and the Rockefeller Foundation in the late twenties, were largely responsible for what many regard as the greatest forward step in oceanographic research taken in the United States up to the Second World War. The major recommendation to grow out of the committee's investigations, and its major accomplishment, was the establishment of a “central oceanographic institution” on the Atlantic coast.[13]
The endowment of such an institution had been a part of the plans as early as 1925, when Wickliffe Rose, soon to retire as head of the
The Rockefeller Foundation also provided $50,000 for the “expansion and stabilization” of the Bermuda Biological Station for Research, which would complement the Woods Hole institution as a “truly oceanic” location. On the Pacific coast the major Rockefeller grant, $265,000, went to the University of Washington for the establishment of its Puget Sound oceanographic laboratories. The $40,000 contributed for the completion of the new laboratory building at the Scripps Institution was one of the smallest of the foundation's oceanographic favors.
It had been the feeling of several of the members of the Committee on Oceanography, from the beginning, that there was adequate provision for the study of oceanography on the Pacific coast due to the Scripps Institution and the “active policies” of its director. The glaring lack on the Atlantic coast of any institution whatsoever “committed to comprehensive oceanographic investigation,” drew most of the attention to the east and held it there. In numerous letters and conferences Vaughan did what he could to counteract this trend. “I certainly hope that the Pacific side of the country is not going to be left out of the running,” he wrote to Lillie in November of 1929. “As you know I wish the Institution with which I am connected
Nevertheless, the $40,000 Rockefeller grant brought to $120,000 the funds available for the new laboratory and proved a considerable boon to the Scripps Institution. The building, which the university regents named Ritter Hall, was ready for occupancy by September, 1931. Designed by Louis J. Gill, nephew of the architect of the first laboratory building, Ritter Hall was 100 feet long, 46 feet wide, and three stories high. On the top floor were the offices and laboratories of those working in physical and chemical oceanography and marine meteorology; on the middle level “suites” for bacteriology and physiology; and on the ground floor facilities for photographic work, a machinery room and transformer vault, two rooms intended for the large scale cultures of marine organisms, storage and future laboratory space.
The allocation of the new facilities had not been accomplished without some friction among the staff. One long-time staff member went so far as to write a series of letters on the situation to R. G. Sproul, who in 1929 was vice-president of the university:
In general view, prospects for Oceanography look dark. If Mr. K— takes Physiology into the new building Genetics and its allies will have fully half the laboratory space of the Institution (and not satisfied with that). Calling a mongrel by some high sounding name does not make him a pedigreed dog. With its mongrel characteristics it is hard to explain to some inquirers why this institution is called an Institution of Oceanography.[15]
Evidently the “allies” won out in the battle for laboratory space, for facilities for physiology were built into Ritter Hall and the department established on the building's completion in 1931. Tensions may have been eased somewhat by the fact that the same year the state legislature appropriated an additional $40,000 for the renovation and improvement of the old buildings and grounds of the institution. The old salt water system was replaced and the George H. Scripps
There was some truth in the charge that the institution had turned somewhat from its main work of oceanography if one makes the assumption, as some of the university officials and Miss Scripps' representatives evidently did, that a certain amount of first-hand observation and collecting in the open sea was essential to the institution's program. The boat work carried on by vessels either hired or owned by the institution was at a minimum during Vaughan's era, and this fact did not go unnoticed. At one point criticism of this policy prompted Vaughan to write a ten-page letter to J. C. Harper defending his position.
During Ritter's last few years as director and Vaughan's first year or two, the Scripps Institution did not own a boat capable of carrying on investigations at sea, although fishing boats were chartered from time to time. In September, 1925, the Thaddeus, a former purse seiner, was purchased with the funds realized from the 1917 sale of the Alexander Agassiz. This boat, which was renamed the Scripps, was 64 feet long, 22 tons register, had a 15 foot beam and 6–8 foot draft, and was equipped with an 85 horsepower gasoline engine and berths for ten. During the next few summers the Scripps made weekly trips to stations five and ten miles off shore, and once or twice ventured as far as San Clemente Island or the Santa Barbara Islands. In 1930, however, the boat made only five trips to the off-shore stations. “The season of 1930 represented a low ebb in the work at sea,” Vaughan later conceded in a letter to J. C. Harper. “The cause was that Dr. Moberg was absent for part of the summer and then we had only a few men on the staff of the Institution who were trained in and available for the work at sea.”[16]
E. G. Moberg, who was in charge of the boat work during this period, also had many duties on shore in connection with his research in chemical oceanography. It is significant, however, that he was absent in 1930 in order to help prepare reports on the oceanographic work of the non-magnetic ship Carnegie. He had worked aboard this research vessel of the Carnegie Institution during August and September of 1929, making observations and collections between San
Concerning the boat work at the Institution, two points may be made … (1) The possession of a boat or boats by any such institution has to be viewed in much the way that a farmer views his reaper, for instance; a necessary piece of machinery even though it must be out of use most of the time. (2) The Institution's boat work (work at sea) should be viewed as including whatever comes to the Institution from any such work. U. S. Naval ships, some passenger boats, etc., contribute largely, as you know, to this aspect of the investigations. A striking example of what this sort of thing may mean is Moberg's trip with the Carnegie from San Francisco to Honolulu …
It had been expected to make even greater use of the Carnegie, which in 1928 had begun a worldwide cruise which was to last for three years. At the end of that cruise Dr. J. C. Merriam, director of the Carnegie Institution, was willing to turn the ship, fully equipped, over to the Scripps Institution for two years of intensive exploration in the eastern Pacific. Vaughan had already begun to look for sources for the $120,000 estimated to be necessary for two years' operating expenses, and had worked out a rather detailed plan for the projected 1931–32 cruise. In November, 1929, however, the Carnegie was tragically destroyed in an explosion in the harbor at Apia, Samoa, and these ambitious plans were abruptly dropped.
Nevertheless there were, as Ritter had pointed out, numerous other sources of oceanographic data available to the institution during Vaughan's administration. Due in part to his contacts in Washington, D. C., and his prominence in the leading scientific societies, Vaughan was able to greatly increase the amount of cooperation of government agencies and other scientific institutions with the Scripps Institution. In a 1931 report to J. C. Harper, Vaughan pointed out that recorded observations of ocean temperatures increased from 2170 in 1923 to 19,444 in 1925, and salinity readings from 1705 in 1923 to 5573 in 1925, which was the first year that large numbers of meteorological observations were reported to the institution. Thus those working in dynamical oceanography and meteorology had a much larger quantity of information to work with
Thermographs, which automatically recorded ocean temperatures, were installed on ships of the U. S. Coast and Geodetic Survey, the U. S. Navy, and even on commercial liners. Naval officers found instructions for making salinity determinations among their orders, and boxes of bottles for water samples were loaded or unloaded with the rest of the cargo. Shoreline collections by agents of the U. S. Bureau of Lighthouses had begun in Ritter's time, and this practice was expanded under Vaughan. In 1926, for example, an arrangement was made with the keeper of the Scotch Cap light station in the Aleutian Islands, who agreed to make observations for the institution in a letter which highlights some of the problems of long-distance collecting:
Your letter dated Jan. 22nd was landed here March 15th; the mails here are very uncertain, sometimes it may be four or five months between mails, if you think it will be O.K. I am very willing to undertake the work … Please send full and clear instructions with the shipment, how often to take water samples, as I do not know what “Plankton” is …[17]
Water and plankton samples thus came from a number of sources, and arrangements were even made for the collection of marine bottom deposits.
The cooperation was not wholly one-sided. As in the case of the extra funds supplied by the Southern California light and power companies, the various agencies and institutions stood to gain from the findings of the Scripps Institution staff, and collecting data was a minor task compared to analyzing and interpreting it. The main problem from the institution's point of view, perhaps, was that the data thus assembled was limited for the most part to the main routes of trade. Knowledge of oceanic conditions along lines between major ports was considerable, but there were vast areas of the Pacific that were almost wholly unexplored. To reach these “out-of-the-way” areas the institution must have its own research vessel, and its staff would have to be willing to go to sea.
Vaughan realized that he was not the man to undertake such extensive oceanographic explorations. In 1932, already talking of retiring within the next two to four years, Vaughan wrote to R. G. Sproul, who was by then president of the University of California:
… I should then step out and make way for a successor who would take the lead in operations at sea. Although I am in complete sympathy with more extended operations at sea than the institution now conducts, I have passed the age at which a man should undertake the conduct of such work.[18]
Vaughan's retirement was still four years off, but finding such a successor might not be easy. It was a task which was to consume much of Vaughan's remaining time and energy, for he was fully aware that the success or failure of the Scripps Institution depended largely on its director. Gradually he had assembled a staff and acquired the laboratory facilities to carry on what he considered the most important lines of research in oceanography. What was needed now were seafaring scientists who would make the Pacific disclose the secrets of even her farthest reaches and most awesome depths.